The spirit of Italy; impressions and observations of an American newspaper man during the early months of the war against Austria

Front matter

class 1) Cr 5*7 Q

Book

C 2

Preface

This book is composed of a series of letters written during the first three months after Italy's declaration of Avar against Austria. Nearly all of them have been printed in the New York Evening 8un, among the exceptions being the letter relating to Louis Latapie's much-discussed interview with Pope Benedict XV. The letters are cursory and make pretension neither to style or profundity. However, quite a number of Italian friends and Americans, with a tender feeling for Italy, suggested that I collect them in a more permanent form. They seemed to think that they threw some light on general conditions in Italy at the outbreak of the war, and in a measure voiced the spirit of the Italian people, to whom the world owes so much, in these tragic hours. W. J. G.

New York, November, 1915,

From a photo taken June 9, 1915.

'With St. Mark's Pigeons in Wartime.

I

Milan During the First Two Weeks of Italy's War — How a National Holiday Was Observed — Urban Life as It Impressed a Stranger — The War a Popular Movement — Salandra, the Man of the Hour — The Cathedral's Changed Air.

Milan, Sunday, June 6, 1915.

ODAY is Italy's "Fourth of July"— the "Festa dello Statuto" — the statute being the Constitution granted to his people by Carlo Alberto of Savoy, father of Victor Emmanuel II., in 1848. The holiday is being observed in Milan in a manner that would delight the hearts of those advocates at home of a "safe and sane" Fourth.

Contrary to custom, there were no parades, no review of troops during the daytime and no fireworks tonight. The streets this evening, to be sure, are crowded with men, women and children; a broad stream of humanity flows through the far-famed Galleria ; while the interior and exterior of the many bright cafes have every inch of space occupied by well-dressed folk (everybody in Milan seems to be well dressed today) eating ice cream or drinking most innocent-looking iced drinks, for it has been real Coney Island weather in Lombardy's capital.

To the stranger within the city's gates it is a cheerful and apparently carefree crowd. There is nothing exceptional in evidence to indicate an extraordinary state of affairs in the country. To be sure, there is a liberal display of the national colors, and here and there one also sees the flag of Great Britain or of France or of Russia, and there is a rather unusual number of men in military uniforms; but as the uniforms all seem so natty and new, the day a holiday and Milan the headquarters of an army corps, even this fact might occasion no special comment.

And yet just two weeks ago, when Italy entered the War of Nations Milan went wild with excitement, I am told, for I didn't arrive till seven days later. The great square in front of the wonderful Cathedral was packed until far into the night with a crowd shouting "Viva PItalia!" "Viva la Guerra!" and singing the Hymn of Garibaldi around the big equestrian statue of Victor Emmanuel II., which stands in the centre of the Piazza.

Three days later there was another remarkable popular outburst. Reports had reached Milan of attacks on Italian residents in Berlin and Trieste, of the bombardment of the open town of Ancona on the Adriatic and of an aeroplane visitation of Venice. Milan, too, had an attack of spy scare. It was said that discovery had been made of a system of signal lights around the Cathedral square which would have enabled an Austrian aviator to aim a bomb accurately at the world-famous edifice. It was also reported that a very fine Marconi outfit had been found concealed in the house of a prominent German business man. The feeling spread that the military and civil authorities were mud too lax in their efforts to discover and expel suspicious characters.

Wednesday afternoon the popular explosion occurred. Not having been present I refrain from giving a hearsay account. Suffice it to say, however, that Milanese anti-German, anti-Austrian indignation gave itself free expression and that the reported destruction of the property of Italians and Italian sympathizers in Trieste, Berlin and anywhere else in Austria or Germany and the bombardment of Ancona were amply avenged! Nor did the avenging furies consist solely of Italians, for I happen to know of more than one American in Milan who helped light a bonfire in Cathedral Square and join in the Witches' Dance of that Walpurgis night. However, the law also had to be vindicated, and a few days later saw a complete change in the heads of the civil and military authorities in Milan, whom the government at Rome was rather glad to get rid of because of their old political association with the discredited Giolitti-Neutralist party.

Since then life in this most modern of Italian cities— in many of its quarters as modern as New York's Fifth avenue or Riverside Drive (not to mention the Bronx)— has seemed as tranquil, undisturbed, and, I may say, commonplace, from the stranger's point of view, as though the whole world were at peace and the nations of Europe in a state of brotherly love.

Before reaching Milan I spent nearly a day in Naples and a day and a half in Genoa. In both these cities there were the same surface indications of normal urban activity, always excepting the prevalence of military uniforms. My mind reverted to Paris that I remembered two weeks after the war began ten months ago — Paris, with its closed shops, streets daily more and more deserted, disappearance of the young men, cafes shut at eight o'clock, and the citv almost silent as a countrv town before midnight. Here in Milan, however — as I found in Naples and Genoa also — everything is wideawake till after midnight. No restrictions have been put on drinking places or restaurants, and the city is almost as brightly lighted at night as before Italy declared war. Very few shops have their shutters up. Most of those that have bear German names. And as for young men in civilian clothes, why, there seem to be enough of them left to supply twice as many more men as Italy is said already to have under arms.

This is how I was impressed until I had spent several days in Milan and had a chance of wandering around the city and thus getting in closer touch with the people. Then I began to realize that this apparently care-free air was only superficial. Each day I learned more and more; that Italy is thinking of nothing else but the war. Serious opposition to intervention there certainly was, principally on the part of certain large financial interests more or less allied with Germany — for in Milan, especially, German financial interests have been very powerful — and naturally those dependent on them. There also was a faction among the Socialists honestly opposed to war.

Apart from these elements — so far as my inquiries led me — I am thoroughly convinced that the vast majority of the people wanted the war and that the flaming announcements which were posted on the walls (many are still there) on the occasion of the Cabinet's resignation, calling for a demonstration in favor of "War or a Republic," were no idle bluff. The friends of ex-Premier Giolitti, who went to Rome to exert his influence, so unsuccessfully, in behalf of neutrality, had to keep him in close! hiding in Rome until they could spirit him away from the city in the night time. Heaven knows ,what would have happened to him if the Populus Romanus, which was wrought up to fever heat in favor of intervention, had caught him. And yet Giolitti was supposed to control Parliament as few American political bosses, let them have been Tom Piatt, Gorman or Quay, have ever controlled a State Legislature. Not so long ago he was the strongest man in the country; today he is the most widely detested.

On the other hand, Salandra is the man of the hour. If there are any neutralists left in Italy after Salandra's memorable speech at the Capitol of Rome last week in reply to Bethmann-Hollweg, they are lying very low and rivaling the oyster. As was the case with the advanced Socialists in France, so with the corresponding party in Italy ; they have fallen in line and form a large percentage of the hundreds of thousands of Italians who, though not called out, have offered themselves as volunteers. Salandra's speech justifying Italy's entry into war has met with the indorsement of every element, so far as I can judge from conversations with Italians of various stations in life or political views, and those most competent to judge, tell me that from the standpoint of literature it is a classic which students of the language will do well to adopt as a text book.

Already every Italian knows the introductory sentences by heart. They are worth recording here as being the keynote of the discourse, and are as follows :

"I address myself to Italy and the civilized world in order to show not by violent words but by exact facts and documents how the fury of our enemies has vainly attempted to diminish the high moral and political dignity of the cause which our army must make prevail. I speak with the calm of which the King of Italy has given a noble example when he called his land and sea forces to arms. I shall speak with the respect due to my position and to the place in which I speak. I can afford to ignore the insults written in Imperial, Royal and Archducal proclamations. Since I speak from the Capitol and represent in this solemn hour the People and the Government of Italy, I, a simple citizen — uno modesto borghese — feel that I am far nobler than the head of the House of the Hapsburgs."

Another impression I have received is that the dominating motive of the war has been modified. "Italy Unredeemed !" used to be the cry that filled the air — "Trent and Trieste !" So, too, we heard at the outset of the war of nations in France, "Alsace and Lorraine !" But just as the recovery of "Alsace and Lorraine" has become for France a mere incident, so for Italy the "redemption" of Trent and Trieste also has become a side issue.

That Italy always has hated Austria even the most superficially acquainted with the people must know. For Germany, however, in former years, there had been no special ill feeling. Even a week ago on my arrival here an Italian of high standing told me that he believed that the Italian Government had some sort of an understanding with t the Kaiser. Bethmann-Hollweg's virulent attack upon Italy soon dissipated any such delusion and at the same time crystallized the /growing anti-German animosity that began with the invasion of Belgium, was furthered by the bombardment of; the Cathedral of Rheims and was rapidly culminating upon the sinking of the Lusitania.

Bethmann-Hollweg's speech "did the business." Today I find no distinction made between Austrians and Germans. If anything, the Italians are getting to hate the Germans more than they hate the Austrians, for they have been convinced that the victory of the central empires would mean the slavery of Italy to the Kaiser's Government. And whatever may be the defects L of government in Italy, its people is a liberty loving people, quite anti-militaristic in spirit — a real democracy where the King reigns, as the law says, by "the grace of God and the will of the Nation."

While as yet Victor Emmanuel III. has not had the same opportunity for becoming a hero as that other splendid constitutional monarch, King Albert of Belgium, he has again shown himself to be a real leader by turning over ordinary governmental affairs to his uncle and assuming the position of head of the army. Several times during the past week he has been on the firing line, where his simplicity of manner and genuinely human sympathy with his soldiers have an inspiring effect upon the men who are doing the fighting. Nor is he without a sense of humor, for on one occasion he was greeted so frequently and uproariously by the soldiers with the cry "Viva il Re !" that he turned to his adjutant and friend, Lieutenant-General Brusati, and remarked:

"That almost makes me feel like shouting 'Long live the King !' myself !"

The apparently normal state of affairs in Milan, of course, is due to the factjthat so far the Italians have been fighting on the enemy's territory. It is a good many hours to the nearest point of hostilities, and then it is a war to a great extent in the mountains. None the sless all necessary precautions are being taken, especially against attacks of aeroplanes and dirigibles. The Italian Aviation Corps are being Reinforced by French experts. A half dozen of the latter who had stopped off at Milan visited the Galleria the other evening. Recognized, they were surrounded by a crowd at once. An enthusiastic Franco-Italian demonstration was improvised, and when the band in Biffi's restaurant struck up the "Marseillaise" there was a display of Latin emotion not easily forgotten.

It is a possible attack on the Cathedral that seems to concern the j Milanese the most. There isn't a citizen who doesn't believe that nothing would give the Germans and Austrians more joy than to drop a few destructive^bombs on the architectural masterpiece which is his city's pride and glory.

Anyone who has visited Milan will remember the immense gilded statue of the Madonna — "the Madonina," they call it affectionately — that tops the central spire. Well, the Madonina is having a monster cloak of jgray made for her. When she dons it, though, she will seem more a Magdalene than a Madonna. She will be less a target for the enemy's bombs than she is at present. And, by the way, if you had strolled into the vast Cathedral with me this morning while service was going on, if you ever had visited ^t before, you would have wondered what strange thing had happened completely to change the interior of the Duomo. Gone all the "dim religious light !" ', Gone all that haunting, impressive air of mystery! The explanation? The stained glass has been removed from the windows, piece by piece, a most delicate and painstaking work, as you may imagine — all removed from the windows where they have been transmuting the common light of the outer world into an atmosphere of sanctity for generations and generations, to be hid in some safe, unknown spot from the vio* lence of that i vandalism known as Twentieth Century Scientific Warfare!

A local historian makes bold to say that this is the first time that the stained glass decorations of a sacred edifice have been unset and carried off to protect them from the profane hands of a possible invading enemy. He may be right. So, too, may be justified the writer in a local humorous paper who says he is preserving as a curiosity for his great-great-grandchildren to cherish, the parasol which his wife had to raise within the Cathedral to protect her from the sun while taking part in the services at high mass today, the Festa dello Statuto of 1915. S

Passengers who arrived a few days ago from New York on the steamship Stampalia, including Maestro Giorgio Polacco, the Metropolitan Opera conductor, had the sensation of their lives. The vessel sailed Saturday, May 22. The captain before leaving received an anonymous letter telling him that if Italy went to war^efore the Stampalia reached port she would meet with the same fate as the Lusitania! A nice "bon voyage !" Arriving at Gibraltar he received word from the Italian Government that three German submarines wfere believed to be in the Mediterranean, using the Balearic Islands as a base of supplies. He was ordered to change his usual course, not stop at Naples, as scheduled, and make for Spezia instead. From Gibraltar to Spezia thejStampalia did some very fine zigzagging, with lights down at night and the lifeboats ready for service at any moment. No submarine attacks occurred, however, and the Stampalia reached Spezia without further incident, proceeding to Genoa next day. Were the passengers glad to put foot on terra firma? Ask yourself.

By the way, anyone who comes to Italy for sightseeing this summer will be sadly disappointed if he expects to see much of the country from the train windows. He will see exactly nothing, for the military order is that the curtains must be closed on every window. I traveled four hours from Genoa to Milan without getting more than an occasional stealthy peep at the outer world, and had even the same experience in an hour's ride in an electric train that runs between Milan and Varese.

And speaking of Varese — in concluding this rambling letter — if you really do come over you can occupy the late J. Pierpont Morgan's favorite suite — you and your family — at the palatial Excelsior Hotel ( best golf links in Northern Italy ; panorama unrivaled, etc.) for not much more than ten and a half francs a dav, food and all modern comforts included! There are twenty patrons at present at the immense hostelry. Signor Bonelli (who owns it all by himself) told me he didn't! mind having one or two more; their presence might add to the gayety of the season !

II

Venice as It Appeared After Three Aeroplane Attacks — A City That Lived on Its Tourist Trade Void of Strangers — Experiences of an American Visitor — Conte Zorzi Talks for His Fellow- Citizens — Night Doubly Dark.

Venice, Thursday, June 10, 1915.

HADE of Goldoni! Shade of Casanova! C Shade of all the doges that ever ruled

^ the Queen of the Adriatic ! What would

anyone of them say if in the flesh he could visit Venice in these days of war? Never, surely, did anyone of them in his time see what I have seen since arriving here yesterday — a Venice in total obscurity!

Not a street lamp lighted at night! Not the faintest candle glow from a residence window! Not a twinkle from a gondola lantern on the placid laguna ! Not even a ray of moonlight ! Were it not for the stars alone the nights would be black as Erebus ! Think of it, you who know Venice in her gayest aspect, and try to picture her present condition — a city that was ever widest awake in ithe small hours of the morning now compelled to go to bed with the pigeons of San Marco!

I had decided to run over here from Milan to get what would be my first impression of Venice in spite of the abnormal conditions, when I read in the evening paper of a third Austrian, aeroplane attack. This intensified my curiosity. So off I started Wednesday morning. Five hours and a half on the train with all the window curtains tightly drawn and the compartment crowded is not much fun ; but the tedium was relieved a bit when by a strange coincidence I discovered that my neighbor was the brother of Maestro Tanara of New York, whom I had seen the day before sailing. He got off atf Padua on his way to Udine, very grateful for the fresh family news I gave him.

Arriving at Venice station, being apparently the only foreigner in the train and having heard of the suspicion with which all strangers were being regarded, I carried my own satchel, asking no questions, and simply followed the crowd as nonchalant as possible. Did I take a gondola? Not a bit of it; and I am going to leave Venice with what I believe must be a record for an American visitor — I have not been in a gondola once during my stay! The three cents omnibus steamer or vaporetto was good enough for me. The weather was damp, gray and chilly as I took my first ride along the Grand Canal. There was hardly a sign of life on either side; not one face at a palazzo window and passing gondolas quite infrequent.

At the Eialto Bridge I did discover at least half a dozen persons on the embankment, and by a happy chance the mist lifted about this time, so that when the boat stopped and I got off at the San Marco landing the view of the laguna from that point was truly enchanting.

Here I found much more human activity and realized that in spite of the departure of all foreigners, except about thirty or forty Americans and English, it is probably true the present population, including the soldiers, who swarmed everywhere, is about two hundred thousand. Taking the precaution to pin a miniature American flag on my lapel, I proceeded along the narrow streets, still following the crowd, passed through an arckway, till I found jnyself looking out on what I realized was the Piazza of San Marco, to be dumbfounded by the modernity of the rebuilt Campanile, contrasting so rudely, as I thought, with the fantastic, Oriental, exotic beauty of the Basilica, whose marbles have been enriched by the passing of centuries.

At last I ventured to inquire my way to the Hotel Jolanda, and had response from three or four amiable idlers who recognized my nationality and were convinced I was not a German spy. A clean, bright faced youngster who said he was Tony Origoni impressed me most favorably. I made a bargain for his services as guide at two francs a day and perquisites. He took me along the arcades of the

Piazza, where one alter another of those shops so enticing to American vistors has been closed. He introduced me to the San Marco pigeons and bought me two cents' worth of corn to feed them, while the street photographer, who had been fast asleep, woke up to make a snapshot as the pigeons perched on my hand and hat. Poor pigeons ! they don't get as much to eat these days as they do in normal times, so that a stranger is a welcome visitor. Around past the Ducal Palace, along the water front, over the Paglia bridge, from which one sees the Bridge of Sighs, past the famous prison and a few steps more and Tony landed me safely at the hotel named after the oldest daughter of Italy's royal family.

Signor Inganni, the proprietor, was both surprised and cordial. His is one of the few hotels still open, and all his other guests were army and navy officers. I convinced him also that I was perfectly harmless and got a room, after which I lost no time in finding, with Tony's aid, the police headquarters, where I had no difficulty in getting the necessary permit to stay in Venice.

"Glad to see you were not afraid of the aeroplanes," said the Commissioner. "They haven't frightened the Venetians in the least. And they have paid well for their stupid attempts to annoy us."

Armed with my permits, I started out to find the office of the Gazetta di Yenezia, the leading newspaper of the city, to present a letter of introduction to the editor, Conte Elio Zorzi. Tony led me by devious ways over many little bridges back to the Piazzo San Marco. We stopped to look at the masons reinforcing the Gothic arches of the Ducal Palazzo with solid brickwork and piling tons of small bags of sand around the base of the Campanile. We peeped into San Marco Church, where we found more sandbags piled against the walls, the statues of the twelve apostles swathed in stuffed bagging and scaffolding being erected everywhere that the protection of the edifice from injury from bombs could suggest. Despite the noise of hammers a religious service was proceeding calmly and devotionally, though there were more priests around the altar than worshippers.

Out again to the Piazza. More movement was in evidence, but more than half the men you saw were officers or soldiers. The tables within and in front of the fashionable afternoon tea rooms on the north side of the Piazza, Quadri's and Lavena's, were filling up. As every civilian and many of the military were Venetians, the entire absence of the usual foreign element made it a big family party. The women seemed quite smartly dressed. The war has only begun for Italy and the time hasn't arrived for the dominant black note in women's toilets.

I had been walking five minutes through more narrow labyrinthian streets when a naval bluejacket hurried up behind me and, tapping me on the shoulder, asked me who I was and what I wanted. Immediately a crowd gathered around. I looked for little Tony, but evidently he got scared, for he had disappeared. I smilingly assured my naval inquisitor that I was anything but German and that my mission was irreproachable, handing him my passport and police permit. He made me remove my hat; to see if I resembled the photograph and was going through the movements of seeming to read the documents for the benefit of the crowd, when an infantry captain came along.

"What is this?" he asked of me, very courteously.

I explained. Just what he said to the zealous sailor man I /'don't know, but it was short, sharp and decisive, and his departure was so abrupt that immediately the crowd, with true Venetian sense of humor, "handed him the laugh," while a young soldier approaching me said in excellent English :

"Are you from New York? I am, and if you are I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

"So will I," said an old chap with a pointed beard, who looked like a G. A. E. veteran (also in tolerable English), and who added in a whisper: "Are you a Mason? Sshh! Masons are not very popular in Venice."

The soldier proved to be a ' Neapolitan, Giuseppe Firo, who had been a barber at the Hoffman House. My Masonic friend was one Leone Levi, agent of the K Wilson Steamship Line and a former anti-Austrian conspirator, who years ago had to run away from Trieste to save his skin. Thanks to their courtesy, I soon reached the Gazette office and Conte Zorzi.

«<<5* ^& ^&

A descendant of the Doges (as I afterward learned), I found Conte Zorzi a young man of charming personality — tall, slender, refined in feature — a true Italian aristocrat. He, too, was surprised to know that any American would think of visiting Venice at such a time until he learned that I was a colleague.

"Glad to do anything in my power to serve you," said he, "but I have to report to my regiment twice a day and may have to leave for the front any day. However, as we have an hour to spare let's go to have tea at the Piazza."

We were about to start when a boy brought Signor Zorzi a handful of press telegrams. Glancing over them, he suddenly remarked :

"Ah ! here's something that may interest you !"

And it did! It was the news just arrived of William J. Bryan's resignation. Of course he wished to know what I thought of it and what effect it might have on the attitude of the American Government toward Germany, etc. What did I tell him? That, my reader, is a professional secret.

Glancing around the Ban Marco Piazza as we sipped our tea, I remarked that the gathering seemed to be fairly numerous.

"Well, my dear sir," said Signor Zorzi, "there is nobody here — practically nobody. This time a year ago you would have seen a multitude. Hundreds and hundreds of the young men of our best families have left for the front, many of them volunteering because they hadn't been called. The fact is no city in Italy has felt the war or is likely to feel the war so keenly as Venice, so near are we to the field of action. Furthermore, there is no part of Italy where a more ardent patriotism exists. Do you know that Venice was the first to use the term Patria as applied to Italy? It is true, and we're very proud of the fact. Kemember also that the Trieste district and the Dalmatian coast were ours — Venice's — and always have been ours in race and sympathy. For instance, a Dalmatian- Venetian steamship company was being formed recently. The Dalmatians asked that the vessels fly the old Venetian flag in preference to any other. Here, too, we know from our fathers what Austrian rule meant in its most tyrannical form. Never, in my mind, was a war more just or more popular than the war we just have begun. Our Green Book and Salandra's magnificent speech should satisfy every neutral."

Of Signor Zorzi's earnestness, enthusiasm and confidence in the outcome there wasn't a shadow of a doubt. As he seemed to know almost everybody we met I take it that his opinion is thoroughly representative of Venetian sentiment, especially as the business director of the paper, Cavalieri Bolla (who, I learned, is a leader of the Conservative majority in the city government) later on expressed himself in like manner.

"As you come from a great republic," continued the Conte, "I hope you will observe the paradoxical fact that while Venice is one of the most intensely aristocratic cities in Italy it is really one of the most democratic. Go back and you'll find that intelligence always furnished the basis for ennoblement in Venice. The people at large always recognized this and their relations with the old aristocracy have always been cordial, never servile. This Piazza is the Salon of Venice, where every one comes to meet everyone else — and you will note that the simple woman of the people with dark eyes, dark hair and traditional dark mantilla takes her afternoon stroll with her companion under the arcade with the same air of independence as the lady of the noblesse. And now more so than ever, for she, too, has sent a brother, father or sweetheart to fight for her country's future freedom with just the same spirit of patriotic sacrifice as her social superior."