The most eccentric obituary The New York Times may have ever printed was in this morning’s December 13 newspaper.  I read it several times to be certain it was not a fabricated story, with shadows from “The Mouse that Roared.”

According to the Times, “The true miracle of Seborga may have been the 46-year reign of Prince Georgio I, the constitutionally elected royal ruler of its 5 square miles and 2000 people, 350 of whom are enfranchised citizens.”

It seems that Georgio Carbone convinced the residents of Seborga, an ancient principality on the Italian Riviera, that they were really not part of the Italian nation but an independent entity.  Georgio, a grower of mimosa flowers, was duly elected Prince and happily served in this capacity from 1963 until his recent death.  According to The Times, “he gracefully accepted the informal title of His Tremendousness,” and drew no salary, although “he daily availed himself of ham and cheese from the village shop.”

The wonder and loveliness of this life opportunity has no bounds; to declare one’s hometown an independent nation; to be elected royalty; to grow flowers for a living; and to get by on free prosciutto and fresh mozzarella as your public pay.  Moreover, it seems no one much cared.  No Italian army marched, no official letters were sent, no protests were staged; if anything, Seborga enjoyed, apparently, some uptick in tourism.

There is a philosophical/psychological position that we construct our own reality.  Writers and artists must certainly embrace that point-of-view.  How lovely when the world, too,  allows us our fantasies.