One of the article’s strongest merits is its command of historical detail. De Antonellis navigates seamlessly across centuries of European political thought, from Metternich’s famous dictum that Italy was “merely a geographical expression” to the cultural reflections of Cervantes and Almeida Garrett, situating the Italian peninsula within a wider Mediterranean and continental framework. The wealth of references gives the essay remarkable breadth and intellectual density. Meticulously documented, the footnotes draw upon primary sources, canonical historians, and literary witnesses alike.
Particularly engaging (especially for me, since I have often tried to dissuade my own friends from flying that rag) is the discussion of national symbols: flags, anthems, and emblems. De Antonellis demonstrates convincingly that Italy’s lack of a deeply rooted “historic flag” or shared cultural insignia reflects the peninsula’s fractured past. His critique of the tricolor, with its Masonic origins and abstract egalitarian symbolism, contrasts sharply with the heraldic and territorial emblems of other nations.
“Much has been said about the origin of the tricolor (both French and Italian) and the meaning of its colors. For the French version, the most plausible and generally accepted interpretation is that the colors symbolize Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity—rather than the less convincing theory that white represented the monarchy (which they sought to abolish at all costs) and red and blue the colors of Paris. For the Italian one, a supposedly more “Christian” explanation (but only in appearance) attributes red to Faith, green to Hope, and white to Charity, following a symbolism also attested in Dante’s Purgatory.
“In any case, beyond such symbolic debates, what is clear—compared with historic flags—is that the tricolor (whether French, Italian, Hungarian, Irish, Dutch, Belgian, Romanian, or Mexican) marks a fundamental shift from concrete and aristocratic symbolism, made of heraldic emblems strongly tied to the land, to abstract and egalitarian symbolism of Masonic inspiration, made of mere colors.”
Here, De Antonellis highlights how the modern national project deliberately severed itself from older heraldic traditions, replacing concrete symbols with an ideology of abstraction that reflects revolutionary rupture rather than historical continuity.
“Many interpretations have been proposed, even alchemical ones, for the three colors. In reality, all appear fairly questionable and overly conceptual, and seem clearly to be “after-the-fact” explanations. The fact remains that the three coloured bands replaced a whole series of historic heraldic symbols: from the Gaelic harp to the Bourbon lilies, from the many animals to the nearly infinite objects of iconographic tradition. In Italy’s case alone, these included she-wolves and wolves, eagles and griffins, bears and lions, horses and boars, bulls and towers, stars and lilies, serpents (biscioni), panoplies, and so forth—besides, of course, the Cross, likely the very first symbol to be eradicated. This was so even in cases where it was not the classic Latin cross (which immediately evokes Calvary’s cross), but other forms of cross (filleted, forked, flory, moline, raguly, serpent, patonce, anchor, St. Andrew’s, swallow-tailed, and so on), which do not immediately—but eventually do—recall the Cross par excellence, that of Calvary, i.e. the Latin cross set upon three steps or three hills.
“It is evident in this aesthetic choice, I repeat, a very 'modern' will of flattening, betraying the desire to eliminate everything traditional and distinctive, replacing it with uniform elements. This is what I mean by the Masonic origin of the tricolor: not a reference to the colors used in lodge rituals.”
Such reflections make clear that the author’s critique of the tricolor is not limited to its origins but extends to its enduring role as a vehicle of homogenization, in stark contrast to Italy’s rich symbolic and cultural patrimony.
“By choosing a tricolor banner, the Risorgimento deliberately left behind the more than millennial history of the individual kingdoms of the Italian territories… It was, after all, the project of revolution itself, which necessarily seeks to sweep away everything that precedes it, presenting itself not as mere evolution but as a sharp break with the past. And the symbol par excellence of a nation, its flag, could not escape this phenomenon.
“Let us recall the case of Henri d’Artois (1820–1883), who in 1871 renounced becoming King Henry V of France, remaining instead the Count of Chambord, because he refused to accept the tricolor as the national flag: a questionable choice, in retrospect, but undeniably revealing of the great importance attributed to a symbol such as the flag.”
Likewise, his examination of the national anthem, Il Canto degli Italiani, is refreshingly candid, exposing its aesthetic mediocrity when compared to the majestic compositions chosen by other European states. These sections are not mere digressions, but essential to his thesis: the fragility of Italian national consciousness.
“Unaesthetic, anti-Bourbon, anti-Austrian: the Canto degli Italiani unites the quintessence of ugliness and of Risorgimental, patriotic, and partisan rhetoric… A fitting anthem for a nation in collapse or 'in a coma,' to use the brilliant definition of Piero Buscaroli (1930–2016).”
The essay also shines in its reinterpretation of the Risorgimento. Rather than presenting unification as the natural culmination of a timeless Italian spirit, de Antonellis underscores the artificiality and imposed character of the process, often driven by foreign intervention and revolutionary ideology.
“It is well known that the height of this sentiment was provisionally reached in 1936 with the proclamation of the Empire. But it is equally well known that less than ten years later everything had collapsed: not only the so-called 'Century of Fascism'—which in fact lasted just a quarter century (yet far more—both proportionally and in concrete achievement—than the twelve years of the 'millennial' Reich)—and the Italian imperial dream, but also the unity of the peoples of the peninsula, emerging from a bloody civil war and ready to perpetuate division ferociously, now on political rather than territorial bases, under the auspices of the democratic regime.
“With Mussolini dead (politically), the Italians also died… Well before the relatively recent phenomena of leghismo… and neoborbonismo… already in the 1970s the opposing extremisms were characterized on the Left by Soviet-style internationalism, on the Right by a kind of Europeanism which… considered Italy once again the simple, feeble 'Little Italy' of the liberal age.”
His reliance on counterpoints (whether through the words of Metternich, the skepticism of D’Azeglio, or the bitterness of Southern critics like Giacinto de’ Sivo) offers a much-needed redress to the triumphalist narrative still dominant in official historiography.
Citing this striking testimony from D’Azeglio, de Antonellis reminds us that even among the architects of unification, there was a keen awareness of its fragility and artificiality.
“At Naples, we have also driven out the sovereign to establish a government founded on universal consent. But it requires—and it seems that this is not enough—to contain the Kingdom, sixty battalions; and it is notorious that, brigands or not brigands, no one wants to hear of it. But it will be said: what about universal suffrage? I know nothing of suffrage, but I know that on this side of the Tronto battalions are not necessary, and beyond they are necessary. Therefore, there was some error, and acts and principles must be changed. One must ask the Neapolitans again about everything, whether they want us or not. I understand that Italians have the right to wage war on those who would keep the Germans in Italy, but against Italians who, remaining Italians, do not wish to unite with us, I believe we have no right to fire arquebuses, unless we now concede, to cut matters short, that we adopt the very principle in whose name Bomba [Ferdinand II, King of the Two Sicilies] bombarded Palermo, Messina, etc. I believe indeed that in general this is not thought, but since I do not intend to renounce the right to reason, I say what I think.”
De Antonellis writes with clarity and conviction, combining scholarly precision with rhetorical flair. Quotations from poets, satirists, and chroniclers enliven the text, while his ironic asides and cultural references ensure that the argument resonates beyond the purely academic. The conclusion, invoking Cervantes’ reference to “the Italies” in the plural, is both elegant and sobering: a reminder that Italy, even when united politically, remains a mosaic of cultures, histories, and identities.
As both a historical essay and a cultural critique, Un’Italia senza gli Italiani? brilliantly challenges complacent assumptions about Italian unity, vividly highlighting instead the peninsula’s rich diversity and the ambiguities of its national symbols. De Antonellis’ work compels the reader to reflect seriously on what it means to speak of “Italy” and “Italians.” A must-read, this article demonstrates how a careful re-examination of symbols, language, and memory can clarify the past while shedding new light on questions that remain vital today.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 5th, Feast of the San Lorenzo Giustiniani
* Translations are my own.