Adventure Continued

Within the flaming personality of Mussolini is a cold nucleus, an icy core of reason and discretion. Last week, however, as he continued in triumphal style through Italian Tripoli (TIME, April 19), that warm and colorful land seemed to quicken in him a mood of expansive wellbeing. His utterances mellowed from veiled imperial threats toward the colonies of other nations into a hymn in praise of Tripoli:

"My heart fills with joy. I am positively mad when I see the splendors of this great province of the Italian nation. . . .

"Step by step Italians will force back the desert. That task will be one of the glorious pages of the new Italy. We shall force the sand dunes to retreat into the depths of the interior, creating gardens and forests in their places. ... It is a revelation to me that everything can grow here."

II Duce deigned to chat often and familiarly with correspondents, to whom he usually accords scant courtesy. They, unmollified, reported unkindly that he seemed to want very much to rub the tip of his nose, now healing under a brown coat of iodine from the wound inflicted by a mad Irishwoman (TIME, April 12). The correspondents reported that, as often as Signor Mussolini's finger drew unconsciously near the afflicted organ, his iron will caused him to drop his hand--no mean feat, as all whose noses have itched can testify.

Gifts. As the Premier prepared to set out on a tour of the interior, Hassuna Pasha, the native Mayor of Tripoli, presented him with a superb gold writing service and a beautiful Arabian sword. Said he: "Signor Mussolini, few mortals can equal your skill with both the pen and the sword. Our gift is accordingly symbolic."

From the native chieftains Il Benito received "the traditional royal gift, presents of unminted gold." Likewise a coal-black Arab stallion was presented to him--a splendid beast, covered with a red, white and silver cloth on which was embroidered: "To the Carrier of Water to Dry Lands."

Said the princely Arabian donor, patting the horse's flank: "His name, Signor Premier, is 'Said,' which means 'Good Fortune.'" Pleased, the somewhat superstitious* Duce responded: "So! I will ride him every day. I will remember daily your loyalty. May the All Highest protect you!"

Wild Ride. At five one morning the Premier set out upon a three-day visit to the vast, imposing and astonishingly well preserved ruins of Sabrata, "the Marble City," and Leptis Magna, both sumptuously adorned by that potent Roman whose name sprawls in great capitals across many a still standing architrave: IMPERATOR -CAESAR -AUGUSTUS -LUCIUS -SEPTIMIUS -SEVERUS

Signor Mussolini, well nigh intoxicated by these splendors, climbed a steep and rickety ladder with intent to view in panorama the expanse of Leptis Magna, which slumbered beneath a protective layer of sand from about the Sixth Century until four years ago, when Finance Minister Count Volpi, then Governor of Tripoli, commenced its excavation.

Having gazed well about him, the Premier began to back down the ladder. A clicking sound came to his ear. Merciless cameramen were shooting to advantage his inelegant posture.

With blazing eyes, II Benito turned to order them away, thought better of it, stomached his wrath. . . .

For 150 miles he piloted his own motor car at such terrific speed that the Associated Press car which followed skidded into a sand dune, turned turtle.

Return. Late in the week, Mussolini re-embarked upon the battleship Conte di Cavour for Italy. As he steamed away 15 battleships followed. Observers opined that the numerous provincial Fascist secretaries who accompanied him will fire many an inland Italian with the desire to emigrate to Tripoli. There they may purchase an acre of land for the equivalent of $1, upon signing an agreement to expend the equivalent of $30 in improving it during the next ten years.

Short Speech. Airplanes whirred, guns vomited, church bells swayed, and thousands of Romans loosed a mighty cheer as Mussolini's luxurious salon car squealed to a stop in Rome. II Duce, still in high spirits, consented briefly to address the throng. Standing up in his car, he cried: "Fascisti! Now is the time for acting, not talking."

Swiftly he was whirled to the government offices.

*Signor Mussolini was presented with an Egyptian mummy in 1923. Late one night he chanced to read an article recounting "mysterious fatalities" said to have befallen those who have violated the tombs of the Pharaohs. An instant later, he was telephoning furiously. Before dawn the mummy had been removed from his residence to a remote museum.