On October 24, 1922, the Blackshirts held a large-scale rally in Naples, where Mussolini delivered an inflammatory speech.
Subsequently, Mussolini issued a veiled ultimatum to the government: “Either hand the country over to us, or we will march on Rome and seize it.” On October 27, Blackshirts from all over the country marched toward Rome.
The black storm began.
On October 28, the king refused to sign the decree declaring a state of siege, fearing that the situation would worsen.
The cabinet thus fell into paralysis and resigned en masse.
On the afternoon of October 29, the king’s aide called Mussolini to inform him that the king intended to appoint him to form a cabinet.
However, the cunning and suspicious Mussolini demanded that the king send an official telegram as confirmation.
After hearing the aide’s report, King Victor Emmanuel III felt his disgust for Mussolini grow by another three points.
After a long silence, Victor Emmanuel III sighed and slowly said, “Send the telegram.” The tide of events had left Italy with little choice but to turn to Mussolini.
The aide received the order and immediately moved to carry it out.
However, when he pulled open the door, he saw a familiar face standing before him with an extremely solemn expression, a thick file bag in his hand.
“Your Highness!” It was the sole heir to the Kingdom of Italy, Crown Prince Umberto.
Umberto nodded.
“General Cittadini, sorry to trouble you, but please wait outside for a moment.” “This…” Cittadini hesitated.
Affairs of state could not brook delay.
“He has waited this long; he won’t mind waiting another two hours.” With that, Umberto walked into the study with a confident stride.
Seeing Umberto walk in, Cittadini had no choice but to gently pull the door closed and wait at the entrance.
The young Crown Prince rarely participated in political affairs; why was he interested in Mussolini’s affairs today?
Inside the study.
Seeing Umberto walk in, Victor Emmanuel III was somewhat surprised.
Umberto was still attending university, and apart from necessary banquets and holidays, he rarely returned to the royal palace.
Why had he come back today?
Based on his understanding of his son, there must be some urgent matter.
“Umberto, did you come back to see me?” “Yes, Father,” Umberto answered seriously.
Victor Emmanuel III frowned slightly.
“What has happened?
Why the serious expression?” “I want to talk to you about the Fascists.” “…” Victor Emmanuel III felt that Umberto was acting somewhat strangely and asked, “Since when did you become interested in politics?” “I’ve always been interested.
I just didn’t like talking about it.” “Let’s hear it.” Victor Emmanuel III knew his son’s personality.
Whatever he wanted to say or do, he would definitely see it through.
He decided to give him some time and see what had brought about his son’s sudden ‘awakening.’ “Alright, Father.” Umberto sat down beside his father, poured him a cup of water, and then slowly said, “Father, let me show you something first.” Umberto opened the thick file bag and took out more than a hundred developed photographs.
The photographs depicted the actions of the Blackshirts—bloody, violent, and utterly inhuman.
Victor Emmanuel III picked up the photographs, and the more he looked through them, the graver his expression became.
The photographs contained not only evidence of civil servants and officials from other parties being beaten or shot to death, but also irrefutable proof of elderly people, women, and children being abused and killed.
“Umberto, are these real?” Umberto answered solemnly, “Father, do you think I would fabricate something like this?” Victor Emmanuel III remained silent, merely looking at Umberto.
So many photographs could not have been accumulated in a single day.
Why did Umberto have these photographs?
Victor Emmanuel III was not a monarch who hid deep within the palace and knew nothing of the atrocities taking place beyond its walls.
He feared the workers’ movement and feared losing his throne.
Put bluntly, the local rise of the Fascistshad, to a certain extent, helped the royal family and the bourgeoisie suppress the socialists and quell social unrest.
As long as no one published or reported it, he was willing to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear.
But now, his own son had laid the matter out on the table.
Victor Emmanuel III softly said, “Umberto, did you bring these photographs to me in an attempt to change my decision?” “Yes, Father.” Umberto nodded.
He saw the subtle changes in his father’s eyes and expression.
He believed that even if his father had never seen similar photographs, he must have heard reports of such incidents, yet had ultimately chosen to remain silent.
From the perspective of a monarch, and considering his father’s capabilities, Umberto did not think there was anything particularly surprising about that.
But Umberto was a transmigrator with ideals of his own.
Even if Italy was destined to repeat the mistakes of history, then he should be the one to lead it.
With him here, perhaps destiny could be changed.
In the past, he had been too young.
His words carried little weight, and nobody took what he said seriously.
Furthermore, Italy’s political system had not yet reached a breaking point, and its internal conflicts had not fully erupted, making it impossible for him to bypass the constitution and seize power.
Otherwise, Italy’s national destiny would have changed long ago.
“Your reason?” Victor Emmanuel III continued.
“I do not want to stand by and watch helplessly as the people are plunged into misery.
Rather than handing state power over to an extremist party, it would be better to hand it to me.
At the very least, I will treat the people well.” Umberto did not beat around the bush.
He had not come here merely to stop the Blackshirts and then return power to an incompetent cabinet.
“What?!” Hearing the last two sentences, Victor Emmanuel III was utterly shocked, unable to believe what he had heard.
“Say that again.
Have you gone mad?” His own son actually wanted to seize power as well?!
“Father, I am not crazy.
I am completely serious.” Umberto’s expression remained calm.
Slap!
Victor Emmanuel III slammed his hand on the table and jumped to his feet.
Towering over Umberto, he stared fiercely at him.
The son before him seemed like a completely different person—unfamiliar, far too unfamiliar.
Where had that filial, sensible son gone?
Had he been replaced by someone else?
Looking into his son’s confident and stubborn eyes, Victor Emmanuel III suppressed his anger and explained patiently, “Umberto, do not speak recklessly or act blindly.
You have never handled affairs of state and do not understand how politics works.
Right now, he is the most suitable person.
The country has been in turmoil for far too long.
The nation is impoverished and the people are exhausted.
Order must be restored.” Umberto shook his head.
“Father, I do not agree with you.
Your choice will push the kingdom’s subjects into a society ruled by violence.
You fear bloodshed, civil war, and the loss of your throne, yet you bind yourself with the shackles of the constitution and refuse to step forward to solve the problem, allowing the bloodshed caused by tens of thousands of fanatics to spread until tens of millions of innocent citizens suffer.
Do you truly believe that is for the good of your subjects?” “Umberto, do not be stubborn in the face of reality.
With the constraints of the constitution and parliament, he will not dare to do anything too outrageous, and what you describe will not happen.
Besides, have you ever seen what happens after a violent suppression?
Blood flows through the streets, corpses pile up in the squares, and the seeds of hatred are planted in every inch of the land—hatred that cannot be erased in ten or twenty years!” Victor Emmanuel III had witnessed such bloody scenes before, and his voice trembled slightly with emotion.
“Then those socialists, liberals, and even people in the Church will jump out and accuse the royal family of resorting to violence and destroying democracy!
Furthermore, once the barrels of the army’s guns are turned against our own people, even if those people are rioters, the rift can never truly be healed!
The turmoil will only grow worse, and the situation will become even more uncontrollable!
Do you understand?
This is not a soldier’s way of thinking; this is politics!” Umberto had not expected his father to become so emotional and was momentarily stunned.
After a brief pause, he looked straight into his father’s eyes.
“No, Father, you are wrong.
Who is responsible for parliament’s failure and the collapse of law and order?
Is it not those politicians and elites who preach freedom and fairness every day?
Do they have the qualifications to lecture others?
Do they have the ability to resolve this social crisis?
No, they do not.
So they shirk responsibility in every way they can, buying time through constant cabinet changes and compromises until the problem becomes impossible to resolve.
They treat Mussolini as a white glove, using him to suppress the left-wing movement—this is nothing more than drinking poison to quench their thirst.
Are you afraid that open bloodshed will breed hatred because you believe that bloodshed kept out of sight will never be held against you?” “Umberto!” Victor Emmanuel III was furious.
His own son was actually accusing him to his face.
Umberto did not flinch.
“Father!
If you insist on handing power over to the extremists, then a civil war will break out this very afternoon.” His eyes remained fixed on his father.
“I am going to rebel and restore the absolute monarchy!”