To see or not to see a dictator in painting
When they arrive in Montreal for the first time, Italians who visit the church in Little Italy freeze in front of the fresco that adorns the vault of Notre-Dame-de-la-Défense. Benito Mussolini's painting alongside Pope Pius XI, angels and religious figures shocked director Giovanni Princigalli, who decided to move to Montreal in 2003.
Whether they arrived in Montreal 10 or 60 years ago, members of the Italo-Montreal community are mobilizing today to have a plaque added to the church explaining the glorification of the dictator in a place of worship in the city.
“We don't want to remove the mural, we want to contextualize it to do justice to the Catholic and Italian community, which is tolerant and has been a victim of fascism,” says Mr. Princigalli, who is one of the instigators of a petition calling for the addition of such a plaque. An opinion shared by the professor of Italian history at the University of Montreal Luca Sollai, who arrived in Montreal in 2013.
Founded in 1910 for the Italian community in Montreal, the Notre-Dame-de-la-Défense parish commissioned the Mussolini fresco from the painter Guido Nincheri, who created it from 1930 to 1933. The work evokes the Lateran Agreements — concluded in 1929 between the Holy See and the Italian government, represented by Mussolini —, which led to the creation of the Vatican City State.
At the time, many Italian Canadians felt like second-class citizens and their patriotism was exacerbated by the propaganda operations of Italian consulates in the diaspora, explains Professor Sollai.
The popular origins of the head of state favored the identification and adherence of the Italian diaspora in North America, which was then rather regional. “Mussolini was a cultural model in which the Italian community could find itself. Her objective was not to support fascism; she simply felt protected by this figure,” adds Mr. Sollai.
Today, a booklet placed at the entrance of the church and written in French, English and Italian explains that the creation of the fresco preceded the pact concluded by Mussolini with Hitler. “One can understand the fresco by an analysis of the historical context of the 1930s of the 20th century,” it reads. “Apart from occasional visitors, the faithful of the church no longer look at Mussolini.
Now, it is a simple historical fact,” the document also states. But this does not satisfy Mr. Sollai, who would like a more rigorous contextualization than that proposed by the neighborhood church.
“Many statesmen in the 1930s welcomed fascism, but that doesn't change the fact that people were talking about a dictatorship as early as the 1920s. It is clear that the reality of the time is important, but historically, the dictatorship dates back well before fresco painting,” he explains.
As an example, he cites the anti-fascist priest Don Giovanni Minzoni, assassinated by the fascists in 1923. Italo Balbo, one of the fascist leaders on the mural, is suspected of having ordered this murder.
Remove the fresco
Architecture professor Fabrizio Gallanti, who arrived in Montreal in 2011, categorically refuses to set foot in the Notre-Dame-de-la-Défense church. “He is not a character who has a place in public space,” he thundered. “I understand the context, but it's been 70 years! I find it quite odd that we have maintained this presence for so long,” he adds, before pointing out that the exhibition of a fascist symbol in a public space has been prohibited by law in Italy since 1952.
In the wake of the debunking of several statues of colonialist figures around the world since the death of George Floyd, Mr. Gallanti believes that the story of Mussolini's fresco is intertwined with the current context, but can also be read independently. Born in Genoa, the birthplace of Christopher Columbus, Mr. Gallanti said he would like to see his fellow citizens dismantle monuments evoking this “sad character.”
“I am quite in favor of the idea of rethinking what is celebrated in public spaces,” he tells us. For Carlo Rosati, who arrived in Montreal in 1960, the part of the fresco dedicated to Mussolini must leave. “Why still have the image of this person? Seeing it in a church, I think it's absurd; if you remove it, it's for the best for the image of the Catholic Church.” He feels that the fresco distances young people from religion. “Who was it, Mussolini? Some say that this fresco is part of history, but he was not Michelangelo, he has no place in the church,” he insists.
“We're not watching Mussolini”
On the side of the parish church, Father Gennuso did not want to talk to us about the fresco. Instead, Pier Luigi Colleoni responded to our interview request. The high school art history teacher, catechist and member of the board of directors of Notre-Dame-de-la-Défense parish sometimes gives guided tours of the church. One Saturday morning, before the funeral, he offered us his analysis of the fresco by Guido Nincheri. This work has three levels. The lower part represents the militant Church, that is, the living; the middle part, the saints; and the third, the upper part, the divinity.
On the first section in the center, we see in particular Pope Pius XI, the future Pope Pius XII, the archbishop and bishop of Montreal at the time as well as the priest of the parish at the time. On the left, we note the presence of priests and sisters alongside black children — who represent the missionary work of the Catholic Church in Africa.
On the right are “Italian glories,” including the Nobel Prize winner Guglielmo Marconi and the explorer Amedeo di Savoia-Aosta. But above all, we see Benito Mussolini on horseback in the presence of the four important figures of the fascist party, the quadrumvirs: Michele Bianchi, Emilio De Bono, Cesare Maria De Vecchi and Italo Balbo.
In 1940, during the Second World War, when Canada declared war on Italy, firefighters from Montreal came to the church to destroy part of the fresco depicting Mussolini.
However, the community managed to negotiate with them and prevented their destruction by covering it with a sheet. This part remained covered until the 1950s, explains Pier Luigi Colleoni. “Some people call it Mussolini's Church, others the Dante Church. People in the community, who have a sense of belonging to the church, don't look at Mussolini; it's not the center of their attention. The center of attention is the figure of Christ”, Mr. Colleoni tells us on the doorstep. He believes that Mussolini should remain on the fresco for historical and artistic reasons as well as for the originality that this work gives to the church.
“I always say that Mussolini is an anecdote. Our church is a parish, we come here to pray because we are a Christian community,” he said.
Mr. Colleoni is therefore neither in favour of the petition nor for the addition of a plaque. According to him, the brochure at the entrance of the church is sufficient. “People who usually come to church know the situation. Visitors, when they arrive and find the booklet, can understand that it's just a memory of the story.”
Fascist greetings
Salvatore Martire, who has lived in Montreal since 1960, supports the petition. He tells us that nearly 25 years ago, at a funeral, he saw members of the community enter the church giving the Fascist salute and praising Mussolini. Timidly, the parish guide also tells us that he was confronted with profascists who came to the church to honor the memory of the dictator.
“I know that there are tourists who come from Italy and who have sympathies for fascism. And I know that they are coming here to glorify the memory of Mussolini. These people, whom I received, are surprised to learn that we do not share their enthusiasm for fascism and that we do not keep the fresco because we are fascists or because we love Mussolini”, says Mr. Colleoni.
The context
- Martire, for his part, would like to be explained the reasons for the presence of Mussolini in the fresco of the Italian parish. Whether or not we keep the fresco in the church doesn't make me feel hot or cold, but I think that, if we keep it, we need to explain the story of Mussolini; people should know what he did,” he whispered to us on the phone in Italian. “Young people who were born after the war should at least know who this figure above their heads is in church,” says this councilor from the Calais community. Abraise from Canada.
Giuliana (fictional name), a 30-year-old Italian woman, often attended church with her grandmother. “This church is a bit like the backbone of the Italian community in Montreal. Personally, I never really noticed Mussolini on the mural and I don't think the people in the community go there because they support him,” she tells us, however, wishing to remain anonymous. “I've lived in Italy and I can understand the shock for some Italians who come here.
But they are educated people. It is important to understand the life experiences of Italian immigrants who came here in the 1930s. They didn't have much education, they were poor people.
Today, we have the privilege of being interested in this, but our grandparents did not have the luxury of asking questions,” she adds. Giuliana admits to being in favor of the petition, but not sure if she wants to marry in this church. “I don't think that a fascist who supported Hitler should be on the ceiling of our church, but we also need to understand the context of the time,” she concludes.
To go further...
The petition committee calls for the addition of explanatory plaques written by historians on the dictator Benito Mussolini, the rewriting of the church fascicle devoted to the fresco, a commemorative plaque in memory of Don Giovanni Minzoni, and a commemorative plaque on the outside for all Canadian soldiers who died in Italy during the Second World War.
The committee is currently collecting signatures before presenting its petition to Heritage Canada and the City of Montreal.
Heritage Canada did not respond to our interview requests at the time of writing these lines.The petition is being circulated among various personalities, especially in politics, and will be put online shortly. Benito Mussolini on the fresco by Guido Nincheri at the Notre-Dame-de-la Défense church.
Picture: Pablo Ortiz