ITALY: Cold Welcome

Through Lombardy roared a cavalcade of motors that knew no speed laws. At the wheel of his own car Benito Mussolini swooped o’er the Tessin Hills and down upon the Locarno Conference (see INTERNATIONAL) a scant 30 hours before it closed.

Pale, haggard, he sought the villa of Joseph Farinelli, his wealthy friend. His bodyguard, 20 strong, was swelled by a cordon of Swiss police desperately uneasy lest he be assassinated. Secretly he returned the official calls of his distinguished confréres, who were busy with the final details of the Pact. In these last-minute negotiations he took no part. With the fears and the aloofness of a Sultan he remained secluded until the hour when he must add his pen scratch to the others.

When he at last entered the conference room to sign for Italy it is reported that the delegates greeted him with formal bows and stark official courtesy. This was made necessary by the fact that Emile Vandervelde, the Socialist Belgian Foreign Minister, had announced that he would under no circumstances shake hands with Mussolini, whom he considers personally responsible for the atrocious murder of the Italian Socialist, Matteaotti (TIME, Oct. 19 et. ante), who was the close friend of Minister Vandervelde. It was felt that a scene could be avoided only by invoking an attitude of rigid formalism on the part of all present.

At the hands of the Press, II Benito received not even formal courtesy. As a protest against Fascismo’s actions in maintaining a strangling censorship on all Italian news and even expelling a foreign journalist from Italy, over 100 journalists, representing a majority of the chief newspapers of the world, completely boycotted Mussolini when he announced that he would read a prepared statement to the Press, but would answer no questions.

When the Italian Premier saw that half the journalists were missing from his “interview” he cried: “Ha! There is a demonstration? I hope they send in a petition. I have a big waste basket!”

But no petition was sent in. Benito read his statement to the scattering of correspondents present—mostly Germans and Italians. They reported that he seemed nervous and unable to make himself quite coherent, although he read from manuscript.

Descending into the lobby of the hotel at which the “interview” was given, Mussolini’s brow darkened as he found the boycotting journalists quietly staring at him, without making the slightest move to question him about anything. Folding his arms imposingly, the Dictator marched up to George Slocombe, fiery-bearded Paris correspondent of The Daily Herald, noted mouthpiece of British Labor, and demanded: “Well, how’s Communism?” Mr. Slocombe cut the Premier dead. Abashed, Mussolini murmured: “Then I have made a mistake?” turned irresolutely on his heel. A sparrowlike little Dutch correspondent chirped loudly: “You often do!” Flouted, and apparently speechless, II Benito rushed from the hotel. Later he sped back over the hills to Italy and omnipotence.

It was recalled that Mr. Slocombe and Mussolini had known each other well in the days when the present dictator was himself a Communist.