Mussolini Trionfante

Upon the Capitoline, smallest of Rome's seven hills, Premier Mussolini spoke last week in a mood of fervent exaltation before the International Congress of Surgeons.

"Oh, illustrious masters of the surgical art! It is through you that medical science has achieved its greatest and most glorious conquests throughout the centuries! . . . Italia, Italia bella was the cradle of your art. With the Italian Renaissance surgery attained one of its most transcendent periods through the labors of Vesalius Paracelsus and Pare . . . Ah, but you are too modest, you surgeons! The great Pare, leaning over a patient and raising his eyes to Heaven exclaimed: 'I have bandaged this man's wound, but God is healing it!'

"No! I say no! Pare not only bandaged but healed. As a soldier in the Great War I have experienced on my own body your wise skill. What I have experienced, all the millions of wounded have experienced. . . .

"The soldier can rest when the battle is over. The surgeon never rests until his dying day. When the last cannon has sounded, your fight is but begun!"

Bullet. Amid delirious cheering, Signor Mussolini quitted the Capitol and strode toward his automobile. In the general excitement no one noticed a wild-eyed white-haired Irishwoman who sprang up beside the Premier's motor and thrust a small object at him with both hands. Her gesture was not that of a woman pointing a revolver. II Duce, intent upon his thoughts, did not notice the blue steel muzzle trained upon his temple. As a band struck up the Fascist hymn, "Giovinezza," he threw back his head and fixed his eyes on a staff flying the Italian flag. The bullet sped, but not into Signor Mussolini's brain. He had thrown back his head sufficiently so that it pierced only the tip of his nostrils. Tiny stinging powder burns seared his cheek, his lips.

"Nothing!" Famed Italian surgeon Professor Bastianelli, rushed to Premier Mussolini and deftly checked a possible nasal hemorrhage by holding his handkerchief in such a way as to stop the flow of blood partly, without allowing it to back up in the nasal passages. For an instant the Premier reeled, muttered under his breath, "A woman! Fancy, a woman!"

Simultaneously a raging crowd of Fascists were paying no attention to the sex or age of his would-be assassin. As a policeman tried to drag her to safety, sharp fingernails clawed at her neck, her arms. The mob was on the point of ending her life by crunching slimy means. . . .

Suddenly the electric rumor of Mussolini's will stayed Fascist hands. II Duce had retained his ice-calm resolution, even while the powder burns stung him and the extent of his injury was not known. Before his wound could be dressed, he rapped out an order: "Let nothing be done which will bring reproach to our beloved Italy. I desire that the country be not alarmed. I do not want reprisals. It is my will. . . . If dangers confront us, I will face them with all equanimity. Now go home quietly without using violence."

Who Was She? Investigation disclosed that the woman thus spared was the Hon. Violet Albina Gibson, sister of the Irish peer, William Gibson, second Baron Ashbourne. Psychologists wearily pointed out that, like so many actual assassins, she was not only demented but known to be demented not only by her family but by all who knew her.

Her sister, the Hon. Constance Gibson, offered an apologia of great significance when it is considered how many potential criminals are not receiving proper care or experiencing adequate restraint:

"It was simply my sister's mental derangement that made her shoot Mussolini.

"She showed signs, even as a little girl, of a peculiar temperament. She was hysterical and impatient of restraint, would fly into the most awful tempers, over the least trifle, and often lost control of herself.

"She was in a mental institution in England in 1923 for six months, but as she seemed normal after that the family had no power to keep her under control. But in Italy it seems there are no lunacy laws.

"She went there with a companion 18 months ago, and on Feb. 28 last year, apparently as a result of religious mania, shot herself in the lung after attending a Holy Year service. She recovered after her life had been in danger, and for the family's sake it was represented as an accident, but in view of what happened today the truth had better be admitted.

"After an attack of this kind she is always normal, but probably the news of our mother's recent death brought this on. I can't imagine where she got the revolver. One of us, either my sister, Lady Bolton, myself or my brother, Lord Ashbourne, will go to Rome and try to bring her home in order that she may receive proper attention."

Lady Ashbourne (sister-in-law) telegraphed to Premier Mussolini from Compiegne, France:

"I am deeply stricken with sorrow over the attack on you, a person so precious to the entire world. Permit me to express my embarrassment, my indignation and my

disgrace. I offer all my wishes for the preservation of your life." Lord Ashbourne* cabled from Dublin: "Miss Gibson's family regret the incident and express profound sympathy."

President William T. Cosgrave of the Irish Free State cabled:

"In behalf of the Irish Free State I have the honor to congratulate your Excellency and the Italian people on the providential escape of your Excellency from the odious attempt on your person."

It was recalled that the demented woman, now 50, once said that she attempted to commit suicide "for the glory of God." Sitting in her cell at Rome, her face and neck scratched, her dress untidy, she declared: "Supernatural forces entrusted me with the lofty mission of attempting to kill Mussolini."

"Gentle Joke." A few hours after the "incident," Premier Mussolini drove unconcerned to a Cabinet meeting. To his Ministers, still desperately uneasy lest his wound should prove serious, he said with a smile:

"Calm yourselves. It is just a gentle joke with a pistol shot. . . .

"As you see, I am still alive. Nothing has really happened. Let us return to our work; we must neither become alarmed nor alarm others. . . .

"We are marching onward. If I advance, follow me. If I retire, kill me. If I am killed, avenge me. . . .

"I have chosen as the slogan of my life, 'Live in danger.'"

From the back of the room, Augusto Turati, new Secretary General of the Fascist party (TIME, April 12) exclaimed with fervor: "Once again God has saved Italy!" Meanwhile the Premier's old friends recalled other instances tending to show that "his temperament is by nature fearless." It was told again how, when he was an editor in Milan, he used to keep several bombs and hand grenades upon his desk, in case his political enemies should attack him. Once, while writing an editorial, he set fire to the fuse of one of these bombs by accidentally resting his cigaret upon it. An assistant noticed the smouldering fuse, screamed. Looking up, Editor Mussolini snuffed it out with his fingers, continued the writing of his editorial.

Triumph. Part of the "work" to which Premier Mussolini recalled his Ministers consisted of last minute preparations for a voyage across the Mediterranean to Italian Tripoli, upon which the Premier was scheduled to embark late in the week, accompanied by the new Fascist directorate (headed by Turati) and by numerous provincial secretaries of the Fascist party. True to his words, Mussolini set sail -- on the day following Miss Gibson's attack.

At Fiumicino, a seaport near Rome, he boarded the dreadnaught Conte di Cavour amid an ovation scarcely to be described. As the ship's crew cheered him from the rigging and from every other possible vantage point, he commanded silence with a gesture and proceeded to "introduce" the provincial Fascist secretaries to their directorate.

II Duce cried: "This ceremony is held on a warship for four reasons:

"1. I wish you to render homage to our glorious navy, in which are based our hopes for the future.

"2. I want you to become familiar with these instruments of war.

"3. I wish that upon this warship your inspirations and spirits may be enlarged, because, coming from territories more or less inland, your naval consciences should be completely awakened.

"4. We are of the Mediterranean, and our destiny, without patterning after anyone, has been and always will be on the sea."

Throughout Europe these "Imperial" sentiments were viewed with the usual alarm. As the Conte di Cavour steamed away, she was followed by the Julius Caesar, by many another Italian warship whose name envisions the greatness of Italy.

Imperial Welcome. With the tip of his nose brown with iodine but unbandaged, Signer Mussolini landed at Tripoli amid a salute of 19 guns, an honor previously reserved for princes of the blood. Mounted on a charger, he reviewed for over an hour a military procession in which walked and rode native warriors in every sort of brilliant and picturesque attire together with every device for military transport, from Arabian dromedaries to Italian tanks.

An interpreter translated II Duce's subsequent words into Arabian:

"Our great and august sovereign whom God protects and the people love, has charged me to bring his salute to this land, which is forever Italian. I know you are obedient to the laws, and, being so, you will be protected today, tomorrow, always, by the King's just decrees."

Finally, at Governor Debono's palace, Mussolini spoke as much as he dared of what was in his heart to crowds of frenzied Italians:

"Fascist Italian Tripoli! You represent here Italy which is daily more prosperous and powerful. Rome carries the beacon lamp of strength to the shores of the African sea. No one can stop our inexorable will.

"You understand me more for what I have not said than for what I have said. Only this language is possible in Fascist style."

* He married a Frenchwoman and spends most of his time abroad. Invariably he goes about without a hat, and often in kilts.