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 own, took her in. According to a different rumor, the babe was an orphan in Morocco.
One of the alleged proofs that Carmen came out of nowhere, so to speak, is that no proper notice of her birth was published. This is “a complete canard,” as Stanley G. Payne has emphasized to me. (Professor Payne is a leading historian of Spain, and Franco biographer.)
Adding to the store of gossip and speculation, a book came out in 2009 alleging that Franco had one testicle. It is true that he was wounded in the lower abdomen while fighting in Morocco. But claims about the result of this wound are unverifiable. It is said, too, that Hitler had one testicle. A single testicle threatens to become known as a dictatorial trait.
The humdrum truth is this, according to Payne and other top Franco authorities: Carmen is the offspring of Franco and his wife, and any rumors to the contrary are to be discounted. So we will discount them.
Carmen’s mother, and Franco’s wife, was also named Carmen. The mother was called “Doña Carmen,” even as Mrs. Mussolini was called “Donna Rachele.” The daughter was known in the family as “Carmencita” or “Nenuca.” In time, she would be known as “Doña Carmen” (and she, too, would have a daughter Carmen, so we have to be on our toes about which Carmen is in question).
Francisco Franco, the generalissimo and dictator, loved his daughter dearly. In their 2014 biography of Franco, Payne and Jesús Palacios write, “Becoming a father may have been the greatest pure joy of his life.” In his old age, he had this recollection: “When the baby girl was born, I almost went crazy” (with delight). Franco was known for reserve and austerity—even coldness—but he poured affection on his daughter. Earlier, I suggested that fathers have a special love for their daughters. Franco’s may have been magnified in that Carmen was his only child.
She married in 1950, when she was 24. The wedding was a very grand affair, taking place in El Pardo, the palace in Greater Madrid where the Francos lived. The groom was an aristocrat: Cristóbal Martínez-Bordiú, the tenth marquis of Villaverde. He was a playboy on the Galeazzo Ciano level, if not beyond. He also had a more serious side. In fact, he was a heart surgeon. Among his friends was Dr. Christiaan Barnard, the South African who performed the first heart transplant in 1967. The next year, Martínez-Bordiú performed Spain’s first such operation. The patient lived a little more than a day.
Decades later, in 2011, the patient’s daughter sued. One of her allegations was this: Martínez-Bordiú had embarked on the operation under pressure from his father-in-law’s regime; the operation was not wise medically, but was undertaken in order to glorify fascist Spain.
The dictator and his wife were not rich in children, and sometimes he sighed over this. But daughter Carmen and her doctor-playboy husband were: They had seven children, four girls and three boys. Their first boy was their third child—and he was named Francisco, after his grandfather. (He was also, of course, the eleventh marquis of Villaverde.)
Carmen was just short of 50 when her father died, in 1975. From the newly installed king, Juan Carlos, she received some new titles: duchess of Franco and grandeza de España, i.e., grandee of Spain. A great defender and admirer of her father, she is a living symbol of franquismo (Franco-ism). She has long been a special guest at ceremonies and rallies meant to commemorate her father. The faithful sing the old fascist hymn, “Cara al sol,” or “Facing the Sun.” Doña Carmen (meaning the dictator’s daughter) is the president of the National Francisco Franco Foundation. She has lived a relatively quiet life.
Franco’s daughter, Carmen, as bride
But she has surfaced in the news now and then. In 1978, she was accused of trying to smuggle jewels—31 gold and diamond-encrusted medals—into