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Deborah Samson American Revolution

Scalenghe, October 13, 1693 Literary Award

remember the sound of horses and the deep roar that rose until it became deafening while he filled his ears and head. I remember the smell of damp dust that penetrated into the eyes and throat and made you breathe. I remember the cries of those who said women to run away and hide somewhere. I remember the tears of a child left alone in the middle of the road, while soldiers and horsemen's darting around, miraculously without touching it. I remember the smashed gates of the fence as if they were paper, through which entered an infinite number of soldiers, after which we had foolishly deluded those poor palisades could protect and uncontrolled barbarian horde. I remember that came sweeping everything and everyone, because we had no defenses against them, we were not sure we few men, armed only with pitchforks and some old rusty sword in order to keep out of the country eager for a foreign army looting. Thus
broke in the middle of the square: first the cavalry, then the troops on foot. Next to them was the captain, proud and calm on his horse: General Catinat, they said. At a sign from him, some officers around him rushed orders and there broke barbarism. Groups of soldiers entered every house, which thankfully in the majority were empty. Who was able to escape had done to the countryside, or on the side of Cercenasco Buriasco, many, almost all the old, women and children had taken refuge in the church of S. Catherine, prompted by the priest who firmly believed that the solid walls and the relation of God would stop the invaders, and in this at least he was right.
Those who had not left their homes and were hiding in cellars or attics, deceiving themselves in this way to be safe and protect their property, had no escape. All were found and killed on the spot, or worse yet dragged down the street and murdered after being subjected to ridicule and torture of all kinds, which happened also to those who had been caught on the street to escape somewhere. In a dead woman was a prey to the desires of four soldiers: a group of men including Gio Battista and Anthony Ugo, intervened in his defense, but the soldiers responded with violence, and while one continued to hold the woman, the other poor villagers massacred that they had been disturbed. Anthony was killed with an ax, Gio Battista killed with the sword and thrown in a corner, the rest fled, then the barbarians make their offense and eventually even the woman was spared. At such times the life of a man had, for the soldiers, more valuable than a chicken or a rabbit. Nor any house remained unscathed by the ferocity of the French: it was of poorer where there was almost nothing be taken, or it was the richest man where the soldiers were all that were low. They took away what they thought of value destroying and throwing out everything else, furniture, clothing, household goods, in the end, without fail, set fire to the building. Surprised their incredible ability to empty a building and throw it on the street within a few minutes.
At night the country was reduced in flames.
And while all this was happening, the courtyard of the Lords Piossasco, General Catinat, sitting on a chair in the field of painting, sipping a glass of red wine, chatting amiably with his officers, while waiting for the end of the raid. At
end of the day had no better luck not even the same castle: the few servants who defended it were passed by the weapons in a few moments, then, after the savage looting, soldiers dragged in front of the building a gun campaign, making subject of many blows that opened wide gaps in the walls. So the foundations were undermined and eventually it too was set on fire. At night the heat of the fire did explode mines and down the castle was in ruins.
I saw this last scene from above, because impotent and incapable of doing something, even if I had taken refuge in the church, then I came up with other men in the attic of the building where we had removed some tiles coming out to watch the harrowing spectacle of our country destroyed. To the amazement of everyone, but as the priest had predicted, the church was not touched, even if its outside wall was the place chosen by the soldiery to urinate and defecate.

Yet all this did not come unexpected. The first sign that something serious would have happened had it at the end of September. We were intent on working in a ditch to go on the road when we saw Campolungo Castagnole of a convoy of two cars and four wagons loaded with household goods of all kinds, accompanied by horsemen. They were the inhabitants of the castle, lords of the family Piossasco, Scalenghe who left for Turin. It was very unusual because never in our memory Piossasco the Lords had left the country leaving only a few to guard the palace servants.
few days later, however, came news that the French had descended the valley of Susa and were attacking the Duke Vittorio Amedeo behind as he tried to take Pinerolo. In fact, paying attention, we realized that the gunfire had stopped that night, a few weeks, they felt constantly come from the direction of Pinerolo and we could not hear anything. But it was the day it was learned that four of the battle. We climbed the tower to look towards the north in the direction of Volver. Despite the distance, I distinctly heard the roar of combat. Clouds of smoke rose into the sky were seen throughout the day, while messengers to bring the countries reached some news. Now the Duke seemed to prevail, now seemed to have the best French. Then everything stopped and was never heard anything for a few days.
The first vanguard of those who escaped, coming from Airasca, clarify the doubts over who had prevailed in the terrible battle. The French! They had won the French! We all had clear in my head what would happen. They spent two days of relative calm, which strengthened the palisades while, someone dared to hope that the army Catinat would return back to the Susa Valley, or would direct to Turin. But the next morning was clear to all our destiny. And while the first riders looked out at the gates of our country, the inhabitants of the Parish had already fled to the countryside, leaving their homes as a sought-after prey in the rear of the invading army.

remember that we left the church in the early hours of dawn, after the French were gone. I remember us walking in the country, looking for someone between the houses that were still alive. I remember one of them will hear a faint cry and went up on the first floor, I saw that on the bed there was the corpse of a young woman, Rose, at his side lay a French soldier, who also died, with a dagger stuck in the heart. In a corner whimpering of a baby about a year, his son the girl. I picked her up and went out into the street. Meanwhile, I heard a distant rumble and I turned to see where it came from.
looked to the south. In the sky
Cercenasco already saw the smoke rise of the first fire.

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town of Pinerolo

The story "The Piave whispered ..." ranked 4th place in the National Literary Prize XX City of Pinerolo.

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Ousitanio

The four stone houses form a square that is little more than a widening of the road is so narrow. On one side of a wisteria salt clinging to a small balcony that juts out toward the four players who are giving their best performance of a curent of Varaita. Sitting
the table of the old inn, go listen to the imperfect and the hurdy-gurdy organ to which they make to counter the flute and violin, while at the center of the square two men and two women perform with the popular figures of the dance steps.
From time to time the evening breeze leaves the mountains and down to fill the streets and the courtyards between the houses, while the moon peeping out from somewhere above the rooftops.
There is an old man sitting in front of the house, apparently deep in thought, and I imagine he's thinking about a night like this, when you were young and in this square, after a day of toil on the steep field, tried still find a way to talk to the girl in front, be seen that without looking at him from time to time, hoping to invite her to dance. The players change
music, attacking a Bouree and I start thinking about how beautiful this music, ancient and modern together, that seems locked in the mountains, but it suddenly flies away and then feel that speaks of Provence and Gascony, with the scent of lavender and larch, which smacks of polenta with anchovies, travel, wind, sun and sea.
the music ends, the dancers stop and the old part of the house, then I get up and go by the players, I just want to congratulate him, but we begin to talk and talk and little by little I do find out what it means to Occitan. It 's late, then a final finish bicchiere e vado anche io, mentre penso alle parole della canzone:
“Remesclas. De sang e de musica, de temps e de gents, de raives e d’ideas. L’òme que coneis sa terra a ren pòur, se mescla. E remescla. Aquò qu’aiva dran a-n-aquò qu’al a devant. Aquò que ven da luenh e aquò qu’es siu. Aquò que se pòl veire e aquò que se pantalha. Lo sonarie que vira viatgia e pòrta via, ritorna e pòrta a-n-aquò siu aquò qu’a vist e aquò qu’a escotat. Sonaire de viola. Sonaire de valada. Valadas occitanas, valadas de frontiera. Valadas de remesclas.” (Lou Dalfin)