During the long hours of rainy days, the captain Boniface made the rounds of the rooms, stopped in front of his paintings, relived in that past, and on the rare times that he was forced to go to Treviso eg ‘his business, stopped on the streets where passed the Austrian soldiers, and looked with pity on those poor blacks Croats and wiry, and good-natured faces of the Bohemians, and he shrugged his shoulders, thinking that with Massena 50.000 80.000 French did not hesitate to attack the Austrians, commanded by the Archduke Charles, and prevailed against them in Caldiero, and fed a disturbing contempt for his countrymen, who were not aware of belonging to a nation, even heroic, in which it seemed to him that a man with a spear would have skewered many chickens as four or five of those poor devils, but instead takes two men and a corporal to escort vans svanziche in Vienna, with which the Italians of the kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia Austria paid the right to own their own fields and houses where they were born.

And the captain Boniface returned to his villa gloomy overcast, and woe to those who happened between her feet.

To meet, at least in part, to that felt need of activity and work, digging and pruning, planting trees and shrubs, vines and orchards, drew walks, ravaging the land, sowing, reaping and transplanted.