SIGNOR MUSSOLINI—A VERBAL SNAP-SHOT.
[To the Editor of the SPECTATOR.] SIR,—I Write from Rome. How popular Mussolini is ! I saw him well one morning—he had been riding in the Borghese Gardens, and was just coming from the Pincio. He looks just what he is—a man of the people. His face is heavy and hard, and you feel he would look more at home and more natural in mechanics' overalls than in a top-hat and frock- coat ! But he is a great man ! No one but he could have accomplished what he has ! High-handed and savage as his methods 'are, they were absolutely essential to put an end to all the strikes and dissensions. He knows his people. They have to be ruled with a rod of iron. Otherwise there. is no discipline. Italy was gOing.to pieces, and he was about the only man who could put her together. Whether Fascism will last, who can say ; probably it will die a natural death' when worn out and no longer necessary. But for the present, he has the people with him, heart and soul.
The festa of the Fascisti was a memorable day—I can never forget it. 4 was the day of Young Italy. Thousands upon thousands of young men, mostly lads, swarmed in the streets of Rome. From all parts of Italy they came. Tall Men 'from. Piedmont and Veneto ; fierce, rollicking creatures from 'Bologna, with their sleeves rolled up, bareheaded, hands in pockets, whistling some wild sort of march ; arditi " from Sicily, with dreadful knives stuck in their black sashes ; from Calabria, and even from Fiume they came. And all had the same look of courage, grave determination and high purpose. Yet how young and gay they all were when they dispersed to seek amusement ! A large party came up on to the Pincio where I happened to be sitting—there is a large ristorante there, perhaps you may remember Rome well enough, just where the celebrated view is—they sat down to drink and lunch ; they had their own band which played to please itself evidently for the time was remarkable ; every piece ended up at break-neck speed with a furious clash of cymbals and shouts of laughter. I sat under my tree, the only spectator, unnoticed and unheeded, enjoying their spontaneous gaiety. I loved to see them, and when they began to dance with each other it was perfectly charming— so light, so graceful ; so might young fauns have frisked on the Pincian Hill, long before Romulus thought of it as a suit- able building site—or, at least, of building near it. Truly the Italians can be an adorable nation. Their gaiety is so like their own brilliant sunshine, and they are never what we call "rowdy." That day made a very great impression on me. I am glad I happened to be in Rome. I read the Spectator's article on "Italy Revisited" with great interest. Some things I agree with entirely, but there is always this to remember—that everything is much better ordered in the
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