Eh, Well

Four weeks ago, canny Giovanni Vis-conti-Venosta, Premier Bonomi's Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs, got tired of trying to work through the Roman dusk by candle and carbide light.* One afternoon when Britain's High Commissioner, prim Sir Noel Charles, was to call, Visconti-Venosta personally ordered every candle and sputtering carbide light in the Palazzo Chigi doused. Sir Noel walked into Stygian gloom, groped his way through the Chigi's interminable passages and waiting rooms, conferred ghost-to-ghost with Visconti-Venosta. whose face never cracked a smile. Next day Visconti-Venosta wrote Sir Noel a note reviewing the discussions: "As we were saying yesterday in complete darkness. . . ." Sir Noel got the point. The Chigi got Allied-rationed electricity.

Last week other lights came on in the Palazzo Chigi. The U.S., Russia, Great Britain, several of the Latin American countries (but not near neighbors France, Greece, Yugoslavia) granted Italy diplomatic recognition. They had exchanged or would soon exchange ambassadors with her. Belatedly once more, the U.S. and Britain had caught up with Moscow. For Russia has had "direct relations" with the Italian Government since last April, as every Italian knows.

Russia has always subscribed to the U.S. and British rule that the Italians could communicate with other countries only through the Allied Control Commission. But the Russians, sensing the Italians' deep resentment, simply let it be known that they had business with Italy apart from military matters, that Russian representatives would discuss such business directly with the Italians.

Honest old Premier Ivanoe Bonomi read a statement: the change in Italy's international status, he hoped, would eventually apply to internal affairs as well. That, Italians recalled, was their hope when they had cheered the Roosevelt-Churchill order to drop the hated word "control" from Allied Control Commission, the Roosevelt-Churchill promise of greater authority for the Italian Government.

Hope and Cynicism. Last week the sign on the door of the Commission offices read: "Allied Commission." A second sign still read: "Allied Control Commission." Behind the door, no changes. Result: among Italians, mounting hopes, then mounting cynicism; among Allied officials, bewilderment and confusion.

There were other barbs. Rome asked Washington whether the Italian Embassy was available for its new occupant, probably Count Carlo Sforza. Washington replied: of course. Rome asked London whether the Italian Embassy was available for tall, handsome, superbly tailored Count Niccolo Carandini. London answered : Count Carandini could live at the Claridge. (Anti-Italian feeling was still strong among Britons. Count Carandini had best not make himself too conspicuous.) Italians sighed. With characteristic patience they looked at the new electric light in the Palazzo Chigi, murmured: "Eh, well, wait and see."

* Italians come to work at 8 or 9 in the morning, knock off at 1 for a three-hour lunch and siesta, resume work around 4 or 4:30. Government offices usually stay open until 7 or 8, despite anguished British-U.S. efforts to make the Italians conform to British-U.S. hours.

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