by Iris Origo
Hear, hear. What is curious is that this article was written in 1909 by Count Papafava, a progressive Italian Liberal, à propos of the Jewish persecution in Algeria!
AUGUST 6TH
Have again been to the Braccis and met there old Senator Albertini, for many years the editor of the Corriere della Sera. He seemed a quiet, honest-faced, nice, able man. He brought with him a page of The Times with Lord Halifax’s last speech, which he then translated for the others. Chamberlain was spoken of with dislike and mistrust, but Lord Halifax still with some confidence and hope. The truth is that, according to the company in which one happens to be, one knows beforehand what the opinion will be on any of the current topics. Among the anti-Fascists, Chamberlain is spoken of with contempt and Bonnet with loathing; Roosevelt is admired. In Fascist circles the odium falls on Churchill and on the Labour Party; Catholics unite to deplore the advances to Russia. Moreover one also knows beforehand where the blind spots will be. The Fascist averts his mind from the refugee problem and the situation in Czecho Slovakia (“All very much exaggerated – one must allow for foreign propaganda.”) The Catholics turn a deaf ear to all accounts of executions in Spain; the anti-Fascist has seldom heard of any trouble in Russia. Only on one point are they all agreed: they don’t want war.
A story is now current that one of the reasons for the extreme optimism of people in high Fascist circles is that the Italo-German military treaty was accompanied by a “secret letter” from Mussolini to Hitler definitely stating that under no circumstances would Italy be ready to take part in any war for another five years. I wonder.
AUGUST 27TH
It was strange, crossing the frontier. All the afternoon we had driven up the neat, green little Swiss valleys, past the houses trimmed with wooden lace and the Sunday picnic-parties by the streams. At Martigny we lunched on trout and listened to the news; then we began to climb the pass. There were two or three Italian cars going in the same direction as ourselves and a few French and English ones going the other way; but not the most fertile imagination could find any traces of war upon the Simplon. One single defile of the pass, on the Swiss side, was fortified, manned by a few moon-faced soldiers, and on the other side a squad of twenty alpini were singing to a concertina. But as we stood waiting for the Customs examination, an Italian car which had driven up a few minutes before, bound for Switzerland, backed, turned, and drove back to Italy again. “No more Italians jaunting abroad now, and none of our money!” said the carabiniere with a friendly grin, as he handed back our passports. “Come in, and stay in!” The pole of the barrier swung slowly back behind us.
But on the way to Milan, no trace of tension or war-fever was to be seen. It was a fine Sunday evening and all along the lake, parties of young people were dancing and singing. Even at Milan station, no troops. The papers, too, were curiously moderate in tone. All the propaganda against England and France has ceased; The Times and Le Temps were on sale – indeed at most bookstalls were sold out as soon as they arrived. Why then did no one seem anxious? Why were there no war preparations? It all seemed very odd.
AUGUST 28TH
After a day in Florence, it is still puzzling. It is true that among educated people there is a good deal of anxiety; everyone listens four or five times a day to the radio and eagerly buys the foreign papers; most reserve officers have been called up and now six classes of recruits (about one and a half million men) and the navy and air force are fully mobilised. But in the popolino – so terrified last September and even at Easter – there is a curious calm. “Don’t you worry, nothing’s going to happen!” says the hairdresser, as he sees me reading the papers. “You’ll see, the Duce will stop the war at the last moment,” says the taxi-driver. At the performance of La Traviata in Piazza della Signoria the moonlit square is packed with a gay, apparently carefree crowd. At the end of the second act, indeed, when the Inno a Roma was played in the interval before the broadcasting of the news, a sudden look of anxiety crossed the face of the audience; but as soon as it became evident that there was nothing new, they gave themselves up again to the sonorous melodies of the opera. “Look what Fascism has done for our people!” says a young officer as we walk home. “Compare their calm with the feverish tension in France and England!” But it isn’t exactly calm. It is a mixture of passive fatalism, and of a genuine faith in their leader: the fruits of fifteen years of being taught not to think. It is certainly not a readiness for war, but merely a blind belief that, “somehow”, it won’t happen.
As we leave the house of some Italian friends in the country, we are asked to give a lift to their old governess, M.lle Marcaud, who appears in floods of tears. On the way down she tells us her story. A native of Alsace-Lorraine, she was a German in the last war, and is now a Frenchwoman, so that twice in the course of her obscure and blameless life she has been “an enemy alien” – on different sides! But in 1915, she cries, they let her stay in Italy, and now they have told her that she must go. She has no family to turn to, her home was destroyed in the last war, her few savings are in Italy, and she may take only 350 lire with her. We drop her, still in tears, at the French Consulate. How many thousand people will find themselves in positions like these in a few weeks’ time?
AUGUST 29TH
Today the atmosphere is changing. Local regulations are bringing about a realisation of the situation, where the papers failed to do so. Yet the restrictions are, as yet, comparatively mild: all private motor-cars are to be stopped next Sunday, and restaurants are to be restricted to a single dish of either meat or fish. But now the town is full of wild rumours. An Italian division has been sent from Bologna to Nuremburg. The explanation of the Duce’s silence is that he has had a stroke. The mysterious passenger on the plane that landed in England was Mussolini himself – no, Beck – no, Grandi. There is not even the faintest pretence of martial ardour.
In the evening we went to say goodbye to Nesta de Robeck, who is among the last English women to leave, except for a few very old ladies, who can’t move. She has left me their names and addresses, in case they need help later on.
Here is a letter written yesterday by a young Italian to his mother. The writer, who is working in the Breda at Milan, took part in the Abyssinian war. “Will this war come? I can’t believe it. Above all I can’t believe that we shall be called upon to fight against people towards whom we have not got the slightest grudge and by the side of people we all despise. I have yet to find a single man who wants to fight on the side of the Germans! What is certain is that, politically speaking, we are passing from one absurdity to another. No one knows what to think: whether to wish that war come and be done with once and for all, or whether the problem of Danzig can be resolved by a complicated formula… But that would leave all the fundamental European problems still unresolved, and next year we should be da capo. And then (this is what really troubles me) with this falsification of our position, shall we be able to do our best? For we all feel this falsification, this forced alliance with Germany… Feeling neither any animosity towards our probable enemies, nor solidarity with our allies, people don’t know how to behave. They argue, joke, laugh at the sensational headlines in the papers. But they don’t really believe in the possibility of war. As you see, it is a nonchalant and cold vigil.”
Nevertheless at the end of his letter he adds: “If war does come, I shall write at once to Gen. V. and ask to be transferred to my regiment. I don’t want to miss the first few months, which are always the most exciting.”
AUGUST 30TH
Still no more news, and we drove back to the country yesterday evening. A still, lovely summer’s evening; the grapes ripening, the oxen ploughing. Only man is mad.
On our farm two of the sotto-fattori have been called up, and a good many of the peasants. They are very upset, but still do not realise that it is anything worse than Abyssinia or Spain. “We’ve had enough of this,” is their refrain, “ora basta. We want to be left alone.” But still dimly, blindly, they believe: “It won’t c
ome to a real war: the Duce will get us out of it somehow.”
The sale of coffee is now forbidden and tea is unprocurable. All private cars are to be stopped on September 3rd.
We went to call on our old friends, the Bracci family, at Montepulciano, and found them very depressed. Always anti-Fascist, they see in the present events the fulfilment of their gloomiest prophecies. Their interpretation of Mussolini’s complete silence and the general state of bewilderment, is that the German-Russian pact was made without Italy’s knowledge, and that at this third concealment Mussolini’s patience gave way. He is now merely engaged in attempting to get out of the alliance at some profit to himself. Yet another, that General Badoglio is imprisoned in his own house, for having refused to take command of the army. Some of these stories, if not all, must clearly be untrue!
I speak of the danger of another Munich, but they cut me short. “No, we can’t believe that of England now! That isn’t possible, whatever else may be.” I say something about the curious fatalistic calm of the Florentine people. They say: “Not here! Here everyone is frankly terrified.” And a friend from Piemonte adds: “And in Piemonte, angry. The men say quite openly: ‘All right, give us arms, and you’ll see what will happen!’”. Someone adds, “That means revolution. And think of the horrors of the repressions at first!” – “It’s the end of dictatorships, anyway.” – “Yes, whether it’s peace or war,” everyone agrees. But there is too much sadness and anxiety to leave room for satisfaction.
AUGUST 31ST
Today the general mobilisation in Poland. The papers definitely more pro-German again. They quote at length the German denial that the Polish mobilisation was caused by the movement of German troops in Slovakia, and define it as “a fresh act of provocation”. They attempt, too, to present Hitler’s messages as a “noble gesture towards peace”, and to throw the whole onus of responsibility upon England.
The kindergarten teacher, just arrived from Rome, reports that the people there are very puzzled and bewildered. “Why doesn’t the Duce say something?” she exclaims. “He talked such a lot last September! We all went and shouted under his windows yesterday. At last he appeared – and said nothing at all. We all believe he could save us. Why doesn’t he do it?”
The purchase of gas-masks has today been rendered obligatory for the personnel of hospitals, factories, charitable institutions, etc., but only for one fifth of the employees, and is “recommended” to private persons. Old people, women and children who have country homes are also advised to leave the larger cities, but there is no mention of any evacuation plans on a larger scale.
This afternoon we have been going round the farms. Everywhere the peasants come hurrying out to meet us, with the same anxious question: “What do you say? Will there be war?” From every farm at least one man has already been called up: “My Cecco went yesterday; my Beppe had his card this morning. What’s going to happen to us?” One old man, whose four sons work on the farm, put a shaking hand on my arm and looked up into my face: “Please say something to cheer me up! If they all four go, I might as well throw myself into that ditch. Who will work the farm? What shall we give the children to eat?” What can one answer, except, “There is still hope.”
SEPTEMBER 1ST
Yesterday evening late the news came: first, from Germany, the full text of the terms offered to Poland, and then the statement that, as these offers had not been followed by the arrival of a Polish representative, but by the mobilisation of Poland, Germany was obliged to consider her offer rejected. A quarter of an hour later the translation of the same communication came from England, followed by the statement that, until Poland’s answer was known, it was not possible for England or France to offer any comment. Then came instructions for the evacuation of children from London and orders from the Admiralty and War Office.
At 1 p.m. today the news was even more bewildering. The Italian radio gave the full text of Hitler’s speech to the Reichstag. Germany has proclaimed the union of Danzig with the Reich; German troops have invaded Poland as a measure of “active defence” (a new expression). Italy is given Germany’s thanks for her “comprehension”, but no word is said about her as an ally. Germany, Hitler says, will settle her problems alone. It seems clear that Hitler still hopes to limit the conflict. Total silence from Rome.
At 2 p.m. we are told that there will be a meeting in Rome this afternoon of the Grand Council, and in London of the House of Commons. The day’s papers attempt to throw the whole blame for the catastrophe on the obstinacy of Poland and her “mad gesture” of mobilisation. The Führer, it is said, had by his “reasonable and logical proposals” done all that he could do to save the peace of Europe. The true responsibility lies with the great democracies, who are deliberately using Danzig as a pretext in the struggle for their own dwindling hegemony. The struggle is one between two conflicting interests: those of the nations who wish to preserve the “monstrous injustices” of Versailles, and those who wish for their revision as a basis for a permanent peace.
All afternoon I try in vain to get any French or English wireless station, for more accurate news. At 4.30, from Rome, comes the communiqué of the Roman Council: Mussolini approves the military measures already taken, which are of a purely precautionary nature, and states that “Italy will take no military initiative.” Then comes the telegram from Hitler, stating definitely that he does not require Italy’s military assistance. What lies behind it all?
Finally, at 9 p.m., I hear from the BBC the full report of Chamberlain’s speech and the denial that Germany’s proposals were ever sent to Poland; she had no chance either to accept or refuse them, before the German army invaded her. To hear these clear, calm, and wholly convincing statements, after twenty-four hours of attacks on “the inexplicable reception given by the democracies to Germany’s equitable terms”, was a relief that cannot be described. Tragic as the news may be, and inevitable as the intervention of England and France now seems, the issue is at last a clear one.
SEPTEMBER 2ND
Today the Italian papers are strange reading. The interpretation of the news is indeed strongly pro-German. One headline reads: “The German army serves the cause of right and justice”, and the leading article speaks of deliberate Polish aggression, and of the Polish “bellicose exaltation, aggressiveness, and forgetfulness of reality and of other people’s rights.” But in spite of this Chamberlain’s speech is quoted in an accurate summary, giving especial prominence to his tribute to Mussolini’s efforts for peace, and news from France is also given with fullness and moderation. Moreover last night there was no attempt to interrupt the foreign radio transmissions. Is one to conclude that Italy has definitely decided to be neutral? Those Fascists who now believe this to be likely, justify it by the part that Mussolini is to play as mediator, obtaining in that role the “revindication of the just rights” of Italy as well as Germany, as a stable basis for peace. “You’ll see, they prophesy, it isn’t too late even now! The Duce has never failed us yet; never has he failed to have a far-seeing, constructive policy. Now his time has come!” Their words do not sound like statements of opinion, but like affirmations of a creed.
This afternoon I went to see the Braccis, and with them listened to the French news – Daladier’s speech to the Chamber, followed by the Marseillaise. My hosts spoke with great emotion and admiration of Chamberlain’s speech. “Now there can’t be a second Munich; England will fight for civilization – at last.” Their interpretation was simple: Hitler has betrayed everyone in turn, and now Mussolini has betrayed him! He’ll shilly-shally for a bit, and then strike a bargain with the highest bidder.
At 9 p.m. the startling declaration that the delay in the German news was “possibly due to a proposal” that a five-power conference should meet immediately, and adding the British stipulation that German troops must first retire from Poland. Went to bed not daring to hope again – and yet unable not to. Tomorrow at midday we shall know.
SEPTEMBER 3RD
We know – and it is war.
This morning – the last day that cars can be used – being a clear, cloudless day, we drove up into the hills to visit our old friends, the Senni family in Badia Prataglia, but as we drove along the Val di Chiana we saw in every village little groups of richiamati12 and women crying. We had meant to reach the Sennis in time for Chamberlain’s statement, but as we drove up to the door, one of the boys came down to meet us: “The speech is just over. It’s war.”
I went quickly upstairs and found Mary Senni (American by birth) and Diana Bordonaro (half-English) by the radio, with tears in their eyes. Half an hour later Chamberlain’s statement was repeated. When it was over, Mary came across to me: “If Italy comes in now on the German side, I shan’t be able to bear it! I would have let my boys go, to fight for something they believed in; but now – not against civilization!”
All afternoon we sat round the radio, listening to one country after the other – Europe moving to war. Then the King’s speech – slow and halting, but somehow very moving – and “God save the King.”
Later on we talk of the effect of all this on the Italian people. “Nothing”, says Diana, “no propaganda, will ever persuade the Italian peasant and workman, that it was Chamberlain who wanted war. They’ll know it was Hitler’s fault.” “Yes,” says the son of twenty, “and the more time elapses, the more difficult it will be to persuade us to fight on the German side.” But I am not quite so sure.
SEPTEMBER 5TH
Today Mussolini’s statement is published, laying the onus of the declaration of war on Hitler, and presenting himself as the “single just man” who “made a last attempt to save the peace of Europe”. According to his account, his proposal for a conference of the Five Powers was sent on August 31st to France and England, whose favourable reply only reached him on September 1st. But during the night “frontier incidents had occurred which determined the Führer to begin military operations against Poland.” The French and English answers having been favourable (especially the French), Mussolini conveyed them to Hitler, who replied that he would consider them, but not if they had the character of an ultimatum, and asked for twenty-four hours for consideration. Both his conditions were agreed to, but France and England insisted on the evacuation of Poland, previous to any conference.