A soldier and hero now forgotten
Carlo Delcroix, bard of Pain
gloriously maimed in the Great War, was able to ascend to the heights of lyrical narrative
and was a symbol of the Invalides military causes - His ever-living word -
When the Lord went black enough to snatch the feeble body of the god in human form, it is natural that he resists extreme battle, but if the you win, would always be the sign. Supreme skill of the soul is to transfuse the scar, the mark of everlasting Darkness in infinite Light who can drink the miserable, the other brothers affected by pain. Could be condensed so the apostolic life of Charles Delcroix, military heroism, great Italian silver medal for Valor, a figure at the present day-in times of forgetfulness of shining examples of patriotism-mindless forgotten by many, but remembered by those who still believe the sublime virtues of sacrifice that makes a saint, in this example is to govern the survivors. In a time where some, with great difficulty, he endeavored to celebrate the one hundred fiftieth anniversary of Italian unity, while others undermine artfully, it seems to us absolutely necessary to remember this great son of our motherland, che visse sino a non molti anni fa, martoriato sì nel corpo ma lucidissimo nell’anima, trasparente megafono della vita come era anche ferita vivente della violenza che gli ghermì, senza tuttavolta fiaccarlo, le carni.
Come spiegare a’ giovani del XXI secolo chi fu, chi è ancora Carlo Delcroix? Si risponderebbe subito, senza retorica ma con convinzione assoluta: un eroe. Un eroe vero, non costrùtto nel mito, non incasellato in una bolgia di ipocrisie, non immerso in un oceano di menzogne: un eroe autentico, un apostolo del Dolore, questo "dio senza altari", come egli scrisse, che diede forza e vividità a coloro che come lui furono duramente colpiti dalla guerra. Poiché se vi fu conflitto che chiuse il Renaissance and cement forever the unity of Italy in recent weeks that we celebrate, sometimes without memory, this was the first, or the so-called "Great War". In that battle and deadly earnest of blood and glory, tens of migliaja of Italians, from the Deep South to northern lands, unironsi the Supreme Command of the King-who really personified the strength then, the lighthouse of the Nation: that King soldier was among them, in the trenches, at the conference in Peschiera defended almost Country dall'arretramento also wanted by the Allies, that Vittorio Emanuele III, who years later still guaranteed, but on the little person with his acciajo, the continuity of the state, as well as President Emeritus Ciampi has publicly acknowledged in 2003 - to accomplish the inevitable destiny. Battle felt like it was not the second war battle Holocaust, when many jumped into the burning ecstasy.
Among the many, the lieutenant of the 3rd Sharpshooters Carlo Delcroix of Florence, where he was born in August 1896, Belgian father, Italian mother: coll'ardore of twenty years had performed courageous service in the Alps, the Marmolada, conquered Col di Lana. And it was an unfortunate exercise in order to save the lives of soldiers, the incident that took place that the mutilated hands and deprived him of sight. So the story of his colleague Lieutenant Minghetti, "Delcroix was the snow, in a pool of blood. He had lost his hands and eyes and appeared injured in many other parts of the body ... limp and lifeless eyes were blood-soaked black, face and lips were swollen as the blaze burned 's explosion. Hundreds of the fragments were embedded in the whole body, especially in the 'abdomen and chest, with deep wounds ... The stumps of the arms showed a bloody mixture of muscles, tendons, nerves and bones broken up violently. "Despite the enormous losses blood, the irrepressible youth ordered him to live, and he lived. He was a devotee of the studies, and graduated in Literature and in Law. Mutilus and blind, was not in oratory, where he became teacher with unexpected skill: uttered fiery speeches to the military and civilians, in a few years became a symbol of the Maimed in Italy, where the National Association was the founder and President. Also founded and chaired the Italian Blind Union. He had a brilliant rhetoric, and escaped to the honor that's bestowed Fascism: after all, it was the regime of Benito Mussolini who had given shelter and surrender to the veterans, the disabled, war wounded, framing not only in terms and administrative work in the new nation formed by the corporate state, but had made almost a flag, a national claims of the powerful mystique. Carlo Delcroix nevertheless had a Assaji decisive and strong personality to succumb completely fascist authoritarianism. The rest of her figure was always above any suspicion of partisanship, unanimously recognized as a unifying and symbolic of the mutilated combatants authentic heroes of the Fatherland. Therefore Maimed also remained President of the Second World War, and in 1953 became Member of Parliament for the National Monarchist Party. He was a staunch supporter of the sacred figure of the Savoy monarchy which glue necessary to the construction of the country, and remained, in speeches for all Sixties held in the squares of the nation, for the PNM and then PDIUM, also known as "Stella and Corona ". Married and the father of offspring, Carlo Delcroix si spegneva ottantenne a Firenze nell’ottobre del 1977.
A noi rimane indelebile la sua parola di letterato: perché la vena poetica del Delcroix fu fervida e feconda. Chi ancor oggi, non più ristampati ma presenti nei negozi di libri vecchi, si imbatte ne "I miei Canti", in "Un uomo ed un popolo" (biografia di Mussolini commovente, alcune pagine della quale divennero antologiche: "Io non ho mai visto il Duce, ma dalla sua voce…") e "Quando c’era il Re", per citare tre fra i suoi molti libri, scopre una umanità immensa tra le piaghe dilacerate di un uomo felice anche nella sua sofferenza, e profondamente cristiano. Il libro che più disvela l’animo del letterato Delcroix è per noi "Sette Saints without candles, 1925, published, like almost everyone, from Vallecchi of Florence in its narrative in the vein of part-dannunziana pitch later when we discover the influences of the Papini-dissolves into a lyrical prose infinite, almost sperdentesi between pages but coll'immancabile thread of conviction of being the herald, the voice of incorruptible people who have no voice, the "saints without candles" in fact, the maimed who returned to their homes and have, after having shed their blood for the country, entitled to those awards that do not go out after the usual whining of the immediate. "Who knows in the iron chain hammering arms and crowns or in prison can carve stone images, and are, who knows how to draw nourishment from his wounds and inspiration from his sentence, will never be beaten, never conquered. And I'm not blind and I walk because I believe, are not a victim because lot and I love, I am not a beggar because I can and giving, I am a man to be envied or pitied, like all men, with a win more less with a weapon .... "He realizes that the monument of human suffering, the pain, he deserted the altars: it is then a priest of this god:" The man raised his stakes and are erected to all the gods but not never raised a temple to the pain: this unknown god visited people through the ages and had no home nor believers but found his revenge e la sua vittoria sono nella stessa incomprensione di quanti deprecando lo chiamano e rinnegando lo confessano non accorti di esserne invasi fino al delirio e posseduti fino allo spavento. Nessuno vi crede e tutti lo temono, nessuno lo accetta e tutti lo sentono che mai dio ebbe più testimoni e meno credenti". Adesso che si tenta pure di nascondere i testimoni contemporanei del dolore, esaltando quasi all’inverosimile il piacere pur di mascherare il resto, la voce di Carlo Delcroix appare quasi necessaria, forse più del tempo suo. Perché quando "l’umanità sarà sempre triste ma meno vile" avrà accettato, come nel dettato cristiano, il sacrificio quale "non più fato ma provvidenza: il dolore riconosciuto nume scopre il secret of his chain, announces the gifts of his penis and the regret turns into hope and the need for love. "
Delcroix's poetry is ultimately a motionless flight, in the wake of the great Italian, to the sublime purity of the wing:" I am not what more tight \\ chest in the anguish of greeting; \\ I am new, unknown child, \\ perhaps more than you expect ... nothing has changed on the hearth, \\ you are left in me that day as \\ e although I do not find me I can find; \\ give me your hand and let me go around, \\ are not yet tired of trying "(dedicated to his mother, his other son, by my songs). mists of time agonizing, even long eclipse , Codest: nevertheless, that "blood is purple in the sun", in gratitude to the soul of Delcroix, you need to keep on hoping to start a daily sprinkling of renewed life.
A noi rimane indelebile la sua parola di letterato: perché la vena poetica del Delcroix fu fervida e feconda. Chi ancor oggi, non più ristampati ma presenti nei negozi di libri vecchi, si imbatte ne "I miei Canti", in "Un uomo ed un popolo" (biografia di Mussolini commovente, alcune pagine della quale divennero antologiche: "Io non ho mai visto il Duce, ma dalla sua voce…") e "Quando c’era il Re", per citare tre fra i suoi molti libri, scopre una umanità immensa tra le piaghe dilacerate di un uomo felice anche nella sua sofferenza, e profondamente cristiano. Il libro che più disvela l’animo del letterato Delcroix è per noi "Sette Saints without candles, 1925, published, like almost everyone, from Vallecchi of Florence in its narrative in the vein of part-dannunziana pitch later when we discover the influences of the Papini-dissolves into a lyrical prose infinite, almost sperdentesi between pages but coll'immancabile thread of conviction of being the herald, the voice of incorruptible people who have no voice, the "saints without candles" in fact, the maimed who returned to their homes and have, after having shed their blood for the country, entitled to those awards that do not go out after the usual whining of the immediate. "Who knows in the iron chain hammering arms and crowns or in prison can carve stone images, and are, who knows how to draw nourishment from his wounds and inspiration from his sentence, will never be beaten, never conquered. And I'm not blind and I walk because I believe, are not a victim because lot and I love, I am not a beggar because I can and giving, I am a man to be envied or pitied, like all men, with a win more less with a weapon .... "He realizes that the monument of human suffering, the pain, he deserted the altars: it is then a priest of this god:" The man raised his stakes and are erected to all the gods but not never raised a temple to the pain: this unknown god visited people through the ages and had no home nor believers but found his revenge e la sua vittoria sono nella stessa incomprensione di quanti deprecando lo chiamano e rinnegando lo confessano non accorti di esserne invasi fino al delirio e posseduti fino allo spavento. Nessuno vi crede e tutti lo temono, nessuno lo accetta e tutti lo sentono che mai dio ebbe più testimoni e meno credenti". Adesso che si tenta pure di nascondere i testimoni contemporanei del dolore, esaltando quasi all’inverosimile il piacere pur di mascherare il resto, la voce di Carlo Delcroix appare quasi necessaria, forse più del tempo suo. Perché quando "l’umanità sarà sempre triste ma meno vile" avrà accettato, come nel dettato cristiano, il sacrificio quale "non più fato ma provvidenza: il dolore riconosciuto nume scopre il secret of his chain, announces the gifts of his penis and the regret turns into hope and the need for love. "
Delcroix's poetry is ultimately a motionless flight, in the wake of the great Italian, to the sublime purity of the wing:" I am not what more tight \\ chest in the anguish of greeting; \\ I am new, unknown child, \\ perhaps more than you expect ... nothing has changed on the hearth, \\ you are left in me that day as \\ e although I do not find me I can find; \\ give me your hand and let me go around, \\ are not yet tired of trying "(dedicated to his mother, his other son, by my songs). mists of time agonizing, even long eclipse , Codest: nevertheless, that "blood is purple in the sun", in gratitude to the soul of Delcroix, you need to keep on hoping to start a daily sprinkling of renewed life.
Baron of Sealand (Jordan Francis)
Published in Sicily Sera No. 331, August 1, 2010
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