While the existence of two independent states within Italy’s borders — San Marino and the Vatican City — may be known to seasoned travellers, few can point with confidence to the location of a third, Seborga. Sited in the hills above the Ligurian Riviera, for the past 45 years it had been ruled, more or less benignly, by His Tremendousness Prince Giorgio I.
That neither international law nor the Almanach de Gotha, the bible of European nobility, took much notice of the former doctor’s pretensions did little to dampen the ardour with which he championed the rights of his self-proclaimed principality (population 362). “Seborga has existed for 1,000 years,” he told all who would listen, “Italy for merely a century. It is Italy who should recognise Seborga, not vice versa.”
Born Giorgio Carbone, scion of a long line of market gardeners, he had since youth been interested in the history of his native village. In the Middle Ages it had been granted by the Counts of Ventimiglia to what became the Cistercian Order of monks, and until the 18th century, under the auspices of the Holy Roman Empire, it had been governed by a Prince Abbot. In 1729 it was sold to Vittorio Amadeo II, Prince of Piedmont and King of Sardinia, but, Carbone believed, failure to register the transaction rendered the sale invalid.
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Unaccountably, the five square miles of Seborga were not among the territories scrutinised by the Congress of Vienna when the map of Europe was redrawn in 1815 and the Holy Roman Empire dissolved. Thus, Carbone maintained, the hamlet had regained its independence, and did not form part of the Italy united as a kingdom in 1861 by Vittorio Amadeo’s kin and then established as a republic in 1946. In 1963 he was able to persuade a majority of his neighbours to elect him “Prince” of Seborga.
He took his duties seriously, nominating a guiding council of ministers and choosing blue and white as colours for the principality’s flag. Stamps were issued, as were passports, car registration plates and a local currency, the luigino. Burkina Faso opened a consulate. In practical terms, this all made little difference to the Seborghini. Public services continued to be provided by Italy, which collected taxes and appointed the mayor. Cynics thought that the Prince’s claims were intended to boost tourism and the horticulture on which Seborga depended, and wondered whether it was the big talk of secession, health policies and pension plans that had led the locals to give Carbone the appellation Sua Tremendita.
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Yet Carbone’s motivation perhaps extended beyond mere self-aggrandisement. A heavily bearded, erudite man who smoked incessantly, such was his dedication to Seborga’s independence that he had renounced both medical career and hopes of marriage. When pushed, he hinted that there was something deeper, something secret about Seborga that needed protecting.
Italy is a country not unfamiliar with conspiracy theories, and it may be that Carbone’s convictions stemmed from a local tradition that it was from Seborga that St Bernard of Clairvaux, leader of the Cistercians, dispatched knights to found the Templars. Carbone spent many nights poring over documents that spoke of Cathars and the Knights of Malta, though not, as far as it is known, of codes and Renaissance polymaths.
For all his foibles and occasional intemperance, Carbone was treated with respect and no little affection by his subjects. Although he reneged on a promise to abdicate in 2006 on reaching 70, there was much rejoicing when later that year he was able to see off a challenge to his title by one Yasmine von Hohenstaufen Anjou Plantagenet, who claimed descent from the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II and offered to return Seborga to Italy.
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Latterly, however, Carbone had been suffering from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.
Giorgio I had no children and the succession to the throne is unclear.
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Giorgio Carbone, soi-disant Prince of Seborga, was born in 1935 or 1936. He died on November 25, 2009, aged 73