La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)


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This house is owned by a twentieth century family who will never fill it with books. My chair is no more than a seedling. The garden is fenced in by a lonely girdle of conifers awaiting the axe. My AppleMac is not even a brainchild. You are a young free agent in glasses and a skirt too short to suit. Our marriage is not to be contemplated. This poem is a single cell of an idea lurking among memories of time travel stories I still read. And the world is a less terrified place. Expect control buttons to say what they mean or mean what they say. Have breakfast unless you're a martyr to indigestion.

Travel with your whole choir or rugby club. Insult your fellow passsengers and try to run away. Treat the muzak as if it's karaoke. Take your pet unless it's tiny. Try to swing a cat. Strip off, even if you're amazingly, disappointingly lightning-fast. Make love, ditto. Smoke, for fear of setting off the fire alarm and the ire of other passengers. Get married or paint pictures, unless you're a minimalist in all things.

Take a shower: there's nowhere for the soap. Today I am not going to eat an apple, because this isn't an apple, just a picture of an apple. Today I am not going outside Birmingham. Today I am not young any more. Today I am not as handsome as I used to think I was. Today I am not playing the piano. Mi silla apenas ha brotado del semillero. Mi AppleMac no es siquiera una propuesta inspiradora. Nuestro matrimonio no es para contemplarse.

Sam Fisher

Y el mundo es un lugar menos temeroso. Esperar que los botones de mando digan lo que quieren o que quieran lo que dicen. Viajar con tu coro entero o tu club de rugby. Hacer de la musiquilla un karaoke. Llevar a tu mascota a menos que sea diminuta. Casarse o pintar cuadros, a menos que seas minimalista en todo.

Hoy no voy a comer una manzana, porque esto no es una manzana, solo la foto de una manzana. Hoy no voy a salir de la ciudad. Hoy ya no soy tan joven. Hoy no soy tan guapo como antes pensaba. Hoy no toco el piano. Boh, depende. Unha bela adormecida esperta cando a chamas por un nome. Cada nome, un punto de cruz nun infindo lenzo de namorado. Temos un Trasmundi.

E un Extramundi, ademais dun Aldemunde. E vales que levan o nome de Mar, Amor, Ouro ou Silenzo. E un Pico Sagro e unha Boca do Inferno. Para a ciencia, Lampyris nocticula. Eis, o estar e o andar.


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Quixera enviarche un vagalume. Moito mar. Case todo chegou e foise polo mar. Ao norte hai unha illa que chaman Irlanda. Os vagalumes tenden a apagarse no interior. Van cara ao oeste, van en xunta na orla do mar. Agora son focos dunha grande cidade difusa. O espazo portuario como lugar e non lugar. Incubador de odiseas. Un gran porto onde os guindastres xa non cargan tristura. Unha grande aldea que orienta as casas cara ao mar, coa memoria sobre as coroas da cabeza. Body-art na pel da catastro-fermosura.

Encrechar pedras eternas. Calquera parte do mundo pode ser o cu do mundo. Ese problema, o do transporte por estrada, resolveuse. Cando se explica, parece que o galego ten que loitar contra a idea de Galicia como terra remota. Hai periferia e centro no universo? Quen somos, a onde imos, de onde vimos? Unha terra de chegada. Os romanos, que disque puxeron o nome: Gallaecia. Foron derrotados, claro, polos visigodos. Os xudeus. Os mouros. Os xitanos. Os maragatos. Como a cruz de Cristo. O primeiro texto escrito en galego de que se ten noticia agroma nun poema de autor provenzal: Rimbaud de Vaqueiras.

Lembro unha conversa sobre a orixe da ponte nunha vila, recollida por Xurxo Souto. Galicia foi pobo escollido polo Adeus. Galicia Venus, Galicia matria. Choran porque os outros da familia marchan. A terra como aldea global. E o inmigrante busca, en todas partes, pan e liberdade. Como fixo o galego. Galicia paradoxal. E polo traballo nos mares. Naceu nunha aldea, en Ourense. Traballou de maleteiro no hotel Lisboa de Vigo. Polas noites estudou dereito. Exerceu de avogado. Logo fixo a carreira xudicial. A maior cidade de Galicia segue a ser Bos Aires.

Quen dixo que os mortos eran de dereitas? Deixa que che conte a historia dun edema na pel. Traballa duramente na limpeza. Vive a soidade.

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Na Rede hai un portal onde contactan fillos e netos de emigrantes galegos con diferentes experiencias www. Os galegos somos como nos ven os demais, e ao contrario. O que se ve no espello e o reverso. Hai quen adoece cos chistes cando o seu xentilicio non sae ben parado. E que pasou? O pobre sae sempre mal parado. Predominaban apuntamentos tremendos. Pois ben. As estampas que deixou Borrow resultan xa remotas. Galicia nunca foi pobre. A xente, si. Surrealista e mais contraditorio.

Para crear unha identidade hai xente que ten que escribir unha enciclopedia de cincuenta tomos ao longo de cincuenta anos. Ten momentos de euforia e de disforia. Na Galicia houbo bos ciclistas. Era un grande erudito. Un sabio. Pero cando se lle presentou diante o Diabo non o soubo ver. Que xa aparece noutros dicionarios. Hai que tomala na dose xusta. Colgou ao galego cun sambenito de pobo tristeiro. E xa non parou de cantar deica a morte. Agora que o matino, hai moitos heroes na memoria sentimental do pobo que case non figuran nos libros. Morreu novo.

Franco, o ditador, nacera en Galicia. Era de berce tan pobre que cando emigrou foi a andar deica Madrid. O anticaciquismo e o galeguismo ilustrado como escola de internacionalismo. A ollada dun humorismo que desvela o drama. O xeito en que se exerce o poder, si. Galicia envellece. No campo e na cidade. Esta parte da sociedade xa semella retratada nun libro moi vello chamado Loanza da servidume. Considerouse unha ofensa. Amodo ho! E ademais, sen contar o Botafumeiro. Os economistas distinguen entre rendemento e riqueza, entre conta de resultados e activos.

Son imaxinativos. Todo naceu nun pequeno obradoiro de costura. As costureiras. De marabilla. Semella unha figura do pop-art, unha princesa da clase obreira. Hai outros casos que refliten que o problema do atraso de Galicia foi culpa do mal goberno. Pescanova e Zeltia. Pescanova foi pioneira na venda de peixe conxelado.

En quen sempre creu o galego foi na vaca. E pola loucura. Goza comendo, e sobre todo invitando a comer. E cumpriuno. E punto. Baixou do barco. En Galicia hai A gaita soergueuse en todos os escenarios, colleulle o xeito a todos os estilos. A Galicia faille falta cine. Ou non? A historia de Galicia non se pode confundir coa do galeguismo, e menos coa do nacionalismo. Os ilustrados galeguistas comezaron moi ben. Como matriz. Como almeiro. Un mar de mares. Unha Galicia de memoria activa e non de souvenir, de memoria andante, aventureira, que exerza o humano dereito fundamental a imaxinar.

Por que non? O tempo! Conectamos cun vendeval en Ortegal! Cando chove e quenta o sol anda o demo por Ferrol! As marabillosas nubes! Entre os fiordos e Bora-Bora. O paraugas como antena paranoica. Parece que chove. It's comforting to have confirmation of Frank Drake's visionary equation concerning the calculation of the number of civilizations in the Milky Way. Here's to Drake! And here's to the future! It's been pretty useful that I met a guy who was willing to teach me the basics of radio astronomy.

He was working as a cleaner in the enormous radar facility in the University of Cornell. The planet is called Earth. Galicia is my land on Earth. Although Galicia is and at the same time isn't in Galicia. As a place, Galicia is small. Well, that depends. It's big enough. I suppose by now you have realised that we Galicians are often known as being somewhat indecisive, arbitrary and vague, something which you will probably notice in the rest of my letter. Galicia is in the western part of Europe, in the Iberian Peninsula.

With its own political assembly, it forms part of Spain and is perched on top of Portugal. Do you guys have intergalactic passports? Galicians like to name things. We like giving things names so that those things can exist and talk. In the same way as Buddhists, Galicians know that stones only speak to us if they are given a name. A sleeping beauty awakes when one calls her by a name. The land of Galicia, from the mountains in the East to the shores of the deep ocean in the West, is like an illuminated manuscript with no empty gaps in the margins.

Our toponyms make up our literary masterpiece. The lyrics of a cosmic hip-hop. Each name is a loving stitch in an infinite piece of patchwork. In standard speech we use three thousand to five thousand words. Only in terms of centres of population there are , place names in Galicia, which is half of those registered in the whole of Spain.

And this doesn't even include the bars, wineries, inns and taverns which constitute a virtual map of the world, an unfinished piece of artistic creation in the wake of returning emigrants. This explains how, when on a pub crawl through a typical Galician town, say Vimianzo, one can go from the London to the Montevideo and from here to the Zurich and from the Zurich to the Happy Day from where you can go to the Hilton before ending up in the Fast Lane.

He treats his clients like intellectuals, regardless of what their professions may be. If you ever turn up there one day with your pointy ears, your turquoise skin and your fish-like eyes with wide-angle lenses, Manuel de Ricardo wouldn't flinch at all. As a present via radio astronomy, I'd like to send you some of our intergalactic village names translated into English. Here, the living being with the most names is the firefly, with the scientific name of Lampyris nocticula.

There are nearly one hundred synonyms in Galician! The firefly is a real shining star in Galician pop culture. Some of its names are truly amazing, all of them metaphors. Here are their literal English translations: old lady of the soup, light-in-bum, night worm, fanny-colour It emits light at all stages of its development, even when just an egg. The luminosity is especially intense in the female though. And a path paved with fireflies through the fertile gardens of your kingdom. So there you have it. Existence and movement. You know, I would like to send you a firefly.

When seen from above, and with a decrease in intergalactic distance, Galicia can seem like a congregation of fireflies. We can see those quarter of a million population centres, cities, towns, villages and hamlets, all showing a meticulous human intervention in a landscape of slate, stone, greenness and sea. A lot of sea. Galicia has, as a crude estimate, a surface area of 30, square kilometres and a coastline of 1, kilometres. Galicia has an indomitable sea which climbs over steep sea stacks, a sea which seeps inland through veins in the earth.

Our finest highway. Almost everything that came to these shores came and went by sea. To the north there is an island they call Ireland. Opposite, there is a large continent called America. The fireflies tend to wane as one moves inland. It's an extinction which is caused by pesticides and is very real, but it's also symbolic. On the paths which lead inland, man-made illumination also fades away. It is shifting westwards, the lights grouping together on the edge of the ocean. The Galicia of old is losing population.

Now they are focal points for one giant, scattered city. This is not science fiction. In no time at all we will see the emergence of a city, similar to a New Atlantis to make it sound somewhat more legendary , which will spread itself from Ferrol to Porto. A new human geography is being laced together. More than a sudden power-cut, we observe a kind of withering, a lung failure which is suffocating the ancient cosmos of an agrarian society. It can bring about comparisons, fusions and creations, with the harbour area serving as both a place and a non-place, as a breeding ground for new odysseys.

One giant port where the cranes are no longer burdened with sadness. One giant village which turns the houses towards the sea, with memories borne upon bare heads. North Atlantic Mediterranean. Changeable climate, changeable Galicia. Along a winding road a turbocharged car overtakes a tractor which overtakes an old cart. Industrial archaeology.

Fashionably unsightly architecture. An ethnographic museum. Waves which come, small waves which come and go. Beginning over again. An ironic twist of fate as the region fights against those who tell us that all hope is lost. Any part of the world can be its backside. It just depends. There are days and there are days. There are good centuries and bad centuries. Here I am with my typical Galician indecisiveness again! For a long time, Galicia was considered the end of the world by many Mediterranean civilizations.

It was here that everything ended, apart from those who lived in Fisterra, who believed the headland to be the jetty from where one would begin their journey to the Afterworld. It is said that Julius Caesar, the leader of the Great Roman Empire, came to the Galician Far West to see the smouldering sun sinking into the vast ocean furnace, etcetera.

That Empire has long since disappeared, but Galicia still remains. Here, with its jetty, its legendary lighthouse, a foghorn which bellows like a cow into the sea mist, and its avant-garde cemetery on the headland. Nowadays, Galicia is and isn't like the Far West. It took him eighteen days to get there and back. Fortunately, this difficulty with transport by road has now been solved, though the solution to the region's poor rail connections is still pending.

On Galician news programmes and in newspapers, the trains are talked about in the same way as they were talked about in 19th century California. This also aids those who like to compare Galicia to the Far West. Distance though, as you know very well, is very subjective. Is there a centre and a periphery in the Universe as a whole? I guess that this is an idea based on power relations. There are 2. In apple trees alone, we have seventy-seven different varieties. Who are we?

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Where are we headed? Where did we come from? All good questions, and questions which make up the name of a song by the shrewdest of 20th century Spanish rock groups, the Galician band of Siniestro Total. The Celts. Then there were the Romans, who were said to have given Galicia its name: Gallaecia. Then the Britons of Maeloc. The latter were, of course, defeated by the Visigoths.

Then came the Jews. Then the Moors. Then the Gypsies. Then the Maragatos. In the 18th century, it was the Catalans who gave a boost to the fishing industry, and the Basques who did the same for the tanneries. Without a doubt though, the most famous of our aliens is the Apostle of St James, a Palestinian fisherman and disciple of Jesus Christ who I already told you about in my first message to you.

The finding of his sarcophagus brought about for religious reasons the world's first grand sightseeing tour, the Way of St James. In the same way as the cross of Christ. History can be so twisted and cruel sometimes! In addition to the pilgrims who came, others who made their home here included Franks, the Flemish, and people from Genoa and Provence It's odd, but the first text written in Galician which can be accounted for actually has its roots in a poem written by a man from Provence, Rimbaud de Vaqueiras.

It's a poem about love. History can get incredibly mixed up. Incredibly so. It gets reinvented until it becomes nonsensical. St James, the Palestinian who was decapitated under Roman rule, has been turned into the patron saint of Spain and chief slayer of Muslims by our modern powers that be. Popular tradition regards history cursed as it is with some indifference, and is more enjoyably confusing than some erudite manipulations. The people who dwelled in the castros old pre-Roman forts or Celtic villages would actually have been the Moors. Personally, I like this fairly comical version of history.

I remember a conversation about the origins of a town's bridge which was recorded in writing by Xurxo Souto. The most beautiful definition of what it is to be a Galician that I have ever heard was given by an old emigrant being interviewed on the radio. There are fervent Galician Catholics that have written that Galicia was one of God's chosen lands, but unfortunately they were wrong.

The most popular star in Galician tradition is Venus. I'm really glad that the nation's most influential light belongs to this goddess. The writer Jorge Amado really loved her bread. Galicia Venus, Galicia the Motherland. Galicia is and isn't in Galicia. The most famous photograph in Galician history is one of a farewell. They are crying because the other members of their family are leaving. Sometimes though, I think they are crying because they themselves are not the ones leaving. The world as a global village. A lot is often said about goods and information, but the most defining characteristic of our times is mass migration, the great exodus of people from poor or war-torn countries towards more affluent frontiers.

Today, Galicia forms part of this more affluent world, even if our slice of the cake is somewhat peripheral. This explains why the arrival of immigrants is still quite minimal. Jobs are fairly thin on the ground and what the immigrant is looking for is bread and freedom. Simple as that. Just like Galicians did in the past.

This moment in our history is very contradictory. Paradoxical Galicia. Galicia as an oxymoron. Galicia remains in the same place geographically but its place in the world has changed. Now, in the consulates and the Spanish Embassy in Argentina, one can observe long queues of Galician descendants.

The direction of the arrow pointing to the Promised Land has been reversed. At the same time, in the last two years thousands of young Galicians have cleared off to the Canary Islands to work in either the construction industry or in hotels and catering. The novelty factor is that, quite often, some estate agents get there first. Galicia has been a global village for a while already due to the intensity of emigration, which lasted for two centuries and which ended the day before yesterday. And also due to men working at sea. The Galician fishing fleet is the largest in Europe and one can find Galician ships or with shared ownership wherever there are fish to be fished and sometimes where there are not.

This judge was born in a village in the Galician province of Ourense. He worked as a porter in the Lisboa Hotel in Vigo. Then he got in a boat and sailed the seven seas from Shanghai to Rotterdam. He had just a ten-dollar note left in his pocket when he decided to stay in Baltimore and begin a new life. He worked as a docker, a cleaner and a petrol station assistant. In the evenings, he would study law.

He then started working as a lawyer and later he finished his law degree. Behind the lives of many emigrants, we can read a novel filled with pain and hope. More than two million Galicians emigrated during the 20th century. The exodus had already become considerable halfway through the previous century due to the effect of terrible potato famines, just like in Ireland. There is currently a lot of debate concerning voting rights and the way in which emigrants on the census can participate because Galicia's diaspora has a notable effect on election results.

The opposition have already reported the fact that dozens of dead people have often voted. Obviously, I don't believe this is a fair thing to say: who said dead people were conservative voters anyway? Let me tell you the story of a cutaneous oedema. In the early seventies, a young girl left her Galician village and moved to Paris.

Here, she worked hard as a cleaner. She lived a solitary life. Shortly, when looking in the mirror, she noticed that a mark had appeared on her face. No doctor was able to remove it for her. Years later, she went back to Galicia on holiday for the first time, and the mark disappeared.

On returning to Paris, the mark reappeared again. She then got married to a metalworker and they had a daughter. Whenever they went to Galicia together on holiday, the mother's mark disappeared. When their daughter reached adolescence, the journey to Galicia had lost its attraction for her and whenever she went there, a mark would appear on her skin. This is not some kind of metaphor. It's just a true story. Within this world of emigration, there is also a flux in the opposite direction. It is the offspring of expatriates, educated as English, French, German or Swiss children, who finally want to move back to Galicia.

On the Internet there is a portal where the children and grandchildren of Galician expatriates get in touch to exchange their different life experiences www. Us Galicians are just as others see us, and the other way round too. We are what we see in the mirror but also the opposite. Some people are offended by jokes in which the group that they belong to is ridiculed in some way, but one's identity is also sculpted by the jokes that others tell about you. So us Galicians are also the Galicians depicted in jokes about Galicians. I especially liked one about a Galician man who was captured by a tribe of cannibals: while being cooked in the giant cauldron, the man kept eating the potatoes and asking for more salt.

However, when I started to travel outside Galicia it was with great surprise that I discovered that in jokes about Galicians, the Galicians were always rather dim. The other day there was an attack on the Centre for Galician Emigrants? And what happened? Someone threw a book at them. And once the ball is rolling, it's always the same story over and over again. The pauper is always poor. It was dominated by some quite shocking observations. I also admired and still admire some of the authors, which just made me even more upset. The more I read the more impressions of a negative identity I found.

For Paul Lafargue, Karl Marx's son-in-law and author of the delightful The Right to be Lazy, Galicians are of lineage cursed by their submission to working. What a fine country we've ended up in! It's true that most of its inhabitants are miserably poor, but that's their own fault and not the fault of the land.

I feel you should know that the true reason for this travelling genius making a trip to Galicia was in order to donate a translated copy of God's word to the town of Fisterra due to a promise made when he was on the verge of being shipwrecked in an English steamboat near that headland at the end of the world, when the sight of fishermen's lanterns was the only thing that kept his hopes alive.

I regard the description he made of that storm as being utterly outstanding, so vivid that it makes his book of memoires sway back and forth in our very hands. Anyway, after many adventures crossing a violent nineteenth-century Spain, Borrow arrived at Fisterra and was faced with a close encounter with death once again, this time in the hands of humans.

The locals, known as being very prone to having an overactive imagination, believed him to be a Carlist spy. What could have become of it? It's a shame a society of Quakers wasn't formed back then in Galicia. The scenes left to us by Borrow already seem far off. Nowadays, the vast majority of Galicians do not live in poverty. However, I do have the impression that, in general, Galicians have always shared that sharp contradiction formulated by that inquisitive Bible-selling Quaker. Galicia has never been poor, but Galicians have. But who is to blame? The last straw for a community struck by poverty would be to be poor in spite of the generous resources provided by the land.

This would be both surreal and contradictory. Another really important thing came to us via the sea, in an English ship: the first football. A football is like a planet in miniature and football is fascinating because it's like a war, symbolically speaking. That's life pal. In order to create an identity there are people who have to spend fifty years writing a fifty-volume encyclopaedia, but with football, in contrast, one can create an identity in an afternoon of glory, in one virtuous kick of a ball.

Arsenio Iglesias, who now coaches children, was a man who turned prejudices into a type of fondness. What many so-called spin-doctors say about Galicia can be summarised in two ideas: One, that the taste of goose barnacles is quite heavenly, and two, that if you find a Galician on a staircase then you will not know if he is going upstairs or downstairs. And that on a staircase, sometimes one thinks he is headed upstairs when in fact he is headed downstairs. Galicians are bipolar. They have moments of euphoria and of dysphoria.

He can be compared to the Celtic warrior, said to be as fierce in attack as he was prone to despair. At least that is the conclusion reached by Vicente Risco, pioneer in ethnography, after writing thousands of pages on Galician personality and very few about his own personality. I do believe, however, that it is a conclusion that is as relevant to the Celts as it is to cyclists. Galicia has turned out some good cyclists.

Anyway, I was telling you about Vicente Risco He was a great scholar and a wise, wise man. He knew more than anyone about the Devil, but when the very Devil appeared before him he was unable to recognise him. He joined the ranks of Spanish fascists and wrote his share of nonsense about racial issues and made evil remarks about Jews which he himself then tried to forget.

Please accept my sending you this word as a present, so that you can spread it around on your planet. It's associated with a painful past, of loss and of emigration. It's similar to the word saudade, often used in fado music from Portugal or in morna from Cape Verde. The greatest ballad writer from Galicia was probably Pucho Boedo.

Insurrectos arrepentidos. Dificultades financieras. Los realistas entran en Tepic. Precauciones que deben tomarse en California. Marzo 5. Los realistas entran en Zacatecas. Marzo 7. Marzo 9. Marzo Se debe emplear la mayor severidad con los frailes Conejo y Orozco. Febrero 11 de Monclova, marzo 28 de Hidalgo, el Br. Chihuahua, Real Hospital, mayo 18 de Manifiesto del Lic. Ignacio, estando en capilla. Monclova, junio 18 de Cartas dirigidas a D. Mariano, por su esposa. Hidalgo [Miguel], Cura. El legajo tiene una portada manuscrita. Sin fecha ni lugar. Rovigo, Duque de. Bravo, Brigadier.

Veracruz, costa de. Rosains, Juan Nepomuceno. Noticias remitidas al Virey por los Visados hechos en diferentes lugares. Alien Office [Londres], julio 3 de Cedrotti, Giacomo. Hay tres sellos. Fernando VII. Noviembre de Venadito, Conde del.

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Al opulento Imperio Mexicano. Breishaupt, August. Debost, [? Refrendado por Chevereau y otra firma ilegible. Brissot-Thivars, [? Leman, J. Petuzon, Et. Noviembre 10 de Herrera, J. Herrera, Mariano de. Paz, [? Impresa 2 fs. Michelena, J. Francia; Gormith [Goldsmith]; Esteva; D.

Pablo [la Llave]; Rocafuerte. Impreso 2 fs. Signatarios: el Dr. Anaya, Juan Pablo. Proyecto para mejorar el servicio de correos. Pedraza, Man. Reembolso de pesos. Rocafuerte, Victe. Candolle, [A. Esteva, J. Moctezuma, Franco. Bustamante, Anasto. Domingo Savinon. IV, Sin destinatario ni firma. Iglesias, Juan Nep. Reflexiones sobre las colonias europeas en el Departamento de Tejas.

Los colonos europeos se adaptan al nuevo ambiente con dificultad. Salgado; Yorkinos. Rosains, Juan Nepomo. Rocafuerte, Vcte. Landero, Pedro D. Moreno; Anzorena. Elecciones en Francia. Mangino, Rafael. Impresa 2 f. Grandi, Juan D. Facio; Veracruz; Espinosa; Michelena. Espinosa, J.

Itinerario de viaje. Comida con el vicepresidente Bustamante. Baradere, H. Mora, Ignacio de. Quintanar, Luis.

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El Papa; Da Narcisa; Arechederreta. Otero, Pedro. Propaganda contra el gobierno. Recientes reformas constitucionales en Suiza. Berlandier; Francia; Inglaterra; Wellington; Dr. Montes de Oca, Isidoro. Beneski de Beaufort, Carlos. Se regocija por la victoria de Tolome. Felicitaciones por la reciente derrota de Santa-Anna. Vargas, [? Valdovinos, [Mucio]. Cuevas, Luis G. Riesgo, Juan Miguel.

Rosa, Luis de la. Romero, Vicente. Negrete, Pedro Celestino. Impresa 1 f. Agosto 28 de Couto, Berndo. Bustamante, C. Couto, Bernardo. Paredes y Arrillaga, Marno. Veramendi, M. Bustamante, Carlos M. Consejo de Gobierno. Baranda, Manuel. C, an. Copia manuscrita. Contestaciones relativas a los sucesos de Guanajuato El Amigo del Pueblo Nos 43, 56 y 70, del 30 de septiembre, 30 de octubre y 2 de diciembre de Hidalgo y Costilla, Miguel; e Ignacio Allende. Trigueiros, Y. Morales, Juan Baut. Bustamante, Carlos Ma. Murphy, Franco. Barrio, F. Pase por la garita de San Cosme [No , a favor del] Sr.

Impreso 1 f. Prieto, G. Cortina y de Castro, Conde de la. Taylor, Charles. Guanajuato; N. Valdovinos, Mucio. Clase de gobierno que deseaban establecer los revolucionarios. Casas saqueadas por la gente de Hidalgo en Valladolid. Muerte de Matamoros. Blanco, Santiago. Mora, M. Payno y bustamante, Manuel. Ampudia, Pedro de. Con una nota de J. Iturbide; Gallegos; J. Morales, Juan Bauta. Abril Arista, Maro. Chimalpopocalt Galicia, Faustino. Carvajal, Vicente. Pedraza, Manl G. En el vol. Gordoa, Pablo R. I de la Historia. Unas simples reflexiones sobre la historia.

La letra parece ser de Juan M. Historia del bandido Pillo Madera. Trabajo del Padre N. Corona; San Luis. Irisarri, A.

La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)
La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)
La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)
La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)
La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)
La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)
La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)
La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition) La vida en (la) compañía: la historia real de un matrimonio de espías (Spanish Edition)

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