Well Again

For more than a month, Premier Benito Mussolini had been confined, sometimes to his bed, always within the intramural spaces of the Palazzo Chigi. His illness was influenza complicated by grave internal trouble. Last week, on the sixth anniversary of the founding of Fascismo, a vast concourse of Romans assembled before the Palazzo in the soft, warm radiance of a sunny day. It was prearranged that the assembled Fascisti below the celebrated balcony window, which has so often quivered from the vibrations of the Premier's stentorian tones, should be brought to attention by bugles, should salute, Roman fashion, with arm and palm outstretched before them, the first appearance of il Ducc (the Leader).

A French window was heard to grate as it was opened by an unseen hand and, a moment later, Signer Mussolini stepped out into the sunshine. He was dressed in the Black Shirt of the Fascisti and, although somewhat paler than usual, appeared to be in perfect health. He stood at the Roman salute, an imposing figure against the drab background of the Palace. Below, the bugles sounded their flourish--but the people did not salute. For ten minutes they cheered, roared and gesticulated a welcome that outdid any of their previous acclamations. Not a man there, be he even an intractable enemy of Fascism, but could say that the Premier had scored his greatest personal triumph.

Quiet descended. Ears were at attention. The Premier began a bellicose speech which lacked none of the old fire of his dominant spirit. His jerky gestures were as energetic as ever and there was the old flash in his eyes. He began by saying that his appearance must give the lie to the fantastic reports which had been circulated about his health. He added: "Tis Spring, and now the fun begins." He continued, with a shaking fist for emphasis :

"This meeting marks for me and for you a total and integral resumption of Fascist action against all of our enemies."

It was a short, abrupt, moderate speech, whose high point came when he asked: "Will you follow me?" It was a well-chosen phrase, minus none of the histrionic art of which the Premier is a first rate preceptor. The crowd went mad. One hundred and fifty thousand arms shot out and the same number of throats roared: "Si! Si! Si! Evviva Mussolini! Evviva Il Duce!" Hats, sticks, handkerchiefs and other articles were thrown high into the air or waved in a gigantic paroxysm of fervid enthusiasm. Then, Mussolini was gone as quickly as he had appeared. All over Italy, enthusiastic demonstrations took place in honor of the anniversary. More than 1,000,000 Fascisti were said to have taken an oath of fealty to their leader.