Il Duce and His Women

by Roberto Olla

  Sarfatti skilfully juxtaposes her heroic portrait of the self-made working-class man with a sense of the Duce’s erotic dynamism, sensing rightly that this was the central element in his myth and the one which attracted most attention, certainly the one which would lead most people to buy the book. The details in its well-written pages which sketch a priapic cult of the Duce were intended to absorb readers, who would also be aware of the rumour that the book’s author had firsthand experience of Mussolini’s sexuality. The myth justified the Duce politically, and the Duce, confirmed as supreme leader, justified the state which was based on his person. The aura of political mysticism surrounding the leader is reinforced by elements taken from Catholic religious mysticism. From the sacrality of the Church to the sacred reality of the state: in Sarfatti’s view, the religion of Fascism embodied the universal mission of Roman and Catholic civilization. The icon of Mussolini as Sarfatti paints it is not only modern and dynamic, but also spiritual and classical. Having identified this central focus of the new ideology, Sarfatti herself converted to Catholicism in 1928, followed by her daughter Fiammetta in 1931, and two years after that, by her son Amedeo. The rumour circulated among the Fascist gerarchi, perhaps started by Farinacci, that she belonged to some powerful and mysterious Masonic lodge or the so-called “Jewish conspiracy”. Yet, despite the signs of increasing anti-Semitism, Sarfatti’s conversion does not appear to have been dictated by opportunism, but rather undertaken in a spirit of ideological coherence.

  Sarfatti’s interpretation of the ideology surrounding Mussolini is so close to the view of the Duce proposed by recent historians that one is tempted to ask a provocative question: how much of this doctrinal apparatus was due to Sarfatti’s influence on Mussolini? How much instead is owed to Sarfatti’s acute perception of the contradictory but effective ideological compound of elements in Mussolini which recent historians have also begun to submit to analysis? Or, as is often the case, were the two aspects of her talent – the capacity to reinvent and the capacity to read between the lines – combined?20

  Once the myth of Mussolini had been ordered hierarchically and his sexuality identified as its dominant element, Sarfatti was free to invent and reinvent the character she had created by tracing patterns and forming combinations among the numerous images now available to her. So one episode has Mussolini shifting in a trice out of the image of the “sports-car driver” into the juxtaposed one of “the blacksmith’s son”. After giving a daring display of his skills in driving dangerously, the Duce’s car develops a mechanical fault. In the middle of the Po Valley he needs to find a blacksmith to help him mend it – and Sarfatti then describes the blacksmith’s shop where the fire is extinguished and describes how the politician-journalist-aviator starts to work the bellows, the skill with which he handles the iron on the anvil and wields the hammer, to the amazement and admiration of the blacksmith who is looking on, culminating in the triumph when, after no one manages to screw the soldered piece back on, Mussolini takes it and turns it smoothly into place. Margherita Sarfatti knew that the myth needed to be continually nourished with such scenes.

  On 23rd March, after he had started to recover from his illness, Mussolini appeared in public to make a short speech. He continued to work, seeing ministers, gerarchi and prefects in his apartment. His real return to the political scene took place on 2nd April 1925, by which time his prolonged absence had threatened his hold on power. His thoroughness in keeping tabs on every element in political life benefited him. Farinacci tried to reconstitute the Fascist squads, but came into conflict both with the directives which had been issued by Federzoni as the Minister for Internal Affairs and the chiefs of the National Militia, who resented any challenge to their own power. Now fully recovered, Mussolini allowed the violence of the extremist groups to create a climate of increasing unease not only among the public at large, but also within the Fascist Party. He played Farinacci like a fisherman plays a catch, gradually showing that the party secretary was by no means free to act as he chose, but was completely dependent on Mussolini’s wishes. As Duce and head of the government, it was his orders which had to be obeyed. After having isolated and worn Farinacci down, he pulled in the line with a jerk and had him dismissed from his position on 30th March 1926, although he allowed his adversary to save face by announcing he had chosen to resign. On the same day the Grand Council accepted the resignation and appointed a new secretary, Augusto Turati – no relation to the celebrated former Socialist leader – who was in effect a mere stooge who carried out the Duce’s wishes. Mussolini happened to remark one day that “the problem with revolutions is that once they’re over the revolutionaries are still around”,21 and Turati duly proceeded to eliminate all the remaining revolutionaries from the party who had become not merely irrelevant but potentially harmful. In just three years 60,000 members were expelled and, according to Renzo De Felice’s calculations, a similar number left the party voluntarily.

  Mussolini succeeded in warding off the political threats posed by the wave of violence by dealing with it either tactically or uncompromisingly, as well as choosing to intervene as circumstances dictated. In the end the tension, the clashes, the assaults proved more useful for him than for Farinacci, giving him the opportunity to steer ever more forcefully towards a dictatorship which was entirely focused on his own charisma. Each fresh outbreak of violence served to increase his personal power.

  One of the most serious episodes took place in Serravalle Pistoiese, where one of the numerous Tuscan squads attacked Giovanni Amendola once again. The deputy was severely beaten up. He took refuge in France, but died less than a year later as a result of the injuries he had received. By giving the squads of thugs and assassins a certain freedom of action and allowing the ras to think they could regain their individual autonomy, Mussolini managed to hold off for a year the pressure from the rebellious provincial factions. In addition, by letting Farinacci go ahead and vent his aggressiveness, he achieved a kind of public demonstration that the man was an extremist without any of the skills to become a politician, let alone an alternative leader of the regime capable of gathering and holding together the different forces which converged in Fascism.

  While Farinacci strangled himself with the rope Mussolini had given him, the latter was now manoeuvring to concentrate power in his own hands. He was in exuberant form when he spoke to the Senate on 2nd April, putting a definitive end to any hopes the opposition still harboured on the outcome of his illness. The United Socialist leader Turati was forced to admit that Mussolini was “a ham actor of genius”. The other Socialists resigned themselves quickly to their hated opponent’s good fortune. Quinto Navarra, Mussolini’s valet – although it would better to describe him as his personal assistant – writes that during his master’s illness “there were rumours that [he] was dead and the truth was being concealed from the country. During that period Cesira was indefatigable and stayed by his bedside for thirteen consecutive days without once going to bed herself.”22 Mussolini’s opponents, who had done nothing in the hope that he would die or at least retire from politics, could not have guessed that his new-found strength was due to his housekeeper’s tenacity. “Sister Health-Bringer” was the nickname for her which D’Annunzio wrote on a photograph portrait of himself he signed for Cesira. A visit from Mussolini had been arranged to see the poet in his home in Gardone at the end of May 1925. D’Annunzio had been informed that his guest would be bringing his housekeeper with him; familiar with Mussolini’s sexual appetites, he assumed this could only mean one thing, and had a large bedroom prepared for the couple, but when he actually met the rather plain Cesira he realized he’d jumped to conclusions and had a separate bedroom arranged for her instead.

  Together with Cesira, the chauffeur Boratto was also invited to take the obligatory tour of the vast garden of the Vittoriale, D’Annunzio’s residence, which he had turned into a monument to his life and deeds. As you entered the villa a large inscription in block capitals on the façade warned
visitors: “Clausura et Silentium” (“Seclusion and Silence”). D’Annunzio was capable of anything, even of imposing monastic rules on his guests. Next to the door there was a curious tabernacle-like construction built into the wall. Seeing the puzzled faces of Mussolini, his housekeeper and his chauffeur, D’Annunzio explained. “He enlightened us over the mystery of the little door in the wall. He pressed a button, at which the door automatically opened and a huge phallus sprang out, much to our surprise and amusement. D’Annunzio told us that he only gave this welcome to his true friends.”23 Mussolini could now afford to be amused by the poet’s bizarre behaviour; D’Annunzio no longer threatened to become an alternative duce or indeed have any further political involvement.

  Before they had to cross a small wooden bridge in the gardens, D’Annunzio stopped them and asked to pay a toll. Mussolini had to borrow the five cents because, as we’ve seen, he never carried cash on him, either because it gave him the sensation he was superior to everyone else or perhaps out of some strange superstition.

  Mussolini tended to be very superstitious. One day he suddenly became angry, seized the tray his valet was handing to him and threw it to the floor: on the tray were the visiting cards of two people who had the reputation of having the evil eye. Another incident occurred when the Duce was presented with boxes sent from Egypt containing reproductions of statuettes and wall paintings. The tomb of Tutankhamun had recently been discovered, and there had been much talk of the misfortunes which had befallen the archaeologists who had violated the pharaoh’s sacred space. One night Mussolini couldn’t sleep and suddenly remembered the gift; he immediately phoned round his associates and ordered them to get rid of it. Rachele writes that, like many Italians, even educated ones, he refused to sit down to eat at a table where there were thirteen guests; on occasion one of his children would have to go and eat elsewhere to avoid the number. She also mentions that “he used to place his hand over a certain private part of his anatomy, even in public, as a way of warding off misfortunes and jinxes”.24 According to Cesare Rossi, Mussolini was superstitious to the point that he would refuse to associate with many people who would otherwise have been able to make an important contribution to the regime, either because of their professional skills or their enthusiastic support.

  After his illness was over, Mussolini started to travel again both on official visits and unplanned ones to various parts of Italy. He would insist on leaving even if the police warned him of possible attempts on his life. Boratto frequently had to drive the car through enthusiastic crowds who wanted to get closer to the legendary figure. While Quinto Navarra confirms that when he was in Rome Mussolini “received” at least one woman a day, he rarely had sexual adventures while he was travelling. “When he travelled his need to approach women disappeared. I noticed this and started to observe this aspect of his behaviour with interest; I became convinced that in addition to the normal attraction a man feels for a woman Mussolini had an even more powerful desire – for the crowd. His triumphal tours across the country responded to this need of his. His interest in women diminished: the continual contact with crowds of admirers fully satisfied his desires.”25

  Mussolini had a constant need to appear in public. His travels, which occupied an extraordinary amount of his time, far more than any other head of state in the period, were the best way to show himself physically to the Italian people: the body of the Duce was displayed for all to admire. Usually a cameraman was present to film the event. “The Duce would stand up in the car and give the Roman salute to the cheering throngs around us. He kept his other hand on my shoulder, and used to guide me through the crowds and tell me when to accelerate or slow down.”26 Boratto was told he should never come to a complete halt – not easy to do when the car was surrounded by a mass of people and some unfortunate person risked getting run over.

  In rapid succession, Mussolini assumed interim responsibility for the Ministry of War (on 4th April) and those of the Navy (on 8th May) and the Air Force (on 30th August). All the military ministries ended up under his control. On 14th June he announced the so-called “Battle for Wheat”, or the drive to increase wheat production in the country. The campaign was the opportunity for further propaganda and added a new dimension to Mussolini’s multifaceted public persona: the “Duce harvesting in the field” with the peasants, his broad chest gleaming under the blazing sun. Mussolini hadn’t forgotten that in the middle of the Matteotti crisis a delegation of industrialists had tried to dictate what his political agenda should be; he coolly took his revenge on their presumption with a new proposal: a Fascist trade-union movement.

  He told the prefects in the various regions that they were to expect protests for higher pay and other unrest among the workers, and asked them not to intervene, but on the contrary to support the action of the Fascist trade-unionists. A number of so-called “Fascist strikes” took place, especially among the car workers. The industrialists who had come to see him with their claims for autonomy now had to deal with direct action taken by Fascist trade unions. Mussolini was in the position both to confront the industrialists by letting them suffer the consequences of the strikes and at the same time offer himself as an indispensable mediator between the two sides.

  The result was the agreement known as the Palazzo Vidoni Pact, signed on 2nd October, in which the industrialists recognized the “Confederazione delle Corporazioni Fasciste” (“Confederation of Fascist Corporations”) as the only organization representing their workers and their sole interlocutor in their relations with the unions. For the Socialist and Communist trade-union leaders and the hitherto leading union organization, the General Confederation of Labour (CGL), it was the beginning of what would spell their total extinction during the regime.

  Having settled his accounts on terms which were advantageous to him with three of the main interests in Italian society – the armed forces, industry and the Church – Mussolini turned to the press. Threats, expropriations, the closing-down of entire newspaper offices: in a very short time the opposition press was silenced and news of the anti-Fascist cause could no longer reach the militants who continued the battle from the margins and the mass of the Italian people in general. In Dux, Sarfatti managed to paint a positive picture of what Mussolini was doing to Italian journalism: “‘Journalism’ – declares this former journalist who has never completely ceased to be one – ‘journalism formed me and helped me to know the humanity, which is the very stuff of politics. […] You know that I respect journalism – I’ve shown that I do. I only wish that journalism would take more account of historical necessity, show more awareness of certain historical inevitabilities. I would like journalism to work in collaboration with the nation.”27

  Mussolini instructed the prefects to close down all those newspapers which did not show sufficient awareness of historical inevitabilities. At the same time he ordered the activities of the Fascist squads which were still operating outside the National Militia to be stopped. On 15th May 1925 he conceded himself the luxury – most of his deputies in parliament were against it – of a law which gave the vote to women in local elections. Shortly afterwards local elections were abolished. By now there was a widespread opinion that the only way to have a “moderate” Fascism, envisaged as an alternative to the extremism of men like Farinacci and the ras, was to place power entirely in Mussolini’s hands and follow on behind – wherever his impulses and decisions and extravagant behaviour led.

  Chapter 15

  Beyond Good and Evil

  “Everything within the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state.” The practical consequences of the totalitarian formula on which the state – personified in Mussolini – was based soon became apparent to the Sicilian Mafia. The story goes that during an official visit from the Duce to Piana dei Greci (now called Piana degli Albanesi), the mayor-cum-godfather of the town, Francesco Cuccia, introduced himself to Mussolini by telling him that he could be certain of not being disturbed while he was there, because
the subversives had already been dealt with. “Your Excellency,” Cuccia is supposed to have said, “there’s no need for all these security men. You’re under our protection here.” The popular story might well have some truth in it since Mussolini’s reaction after his visit proved to be devastating. During a rapid tour of the island he had grasped the nub of the problem, which was that this was territory controlled by the Mafia. The godfathers ruled there, not the Italian state. The issue at stake was quite clear to him: the Mafia was – as it still is today – a state within the state, a parasite state living off the legal state, a subterranean anti-state. In the small sunny town the duce was not Mussolini, but the local boss Ciccio Cuccia. This was intolerable.