The Fascist State does not remain indifferent to the fact of religion in general and to that particular positive religion which is Italian Catholicism . . . The Fascist State does not . . . vainly seek, like Bolshevism, to expel religion from the minds of men. Fascism respects the God of the ascetics, of the saints, of the heroes, and also God as seen and prayed to by the simple and primitive heart of the people.
Mussolini, Dottrina del fascismo, 1932
Once the front had resettled after the Strafexpedition, Cadorna oversaw an enormously successful transfer of huge quantities of men, animals, arms and munitions to the Isonzo in July. Between 07.00 and 16.00 on 6 August he unleashed a new offensive against an outgunned enemy who was also short on reserves. Italian infantry captured Mount Sabotino in only thirty-eight minutes. The peaks of Mount San Michele also fell into Italian hands and on 9 August Italian troops finally entered Gorizia. But the enemy fell back on the previously prepared Mount San Gabriele-Mount San Marco-Vertoinizza line. On 16 August Cadorna called a halt to the action. Italy had 51,200 casualties against the Dual Monarchy’s 37,500. After this, the Sixth Battle of the Isonzo, Italy felt confident enough to declare war on Germany on 27 August. Despite a revival of Cadorna’s credentials both at home and abroad, the offensive’s strategic limits were, however, soon apparent. From Mount Santo to Mount Hermada via Mount San Daniele, San Gabriele and San Marco, Austrian defences were even more robust now than they had been at the Gorizia bridgehead. Moreover, the road to Trieste was blocked by the powerful Trstely- Hermada defence line. It was against the latter that Cadorna focused attention in his three ‘autumn shoulder pushes’ (spallate autunnale), or the Seventh, Eighth and Ninth Battles of the Isonzo, dated 14-17 September, 10-13 October and 1-4 November respectively. In exchange for almost 80,000 casualties Cadorna conquered some trenches to the east of Oppachiasela, plus the Nad Logem, the Pecinka and the important strategic positions of Veliki Hribach and the Dosso Faiti. But the road to Trieste remained blocked (Rocca, 1985: Ch. 8, 169-73; Pieropan, 1988: Chs 24, 27, 28 and 30; Isnenghi and Rochat, 2000: 183-90; Schindler, 2001: Chs 8 and 9).
Not even the fall of Gorizia revitalized Mussolini, the muted warrior. In an 8 August letter to the editors of IL Popolo d’ltalia he declared: ‘The news has electrified us’ (OO, VIII: 308). His joy was not to last. On 13 August he wrote to his sister that ‘the war will continue for the whole of 1917 and this is necessary if we are to win’ (Mancini Mussolini, 1957: 65). During the spallate autunnali Mussolini wrote only one letter, probably on 29 September (OO, VIII: 308-9) and one letter-article on 28 October which was published on 2 November. In the latter he mentioned the conquest of Gorizia and the declaration of war on Germany as part of what he saw as the more general upsurge in the Entente’s fortunes since April 1916. However, the article expressed greater concern over the imminent German victory in Transylvania, and the fear that on account of this the war might be resolved through diplomacy (OO, VIII: 243-7). He wrote nothing about the spallate autunnali themselves. On 12 November the pessimistic Mussolini headed home on leave. With what level of credibility would the forlorn warrior tackle the home front? And how, equally importantly, would the home front receive the previously enthusiastic soldier who, while not having died, had almost faded away?
The circumstances surrounding this further withdrawal from the front are dubious indeed. Mussolini had already been on winter leave in March, and it would not be until 1918 that Italian soldiers were granted a second leave period. The fact is that people in high places, especially Bissolati, were doing their utmost, with Mussolini’s knowledge, to get Mussolini away from the line of fire and back home to his newspaper (O’Brien, 2002a: 15-16; 2003:14-15). He remained incognito while home, and the four articles attributed to him in this period did not bear his name (OO, VIII: 253-5, 256-9, 260-64, 265-9). But, as in late 1915, his notoriety meant that his political adversaries were keeping a close eye on his movements. L’Avvenire d’ltalia, a catholic newspaper, published a letter from a real or imagined soldier from Mussolini’s regiment who asked: ‘Can you, dear Avvenire, give me some indication as to the precise whereabouts of corporal Mussolini? Because one thing is for sure: in the front line, with the men of his squad, he is not’ (quoted in Anon, 16 December 1916). By late November Mussolini was on his way back to the trenches, this time to the Carso, to where his regiment had been moved in his absence.
The Carso is a vast plateau stretching from Gorizia into Slovenia, characterized by red earth and rugged limestone. Sea climate, for example in Trieste, often reveals continental and alpine characteristics inland and hence rapid decreases in temperature. In winter the area is exposed to the cold and violent Bora wind which can blow up to 120 kph in a constant east-north-east direction due to the pressure between the upper Adriatic and Central Europe. The final section of the war diary begins on 29 November and ends on 22 February 1917. Mussolini was stationed around Lake Doberdo on the Carso for the entire period. For analytical purposes the section can be divided into three monthly sections covering December, January and February. Only the December 1916 section was published in II Popolo d’ltalia, in February 1917. This does not mean, however, that the January and February sections will be ignored. While they were not published until the 1923 edition we are interested in the war diary not solely for the way it contributed to ideological processes, but for what it might reveal about the ideological processes of which it was itself a product. In the December section there is an entry for every day and average length is slightly more than 280 words. In January, on the other hand, there are only seven entries, the average length of which is only about sixty words. February witnesses a slight recovery: apart from a major gap from 1 to 9 of that month entries are daily and average eighty words in length. Even before exegesis, these statistics speak volumes: a major expectation was thwarted and the diary expressed this disappointment.
When Mussolini finally located his company on 1 December all was positive: ‘Affectionate handshakes. They were expecting me.’ The night sky was clear: ‘An evening of moon and stars.’ He could therefore conclude that ‘the “morale” of the Bersaglieri seems elevated, certainly higher than in the Carnia zone. “We have lots of cannons. Advancing will be easy!” A sense of confidence is widespread among everyone.’ Later on that night: ‘While I write our guns roar without truce . . . I do not know how to summarize my tumultuous impressions of this first day of trench life on the Carso. They are profound, complex. Here the war presents itself in its grandiose aspect of human cataclysm. Here one has the certainty that Italy will pass, that it will arrive in Trieste and beyond!’ Good weather; high morale; Italian artillery in action; the Carso; an imminent breakthrough to Trieste: what more could a self-made charismatic warrior hero ask for?
What he wanted was good weather, a theme which in December became a virtual obsession bound up with a more general discourse concerning the morale of the men and military strategy. But the promising night sky did not deliver the goods. On 2 December Mussolini wrote: ‘This morning it is raining.’ On 4 December: ‘Last night, rain. Livid and tranquil morning.’ He proceeded: ‘The weather is undoubtedly an ally of the Germans. The rain forces us into “postponements” which allow the others to fortify. The rain demoralizes us. We are sons of the sun!’ Later on in the same entry: ‘A voice: the bombardment for the advance begins tonight. We will see and hear. While I write, on the crest behind us there is a blazing and thunder of cannon fire. Is it the prelude?’ If it was the prelude, the composer forgot to follow it up with the opening movement. On 5 December: ‘Dark sky and still more livid earth.’ That night: ‘Bursts of wind and rain.’ During the night Mussolini’s dugout did not hold up: ‘Soaked to the skin, awaiting dawn. Towards Aquileia there is a vast piece of clear sky, but behind us, towards Austria, the sky is pitch black. If only the sun would come out!’ Further on in Mussolini’s 6 December entry: ‘Some sun.’ Then: ‘From the Gulf of Panzano thick storm clouds are gathering. As long as the sirocco lasts the weather will not improve.’ Yet the hope of the offensive was still there behind the clouds. ‘Our cannon fire electrifies us. The bombing lasted about 40 minutes. Now it has ceased. Moving from dugout to dugout, I gathered the impressions of my fellow soldiers: “Here the power of the Italians can be seen!” “It’s no longer like on the Iavorcek! Now it’s their turn to become ‘unstuck’!” “They’ll have had a good slap in the face!” “The Germans made a big mistake moving, a big mistake!”’ Mussolini could conclude a few lines later: ‘The voice of our guns: this is all-important for keeping the soldier’s “morale” high.’ But in the same sentence: ‘Sky veiled by mist’, on the basis of which a lieutenant told Mussolini that this would put off the offensive. Mussolini therefore wrote: ‘Everybody betrays slight impatience, even the most negative! Advance! The battle, with its adventurous and emotional apparatus, and despite its risks, fascinates the soldier. Stasis debilitates. Action refreshes.’
The entry of the following day continued: ‘Just for a change it’s raining cats and dogs.’ He specified that ‘the rain is the fifth of our enemies and, perhaps, the most massacring of all’. On 8 December: ‘This morning it is not raining, but the horizon is grey. Our artillery is operating, but without committing itself too much.’ In the following paragraph: ‘The rain of the past few days has lowered the level of Bersaglieresque “morale”. We are all soaked to the skin, and have only a blanket and a coat: we are without our rucksacks and will not have them until we return to rest. Not a hem of blue: uniform sky, dull grey, like a friar’s habit, and dripping.’ The following day: ‘Drizzle. However, it seems that the horizon wants to clear. The daily high calibre symphony begins. The Austrians fire little, using low calibre guns.’ Below: ‘A ray of sunshine has broken through the thick cloudy veil which had been hanging around for several days and mortifying us. The artillery takes advantage of it. One of our 280s opens up a ten-metre hole in the barbed wire of their trench. “They” pound us with shrapnel . . . The sky clears as do our spirits. The concert continues.’ Throughout mid-December Mussolini wrote in this vein. But by 21 December he had resigned himself to the obvious: ‘Today, the first day of winter according to astronomy, announced itself with a colourless sun. Towards the sea there is a wall of storm clouds.’ A couple of sentences later it was all over: ‘It now seems certain that the advance has been suspended.’
This was the point. The weather had been the barometer of Mussolini’s ardour for the offensive. His chance of re-energizing his persona as charismatic warrior fluctuated accordingly, and once the hope of an Italian attack was dashed, the weather became what it was - bad, and a depressing corollary of inaction. On 30 December: ‘Slothful and insidious weather, the stuff that cholera is made of . . . The whole encampment is white with lime, thrown without husbandry among the alcoves.’ The last entry of the month began ‘grey’ and in the afternoon ‘a pallid sun clears the horizon’. But this was not a prelude. That very evening Mussolini’s regiment was on its way down to rest.