The swelled frogs waited for their triumph. The corrupt press gave the maximum of publicity to the calumnies, to incitation to commit crimes and to spread defamation. The Crown, supreme element of equilibrium, was violently menaced with blackmail and worse. As ever, there were adventurers who were eager to speculate on any turn in the tide of events in order to create again for themselves a political rebirth. This base and pernicious crew I, for my part, have always eliminated from the sphere of activity and position controlled by me.
As if all this were not enough, in that dark December of 1924, to complete the picture, Cesare Rossi, the former chief of the press office, tried a rascally trick. This man, cast out from Fascism because he was implicated in the Matteotti affair, prepared a memorial which was a tissue of lies and libels. He aimed to involve the régime in guilt, and consequently to involve me. Everything that had happened or was happening in Italy he endeavored to put on my doorstep. This memorial, written by such a man, pretended to present a “moral indictment” of me. But in that field I cannot be attacked; every attempt of this sort is empty. I was informed beforehand of the plot that Rossi was going to attempt; I knew the contents of his memorial and the day on which it was to be printed in the papers of the opposition. I put an end to the miserable maneuvre. I published the memorial in a friendly paper; in this way I indicated that I gave no value to it. It was a jest and a delusion. The theatrical stroke fell on emptiness; the bubble swelled by slanders flattened like a pricked balloon.
The contemptible game lasted six months. The half-hearted had sunk beneath the surface; the singers of the doleful tunes felt their throats becoming parched. The speculators were now disgusted with themselves. In that period a former minister, decorated with the Collare dell’Annunziata, the highest order of Italy’s sovereign, alligned himself with the cult of Republicanism and with the worst elements of the Socialists!
I held the Fascist party firmly in my hand during this period. I curbed the impulses of some Fascists who wanted violent reprisals with a clear order: “Hands in the pockets! I am the only one that must have his hands free.” In Florence and Bologna, however, there occurred episodes of extreme violence. I understood then that it was time to speak and act.
In all that time I credit myself with the fact that I never lost my calm nor my sense of balance and justice. Because of the serene judgment that I endeavor to summon to guide my every act, I ordered the guilty to be arrested. I wanted justice to follow its unwavering course. Now I had fulfilled my task and my duty as a just man. Now against my adversaries I could play my own game—in the open.
When the menace of a general strike in the Province of Rome arose, I ordered the Florentine legions of the Militia to parade in the streets of the Capital. The armed Militia with its war songs is a great agent of persuasion. It is an argument. In September, 1924, I had visited the most intense zones of the Tuscan Fascism; I went among the strong populations of the Amiata, among the workers and peasants, among the miners of the province of Siena. On that occasion, while opponents hourly awaited my fall—and that was also the secret hope of many enemies beyond the borders—I delivered to the Fascists an audacious sentence in which I sounded an affirmation of strength and victory:
Of our adversaries, I said, “we will make a litter for the Black Shirts.”
The opposition press made a great fuss about these words; but their chattering had no importance. That became clear on January 3rd, 1925. On that day, when Rome was already full of the exiled from the provinces and of those who tremblingly awaited the conclusion of the political struggle, I made in parliament this speech, which certainly was not lacking in reserve:
Gentlemen,
The speech I am going to make before you might not be classed as a parliamentary speech. It may be possible that, at the end, some of you will find that this speech is tied, even though a space of time has elapsed, to the one I pronounced in this same hall on November 16th. Such a speech can lead somewhere, but it cannot lead to a political vote. In any case let it be known that I am not looking for this vote. I do not want it; I have had plenty. Article 47 of the Statute says: “The Chamber of the Deputies has the right to accuse the Ministers of the King and to bring them to face the High Court of Justice.” I formally ask if in this Chamber, or outside it, there is any one who wants to make use of Article 47. My speech will then be very clear; it will bring about an absolute clarification. You can understand this. After having marched for a long time with comrades to whom our gratitude always will go out for what they have done, it is good sense to stop to consider whether the same route, with the same companions, could be followed in the future.