Aldo Cazzullo (photo by Carlo Furgeri Gilbert).
Tra i many obituaries arrived at Corriere della Sera in the death of Silvio Berlusconi, there is one that struck me in a particular way. Era signed by Carla Dall’Ogliothe first wife of the Knight.
For a long time, in years long gone, an interview with Carla Dall’Oglio was the dream of Italian journalists: because Carla Dall’Oglio never spoke. It was said that she lived in London, not exactly in poverty, and that the post-nuptial agreements precisely excluded interviews.
Now she showed up with a few beautiful words addressed to her ex-husband: «You were a great man and an extraordinary father. I will remember the beauty of the years we spent together.” Thus, without a shadow of rancor, even legitimate in a woman who had been abandoned.
I don’t want to compare. One does not speak of one’s own women; imagine those of others. The quasi-marriage, with the quasi-father-in-law leading his quasi-wife to the altar, was not objectively one of the best pages of Berlusconi. More stories.
In any case these words by Carla Dall’Oglio, after so many silences, are truly gold. The day when the Corriere della Sera posted this obituary, it’s here the news of the death of Flavia Prodi, Romano’s wife.
Prodi and Berlusconi were united only by duels; otherwise they could not have been more different. The Bologna professor had clearly never looked at another woman in his life. “She was beautiful, I was ugly, I courted her for three years” he loved to tell.
Flavia was a farsighted woman: she understood that it is better to choose a man madly in love with you, rather than insist on chasing those who don’t want you and don’t deserve you. At least I’ve always thought so, and to girls I would give this unsolicited advice. Carla and Flavia knew how to love two men who were difficult in their own way; and these loves are things that never end.
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