by Iris Origo
JUNE 9TH
At four a.m., in the Clinica Quisisana, my second daughter, Donata, is born. During the long night before her birth I heard from the next room, through my own pain, the groans for morphia of a young airman whose leg had been amputated.
JUNE 10TH
The third anniversary of Italy’s entry into the war. No celebrations. A rumour had spread that there were to be air-raids all over Italy, and all day many mothers have kept their children at home. Nothing, however, occurred until six p.m., when a few enemy planes flew over the town—and a few more during the night. The air-raid warnings in the hospital (even though nothing happens) are rather uncomfortable, owing to one’s enforced immobility and the jumpiness of some of the patients.
JUNE 14TH
Antonio returns from Siena, with an account of the methods used by the Fascist militia to obtain ‘volunteers’. Five of our peasants, none of whom were Fascists, having been called to the colours with their class, went to Siena. There they were shown, singly, into a room where a captain of the militia (by flattery and promises of safety, of frequent leave, and remaining in his own province) ‘invited’ each of them to join the militia instead of the Army. All, except one, refused—and were stormed at as ‘Bolsheviks, anti-Italian, etc.’ The fifth, simpler than the others, signed his name on an enrolment form—but, on coming out, met his friends, compared notes, and assembling all his courage, hurried back to the captain to annul his signature. After a good deal of abuse, he believes that he succeeded, but in the evening he came to us, sweating with anxiety. ‘What will happen to me? Have I done right or wrong?’
The present condition of the militia is also indicated by a letter received by Antonio a few days later, requesting him to ‘make a gift’ to the militia of a motor-car, ‘for use in Sicily’. He has not replied.
JUNE 18TH
More political arrests are in progress all over the country—university professors, students, workmen. It is said that General Raffaele Cadorna, [7] the son of the Cadorna of the last war, has had his division taken away from him, ‘for anti-Fascist sentiments’.
JUNE 19TH
The Principessa di Piemonte has gone to Sicily to accompany some Red Cross workers and to investigate conditions in some of the hospitals, of which a deplorable account has reached her (lack of equipment, lack of medicines, dirt, etc.) through Edda Ciano. According to the latter’s own account, she said to the Princess: ‘You are just like my father. You go everywhere and see nothing!’ But this may be apocryphal.
JUNE 21ST
News that a large Allied convoy has left Oran—bound for where?
JUNE 23RD
We return to La Foce. A comfortable, ordinary journey, by train.
JULY 6TH
The German offensive in Russia has begun. The air-raids in Sicily are intensified. A ‘state of emergency’ has been proclaimed in Crete. Everything seems to point to the approach of a fresh move on the part of the Allies. Meanwhile Mussolini has made a long and violent speech, stating that resistance is for Italy a matter of ‘life or death’ and that the invaders, if indeed they come, are not to be allowed to pass the highwater-mark (il bagnasciuga) on the Italian shore. The Duce then passed on to the measures to be enforced by the Fascist Party, and stated that he is prepared to bear the full weight of his responsibility. ‘One day I shall demonstrate that this war neither could nor should have been avoided.’
It is perhaps significant that this speech (which is only published a fortnight after it has been made) should have been addressed neither to the Senate nor to the assembled people in Piazza Venezia, but only to the Directorate of the Fascist Party. Querulous and violent, it is generally considered deplorable.
JULY 8TH
News from Rome that the Army’s coup d’état is to take place before the end of the month. I do not believe in it: there has been too much talk for too long.
JULY 10TH
The long-expected news has come at last: Allied troops landed last night in Sicily. The Italian bulletin at one p.m. tells but the bare fact, adding that fierce fighting is in progress. The BBC adds that the troops are those of the Eighth Army, commanded by General Eisenhower, and that there are also some Canadian divisions, but gives no details as yet about the landing, beyond stating that there are supposed to be four hundred thousand Axis troops in Sicily, of whom one hundred thousand are Germans.
All day German planes fly over the valley, bound southwards.
At ten p.m. the broadcast from America in Italian follows the news of the landing with an appeal to Sicilians to throw off the Fascist yoke, and a vague statement of the peace conditions that would be offered to Italy by the Allies. ‘For the Fascists and for the Army which is supporting them, unconditional surrender. For the Italian people, an opportunity to fill once again an honourable place among the free peoples of Europe.’ The Algiers radio states: ‘The battle of Africa is over; the battle of Europe has begun.’
JULY 11TH
Donata’s christening—a day of strange contrasts. We wake at five a.m. to a dull booming sound—a naval bombardment, we presume, from enemy ships on the Tuscan coast, or perhaps the bombing of Grosseto or Livorno, perhaps a preface to invasion. All day we listen in eagerly for an explanation of this sound, which is never forthcoming. The bulletins, both from Rome and London, tell of further landings in Sicily. Meanwhile Donata’s little festa takes place. Baskets of flowers and small presents are brought to her by the children on the place. The guests are gathered, and at eleven Mons. B. celebrates Mass [8] in Gianni’s chapel. The introit is appropriate: ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear? The Lord is the protector of my life: of whom shall I be afraid? … If arms in camp should stand together against me my heart shall not fear.’ At five-thirty we all go to the Castelluccio church for the christening: at the church door are gathered a large crowd of the peasants and of children, who afterwards come back to the garden with us.
When all is over, and the children are gone, we turn on the radio: the landings in Sicily continue.
JULY 12TH
Last night British troops entered Syracuse.
JULY 13TH
We spend most of the day speculating as to what the next move of the Allies will be: France? the Balkans? Sardinia and the Tuscan coast? Meanwhile Turin is bombed once again—the most severe raid, according to the BBC, yet made on any Italian town. We try to prevent the news from reaching the refugee children, whose families are still there.
The news of the landing in Sicily somehow reached the British prisoners yesterday, and they celebrate it at night, singing and dancing. Today the Maresciallo dei Carabinieri has come from Pienza to inquire who had told them: one of the workmen is suspected, and has been arrested.
JULY 16TH
Bombing all over Italy: Genoa, Bologna, Naples, Parma, Foggia. Simultaneously a broadcast of Churchill and Roosevelt to the Italian people urges them to overthrow the Fascist regime, and offers them ‘an honourable capitulation’ and ‘a respected place among the free peoples of Europe’. Germany, says the message, has betrayed the Italian people: Mussolini and Fascism have betrayed them. If they do not capitulate, Italy will be destroyed. It is for the Italians to decide whether they will die for Mussolini and Hitler or live for peace and liberty.
Fierce fighting in the plain of Catania. But the Axis air defence is negligible, and apparently no reinforcements from Germany have arrived.
JULY 17TH
Leaflets are scattered by Allied planes over Rome and other cities, containing Churchill’s and Roosevelt’s joint message to the Italian people.
Letters arrive from the children’s families in Turin: Liberata’s mother writes that her house has been hit for the second time; Nella’s parents, that they are only alive ‘by a miracle’. They add, ‘pray for us’. The other children have no news as yet. Lentini is occupied: fierce fighting still continues on the Catanian plain. American troops are marching on Girgenti. Allied bombings now centre on the toe of Italy, ra
ther than on Sicily.
The Italian papers publish Churchill’s and Roosevelt’s message, calling it ‘an invitation to shame and dishonour’. [9]
JULY 19TH
This morning, for the first time, bombs are dropped on Rome. The one o’clock Italian bulletin gives the news laconically (while the raid is still in progress) adding ‘the damage is being ascertained’. At two-thirty the BBC broadcast in Italian states that bombs have been dropped on the railway station and ‘military objectives’ and that leaflets have been scattered all over the town, to inform the citizens of Rome that the Allies intend to confine themselves to military objectives and to avoid ‘monuments of religious or cultural interest’. For this reason the raid has been in broad daylight.
Nucci’s father arrives from Turin, with details of the last raid there. It has been by far the most serious that has yet taken place. The Fiat works have been hit, and the electric cable factories, as well as the older parts of the town, several churches, and Don Bosco’s Casa della Divina Provvidenza—in spite of the vision granted in 1940 to the Mother Superior, by which Pope Pius X himself assured her that the institution would remain untouched.
JULY 20TH
Caltanisetta is taken. More details of the raid on Rome: five hundred Liberators bombed the city for three hours—according to the BBC hitting only the station, marshalling-yards, airports, and government buildings; according to the Italian radio, destroying the Basilica of San Lorenzo, and hitting the hospitals of the Policlinico, the Verano cemetery, and many workmen’s houses. Directly after the air-raid the Pope left the Vatican and visited San Lorenzo. Kneeling on the steps of the ruined church, and surrounded by an enormous crowd which had gathered as soon as his presence was known, he recited the De Profundis and imparted his blessing to the crowd.
JULY 21ST
Succeed in telephoning to E. in Rome. The town is still without water and no trains are running. The Pope’s visit to San Lorenzo aroused great popular enthusiasm—so great, indeed, that his car was damaged by the faithful who surrounded it, and he had to go home in another one. All night the porticoes of St. Peter’s are thronged with a great crowd, in the belief that there, at least, no bombs will fall. Once again, the faithful take refuge in the shadow of St. Peter’s.
JULY 22ND
A panic-stricken letter from Turin, from Liberata’s mother, implores me to take in her other children, too. ‘Let them sleep in a cellar, but save them from certain death … I can’t think any more; I have seen too many horrible deaths. It is worse than a massacre, so many corpses under our house … Help me, help me, I must save my children somehow …’ We have wired to them to come. Still no news of Marisa’s father, who lived in the quarter which has been most completely destroyed.
JULY 23RD
Late in the evening, Liberata’s mother, sister and brother arrive from Turin, exhausted and terrified. They were buried under their house, have slept for the last ten days in a stable, and have nothing left in the world but the rags they have on. They have uttered no single word of resentment or complaint.
JULY 24TH
Marsala is occupied by the Allies. Bologna is bombed. According to E., who has just arrived from Rome, the city is full of rumours: the coup d’état is at last about to take place. It is said that at Mussolini’s recent interview with Hitler, the latter demanded, as the condition of his sending reinforcements, that the conduct of the war in Italy should be handed over entirely to the German Command, and the whole of Southern Italy (including Rome) abandoned: the first line of defence to be on the Apennines, and the second on the Po. [10]
JULY 26TH
The long-expected news has come at last: Mussolini has fallen. The news was given by radio last night, but we did not hear it until this morning. Mussolini has resigned, the King has appointed Marshal Badoglio in his place and has himself taken over the command of the Army. A proclamation of Badoglio’s announces: ‘Italy will keep her pledge; the war continues.’
As the broadcast closes E. burst into my room: ‘Have you heard? After twenty years—after twenty years …’ We all have a lump in our throat. Hope—perplexity—anxiety—doubt—then hope again—infinite relief. A weight has been lifted, a door opened; but where does it lead? We spend the day in speculations, fed by driblets of news. First a proclamation of martial law, with the institution of a curfew at sunset and a prohibition of any public meetings: moreover, it is forbidden to carry firearms or to circulate in any private vehicle; a few hours later we hear with delight of the disbanding of the Fascist militia: its members are to be incorporated in the regular Army. In the evening comes the list of the new Cabinet; mostly permanent officials or undersecretaries. It is clearly to be a moderate, traditional government of administrators, not of ‘great men’. Italy has had enough of heroes. But still innumerable questions are unanswered. What has happened to Mussolini and his satellites? And above all—increasingly with every hour—what about Germany?
JULY 27TH
Slowly, some of these questions are answered—though not the most important. Today’s papers publish, without comment, the motion of the Gran Consiglio (assembled on Sunday, July 25th, for the first time since December 1939)—the motion that brought about the end of Fascism. Presented by Grandi and signed by nineteen out of the twenty-six members of the Gran Consiglio (including Mussolini’s own son-in-law, Ciano, and De Bono, Bottai, Federzoni, Bastianini and Rossoni) it is a more complete and ignominious recantation of the Fascist doctrine than any that could have been composed by its enemies. In it the Fascist leaders recognise that in order to obtain ‘the moral and political unity of all Italians in this grave and decisive hour’ it is necessary to proceed to an immediate restoration of all the functions of the State, ‘restoring to the Crown, the Grand Council, the Government, the Parliament and the Corporations all the duties and responsibilities by our constitutional laws’.
In consequence the Council moved that the Prime Minister, Mussolini, should hand over the military command to the King. With this motion—affirming, as it does, the necessity, in a time of crisis, of returning to a constitutional government—the Fascist doctrine stands condemned by its own adherents. Mussolini, like all other dictators, is betrayed by his own men. [11]
JULY 28TH
Today fuller details reach us. It appears that when Grandi (of whom Mussolini had been jealous and suspicious for a long time) presented his motion to the assembled Grand Council, Mussolini drew forth a voluminous dossier of the errors and misdeeds of his lieutenants during the past twenty years. These, he stated, he had suppressed until now, but would now make public. A ‘discussion’ took place which lasted ten hours and ended with a vote of nineteen to seven, in favour of Grandi’s motion. Meanwhile, all over the city the news had spread that something was afoot. At three a.m. on Sunday morning the long black police cars which had brought the Fascists to Palazzo Venezia drove away again, and the anxious satellites (industrial magnates, financiers, politicians, diplomats, and smart young women) who had been waiting anxiously all night in the hall of the Excelsior, were called to the telephone or to the houses of their friends. By dawn, the news began to spread all over the city; in the afternoon, Mussolini went to Villa Savoia, and before evening he and his friends were under arrest, while the broadcast at ten-forty-five announced his fall and the King’s proclamation. The next morning a great crowd of working people from all the outlying quarters surged into the centre of the city and made its way to the Quirinal, singing Mameli’s hymn: Fratelli d’Italia, l’Italia s’è desta! They broke into all the offices and club-rooms of the Fascio; destroyed every bust and statue of Mussolini, set fire to the offices of the Messaggero and the Tevere and carried in triumph on their shoulders any officers of the regular Army that they encountered. The only bloodshed was at the Viminale, where some of the militia fired into the crowd—whereupon the Carabinieri fired back, killing several Blackshirts. Similar demonstrations took place in Milan, Turin, Bologna, Florence—with the result that by eleven o’clo
ck on Monday morning a special broadcast issued a firm order of Badoglio’s, that all public meetings and processions would be dispersed by the police. ‘This is no moment to give way to impulsive demonstrations. The gravity of the hour requires from each one of us discipline and patriotism, dedicated to the supreme interests of the nation.’
Meanwhile we listen in eagerly to the foreign broadcasts, for comments from abroad. The first statement of the news from Germany affirms that Mussolini has resigned ‘on account of his health’; and subsequent statements refrain from any comment whatever, merely emphasising Badoglio’s affirmation: ‘The war goes on.’ What lies beneath this restraint?
From England, too, official comment in the first two days is very cautious. Then yesterday evening came Churchill’s statement to the House: ‘The keystone of the Fascist arch has fallen … we may reasonably expect very great changes.’ After describing the welcome given to Allied troops at Palermo, he comments: ‘I cannot doubt that the main wish of the Italian people is to be rid of the Germans and to restore their democratic institutions. The choice lies with the Italian people.’ If, however, the Italians have not the will or the courage to free themselves from Germany, ‘we shall continue to make war upon Italy from every quarter, by land, air and sea … Italy will be covered with scars and bruises from end to end’. The P.M. warned the House against the mistake made by the Germans in occupied territory, that of ‘destroying all forms of local authority’. ‘We certainly do not desire to reduce Italy to anarchy and to have no authority left with which we can deal.’ But, he emphasised, the real enemy is Germany, the real point at issue, Hitler’s destruction—and for this unconditional surrender is a necessity. ‘The affairs of Italy must be handled with this supreme end constantly in view.’ Subsequently, the BBC commentator is not sparing in his picture of the methods (‘by fire and steel’) to be used to ‘encourage Italy’s decision’.
