English Version
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The wonderful passage over Livorno

     This morning, before 4 a.m., when the car kindly made available to the Committee by Captain Aviation knight Gotti, was sleek and straight on the path of the wide promenade, Livorno was sleeping quietly, cradled by its gray sea under the pale moon.
Captain Gotti, Mr. Bertelli, president of the local committee, Dr. Dello Strologo, director of the health service and I have descended to Observatory of the Naval Academy. The professor Gamba was calling in San Rossore to tell to this committee the aerological bulletin of the last few hours.
     The weather is good. A few leaden clouds in the distant horizon, the dawn is red in the east.
     And the proof. Gamba, at 4. 45 a.m., warns us that Garros is about to leave.
     At once, the car is directed towards Antignano. It passes Ardenza still asleep, here Antignano, which is reflected, in the sea.
     We go at once to awaken the great telegraph clerk, and ask him to receive our dispatches.
     At 5 a.m., the first workers appear, and a few sleepy heads is peeping in the windows.
     A stranger appears at a hotel Cremoni terrace. We suppose him a waiter and cry, with an authoritative voice, to open up right away and to brig us a coffee with brandy
     The stranger directs us some sullen and fierce looks, and then he retires with dignity. We leave without coffee.
     At 5.4 a.m. two workers, who are on the small roundabout before the village of Antignano, warn us.
     - Here he is! Here he is!

Garros is coming

     He appears, in fact. He looks like a bird with wings straight and firm.
     He is advancing like a swallow in the sky spinning rigid and magnificent in the sky that comes as a blue coloring.
     Garros is coming along the line of the beach. He runs away over Livorno, crossing the town which sends a greeting by ten thousand citizens (An honest 10% of the actual population) whom the guns of the Academy and of the Fortress have raised - and who are perched on the terraces, on the roofs or who assemble in the squares.
     He runs, in the opinion of the members of the Aviation Committee, at 80 km per hour.
     Now he is over our heads, at a height of 300 meters at least.

The futile persuit
       We dash off in pursuit of him by the car but Garros runs too quickly: no car could follow him with success.
     In fact, we have just passed Antignano and we headed for Castiglioncello when the monoplane disappears over the horizon, behind Romito.
     Now, - it is just 5.11 a.m. - he must be above Castiglioncello.
     We return to the Naval Academy; we are following the reports of ships which inform to be the pilot Frey departed from Genoa at 5.4 a.m., from Nervi at 5.8, and makes for Palmaria at full speed.

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