In the end, with the German armies occupying Northern Italy and Mussolini in charge of a rump State of declining size, means, influence and authority, the old Duce had little reason to be afraid of what Hitler was going to do after Germany had vanquished its Eastern and Western enemies and secured its mastery of Europe once and for good. Because, simply put, after the Allied invasion of Italy, his fall in July 1943, captivity, his liberation and installation as leader of the Social Republic in Salò, Mussolini had serious and concrete reasons to conclude that the Nazis weren't going to vanquish anyone and that, anyways, if by some unforeseeable turn of fates they managed to do so, there would have been no Fascist Italy for them to turn against, only a weak and sad parody of a State, which owed its existence more to the Fuhrer's stubborn reliance on his old friend than to the will and commitment of the Italian people to their once beloved leader.

Of course, as happens most of the time, objective and material considerations aren't the one exclusive factor at play in developing an understanding of history, nor in interpreting the “discourse” of history herself. Even the main characters don't usually have a full picture, and even then (and perhaps more so for starring roles) their point of view inevitably affects their performance; and so do their motives, their beliefs and ultimately their desire to provide their action with a convenient framing system. Which is to say that we can find evidence of various and manifold different purposes, concerns, intentions and more or less accurate assessments of the Italian situation during the last months of Mussolini's life; all bearing a closer or more distant relation to the material, objective facts of history, or to the equally significant fact of his personal and private life. And all these motives, arguments and self-interpretations provide us with a composite picture of why, in the twenty months from September 1943 to April 1945, Mussolini and his new “republican” regime didn't just sit on their rear ends waiting for German orders to execute, but choose to do something of their own, of how they went about it, and of what they hoped to achieve or fear they'd lose if they didn't.

While the subordination of the RSI to the German occupation forces, both on military, political and diplomatic terms, was truly and ultimately remained undisputed, one should not assume that the residual forces collected within the new State formation were always and entirely satisfied with a position of complete subordination, or that they lacked any agenda of their own. For some, it was the opportunity to salvage something of their personal and political position, of their relations and interests, for others, an attempt to figure out a new collocation after the war, and to adapt to the changing scenario after the end of Fascism; for the staunchest proponents of the new regime, a last chance to vindicate the ideological purity of Fascism against its enemies, inside and outside the Regime, and to establish its moral legacy, for others a chance to partake once more in the social and economical exploitation of occupied regions, which the Nazis could not accomplish without assistance; sometimes the need to shield a friend, to protect a loved one, a sense of discipline towards the institutions of a state which had, otherwise, ceased to exist; sometimes a desire to settle a score, to prevent personal adversaries from taking advantage of the new situation, a will to damage an old enemy; and for others, one last shot at the systematic murder of men, women and children.

Indeed, Mussolini himself – interwoven with bouts of pessimistic realism, from his alleged suicide attempt on the eve of his liberation to his many self-deprecating confessions released during his last months – had moments of activism, in an effort to carve out, once again, a political role for himself on the international scene, a somewhat diminutive version of the one he had played in the days of Munich. What Mussolini, unlike the Allied leaders and German hierarchy, had – or believed he had – was a connection, a more direct and personal link to Hitler, as well as the ability to influence and persuade him. If Mussolini could broker peace terms between Germany and the Soviet Union, then – maybe – the Allies were going to come to terms with the need to avoid the bloodbath of an invasion of Germany, and then, perhaps, Mussolini could come out of the war with some degree of legitimacy restored...

That was, to be fair, little more than a pipe dream, and Mussolini himself often appeared to question the nature of his relation with Hitler – a consequence, in good measure, of his dissatisfaction with the German choices during the war, and with the condescending attitude of his counterpart – remarking on his condition of “captive” of the former ally. At the same time, it's not like he had anything else more concrete to dedicate his efforts to. After twenty years of interpreting the role of the statesman and ten years of active political and professional life before that, Mussolini had, under a cold, realistic light, almost no purpose or will of his own.

I have made friends with death, I don't fear her any longer – Mussolini confessed in a rather pathetic tone to Maddalena Mollier in March 1945 – Yes, I am done. My star has fallen. I labor, and toil, while I know that everything is but a farce. I wait for the end of this tragedy and, strangely detached from everything, I don't feel like an actor any longer; I feel like the last of the audience.

Not that Mussolini had forgotten how to play a part; indeed, if possible, during his last months he found himself contending with many bits and pieces of different representations, since he had grown to old for his signature role. Which helps understand why – even beyond his customary inclination for inconsistency, which used to be a measure of his command of the scene – one finds him quite often, during his months as leader of Salò, grasping for straws, or seeking different and often conflicting, diminutive justifications of his personal position and somewhat undignified role.

He was wearing an old officer jacket – writes a young conscript who had the opportunity of a meeting with Mussolini in March 1945 – with no ranks or decorations, in such a way that it didn't look like military attire any longer, and which called to my mind the look of those soldiers on the run after the 8^th of September, who had made their way through the Peninsula in those miserable days with tattered uniforms from which they had torn the insignia, ranks, and units marks. […]

He spoke quick. The voice we knew, his peremptory tone […] at the end of each sentence, one stop which left nothing more to say, underlined by a round motion of the head as if he awaited for the approval of an imaginary audience. Yet the impression was that he was playing a part he himself didn't believe. […]

Who was that man who spoke like him, acted like him, like we had seen a thousand times over the reels, and yet wasn't him? I could recognize his characters, albeit worn down by years […] but only as things belonging to someone who was not only extraneous to me, but not at all like the one I had formed in my imagination.