Rachele and Mussolini were not the marrying kind, given their political and social beliefs. They were “good Socialist revolutionaries,” as Edda writes, believing only in what was called a “free union.” According to Vittorio, Rachele would say, “You don’t hold a man with a stamped certificate.” Besides, she wanted to be free to leave Mussolini quickly and easily, if he displeased her. But Ida Dalser, in a way, forced her into marriage. Ten years after the civil ceremony, in 1925, Rachele and Mussolini had a religious ceremony, for appearances’ sake.
Mussolini, to say it once more, had a great many affairs. Vittorio relates that, when he learned of them as a boy, “it shook me terribly.” It also “doubled my affection for my mother, whom I felt I must defend at all costs.” But he came to accept his father’s ways, and writes that he was “a good husband.” (He also says, “I know only men will understand me.”) It is sometimes said that Rachele accepted her husband’s affairs nonchalantly or stoically, the good Italian wife, or dictator’s wife. This is not necessarily true: When she learned of Claretta Petacci, she swallowed bleach. A maid found her, forced her to vomit, and sent for help. Romano writes that the maid saved his mother’s life.
The couple had their five children: Edda, Vittorio, Bruno, Romano, and Anna Maria, born over a span of 19 years—1910 to 1929. In Fascist propaganda, Mussolini had a happy, full family life (unlike his weird partner in the Axis, Hitler). Biographers describe him as a distant father, rarely seeing his children, or wife, for that matter. But his children adored him. Perhaps they treasured their moments with him all the more, for the relative fewness of them. What everyone agrees on—certainly the children—is that Rachele was “the real dictator in the family.” She had a rural simplicity, firmness, and savvy.
We will take a look at the children, one by one, starting with the eldest and proceeding to the youngest. We will also look at some of their children, i.e., Mussolini and Rachele’s grandchildren. The first of the Mussolinis’ children, Edda, had the most complicated and interesting relationship with her father. This must be expected, in view of the fact that he executed, or allowed the execution of, or failed to stop the execution of, her husband.
Mussolini absolutely adored Edda. Is there anything like a father’s love for his daughter, especially a firstborn daughter? Edda was the apple of her daddy’s eye, as everyone said. Romano put it nicely in his memoirs: “My father had a weakness for her, which he made no attempt to conceal.” Mussolini insisted on being present at Edda’s birth, and fainted. He would be daunted by her on later occasions as well. They were a lot alike. As Romano writes, “She had his temperament (energetic to the point of recklessness)” and other things. “She resembled him physically too, with that withering look she inherited from him.”
Edda Mussolini Ciano
Mussolini’s adoration was returned, most of the time. Edda would write, “The degree of osmosis between my father and me was such that to please him and obey him I learned how to do everything: I was the first Italian woman to drive a car and to wear trousers,” etc. She was maybe the only person who could talk back to him. Mussolini once remarked, “I have managed to bend Italy, but I doubt I will ever be able to bend Edda’s will.” Romano writes, “Even Hitler himself held her in high regard.” (Those words “even Hitler himself” are characteristic of the Mussolini family. They held him in high regard, to borrow Romano’s language.)
Fascinating, willful, and, let’s face it, the daughter of the absolute ruler, Edda had more than her share of boyfriends and suitors. When she was 19, however, she was introduced to the man she would marry, Galeazzo Ciano, son of Costanzo Ciano. This elder Ciano was an admiral, war hero, and count. He was also a Fascist minister and close ally of Mussolini. Indeed, he was Mussolini’s designated successor. Galeazzo, like his father, was called “Count Ciano,” and Edda would be known for the rest of her life as “the countess.”
When the pair met, Ciano was working in the diplomatic corps. He was a bon vivant, a swell, a playboy. Donna Rachele, the matriarch, had little use for him, as she had little use for anyone whom she thought had airs. Yet Ciano was more than a spoiled, pleasure-seeking child: He was bright and capable, as his famous diary proves. The marriage between this prince and princess of Fascism, Galeazzo and Edda, took place on April 24, 1930. It was one of the great social occasions of the age. So reluctant was Mussolini to let Edda go, he followed her in his car as the newlyweds drove to their honeymoon on the Isle of Capri. About 15 miles outside of Rome, Edda had had enough. She confronted her father, demanding that he turn back. He pleaded, “I just wanted to accompany you some of the way.” But turn back he did, with tears in his eyes.
The Cianos’ marriage is sometimes described as an “open” one, or perhaps we could say a “free union,” to use the earlier term. It is assumed that the count had a lot of women and the countess a lot of men. Amid this, they had three children together. Ciano was an aviator, and led a bomber squadron in the Ethiopian war (1935–36). When he returned home, he was named foreign minister by his father-in-law. He was young for the position, age 33. Before long, people thought of him as the heir to the throne. As the elder Count Ciano was once the designated successor, now the younger count was in waiting, or so it was assumed. Galeazzo certainly wanted the job. His wife would confirm it matter-of-factly in her memoirs: “Who does not dream of succeeding in life?”
People also noticed that Ciano looked and sounded a lot like Mussolini. As Time magazine put it, the foreign minister was “aping the postures, speech, and manners of his father-in-law.” Here again, Edda is matter-of-fact: “My husband seemed to mimic my father simply because he met with him several times a day for years and so unconsciously adopted certain of his characteristics. There are families, the Agnellis, for example, in which all the brothers and their friends speak in exactly the same way.” (The Agnellis are the industrialists who have forged and led Fiat, the automaker.)
That Time article appeared in the issue of July 24, 1939. Edda was on the cover, which advised, “She wears the diplomatic trousers.” The story inside was titled “Lady of the Axis.” It began, “Most noteworthy Italian exponent of the Fascist dictum that a woman’s place is in the home is none other than Donna Rachele Mussolini.” But “Italy’s outstanding exception” to this dictum was the Mussolinis’ eldest child. The article was entertaining, scalding, and sensational, depicting Ciano as a lightweight and mediocrity, and his wife as a conniving floozy—of dubious maternity.
Making a visit to Berlin, Edda “liked the heavy masculine atmosphere,” said Time. “Handsome young Nordic men were always at hand to keep her in a proper Germanic frame of mind.” In Budapest, “the Countess was said to have made eyes at one of the sons of old Regent Horthy. This could easily have been excused, but when the Count and Countess showed up for a hunting expedition arranged by the Regent four hours late with only the excuse they had overslept, there were strained feelings.” Edda was also depicted as a raging, hard-line Fascist, which was quite true.
Whether she ever knew the contents of the article is unclear. In her memoirs, she writes, “Time even devoted its cover to me one week. What a boon to the ego!”
There were actually towns named for Edda, or at least one of them. After Mussolini invaded Albania in April 1939, he renamed Saranda, or “Santi Quaranta,” as the Italians had called it, “Porto Edda.” The name stuck until Italian fortunes were reversed later in the war.
Edda Mussolini Ciano loved Fascism, loved Nazism, and loved Hitler. In her memoirs—penned well after the war, in the mid-1970s—she is entirely open about this. In May 1940, she argued with her husband, expressing her disgust, indeed “shame,” that Italy had yet to enter the war on Germany’s side. Her father no doubt knew how she felt as well. And she did not have to endure her “shame” for much longer. “A month later,” she writes, “Italy entered the war, but I must emphasize that, though I was delighted by my father’s decision, I had absolutely nothing to do with it.”
She nonetheless had a role to play in Axis relations. I will let her explain: “Given my