Il Duce and His Women

by Roberto Olla

  At the beginning of 1935 he started to mass Italian troops in East Africa, from where, on 3rd October, at five in the morning, the invasion of Ethiopia was launched. The reaction of Britain and France was immediate and uncompromising. The Ethiopian military arsenal was inadequate and antiquated, so they resorted to the only tactic possible in the circumstances: guerrilla warfare. Their emperor Tafari Makonnen, who had come to the throne after a coup d’état with the name of Haile Selassie, the 224th representative of a dynasty that traced its origins to the union of the legendary Queen of Sheba (which was another name for Ethiopia) and King Solomon, went to address the League of Nations, the forerunner to the United Nations. The League voted for the harshest possible reprisals against Italy in the form of what today would be called an embargo. Mussolini reacted with the cynicism and unscrupulousness which had always characterized him as a politician: he gave the order for fierce propaganda attacks on Britain, during which he himself wrote some unsigned newspaper articles. He managed to transform his problems in foreign relations into a notable success on the domestic front. The League of Nations had failed to persuade the United States and Brazil to take part in the sanctions against Italy – a decision which was partly due to the very large numbers of Italian migrants in the two countries. Moreover, the sanctions didn’t include the most vital import, from a strategic point of view: oil. If the imports of oil to Italy had been blocked, Mussolini would have been forced to beat a hasty retreat from Ethiopia, as he later admitted to Hitler. The world oil market follows a different political logic – often large companies work together in alliances which do not reflect the foreign policy of their respective countries. On this occasion, once again, the interests of American capital invested in oil companies made sure the profitable Italian market was protected, and this had a strong influence on the country’s international politics.

  The other great source of profit in world business, the arms trade, took more time to catch up with the developments in Ethiopia, although right at the outset various consignments of armaments reached the country from Germany. It was easy for Mussolini to mobilize Italian troops; he appealed to “his” people to volunteer with pride in the defence of Italy’s “place in the sun” – as if a country’s right to colonies, to the possession of an empire, was some kind of natural right. If perfidious Albion and the haughty French had one, why shouldn’t Italy be an imperial power as well? Beguiled by Mussolini’s oratory and the regime’s propaganda, Italians saw the acquisition of an empire as the road to riches – and not only the poorest classes, those who for several decades had been emigrating en masse to the New World, but the well-off, who greedily envisaged new commercial possibilities and new lands for exploitation. Even intellectual circles were swept up in the wave of popular enthusiasm. The poorest Italians signed up for military service in Ethiopia, setting off with supplies of seeds from their fields in the certainty that victory in the war would see them rewarded with land, while intellectuals supported the campaign in their writings (though in many cases they also enrolled in order to fight).

  A large number of Fascist gerarchi and ministers – Bottai, Farinacci, Starace, even Galeazzo Ciano – were required by Mussolini to go on active service in the conflict; he wanted to avoid the credit of an eventual victory going only to professional soldiers. In Italy itself the British and French opposition to the invasion provoked a wave of patriotism, while the difficulties the League of Nations had in taking firm action only served to underline the Duce’s decisiveness and boldness; meanwhile the Italian military victories in the campaign caused popular enthusiasm to mount. Between the end of 1935 and the beginning of 1936 Mussolini managed to create round himself and the regime a popular consensus, the quality and extent of which had never been seen before. When he appealed, in the face of the sanctions imposed by the League of Nations, to the Italian population to donate precious family items for the sake of the motherland, the result was 37,000 kilos of gold and 115,000 kilos of silver. Even one of the regime’s most celebrated critics, the philosopher Benedetto Croce, gave up his gold medal as a senator. Mussolini had played a high-risk game; now all he could do was to raise the stakes even further. He couldn’t be seen to settle on a compromise solution; he had to hold out for total victory. But the war threatened to grind on and wear him down. For three months the full force of the Fascist troops in the country produced no appreciable results, until it was decided to resolve the situation by massacring Ethiopian civilians and bombing the hospitals. There are archive photographs of Italian soldiers posing with the heads of Ethiopian guerrilla fighters, a tragic testimony of this phase of the conflict. When cannon, bombs and gunfire didn’t work, orders were given to launch gas attacks. Fascist Italy committed numerous war crimes in the pursuit of its empire, although the regime’s propaganda machine skilfully concealed all reference to these atrocities and deflected attention instead onto Ethiopian reprisals against Italian soldiers.

  Britain attracted world attention with its decision to send a fleet from the Royal Navy to the Mediterranean. Even those closest to Mussolini grew anxious: an escalation of the conflict involving the British was unthinkable. Many Fascist gerarchi wavered in their support; even Balbo did not deny rumours that he was opposed to the war; but Mussolini, with his usual arrogant self-confidence, refused to change course. In part he was bluffing, because he knew he had to: he knew perfectly well how dependent the Italian economy had become on the war, with many industries relying wholly on the demand for military hardware, while the state’s coffers were overstretched and struggling to support the commitment. But in part his calculations were accurate: his own intelligence services had informed him that the British Navy would not be capable of launching an attack. He realized that the British were giving him a warning: they were prepared to defend the Mediterranean as a vital communication link for their own trade with their Empire and the Middle East.

  Mussolini knew that the crisis could not be sustained for a long time: he ordered a decisive attack in Ethiopia while at the same time he tried to introduce a note of calm into the confrontation with Britain by making public statements that Italy had no strategic interests in the Middle East or in Sudan, nor any plans to affect, even indirectly, British interests in the area. On 5th May 1936 Pietro Badoglio, the head of the Italian armed forces, occupied Addis Ababa, bringing the war to an end. On the evening of the same day, from the balcony overlooking Piazza Venezia, Mussolini announced to a vast crowd that “Ethiopia belongs to Italy! It belongs by deed, since our victorious troops have occupied it, and by right, since the Roman sword has brought civilization to triumph over barbarity…”

  Struggling to make her way through the roaring crowd, a thirty-six-year-old woman by the name of Madeleine Coraboeuf was trying to reach the building on the opposite side of the piazza which faced Palazzo Venezia and the balcony from which Mussolini was speaking, where a press conference was being held for journalists from the world press. She was attractive – a radiant face, large eyes, her sensual mouth emphasized with red lipstick – and knew how to use her attractiveness to get what she wanted: “She is of medium height, with chestnut-brown hair styled in a wave, and a typically vivacious Parisian face with lively eyes. Her mouth is finely shaped, her lips parted to let you see her regular teeth, slightly stained by nicotine. Her make-up was soberly and carefully applied, obviously with a good deal of thought; her skin had just one wrinkle, a straight one which formed in the middle of her brow whenever she smiled, and the end of her nose, which was somewhat long but regular, turned up oddly.”14

  Madeleine Coraboeuf used a pseudonym that was appropriate enough for her purposes: Magda Fontanges. Madame de Fontanges had been one of Louis XIV’s mistresses. She had started off as an actress and ended up as a spy, but at the time she was in Italy – when the Ethiopian war was being waged – she was working as a journalist. Her account of her meeting with Mussolini in the course of her visit to Italy is interesting because it reveals the four-stage progress of one of hi
s typical “flings”, both from his point of view and the woman’s. Magda Fontanges had come to Italy determined to interview the Duce whatever it took. Her professional standing as a journalist was not significant (when the English-language magazine Liberty published her piece, it described her as only a “moderately successful” journalist, but also – what was obviously more to the point – as “a woman of exceptional charm”).

  In March 1936 Fontanges was forced to wait a fortnight in Sestri Levante on the Ligurian coast before being cleared to proceed to Rome. Once there, she came to the attention of Dino Alfieri, the regime’s Undersecretary for Press and Communication who, besotted, took to following her round the city (under the impression that he was leading her). The first step was to enter Mussolini’s circle, so that she could get to meet the man himself, a goal she succeeded in achieving on 20th April 1936. “Since morning I have been occupied with preparations. At two o’clock I started to dress. I have decided on a Jenny ensemble – a black dress in cloqué tissue with white trimmings at neck and sleeves; the coat is black also, with gathers at the shoulders and trimming of silver fox; the hat is a small Rose Valois panama with white trimming. The handbag and shoes are of black buckskin with patent-leather trimmings. The gloves, from Alexandrine’s, are buckskin and black kid. […] Very few photographs give an exact image of his face. His eyes have an incomparable radiance, which is fascinating, and I defy anyone to meet him for the first time without feeling somewhat disturbed!”15

  The second step consisted in overcoming the distance between the “head of government” and “the journalist interviewer”, so that the barriers and formalities separating the two roles – and the two bodies – could be done away with. The first physical contact between the two took place on 25th April. Possibly it was Mussolini who initiated it, but there are two players in every process of seduction. “He has walked with me to the desk. ‘I have only a few moments. I am very busy today. But I am going to ask you to come again tomorrow… just like that… to chat!’ He comes nearer to me. His voice has become very soft, even effeminate. His face, so gay at Littoria, has assumed a grave expression. I judge that it is prudent to keep a wise reserve and to wait. So, feigning a formal attitude and trying to make my voice sound as natural as possible, I assure him that I am at his disposal and very flattered by the honour he shows me. Mussolini observes me in silence for a moment, then walks about for a few paces. Again he comes to a stop, this time very close to me, keeping his eyes half closed. Suddenly he places both his hands on my shoulders.”16

  Now that this mutual confidence had been established, the next step consisted in transforming what was a friendly physical contact between them into a more intimate one – a kiss. In order to achieve this, when they next met, on 27th April, Mussolini started from the point at which they had concluded their previous encounter, the territory he had already conquered.

  Mussolini is seated at the desk, writing. He springs to his feet and rushes to greet me. Without preamble, he rests both his hands on my shoulders, and in that same gentle voice which so intrigued me at our meeting yesterday, he asks, in French: “Have you thought of me a little?” From then on, the conversation between us is familiar, intimate. I reply quickly: “Not for one minute did your memory leave me!” We walk a few steps, then he stops again, grips my shoulders, leans towards me and says deliberately: “I think you are beautiful. You please me!” In response, I place my arms round his neck. My mouth brushes against his and I say: “And you, Benito – do you know I love you?” The expression of his face softens then, and, holding me tightly, he gives me his first kiss. I feel the sensation of intoxication so strong that everything vanishes about me. As soon as I am able, I question him: “Since when did you desire to see me not officially?”17

  At this point, after further kisses, Fontanges decided it was a good moment to obtain some political news she could put in her article. She enthusiastically praised his handling of the crisis with the League of Nations and his bold risk-taking on the international political scene, and then asked him point-blank: “What is the news concerning Addis Ababa?” The Italian troops had launched brutal gas attacks to crush the last remnants of Ethiopian resistance. Mussolini replied to her question with a fervent “Good!” – and with this immediately started the fourth stage in the process of seduction, aware that she might think she was merely the latest in a line of conquests. Convinced that women were attracted by male brutality, he said: “But Ethiopia does not exist! The most beautiful thing in the world is what is happening to the two of us! […] Then I’ll take you to a secret chamber… but you must not tell anyone you know the private apartments… You know, I have no time to see you long today – at least, not as long as I would wish!’ We are still clasped together. Suddenly his face contorts and in a hoarse voice he murmurs: ‘You know… I am brutal. You are not afraid? You feel how much I desire you!’”18

  The following day, 28th April, with a sudden burst of energy, the prize at the end of the fourth and final stage in what was, for Mussolini, a very familiar script, was carried off. Once more Mussolini started from where they had left off at the previous meeting, with Fontanges now installed in the “private apartments”.

  Catlike, as if about to grasp a prey, Benito has returned, and he comes towards me. “It is a great privilege to come here. No one has the right to disturb me here; I come when I wish to be alone, when I need to think – or to rest.” I think that he comes here for other reasons also… and, suddenly jealous, I imagine in pale visions the faces of women he must have known before me. I tell him that. A bit scornful, he smiles. “Perhaps. But I don’t remember anything about it! No one has left a trace, I swear to you!” He has embraced me again, growing very tender. “As a rule, my mind is not involved! I am not in the habit of wasting my time! Didn’t I give you a different impression? I believe you haven’t much to complain of.” Then a sort of frenzy sweeps him, he becomes brutal and he says: “You have known Il Duce – now you shall know the man!” He has taken off his coat, and in his sports shirt he appears astonishingly young. Heeding nothing but his instinct, he leaps at me. Before I have time to utter so much as an exclamation, I am caught up in strong arms.19

  As Fascist troops advanced over Ethiopian territory with gas attacks, their intense affair continued. On 5th May, when the troops finally entered and took Addis Ababa, Mussolini received Fontanges in an atmosphere of wild enthusiasm: “And he laughs as he struts around. Then, removing the scarf, he flings it around my neck and pretends to strangle me… and that make-believe struggle ends in kisses.”20

  After this meeting, Fontanges went back to her hotel to write up her article, until, in the afternoon, the concierge of the hotel suddenly started to shout: “Roll up, roll up!” With sirens wailing and bells chiming, a vast crowd from all over the city was gathering in Piazza Venezia. The Duce appeared on the balcony to announce the conquest of Ethiopia, while Fontanges made her way through the mass of people to join the other journalists in the building which faced Palazzo Venezia, where, only a few hours before, she’d been locked in intimate contact with the founder of the Italian empire. None of the journalists gathered that day knew anything about the brutal costs of the victory; the barbarity of the campaign was not talked about for many years, and the silence endured even after the end of the Second World War, when defeated Italians tried to lick their wounds by taking refuge in the myth of their fundamental decency – “Italians are good folk”.

  Yet it is hard to understand why a debate continued throughout the second half of the twentieth century on the use of gas attacks in Ethiopia when documentary evidence had been available from the 1950s onwards in the complete edition of Mussolini’s writings and speeches edited by Edoardo and Duilio Susmel. The two historians were Fascist sympathizers, but declared the thirty-five volume work to be “free of any verbal intervention or tendentiousness in such a way that the Opera Omnia [Complete Works] present, in exact chronological sequence, an authentic representation of Mussolini�
�s attitudes and activities”.21 They took the Latin motto historia fit documentis (“history is made of evidence”) as their guide, and in the process their work has become a primary reference source for all subsequent biographers, historians and scholars of the period. The documentary compilation is complete to the point of including the telegrams Mussolini sent to the army generals in command of the campaign in Ethiopia.

  20th February 1936 (Top secret) 2053: In agreement with Your Excellency’s observations on the use of bacteriological warfare. Mussolini.

  29th March 1936 (Top Secret) 3652: In view of enemy tactics, authorization to use gas of all kinds and on any scale renewed. Mussolini.

  2nd June 1936 (Top Secret) 4696: To Field-Marshal Rodolfo Graziani. All rebel natives taken prisoner must be executed.

  8th June 1936 (Top Secret) 6595: To Field-Marshal Rodolfo Graziani. Gas to be used to finish off rebel natives, as in Ankober.

  8th July 1936 (Top Secret) 8103: To Field-Marshal Rodolfo Graziani: authorization renewed to carry out systematic campaign of terror and extermination against rebel natives and those supporting them. Maximum retaliation only way to bring situation under control in short time. Confirmation awaited. Mussolini.22

  As she made her way through the hurrahing crowds gathered to celebrate Italy’s new empire, Magda Fontanges could feel sure of herself. She had become the Duce’s latest mistress; she was allowed access to his private apartments; and she – she alone – had the biggest journalistic scoop of the time waiting to be published. The French ambassador in Rome, the Comte Charles de Chambrun, approached her with the intention of persuading her to become a secret agent for the French military intelligence services, the Deuxième Bureau. Thus Coraboeuf-Fontanges’s career as a spy began. However, she had the fault of speaking rather too freely. Even Rachele came to know about her relationship with Mussolini, and when he himself learnt that his new conquest was a mere spy he immediately paid her off with 15,000 lire and had her expelled from Italy.