Wilbur Forrest

New York Tribune/November 19, 1922

King Wavered, Then Gave Over Power to “Black Shirt” Chief

ITALY, sliding along past the car window on either side looks as peaceful as any semi-tropical landscape—smiling fields and hills dotted with dark green olive trees all bathed in a yellow sun. Towns and villages through which this train has passed since it left Rome appear as normal and quiescent as usual, restful to the nerves by their lack of commotion and agreeable to the eye in their architectural yellows and reddish browns.

A few days ago it was another story. Throughout much of the length and breadth of Italy there was a something in the air, at first difficult to see, but easy to feel—waves of revolt converging on Rome.

Italy was passing through a revolution such as has seldom been equaled in history. The rebels were not comparatively small bands of men gathered secretly for simultaneous surprise attacks on federal strongholds. They were tens of thousands, mostly in their teens, answering a sort of holy order to mobilize by any means of transportation available, from railway trains to cars, carrying whatever weapons came to hand, at the several gates of Rome to there await the orders of the high chief, one Benito Mussolini.

Sixty thousand of Mussolini’s young blackshirts were converging on the capital as early as Saturday, October 28, and twelve hours earlier the news of their coming had given the king and the government the choice between resistance and submission. The government decided on maintenance of order by force, and hastily prepared a decree declaring Italy in a state of siege. King Emmanuel was not agreeable to a measure which would have prepared all the elements of civil war and possibly a political upheaval of such abrupt nature as to shake the throne. He refused to sign the siege order and made overtures to the Fascisti chieftain at Milan, offering him liberal part in the formation of a new government.

King Surrenders to Power Which Mussolini Possessed

But Mussolini, up north there in Milan, held the big cards and knew it. His men were at the moment on all spokes of the wheel moving toward the hub—mobilizing on the capital. The King, too, knew that Mussolini held the cards and made his bid for peace. His second telegram to Milan gave Mussolini unconditional control of a new government, with the Fascist chief as Prime Minister.

Mussolini hurried from Milan to Lago Garda, the seat of Gabriel D’Annunzio, his friend and counsellor. Then he accepted the King’s invitation.

Whether ex-Premier Facta and his colleagues knew it or not, Benito Mussolini and King Victor Emmanuel saw that the country was virtually behind this unique mobilization of black-shirted army then “bumming” its way toward Rome. Mussolini and his followers must have known that chances were strong for only passive resistance from all but a small percentage of the regular Italian army. A few loyal units in Rome would have obeyed orders to bar the gates against the besieging forces, but the bulk of the country’s established military organization would doubtless have risen in sullen protest against bloodshed.

From sources which obviously cannot be given here I am informed that Mussolini had examined all aspects of his radical means against the Facta government. He knew that his men—who look upon his person as that of a demi-god—were with him, come what may. He knew also that Italy was sympathetic, and that success, either by force or intimidation, was certain.

The mobilization of this Fascist army was as unique as it was impressive. I was able to witness an important section of it, but without knowledge at the time that Mussolini’s experiment was to pass off as it did, and was also fortunate enough to slip into Rome by the only gate remaining open to the military on Sunday, October 29. All trains at that time had ceased to leave or enter the capital.

It was in Turin the previous day that the something which was in the air began to be felt. Wild rumors were afloat, all telegraphic communication with the outside was forbidden and black-shirted men, mostly young men, began to board railway trains headed south. They carried shotguns, rifles of various calibers, blackjacks, hand grenades, and loaded clubs. They offered no tickets as fare and a heavy guard of troops in charge of the Turin station did not molest them, but looked on with what seemed a certain approbation.

Troops Offered No Bar as Fascists Board Trains

The train in which I traveled south was liberally sprinkled with these young legionnaires. We picked up more of them at Genoa and proceeded on south, boarded at every station by small groups. At Pisa another contingent mingled with the regular troops in the station and came aboard. The force grew throughout the night and the morning. At Civita Vecchia the train was crowded to the guards with these young bloods, carrying their mixed assortment of arms and wearing raiment as nondescript as the weapons, except the blackshirt badge of the Fascisti. Many wore the small black fez-like cap, but many were hatless. Some had the crude insignia of their local branches embroidered on their caps or shirts, and many had affected the skull and cross bones designed, undoubtedly as a warning of death to all categories of radicals, communists, socialists and others—the sworn enemies of Fascism.

Civita Vecchia, the ancient fortress city on the blue Mediterranean, is less than two hours by train from Rome. In this town more than 5,000 Fascisti had massed by Sunday noon, fed into it by the railway line from the north within twenty-four hours after the general mobilization order had been flashed to all parts of Italy.

Here were all the elements of a bloody battle. Five thousand troops were also on hand, 6,000 government troops and 6,000 Fascisti, opposed to the government and bent on its overthrow. Troops held the railway station but allowed incoming Blackshirts to leave their trains and join their comrades in the town. The railroad from Civitavecchia to Rome was broken in spots and controlled by 10,000 Fascisti further on. Trains could only turn back north.

Armed Fascisti faced armed troops in the streets and a quarrel, a stray shot, a small riot would have started serious bloodshed.

Troops had formed barriers across the wide avenue paralleling the sea. Fascist groups made no attempt to force their way through these barriers, but calmly maneuvered their way over walls through residential gardens around them. The troops made no effort to stop them. It looked like trouble. Every man was carrying a man-killing weapon. A quick succession of shots sounded from a side street. A squad of troops leisurely detached from one of the barrier positions and led by a young officer marched in the direction to investigate. There was no sequel. A Fascist youth of sixteen had been trying out his small automatic pistol on an alley rat and he was located and told to be quiet. He good-naturedly accepted the advice and sauntered off. Had he fired into a group of soldiers it would have been different.

I afterwards learned that the scene in Civita Vecchia was typical of that in many towns which marked the breaking points of rail communication with Rome. If such a situation could arise in the United States, armed irregulars advancing on all sides toward Washington, it would take little imagination to develop the scene.

My trip from Civita Vecchia to Rome in a motor truck requisitioned by an Italian general was strictly reminiscent of the big war. Civita Vecchia, which incidentally is a name hard to say but which means “Old Citadel”, though a moderate sized town on the sea, was a good side-line seat in the big show that appeared ready to begin, but Rome was the extra special reserved seat, and Rome therefore appeared the normal place to “get.”

Someone was once credited with that ancient platitude “All roads lead to Rome,” but it wasn’t true on this particular occasion. For the individual anxious to get to Rome there remained one road, and it was a roundabout route at that. All others led into the camps of the Fascisti, who had a great deal to say about ingress and egress for that matter.

The problem was only solved after locating the Italian general commanding the local garrison. This officer was found to have a genuine admiration for Americans in general and John J. Pershing in particular.

He sympathized with my desire to get to Rome, but notwithstanding his great regard for Americans in general he was forced to explain that the pestiferous Fascisti had requisitioned every private motor car in Civita Vecchla and the garrison itself was without transportation not urgently needed in the present crisis. He kindly offered a military pass in case I might locate a vehicle, and even suggested the pass might operate on a walking tour, but the shortest route to Rome via Marinello was cluttered up by 10,000 Fascisti, and they might not honor the pass. To go by this route in an automobile anyway would risk the confiscation of the car.

It was here that it became necessary to invoke the name of John J. Pershing, America’s military leader, signed with his own hand in May, 1918, a military pass on which was attached my picture and general description; likewise thereon permission to circulate freely in the zones of the American army. Together with other pieces of identification, the Pershing pass was presented to the Italian general. This officer spoke excellent French, but read no English. But he could read the firm handwriting of Pershing and recognize the attached photo, not yet sufficiently worn and faded to obscure the United States insignia.

Name of Pershing Brings Assistance in Nick of Time

The situation changed immediately. The general promised to do all possible, and within thirty minutes a privately owned motor truck and civilian chauffeur and military passes were ready, and, with several others permitted to take advantage of the transportation, the Tribune representative was en route to Rome with orders scrupulously to dodge the road via Marinello, with its stronghold of 10,000 Fascisti.

The road taken, therefore, was the only one remaining in the hands of the military. We passed through many barriers of wire entanglements, hastily constructed, and through cavalry, infantry and artillery prepared for business. It was a unique view of Italy’s revolution and sufficient in itself to show that the governmental turnover was not the result of a bit of “horseplay,” as the heavy censorship of Rome sought to make it appear. The road over which we “motor-trucked” through fifty miles of campagna, via Lago de Bracciano, to Rome, was conspicuous for its lack of Blackshirts, but notwithstanding this extraordinary situation, their cordon around the Eternal City was practically complete.

This was on Sunday. Only on Monday was Rome absolutely sure that the Fascisti had won their bloodless revolution and that Mussolini was to arrive personally to set up his new government.

Sunday Rome was virtually cut off from the outside world.

Monday Mussolini arrived, and Monday night groups of his men from the camps on the outside began to enter the city. Tuesday Rome saw with its own eyes enough to show that King Victor Emmanuel’s haste to turn the government over to Mussolini had been a wise precaution. All previous attempts at news censorship, by manifesto or otherwise, to cover up the real situation could not curtain the more serious side of the political turnover when some thirty thousand Fascisti, in scrupulously correct military formation, filed through the streets.

The discipline of these men was admirable. They were but half the number that had gathered at Rome’s gates. The others turned around and retraced their steps homeward without a glimpse of the capital which they had come to take. But those who were allowed to march in Rome were a fair sample of what Rome might have seen under different auspices if the King had seen fit to support the Facta ministry in its decision to resist.

Pieces of Artillery Mark Line of Black Shirt Marchers

It required about five and a half hours for the black-shirted demonstration to pass a given point on the Corso Umberto. Wicked little machine guns mounted on motor cars spoke silent volumes about what might have been. Contingents appeared here and there in line equipped with regulation arms and with a bearing which told of no mean knowledge of military matters. There were even some pieces of artillery. There were war veterans, their chests laden with medals. But the majority were youngsters, cloaking adventure with patriotism—handsome faces and wicked faces mingled together. What would have happened in Rome if this Fascist “division” had been turned loose upon it, out of control? Romans asked themselves, and the answer demanded no great stretch of imagination. As it stood, they were under admirable restraint, directed by a discipline which told of many months of secret preparation in all parts of Italy for the day Fascism would become the government. The parade over, they marched to the railway stations and were taken home to demobilize.

Italy today is a Fascist nation. The country’s national hymn may well be said to be “Giovinezza,” the catchy air which has played a significant part in the growth of the movement. It means literally “Youth,” and restaurants and theaters played it constantly during the brief black-shirt occupation. One orchestra leader discovered to his sorrow that he had left the song out of his repertoire. He was directed by a handful of playful Fascisti to go out and buy it and until he returned one Rome theater was without music other than a many-throated “Giovinezza” from the audience.

While a few serious riots occurred with some loss of life Rome took the invading force with placid tolerance. A few Communists who dared to remain and talk were roughly handled.

Some found their heads forcibly shaved and the pates decorated with stripes of red, white and green, the Italian national colors. But others fled to the country well in advance of the arrival of the anti-red hosts.

Dramatic Gesture Was No Surprise in Trend of Events

Benito Mussolini, who has guided the semi-secret organization which Italy has now watched walk entirely into the open, is, in the opinion of many observers of Italian politics, the vital force of character that Italy needs. An American who has spent, much time in Italy and who is in a position to observe the “inside” of Italian politics from a “reserved seat” told me:

“Mussolini’s dramatic gesture came with no surprise to those who have been watching him closely for the last few months. He is a man of resolution and force, and if he has not yet proved statesmanship his chances are good for success. I have observed political crises before in Rome, but I have never seen such general optimism with coming of a new government as now. Usually the Italians are as pessimistic after a ministerial shake-up as they were previously. The Cabinet which he has chosen I would call not only good but excellent.”

To those who have talked to the new Italian Chief of State there can be no doubt as to his force of character. I called at the Savoia Hotel the day before Mussolini announced his ministry, which was the same day he arrived from Milan. He had just been to see the King. It required little argument with his entourage to convince them that Mussolini should say something at once for publication in New York. Ten minutes later I was ushered through the heavy fascist guard which barred the hotel stairway and was standing in the small anteroom of the leader’s suite, where he and Deputy Finzi, his constant companion, were about to sit down to lunch.

The first impression was that Mussolini was a poseur. He stood there very erect—almost scowling. After the handshake he wanted to know what was wanted and gave the impression that time was worthwhile. He did not offer a chair or take one himself. Information required was shot back something like a good tennis player handles a fast serve.

Mussolini answers his questions firmly and clean cut. This is only normal, because any student of character would expect nothing else from him.

The new Italian Premier has not a benevolent face. He would not make a good minister or missionary or Y. M. C. A. secretary or male nurse. This is due mainly to his chin, which is that of a fighter. His eyes show a trifle more of the white than with the ordinary mortal, and his nose is aquiline and his lower jaw is wide. Determination is written all over the face of Mussolini. His comment was on all points brief. He named his “coup d’etat” a “successful, nationalist, legal, bloodless revolution”; his foreign policy, “one of peace and dignity, expansion, equilibrium friendly to all countries friendly to us”; his future internal policy “strict government economy, work and order.”

With such a program, which could not be more beneficial or safe in any country, and with Mussolini’s jaw there is optimism in Italy. He has the country with him. It has seen what he can do in revolution. They are willing watch him in statecraft.

Members of the ex-government are silently respectful of the new leader. Many have sought his friendship.

Carlos Schanzer, ex-Foreign Minister, possibly known better than most Italian politicians in the United States because of his part in the Washington conference, and who lost his job through Mussolini, told The Tribune he felt that it would be very inappropriate to comment on the political situation “at this time.” It is rumored that he hoped for a new portfolio. Ex-Premier Facta is known to hold ill feeling toward Mussolini, who placed a Fascist guard of honor at his Rome hotel. Giolitti, the grand old man of Italian politics, expressed favor for the new order. Others less prominent have either swung into line or declined to be hostile. With the elections several months hence, Mussolini may expect clear sailing and Italy is with him.