"Sergeant, war means murder, always ... you now just want to set an example: killing lords is not the same as killing peasants! By denying grace you contribute... I am saying you, Baron von Feilitzsch, because here you are... you contribute to the destruction of the civilization of which you and I... and this boy... are a part, and civilization is more important than the fate of the Habsburgs themselves, or of the Savoy." Pride, patriotism, hatred, love: pure and ancient passions mingle and clash with each other, clouded rather than cooled by the sense, also ancient, of reticence and honor. Villa Spada, a stately home in a small town a few kilometers from the Piave River, in the days between November 9, 1917 and October 30, 1918: we are in the geographical area and time frame of the defeat of Caporetto and the Austrian conquest. In the villa live the gentlemen: grandfather Guglielmo Spada, an original, and grandmother Nancy, cultured and daring; aunt Maria, who keeps the running of the house in hand; young Paolo, seventeen years old, an orphan, in the midst of the fury of age; young Giulia, racy and a little crazy, with her flaming hair. And the servants move about in chores: the cook Teresa, hard as boxwood and of seasoned wisdom; the stolid daughter Loretta; and the gigantic janitor Renato, recently come to the villa. The story, which young Paul tells, begins with the settlement in the large house of the enemy military command. A crude episode of violence on peasant maidens and mockery of the village priest ignites the desire for revenge. A conflict in which all is lost, a patriotic conspiracy in which the clash of psychologies creeps in, made worthy or miserable by the impossibility of forgiveness, and of separating love and hate, respect and victory. And there remains a sense of low horizon, a claustrophobia, which ironically persists in contrast to the immense space of war operations.