A Chill in the Air

by Iris Origo

  OCTOBER 22ND

  Yesterday, coming up to Florence in the train, an absurd but characteristic conversation. Having put

  my papers on an unoccupied seat beside me, I moved them as an officer came into the carriage, and in so doing dropped one of them. He bent down to pick it up, and saw its title: L’Osservatore Romano. (This is the Vatican paper, whose subscriptions have gone up to four times their original number in the last few weeks, owing to the fact that it is the only paper that prints full and impartial foreign news, although with a strong Catholic bias.) As he gave it back to me he said (using the voi which is now declared correct by the régime, instead of the “effeminate” and “foreign” lei), “Ve lo rendo, sebbene sia nemico di questo giornale.”19 I thanked him, without answering his comment. He was a Colonial officer, carefully modelled on Balbo – the same pointed beard and swaggering, hearty manner. After a minute he leaned across to me. “Scusate, Signora, but why do you read this paper?” – “Out of curiosity,” I replied, “like other papers.” The officer pursed his lips. “But it contains poison – a very subtle poison.” An elderly man, sitting in the corner, had put down his paper and was following the conversation with interest. He wore the Fascist badge, but had an intelligent, kindly face. “Sometimes,” he now helpfully intervened, with a smile, “a small drop of poison may act as an inoculation!” But the officer would have none of it. “I dare say. But at this moment, when the whole nation should be un blocco solo,20 such influences are dangerous – very dangerous, signora.” And with a last disapproving glance, he went out of the carriage.

  I glanced at my other companion, and met his eye; we both shrugged slightly. “He’s a Consigliere Nazionale,” he remarked. Then, reassuringly and paternally, “I shouldn’t pay too much attention to what he said.” I did not answer, and began to read my book. When I looked up again, my companion had moved a little nearer. “I read it, too,” he remarked in a lower voice, jerking his head towards the offending paper, “but in private. If I may offer you some advice, Signora, read it at home!” I nodded. Then I could not resist saying “C’era di peggio!”21 and, lifting the innocuous Nazione, which lay on top of my other papers, showed him the title of the Daily Telegraph. He drew back sharply, and returned to his corner seat. There was a long silence; I folded up my papers. Then suddenly, from his corner, my companion spoke again – and in quite a different voice. “A great deal of that poison is needed,” he said grimly. I felt very much tempted to reply, but (stories of agents provocateurs returning to my mind) did not; he felt, no doubt, equally uncertain of me. And so, with alternate glances of mutual suspicion and sympathy, but still in silence, we finished our journey.

  OCTOBER 23RD

  The evening papers print in italics, with large headlines, Goebbels’ accusation that it was Churchill who ordered the sinking of the Athenia. The evidence of two American citizens is given to support the charge, and Churchill is asked how he managed to bribe the previous witnesses. It is difficult to estimate how much ice is cut by such accusations, or by that of England having supplied poison gas to Poland. Today a friend from Rome writes: “England is certainly losing the war of wireless propaganda; it’s a pity.” But I suspect it’s too soon to tell.

  NOVEMBER 10TH

  I have just been to Rome, to find out whether it was possible to do anything from here about Polish Relief, either through the International Red Cross or the Vatican. Both doors were firmly shut: “The Church’s delicate position”… nothing could be done. At last, however, at the Braccis’ I met K., the head of the Polish colony in Rome. There were three separate problems, he said: there was the plight of the Poles still in Poland, there were the great camps of refugees in Rumania and Hungary, and finally there were a small number of refugees who had recently reached Italy. For those in Poland nothing could be done. – “But the International Red Cross?” – He shook his head. He had heard only yesterday that the Mission which was about to start from Geneva had been refused admission. We all gasped: “But even in Spain…” He nodded. “You don’t understand; the Germans prefer us to die.” Some members of his family had arrived a few days ago from Warsaw; they had been through the whole siege. Now 75% of the houses there are uninhabitable; no pane of glass was left in the town; for the last days of the siege and immediately afterwards there had been no light, no water. We asked about the rumours of plague and cholera, but he denied them. “But there is some typhoid of course, and cold, and hunger…” K’s face hardened. “I was at the head of the little deputation of Poles who visited His Holiness last month,” he said. “Perhaps you read in the papers what he said?” “Yes.” – “He spoke coldly, prudently. That is not the way to speak to men who…” He broke off. “In any case, as no doubt you know, there is a strong pro-German element in high quarters at the Vatican. Schemes that have been launched have been delayed, frustrated… No, I count on no help from there. There was an ecclesiastic who was talking to me, the other day, about the terrible effects of war upon the human soul. The worst, he said, is the destruction of respect for the Will of God. No, I said, the worst is this: that if, today, I had a chance of shooting down a German woman or child, I would do so without an instant’s scruple or pity. That whole race – I no longer feel that they are human beings.” There was such complete conviction, such immeasurable bitterness, in his voice that no one answered. (I learned later that he was one of Pilsudski’s legionaries, and before that, had been in prison, as a revolutionary, under the Kaiser.)

  It was K., returning to our original questions, who broke the silence. The situation of the Polish refugees in Hungary and Rumania, he said, was somewhat different. The suffering was terrible, but help was arriving; there was the British Government Fund, the American Mission, the Quakers… but nothing could be sent from Italy. The government was afraid of its being “misinterpreted”… In the end we discovered that nothing could be done here, except to provide lodging and clothing for the small number of refugees (a few hundred) who have arrived here. It does not seem much…

  NOVEMBER 23RD

  Last night two young Poles (brother and sister) came to dinner; they had arrived from Warsaw the night before. The sister had been through the whole siege; the brother (a diplomat), after leaving with the diplomatic train had got off it before reaching the frontier, joined the army, fought with it until the end, and then, hiding in ditches, had somehow made his way back to Warsaw, miraculously escaped arrest, found his sister, and succeeded in getting her out of the country with him. Their final departure from Warsaw, indeed, was fairly easy. “They’re glad to get rid of us,” he remarked, “provided, of course, that we take nothing with us.” (They had taken a suitcase each and, out of a large fortune, one hundred marks.) But the journey was nerve-racking, for five different sets of guards came in turn to look at their passports. “Each time,” said the girl, “I could hardly breathe.”

  The stories they told of their experiences were made convincing by a singular lack of personal animosity; they seemed to have gone beyond it. But, “you can’t imagine, you can never imagine,” the girl went on saying. “Sometimes even I, when I remember, can’t believe it’s true.” She looked in a dazed way round the Embassy drawing room. “And I certainly can’t believe that I’m here!” According to their account most of the German officers were very young, and the worst horrors were done by the youngest, mostly when they were either drunk or drugged. “They start taking drugs – mostly cocaine – to keep going,” said the brother, adding that he was determined to repeat nothing that he had not actually seen with his own eyes. “Tanks going into action with a Polish prisoner tied to the front, so that we should not shoot: a field in which a peasant, mad with fear, was running round and round under a tree for shelter, while a low-flying plane continued to circle over his head, shooting at him; the machine-gunning of civilian refugees” (not once but several times his sister confirmed, having lain for hours in a ditch while it was going on). “But what I remember best,” he added, “is an old peasant and
his wife in a little country town, who had come in to market with a load of apples, which the German soldiers promptly seized. The old man was standing by in a passive, despairing state, but his wife went on nagging at him at least to get the apple basket back. So at last he gathered up his courage and, bowing very low: “Of course, of course, they could have the fruit, but would they not be kind enough to return the basket… a poor man’s capital… would they kindly understand…” He was taken and shot on the spot, for “insubordination”.

  They spoke of the siege, confirming other accounts which had reached Italy. They spoke, too, of the German broadcasts on the Warsaw wave-length, which had had so misleading an effect abroad. “But I don’t think anyone in Poland was taken in by them,” he added. “You see, the Warsaw station signal is a bar of one of Pilsudski’s songs, which we all know by heart, and the Germans got one of the notes wrong.”

  Finally I said: “I want to ask a painful question. Was there great bitterness, at the end, against France and England? Had you expected more effective help?” He hesitated a moment, then answered, “Yes, in the last weeks we felt very bitter. At first, you see, we thought that part of the German army, and especially of their air force, was being kept busy on the Western front; but then, as their reinforcements went on coming, and we heard that nothing at all was happening in the West…” he shrugged – “well, you can imagine what we felt. We had expected to have half the German army to deal with, not the whole. And we could have held out, I swear we could… Of course,” he added more quietly, “I know the official explanations. And you must make no mistake, our people do know the truth. After the German occupation, the Germans plastered the walls (those which were still standing) with posters representing a tiny and ignominious figure of Chamberlain looking with shame at the ruins of Warsaw and the inscription: ‘Poland, this is what England has done to you!’ But the next morning, on each one of those posters, the word England had been deleted and replaced by ‘Hitler’!”

  1 Five less of them!

  2 In a well-ordered household everything is useful, even garbage.

  3 Those two murderers.

  4 Don’t worry, we’ll inherit some more.

  5 Who will win the war?

  6 Secret police.

  7 Max Plowman, Olaf Bryn Kullmann, John Macmurray.

  8 The Black Nobility are the Roman families who remained loyal to the Pope after 1870, when Rome became part of the Kingdom of Italy under the Savoy family.

  9 The Pope’s aristocratic guard.

  10 She’s a dirty Jew.

  11 Perinaud, Hairdresser, warns his numerous clients that neither Jews nor Unpleasant Characters may be shaved in his shop.

  12 Reserve soldiers who have been called up.

  13 The brown apes.

  14 Alas, it is only too true. Like many others, he was killed in the war, for a cause in which he did not believe. [IO, 1980s]

  15 Yes, that’s really him!

  16 No news.

  17 The Duce is always right.

  18 The Duce knows everything, sees everything, and remembers everything.

  19 I’ll give it back, although I’m an enemy of this paper.

  20 One single block.

  21 There was something worse!

  1940

  LA FOCE, APRIL 7TH

  Just back from a few days in Rome; not since last September has the capital been buzzing with so many contradictory rumours, but extraordinarily little real information has leaked out. Indeed, each story one hears is little more than a repetition of the speaker’s personal opinions. Pro-Germans attribute the utmost significance to the Brenner meetings: “Do you suppose two men like that merely had a quiet talk about keeping the peace in the Balkans? No – Italy will be in before May!” Pro-Allies tell long and circumstantial anecdotes about the violent quarrel that took place in the Brenner snowstorm: how the two leaders went at it, hammer and tongs, behind the drawn blinds of the railway carriage, until the sound of their shouts drove in Ciano and Ribbentrop to intervene. Then there are stories about Ribbentrop’s Roman visit: how he turned pale – no, was sick – no, fainted, after his interview with the Pope; how he paid a visit of two hours to a Roman princess on the pretext of offering her the Führer’s condolences on her husband’s death, but really in order to pump her about the attitude of Roman society; how Ribbentrop and his staff all arrived in Rome with large empty trunks, which they took back so heavy with loot – clothes, boots, food – that the porters could not carry them! Much less is said about Sumner Welles’ visit. Apparently his interview with Mussolini was hampered by the fact that Mussolini refused to speak either English or French, but used Ciano as an interpreter, thus effectively preventing any spontaneous exchange. Phillips, the American Ambassador, who had not seen Mussolini for nearly a year, said that he appeared to be in perfect health, but heavier and slower, less vital, than before. But as to the substance of the conversation he preserved a discreet ambassadorial silence, merely repeating his previous conviction that Mussolini does not want war if he can avoid it. This is the opinion which it is Ciano’s task to promote among the Allies and their sympathizers.

  APRIL 8TH

  An Italian friend who attended the special performance of the German film of the Polish Campaign has given me an account of it. The Quirinetta theatre – taken by the German Ambassador for the occasion – was filled with a carefully chosen audience: all the principal gerarchi (including Ciano, looking very sulky), the German colony and a sprinkling of the more pro-German members of the Roman aristocracy. No diplomats except the Germans, not even the neutrals. Yet even with this audience the film was – as a piece of German propaganda – a failure. Its object had been not to persuade, but to intimidate; over and over again the same note of warning was sounded: this is what happens to those who stand up against Germany! But the lesson – further pointed by propaganda pamphlets sent to the guests beforehand – did not go down well. The first part of the film – showing intransigent Poland, at the instigation of England, preparing for war against a peaceful and conciliatory Germany – was received with bored scepticism; while the “comic” scenes which followed, showing the “decrepit” and ineffectual British ministers, were thought vulgar and boring. Then the note changed: “Poland has insisted upon war; well, now she shall be shown what it is!” And the rest of the film showed the grim, ruthless destruction of a whole country, a whole people. At the worst moments, though no one dared to comment aloud, a low murmur of disgust spread through the hall – and at the end the guests walked out in grim silence.

  APRIL 9TH.

  For two days the papers have been filled with attacks on England and the British blockade, and yesterday’s evening papers give prominence to “the unjustifiable laying of mines along the Norwegian coast”. It is clear that something is brewing, and as I wake up this morning, I find a note from my host on my breakfast tray. “Germany has invaded Denmark at 3 o’clock this morning. German troops have landed at Oslo. Norway is at war.” The Italian papers give the same news, but with a wholly pro-German colouring. A few hours later the midday posters state that the Norwegian government, like the Danish, has decided not to resist – her resistance at Oslo being merely, according to Gayda, “a formal gesture, amounting to nothing more than their verbal protest against the English blockade”. It is not till this evening that we hear, from the BBC, of King Haakon’s resistance, of the British and French promise of help to Norway, and of the sea and air battles.

  APRIL 12TH

  During the next three days an impartial observer would find it difficult to believe that the Italian press and radio could apply to the same events as the news on the French and English radio. In the Italian papers – so full of compassion, a few weeks ago, for Finland, and of contempt for the Allies’ failure to come to her aid – there is no single word of sympathy for Norway. On the contrary, we are given in full the text of the German reproofs against King Haakon’s “lack of comprehension” of the friendly, protective intentions of the
bombs that were being dropped on him. The British Admiralty bulletins, indeed, are generally quoted, but in small type, while all headlines refer to the German communiqués, which are treated as the only reliable ones.

  APRIL 16TH

  The anti-British propaganda continues. “I am so af ligée by the tone of the radio and the press” writes a woman, once whole-heartedly pro-Fascist, “that it is making me ill. What I have long dreaded is happening; no distinctions are made any longer: the laying of a mine-field is exactly the same as invading a civilized country. It is slavish, our abject echoing of all that horrible doctrine, so at variance with the real Italian spirit.” But at the same time she adds: “I do feel that England has a heavy responsibility. So long as the admired and applauded voice is that of Churchill, hectoring the neutrals, breathing fire and slaughter against Germany, and yet letting the really magnificent landing operation take place (magnificent in its execution, odious as it was) one can only feel that something very essential is wrong. Will England never arrive in time and save a small country before talking about it?”

  The Giornale d’Italia publishes on its front page an ingenious little map, depicting the three large gateways at Gibraltar, Suez and the Dardanelles, which “imprison Italy in her own sea”; there are constant jeers (based wholly on the German bulletins) at England’s failure either to land in Norway or to score a decisive naval victory and there is even (both in the papers and on the radio) a repetition of the revolting German story that British sailors had machine-gunned drowning German sailors in Narvik bay.