much older Mussolini grandchild, Fabrizio Ciano, ran for office, too. This was the third Count Ciano, after Costanzo and Galeazzo. He was twelve when his father was executed, thirteen when his grandfather was killed. He did not make it to parliament. In the early 1990s, he wrote a book with a hard-to-beat title: “Quando il nonno fece fucilare papà,” or, “When Grandpa Had Dad Shot.” The jacket copy explained that Fabrizio had always lived with a “heavy burden”—a statement pretty much impossible to deny.
When it comes to politics or ideology, all of the Mussolini grandchildren have been “neo-Fascists,” evidently. And it’s sometimes hard to tell the “neo” from the old-fashioned variety.
Vittorio’s son, Guido, ran for office: He ran for parliament, and for mayor of Rome. He got very few votes in both endeavors. Running for mayor, he said, “We draw inspiration from Mussolini’s principles, but we look to the future.” In his view, “Mussolini’s ideas were 99 percent good, and 1 percent maybe questionable.” After his defeat, he made it clear that his name was not to blame. On the contrary, the Mussolini name “worked in my favor. The Fascists love you, while the others, who aren’t Fascist, have to respect you. It has been a beautiful experience.”
He led a bid to have Mussolini’s body exhumed and his death “definitively” investigated. (That was Guido’s word, “definitively.”) He did not succeed in this bid. He said, “I’m not looking for anything—not for revenge, not for money, not for anything else. I just want someone to tell me the first name and last name of the person who killed him in such an ignoble way, when they were supposed to hand him over alive to the Americans. Before I die, I want to know whom I must curse.”
The real politician in the family—after the dictator, of course—is Alessandra: a daughter of Romano and his first wife, Maria Scicolone; a niece of Sophia Loren. Today, she is a member of the European Parliament, and she has been a member of both houses of the Italian parliament: the chamber of deputies and the senate. Mouthy, outrageous, she is one of the most colorful politicians in a country known for colorful politics. Alessandra Mussolini is the Pasionaria of neo-Fascism. And that is the name she uses: not Pasionaria but Mussolini, though she has long been married to a man named Floriani.
Earlier in her career, she was an actress, singer, and model. She appeared on the cover of Playboy (European editions): “The grit of Grandpa Benito, the sex appeal of Aunt Sophia Loren.” Among the movies in which she appeared was The Assisi Underground, about a priest who rescued Jews during the war. At first, she was cast as one of the Jews. But this caused an uproar—so she was recast as a nun, Sister Beata.
It was in 1992 that she was first elected to her national parliament. She was 29. Her mother warned her that politics was serious and hard work. She replied that it would be less difficult than her prior work: In the entertainment world, “they don’t care if you’re a good or talented actress, all they want is to see your legs and your breasts. In politics, at least I can say something important and people will believe me.” During her campaign, she defended her grandfather, in various ways. For instance, he was “very modern, one of the first ecologically minded politicians.” Mussolini did not even want “a real tree at Christmas, because it hurt him so much to chop it down.” When she won, she described the victory as “an act of love for my grandfather.”
While a new parliamentarian, she completed her academic studies, obtaining a degree in medicine. She has an unusual résumé: Playboy model, doctor, leader of neo-Fascism, etc. (This is in addition to being the granddaughter of Mussolini and the niece of Loren.)
Throughout her career, Alessandra has been with several parties and coalitions, in the ever-shifting world of Italian politics. She broke with the National Alliance in 2003, after its leader, Gianfranco Fini, made a visit to Israel. There, he denounced Fascism, referring to “shameful pages in history.” Alessandra said she was a keen supporter of Israel, but could not abide this denunciation. With others, she formed a party called “Freedom of Action,” later called “Social Action,” which then merged into a coalition known as “Social Alternative.” Her father, Romano, composed a party anthem for her: a little, dippy ditty called “The Pride of Being Italian.”
On the floor of parliament, she has worn tight T-shirts, boasting in-your-face slogans. And she is perpetually quotable. In 2006, the dictator of Libya, Qaddafi, made a threat: Unless Italy paid Libya compensation for earlier colonization, Italians would be attacked. Alessandra said, “If it hadn’t been for my grandfather, they would still be riding camels and wearing turbans on their heads. They should be paying us compensation.”
Ever and always, she is proud of her name, fiercely proud. Not only does she bear it herself—she fought a legal battle so that her children could bear it. When the leader of the National Alliance made his speech in Israel, she reacted pointedly: “Fini attacked my name. It’s my family.”
There have been a lot of girls in the Mussolini family. In 1996, Guido’s son Caio Giulio Cesare Mussolini had a baby boy, Carlo. A headline read, “Baby Carlo Ensures Mussolini Lineage.” The new grandfather, Guido, said, “For many years, I have waited for this lovely surprise, without which our family might have gone extinct.” He added, “My father Vittorio is in seventh heaven about this bolt from the blue, which will allow the dynasty started by Benito to last well into the 21st century.”
The Mussolinis are an interesting lot, you might agree. You might also agree that they can be likable, in particular moments or circumstances. What did Countess Edda say about the Jews? “Charming personally and in small numbers.” The Mussolinis have all shown great family loyalty (allowing for the complicated case of Edda and the Ciano children). Family loyalty is a virtue. But I think of something President Kennedy said: “Sometimes party loyalty asks too much.” So it is with family loyalty.
Certainly, we might sympathize with the Mussolinis—who, after all, did not choose the circumstances of their birth. (Who does?) They have been instilled with tremendous love for their patriarch. What’s more, they have been surrounded by people who love and venerate him—not only family members, but the public, or a slice of it. When Alessandra first campaigned in 1992, people came up to her to give her the Fascist salute. In all sincerity. Twenty years later, she was caught on the floor of the chamber of deputies signing photographs of her grandfather—giving that same salute. A colleague of hers had asked for the signatures. There is an appetite for this stuff.
From what I can ascertain, there has not been a political dissenter in the family. (Again, allowing for the complications of the Cianos.) What did Mussolini say about his dead son, Bruno? “Fascista nato e vissuto.” He was born a Fascist and lived his life as a Fascist. All the Mussolinis, at least to a degree, have been fascisti nati e vissuti. It was a mercy that they and their Axis partners lost the war.
In one of his books, Vittorio recounts a serious but teasing exchange he had with his mother, Donna Rachele. At the end of it, she says to him, “You Mussolinis, you’re all the same.”
Franco had one child—a daughter, Carmen. She was born in 1926, ten years before the Spanish Civil War. At the end of that war, in 1939, her father was unchallenged dictator of Spain. As with Edda Mussolini, there were rumors about Carmen’s parentage. There still are. It is said that she is the offspring of Franco’s brother Ramón, a famed air-force pilot, and rake. According to this rumor, Ramón had a child with someone, and the babe needed a home. The future dictator and his wife, unable to have children of their
