KING VICTOR OF ITALY

Evening Post, Volume XCI, Issue 37, 14 February 1916, Page 2

KING VICTOR OF ITALY

POET'S WORD PORTRAIT

A FORECAST THAT HAS NOT j ERRED. J (By Gabriele D'Annunzio in the London Daily Telegraph.) When, at the end of our week of passion, we won the'hitter battle against the dealers and the traders, I was notified that the King would do me the honour of receiving me. I started towards Villa Ada with the buoyancy of youth. There flashed back to my memory the very distant day when I saw him, then only Crown Prince, for the first time. It was on the field of manoeuvres near Bracciono, which, in the noon hour, under the dog-day sun, appeared almost to have reverted to its pristine volcanic state of burning tufa, incandescent lava, as in the time when the lake was a yawning crater.

Before my eyes discovered him in the shady avenue where, he awaited me, I had again' in my memory the sharp glance of his blue soldier eyes, which on seeing me for the first time had- examined me from head to foot in my uniform of the Alexandria light cavalry. He was on horseback with his officers, toward dusk; on a. road .bordering the lake. I, with a fellow officer, appeared to be returning from a reconnaissance of tha forces and the enemy's position, but itT reality from having discovered in Trevigiiano's old church two canvases of. the Urbrian school, two pictures after Perugino, from having sought among castle ruins for, Caesar Borgia's shadow. The Crown Prince stopped his horse, and, while we stood- at attention before him, scrutinised us with his searching, severe eye from cap to leggings. We we.'c in perfect regulation uniform. Only then he recognised in me the young poet of the Roman' Elegies. He smiled at me, nodding slightly with such a. frank Italian gentleness as to cause a great hope to bloom in my heart for his destiny. I saw him disappear in the distance in the luminous evening, amidst chirping swallows. I delighted to follow him with heartfelt wishes, this youth, destined to be the future Latin King of Greater Italy; took delight in following him with my eyes towards tho classic horizon of sacred Latium, there where the Soratte, the Sabine mountains, the peak of the Cimino stood tinged with purple, while Anguilhira and Trevignuno grew darker on their basaltic lava promontories. In the following days I had the good fortune of actiug as guide to his regiment during the manoeuvres and of riding_ for some hours all his side. Two things impressed me. above all else while he deigned to converse with me iv the course of the 'weary march —the precision of his culture and his love for the beauties of the landscape; the faculty of.action and that of contemplation. ITALIAN COURTESY. Both these faculties, but graver and deeper, I again i'oitnd in him during my recerit visit. I also found that courtesy of pure Italian quality, in the sense which our fathers of the thirteenth century gave to the word; that simple, virile courtesy which prompted him to come and meet me almost on the threshold of the gateway, not to honour me, but to honour in .me "the spirit that brought me, the love which holds me, the idea I serve." ■ On arriving at Rome I had thrown myself into-the fight without heeding'the ! thrusts. There was.a moment when we believed everything was lost—that -moment when the Government handed the King its resignation. There, was a moment when we truly believed the fatherland would bo horribly assassinated. From that moment we fought with a kind of desperate fury, without, minding the hostile thrusts. With my words, my acts, I represented the crudest kind of opposition against a most dangerous politician, one who had been Prime Minister, decorated with the highest regal i order. On 14th May, .at a meeting of the people, I accused hini_ of high treason with implacable earnestness', with premeditated, precise coldness, producing proof, of the facts. The whole people responded with a cry of. "Death !" The ■ King, who came toward me alojig the shady avenue, knew this in extending me his hand. .He'was giving his hand to a good fighter. He was receiving the message of the people. With a gesture of noble frankness he declared on which side lay right and reason, disdained and repulsed the defrauders and traders. No longer could anyone doubt! No longer fear! That hand, extended .to a poet still warm from the battle fought, was ready to unsheathe the dagger. I was profoundly moved. Never shall I forget that wonderful hour, with its throbbing accompaniment of iron desi tiny. He was, as ever, calm; his voice tranquil and steady. His conversation was measured, clear', .but he was already wearing. the grey field uniform of a general, ready to mount his horse. The whole army of Italy was deployed behind him; in the pauses I could hear the' rhythm of innumerable feet. It was .said the King had hesitated long before taking the supreme step, but truly there was no sign on him of such hesitation. He wore his usual aspect, the aspect of one who proposes to discharge his duty to the last with all his conscience, with all his strength.RELIGION OF DUTY. , I This is his wonted aspect. I do not' believe there ever/ruled on earth a king more persevering, more sincere in tho religion of duty, a king who discharged with more stubbornness. his duty toward his people, toward himself, toward his forefathers. To him applies the phrase of one of our poets of Dante's time, who said: "He, has great powers who only aini6 at duty." By the rigid thorough exercise of his duty, this King has succeeded in dominating his fate. Now, after so many years of religious. fulfilment of his mission, . fate obeys him. After so many years of silent abnegation he meets with a most glorious destiny, and of this destiny he proves himself worthy.

His ascent to the throne .was accompanied by extraordinary auguries. When, on the night of 29th July, 1900. his. august father, who- had never harmed a soul, fell by a, murderer's hand,, he was on the high seas, navigating in the Mediterranean. On shipboard he received the sorrowful news. On shipboard he became King of Italy. The nation, which was dragging out its life in a, sort of servitude, chained to its odious allies, received, at the sight of that royal blood, a severe shock. The dormant consciences awoke. The youthful energies, wearied by shame too long endured, had an impulse toward insurrection.

When the funeral train traversed Italy from Monza to Rome the murmur of mighty crowds accompanied it to the Pantheon. Genoa, mother of ships, sent to it an heroic greeting. Spezia saluted it from her .forts, her armed towers. All Rome followed in prescient silence the royal body, borne on a guncarriage. -Truly Italy iooked transfigured, as if new arisen, armed with new will. Then to the King, enthroned by fate on the sea, I said, in a poem, which to-day lives again hr the spirit of the Italians, "Fate chose thee,! Woe to thee if thou fail her!" An heroic necessity appeared to envelop the young King like an anveole. The poem, blazing with hops and prophecy, demanded of him, "What will you want on the

throne? What height is your mark? Are you looking far ahead?',' Anxiously the poem asked, "Do you know how bear.ti"nl"*is your kingdom? Do you know its innumerable springs? Do you love its divine saa?" The overbearing poem cried to him, "Open to our virtue the doors of future dominions."

LIFE OF THE NATION.

But the awakening of the national soui was shprt-lived. .We again fell into the hands of the aged, corrupters. -The man whom I accused and proved guilty of treason before the. people, Giovanni Giolitt-i, a name to-day execrated by every'ltalian, corrupted, everything, desecrated everything,, reduced the national life to a vulgar competition of.small, equivocal interests, to a base mart. Years and years of miry obscurity passed. But the genius of the race was not destroyed, the deep springs were not dried up. An occult life animated the nation, even under daily opprobrium. An inexhaustible spring of creative force, a nucleus oi latent energies, subsisted in our land, for it still possessed such wealth as to nourish the germ of the highest hope. Mysterious and infallible rhythm of destiny! So much misery, so great a shame, so deep an anguish, so cruel a" travail, w«re crowned by the splendours •if triumph! . ' '

Suddenly, on a radiant .spring morning, a voice- cries out as in the poem of liberty, "My brethren, we are free P' We are free, we are ready, we are aimed, we are worthy of our destinies! The King, chosen by Fate on a day of mourning, is exalted by Fate in a day of victory! The forecast had not erred, the invocation had proved true. "From red blood let dawn arise." From our red blood shall a purple dawn arise, for our soul, the eoui within each individual breast, the soul of our race. Thereof we may be certain.

And this King shows himself worthy of his fortune. On the battlefield he discharges his duty as would he expected of a descendant of Emanuel Filibert and of -that indomitable Charles Enmmie! 1., who returned to the King of Spain the insignia of tho Order of the Golden Fleece with these proud words: "I wish for no bonds of honour from one who threatens me with chains!"

SIMPLE, SERENE, INTREPID.

Tho King of Italy is. with his soldiers. He is continually at the front, when. the ebb. and /low uf our purest blood beats fastest. ■

It is to him an untold joy to feel every day the force, courage, and virtue of hi?- whole people flowing eagerly to ward the spot where danger is greatest and hardships most trying. He is nota theatrical emperor-of barbarians, not the leader o£ fierce "Liindkne'chtc." but a Latin King—simple, serene, full of intrepidity, one soul with the soul of his soldiers. 'The other day, on the line of. fire. .1-shell burst at the" distance of a few yards from the King. Ke threw himself on the ground, like any of..his soldiers.' Remaining., unscathed, he jumped up smiling, all: covered with that soil which is ' already free, and •which will remain ours for all time.

Amidst the delirious shears of the soldiery he cried "Viva l'ltalia•!" This cry ,}vill soon be repealed around the victorious King as he rides through the streets of .Trieste. Every one of us, every.one of.our soldiers, firmly believes that.he will repeat it in-the streets of Vienna,, marching 'past . the battered ruins- of the monument to Tegethoft. "Viva l'ltalia!""

For thefie reasons, on that' May morning, walking along the, '.illeys of the silent park, the King and the poet conversed in subdued tones. They both heard, from./tbe mysterious, unknown depths, the approach of the rhythm of destiny, surpassing the. dream .of their youth and the expectation of their faith. - „<-.,,.■ -• '- - . ■■ ... . .:. -„..