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Updated: June 19, 2025
In Sampaolo to-day, if you have any public business to transact, from taking out a dog license to seeking justice in the law-courts, every official you have to deal with, including the judges, expects his buonamano.
He had, I think, some vague notion that she might mean a pilgrimage to the Holy Well of St. Winefride in Wales; though, for that matter, why not to the Holy Well of St. Govor in Kensington Gardens? "A pious pilgrimage to the home of your ancestors," said Susanna. "The journey is a journey to the little, unknown, beautiful island of Sampaolo." Her eyes gleamed, maliciously, exultantly.
They were counts regnant and lords paramount, tiranni, as they were called in mediaeval Italy; they had their own coinage, their own flag, their own little army; and though some of the noble Sampaolese families bore the title of prince or duke at Rome, they ranked only as barons at Sampaolo, and were subjects of the Count." A certain enthusiasm rang in her voice.
The olive orchards of Sampaolo are just so many wildernesses of wild flowers: violets, anemones, narcissus; irises, white ones and purple ones; daffodils, which we call asphodels; hyacinths, tulips, arums, orchids oh, but a perfect riot of wild flowers. In the spring the valleys of Sampaolo are pink with blossoming peach-trees and almond-trees, where they are not scarlet with pomegranates.
At all events, we need not question, he was aware of a sudden throb of excitement, on the spur of which, without stopping to reflect, "Really?" he exclaimed. "That is a very odd coincidence. Sampaolo I know all about it." "Indeed?" said Susanna, looking surprise. "You have been there? It is rarely visited by travellers except commercial ones."
But a man should at least know what he is giving up. You should know what your patrimony consists of. You should know, as the saying is, what you 'stand to lose. Therefore you must go to Sampaolo, and see it with your own eyes. Isola Nobile, Castel San Guido, the Palazzo Rosso, Villa Formosa you must see them all, with their gardens and their pictures and their treasures.
"The present legitimate Count of Sampaolo is an exile. His title and properties are held by a cousin, who has no more right to them, no more shadow of a right, of a moral right, than than I have." "Ah," said Anthony. And then, philosophically, "A very pretty miniature of an historical situation," he commented. "Orleans and Bourbon, Hanover and Stuart.
They would prefer any burden to the burden of insignificance; and under the reign of the Valdeschi, though free, prosperous, and happy, Sampaolo was insignificant." "You paint a very sad state of things," said Anthony. "Believe me," said Susanna, "my painting is pale beside the reality." "And, apparently, a hopeless state," he added.
She has persuaded herself, in short, that the properties here at Sampaolo, which are technically and legally hers, are rightfully and morally yours; and, to tell you the whole truth, since my guardianship expired, a few months ago, I have had hard work to restrain her from taking measures to relinquish those properties in your favour. No don't interrupt," she forbade him, when the Commendatore made as if to speak.
"Oh, for that," she considered, "I shall be very moderate. A week will do. A diligent sightseer should be able to see Sampaolo pretty thoroughly in a week." "A week," he calculated, "and I suppose one must allow at least another week for getting there and back. So you exile me for a fortnight?" His tone and his eyes pleaded with her. "A fortnight is not much," said she, lightly.
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