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Updated: June 21, 2025
You might as well set your wheatsheaves up to oppose a field battery." "Garibaldi," muttered Adone, "he had naught but raw levies!" "Garabaldi was an instinctive military genius, like Aguto, like Ferruccio, like Gian delle Bande Neri, like all the great Condottieri.
Good by, grandmother." "In the name of Heaven, what is the matter with you?" shrieked the old woman, feeling the boy's head anxiously, as it lay upon her knees; and then with all the power of voice of which her throat was capable, and in desperation: "Ferruccio! Ferruccio! Ferruccio! My child! My love! Angels of Paradise, come to my aid!" But Ferruccio made no reply.
"Who's there?" demanded the lad, recovering his breath with an effort. No one replied. "Who is it?" asked Ferruccio again, chilled with terror. But hardly had he pronounced these words when both uttered a shriek of terror. Two men sprang into the room. One of them grasped the boy and placed one hand over his mouth; the other clutched the old woman by the throat. The first said:
The boy slipped slowly from above his grandmother, fell on his knees, and remained in that attitude, with his arms around her body and his head upon her breast. Several moments passed; it was very dark; the song of the peasants gradually died away in the campagna. The old woman recovered her senses. "Ferruccio!" she cried, in a voice that was barely intelligible, with chattering teeth.
Ferruccio Benvenuto Busoni was born at Empoli, near Florence, Italy, April 1, 1866. His father was a clarinetist and his mother whose maiden name was Weiss, indicating her German ancestry was an excellent pianist. His first teachers were his parents. So pronounced was his talent that he made his début at the age of eight in Vienna, Austria.
And though great families like the Rothschilds in the most recent days have successfully asserted the aristocracy of wealth acquired by usury, it still remains a surprising fact that the daughter of the mediæval bankers should have given a monarch to the French in the sixteenth century. Sulle azioni del Ferruccio, vol. i. p. 44.
You will remember me, grandmother will you not? You will always remember me your Ferruccio?" "My Ferruccio!" exclaimed his grandmother, amazed and alarmed, as she laid her hands on his shoulders and bent her head, as though to look him in his face. "Remember me," murmured the boy once more, in a voice that seemed like a breath. "Give a kiss to my mother to my father to Luigina.
The one who remained behind, and who was still holding Ferruccio fast, showed his knife to the boy and the old woman, who had opened her eyes again, and said, "Not a sound, or I'll come back and cut your throat." And he glared at the two for a moment. At this juncture, a song sung by many voices became audible far off on the highway.
Ferruccio and his grandmother, who was still up, were in the dining-room, between which and the garden there was a small, closet-like room, encumbered with old furniture.
I always said, 'This boy will be my consolation! And now you are killing me! I would willingly give the little life that remains to me if I could see you become a good boy, and an obedient one, as you were in those days when I used to lead you to the sanctuary do you remember, Ferruccio? You used to fill my pockets with pebbles and weeds, and I carried you home in my arms, fast asleep.
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