St. Francis and Mussolini

Figures

Figure 1: Tomb of St. Francis of Assisi, Basilica di San Francesco, Assisi, Italy, photo by author

Figure 2: Mussolini on the “speech balcony” of Palazzo Venezia, Rome, Italy

Figure 3: Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, The Incredulity of St. Thomas. Detail. Oil on canvas, 107 × 146 cm. Schloss Sanssouci, Potsdam, Germany

Figure 4: Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, St. Francis in Ecstasy. c.1595. Oil on canvas, 92.5 cm × 127.8 cm. Wadsworth Atheneum, Hartford, Connecticut

Figure 5: Maestro di Frate Francesco, Portrait of St. Francis of Assisi. Fresco. San Gregorio Chapel, Assisi, Italy

Figure 6: Cimabue, “Madonna Enthroned with the Child, St. Francis and Four Angels” (1278–1280) Fresco, 320 × 340 cm. Assisi, Lower Church, Right Transept, Assisi, Italy

Figure 7: Cimabue, “Madonna Enthroned with the Child, St. Francis and Four Angels.” Assisi, Lower Church, Right Transept, Assisi, Italy (detail)

Figure 8: Attributed to Giotto, Legend of St. Francis: 15. Sermon to the Birds (1297–1299), Fresco, 270 × 200 cm, Upper Church, San Francesco, Assisi, Italy

Figure 9: Letter to the Vatican Secretary of State, Cardinal Gasparri, from the Cardinal of Venice Lafontaine, ASV, Segr. Stato, rubrica 5, fasc. 1, 1925, p. 93, letter dated April 8

Figure 10: Draft of the reply from the Secretary of State to Cardinal Lafontaine, ASV, Segr. Stato, rubrica 5, fasc. 1, 1925, p. 94, letter dated April 16

Figure 11: SS, Curia Romana, April 13, 1939, pos. 8. Renewed requests to proclaim St. Francis patron saint of Italy to Cardinal Maglione after the death of Pius XI

Figure 12: SS, Curia Romana, August 3, 1939, pos. 8. To Cardinal Granito Pignatelli di Belmonte

Figure 13: Betty Sabo, St. Francis and the Wolf, Bronze, St. Francis Cathedral, Santa Fe, NM, USA, photo by author

Figure 14: Image from the last page of Father Paolo Ardali’s book, San Francesco e Mussolini

Figure 15: Juxtaposed images of St. Francis and of Mussolini as they appear in the pagination of Father Paolo Ardali’s San Francesco e Mussolini, 5–6

Figure 16: Simone Martini, juxtaposed portraits of St. Francis and of Louis of Toulouse, Assisi, Lower Church of St. Francis, North Transept, Assisi, Italy (detail)

Figure 17: Simone Martini, Saint Francis of Assisi, Assisi, Lower Church of St. Francis, North Transept, Assisi, Italy (detail)

Figure 18: Attributed to Simone Martini, St. Francis, St. Louis of Toulouse, and three Hungarian saints: St. Elisabeth, St. Margaret, and St. Henry. Assisi, Lower Church of St. Francis, North Transept, Assisi, Italy

Figure 19: Propagandistic photograph of Mussolini by Scagli, probably taken between 1914 and 1918

Figure 20: Reproduction of pages 26 and 27 of Ardali’s book San Francesco e Mussolini

Figure 21: “Santino” reproduced in Mimmo Franzinelli, Il volto religioso della guerra. Faenza: Edit. Faenza, 2003

Figure 22: “Santino” reproduced in Mimmo Franzinelli, Il volto religioso della guerra, cit., on the occasion of Easter 1945

Figure 23: Funerary portrait of St. Francis, author unknown. In L’Italia Francescana, (Tip. Porziuncola, S. Maria degli Angeli, 1927)

Figure 24: “Moral Education and Ecclesiastical Intervention.” AAEESS, p.o. 701, f. 158, 1929, p. 49, seconda sezione Segreteria di Stato

Figure 25: Still frame of the series of text boxes at the opening of Roberto Rossellini’s La Nave Bianca/The White Ship

Figure 26: Still frame of the series of text boxes at the opening of Roberto Rossellini’s La Nave Bianca/The White Ship

Figure 27: Still frame showing the intertitles at the beginning of the Italian version of Roberto Rossellini’s Rome Open City

Figure 28: Still frame from Manfredi’s torturing scene, Rome Open City

Figure 29: Still frame from Manfredi’s torturing scene, Rome Open City

Figure 30: Picture from the Rossellini Archive taken on the set of Francesco, Giullare di Dio showing the woman who played the prostitute (lost scene)

Figures 31–32: Study for Nicolaio’s armor and images of St. Francis, Francesco, Giullare di Dio from the Eastman film used for the shooting of this scene (Roberto Rossellini Archive, Rome, Italy, kindly made available by Renzo Rossellini)

Figure 33: Rossellini’s handwritten note taken on the set of Francesco, Giullare di Dio (Roberto Rossellini Archive, kindly made available by Renzo Rossellini)

Figure 34: Renato Guttuso: Crocifissione, oil on canvas, 2.0 × 2.0 m, 1941. Rome, Italy, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna

Figure 35: Book cover: Raz Yosef, Beyond Flesh: Queer Masculinities and Nationalism in Israeli Cinema. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 2004

Acknowledgments

With heartfelt gratitude, I will try to mention the many creatures who provided essential support during the 15 years I worked on this book, which began as my Ph.D. dissertation at Brown University. In February 2013, my advisor postponed my defense, and, to my surprise, a few days later Pope Benedict XVI (Joseph Ratzinger) announced his resignation. About a month after that, my defense was rescheduled and, in the span of a few hours on March 13, 2013, the newly elected Pope, the Jesuit Jorge Mario Bergoglio, took the name Francis. Not only was he the first Pope from the Southern Hemisphere, Bergoglio was also the first ever to pick the name Francis, in honor of St. Francis of Assisi, a choice that spoke to me and my research deeply. Then, in the very moment when the kind peer reviewers of this book were approving the final manuscript, the world heard the sad news of the passing of this unusual and very influential Pope, on April 21, 2025. My students, enrolled in the study-abroad program in Italy that I direct, were able to see Pope Francis during his last public appearance, the day before he died, on Easter Sunday of the Jubilee year 2025. Although I was tempted many times to give up and never finish this book, these repeated coincidences kept me going and their influence continues long after they occurred. Next, in September 2023, I learned that the “rockstar” Italian historian Alessandro Barbero had been so kind as to cite my work during his packed lectures (which invariably become podcasts and videos with millions of views), and, more recently still, on his TV show on the LA7 channel, “In viaggio con Barbero.” I remain indebted to him for the visibility he gave my work in my own country, and for giving me once again additional motivation to submit the manuscript.

At Colorado College, my strongest supporters have been the various members and the previous Chair of the Paul Frederick Sheffer Fund for Roman Catholic Studies, among whom Mike Siddoway, Pamela Reeves, Carol Neel, Kate Holbrook, Father Kyle Ingels, Joe Derdzinski, Lisa Schwartz, who have graciously sponsored a fundamental research trip to the Vatican Archives, as well as some of the editing costs. The Colorado College Crown Center generously supported a round of manuscript reviews. I am also especially thankful to Alistaire Tallent, Tip Ragan, Carrie Ruiz, as well as my departmental colleagues at Colorado College, and the greatly helpful librarian, Nicole Gresham. At Brown University, my mentors David Kertzer, Suzanne Stewart-Steinberg and Massimo Riva shared useful feedback and materials. Alessandro Visani was my precious compass in the Vatican Archives and Archivio di Stato in Rome, where I also benefited from the guidance of many kind archivists. After opening his father’s archives to me, Renzo Rossellini also became a point of reference and a friend, even sending me in his stead to present the digital Encyclopedia about his father in front of an international audience that included his sister Isabella. The internationally acclaimed directors Werner Herzog and Liliana Cavani were so kind as to allow me to interview them, and my interview with the latter is included here as an appendix. At the 2010 Berlinale that he directed, Werner Herzog had thoughtful ideas and questions for me about how he might himself represent this Saint: my observation to him was that St. Francis, with his radical choices, distinctive personality and resilience would fit perfectly with his other unusual cinematic protagonists. I have not yet been able to discuss with Wim Wenders his documentary on Pope Francis, and I hope I will.

During the years in which I worked on this book, I conducted my research in Italy, Germany, and the United States while simultaneously sustaining the heavy teaching load typical of our top liberal arts colleges, and of Colorado College in particular, where the work also includes teaching abroad and extensive administrative duties. Despite my love for teaching and travel, exhaustion often made me lose faith that I could ever finish this book: I have no end of thankful words and affectionate thoughts for my colleague Erica Moretti, who continued to read my work and let me vent about my fatigue and about those who refused essential support or respite. Though I have not yet held a high-level post in university administration, I have no doubt that support given to younger faculty members—and the success that such support enables—is among the greatest rewards and highest purposes of administrative work. I myself did not receive such support; nonetheless, like other deserving faculty at our college, I now feel an even great sense of achievement having overcome those obstacles I had hoped to have more help in surmounting.

At the various stages of this project, many professors, colleagues, and friends have provided kind criticism that has pushed me to do better. My mentor Dominick LaCapra read an early version of my adventurous construction of a theory of stigmata, and as always provided me with the most precise and intellectually honest reports. Michael Hardt, Roberto Esposito, Claudio Fogu, Omri Grinberg, and Thomas Doherty also read this work giving insightful advice. A very warm thank to all the good friends met as colleagues and teachers at the Cornell School of Criticism and Theory, at UMass-Amherst, and at conferences around the world. I have been fortunate in finding so many safe places for refined conversations: among these many friends, I must mention by name Amelie Björck, Frans Weiser, and Antonia Carcelen-Estrada. Moreover, without the countless hours spent training traditional in kung fu since I was 19, I do not think I would have been able to stand the many disciplined, immobile and focused hours of writing and research.

Regretfully, my words will be inadequate to convey the endless gratitude for Jim Hicks and Anna Botta, but I owe them a try: they have been loyal advocates during various stages of my career, and Jim also became the brilliant editor who has made this book a lot more legible. I am also grateful to Lauren Plapp for another round of editing.

This note could not draw to its closing without thanking my interspecies family: my mother Vanda and my late father Antonio for their rock-solid support under any conditions, and for understanding that I had to go very far away geographically to fulfill my aspirations (and to live in a place where my name would not sound bizarre); my enviable brother Vittorio (who through various forms of support helped me finish college), my other brother Ivan (who was the first to make it possible for me to spend my entire free time surrounded by equines); or without thanking my beloved nonhumans, who have been my first inspirers and teachers: the dogs Clara, Cipollina, Camilla, Mirtilla, Tempi, Blixa, Viki; Ziggy the cat; the bunnies Carlos and Lou; the canaries and magpies, Mr. Smith, Ricky, Colonnello, Pasqualino; the twin lamb Filomena; the three hedgehogs and six ducks (among whom the sweetest black duck, Carletto), my beloved horses Jimmy, a survivor of the racetrack, the young and spirited Haka a Tāne-rore. They truly taught me what it means to be loyal, care and listen, to be still, sniff, poise, and follow a trace. Finally, thanks to the whole Giaquinto, Weaver, and Scolozzi families whose merits are too long to list, and to zia Teresa, my cousin Giuseppina Bilotta, to Carla Piscitelli, Giammarco Zacheo, Cinzia Cittadino, Paola Belvedere, Giusi Vitale, Alida Melacarne, Patrizia Muscogiuri and Francesco Carofiglio, gli amici di una vita, for being there for me, always and unquestioningly. I am also grateful to Francesco, the artist and friend with the right name, for the beautiful book cover illustration.

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father Antonio, born in Bari, Italy, during World War II. Despite having survived hunger and hardships, and despite having lived a life riddled with unresolved war traumas, he never dreamed of hiding his tenderness and deep love for animals. Extraordinarily, he always allowed me to bring home, to our small Southern Italian apartment, any species of nonhuman in need of care. I believe they helped me see how many gifts can come from years of interspecies listening, which early in my life earned me the nickname “St. Francis.”

Preface

St. Francis of Assisi is best known in the world—not just in the Catholic and saint-loving Southern Italy—as the peaceful animal lover, the guy who tamed the raging wolf of Gubbio, the caring soul who preached to the birds in the delightful town of Bevagna, in the Central region of Umbria.

I grew up in Southern Italy, in the Apulia region, in what is now a lovely, touristy town in the Adriatic coast, Bari. The year I was born, 1979, Pope John Paul II proclaimed the patron saint of Italy, St. Francis of Assisi, to be also the patron of ecology, thus opening up Catholic consciousness to pressing ecological problems in the current world. Not long after, when I was about five, I gained the nickname of “St. Francis,” but it wasn’t so much because of the various species I regularly took to live with me in my parents’ small apartment (a menagerie that could include birds, dogs, hedgehogs, turtles, fish, snails, insects and, famously, even an adorable little lamb, often mistaken, to my utter shock, for a fluffy dog). I have two older brothers, but I was told repeatedly they did not qualify as members of the menagerie (if anything, they counted me as a member of their menagerie). The nickname “San Francesco” stuck mainly because I could be seen arriving to school every day escorted by a gang of stray dogs, all under the very careful supervision of the magpie I’d rescued. Since I was a so-called “tomboy,” the fact that I had been given a male nickname seemed perfectly fitting as well. As I grew up, our home phone kept ringing: calls for me to help with injured birds, abandoned puppies, sick kitties, horses to rehome, or a friend’s pet that needed care during a vacation. My father and I watched every possible nature documentary available on the Italian TV channels. In graduate school in the United States, it was only “natural” that I would be invariably, and happily, the one hired to tend to my professors’ nonhuman companions. And even then, I still enjoyed keeping “oddkin” (Haraway 2016) as roommates: mostly fish and praying mantises at that point, to the dismay of my less-oddkin-loving roommates. Today, as I write in my Colorado home, there are two dogs and a cat in the room (my “co-authors”), two rabbits, while I also care for a few equines who help me run an equine-assisted nonprofit organization, EGLHE, Equine-Guided Learning and Healing Experience (the equine fellows do not live with us at the moment, exiled by contemptible zoning rules and a frankly outrageous local housing market—but I do bring my writing, and my students, to their pasture whenever the weather allows).