As no English or French war pictures reach Italy, the local firms have to make their own war-films to suit the taste of their public. In the country round about Milan, Turin, and Rome, the principal centres of the Italian film industry, cardboard Belgian villages and churches, trenches, and terrible-looking fortresses have been constructed, and one can often see hundreds of "Tommies" in khaki, French "pioupious" and helmeted Germans fighting miniature battles.
Another of Germany's devices to capture Italian public opinion was the famous tour of Italian journalists, organised by a well-known German emissary, who, by the way, has been arrested lately as a spy in Naples.
None of Italy's best-known journalists, nor any correspondents of predominant papers, accepted the invitation, and only about twelve young men, belonging to second-rate journals, went, chaperoned by the vigilant Herr Sweinhart.
But they were only allowed to see parades and specially prepared trenches, or batteries which had never been exposed to the fire. They were shown a concentration camp, but were not allowed to speak to the prisoners. They were taken to Liège to see the forts, but not to the destroyed towns in Belgium. Then they had to go back to Berlin and were kept there in one of the principal hotels, waiting for the moment when everything should have been arranged for them on some quiet spot of the Russian frontier. The tour came to a sudden and rather unfortunate end, as the journalists, having realised that they were allowed to see nothing of interest, but only what pleased Herr Sweinhart, decided to return to Italy at their own expense, and did not write a line about their experiences so as not to excite the hearty laughter of their wiser colleagues.
The cleverest move of the Austro-Germans in the direction of keeping Italy quiet as long as possible was certainly the sending of von Buelow to Rome as German Ambassador.
The personal charm of this clever diplomat probably accounts for Italy's attitude during the last months. He acted, and is still acting, like a rubber cushion between the Teutonic ruggedness and the Italian susceptibility.
In the little "Trattoria" near Piazza Colonna, in which most parliamentary men meet in preference to the big, gilded, French-style restaurants, where the food is excellent, the wine taken with a gay murmur from large barrels showing at the back, and where hardly any "outsider" or any foreigners dare enter, so modest is the appearance of the establishment, half-a-dozen world-known writers, politicians, and journalists were enjoying a "fritto di pesce," abundantly accompanied by the light wine, "delli Castelli." The subject of the conversation was, of course, the war. All the sympathies were on the side of the Entente. A copy of _The Times_ was passed from one to another, and the most important news was translated for the benefit of the few of the company who were not familiar with English. A well-known writer of military criticism in one of the principal Italian papers, a former Major in the army, produced a letter from one of his sons, now fighting with the French army in Alsace. The letter was very enthusiastic about everything and everybody at the front; the young man was one of the very last to manage to join the voluntary corps, Italy having, since December last, stopped completely the granting of passports to young men liable for military service.