Cannes, 1920. Quinto Navarra, servant to the Italian foreign minister, is approached by someone wanting an appointment with His Excellency. A journalist. Nobody special. Navarra asks for his name-card. Benito Mussolini.
Rome, 1923. Navarra is now Mussolini’s valet. The latter has become somebody very special indeed. He is the prime minister. More – as he boasts to Navarra – he is an object of veneration, an idol. “If I slept all day, the Italians wouldn’t ask for anything more. All they need to know is that I exist.”
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