“Il castello dove nacque il piccolo principe”

Il castello del conte e il piccolo principe è una storia che inizia con un viaggio: una partenza dal Sud Italia guidata dal mio bisnonno Michelangelo e dal suo fratello gemello Felice. Erano appena adolescenti, ma sapevano che il loro futuro non era lì. Nella loro terra natale, i briganti – gruppi ribelli e armati che si opponevano all'unità d'Italia – creavano un clima di violenza costante. Rapinavano, estorcevano denaro, attaccavano intere città. Vivere con tre sorelle maggiori in quell'ambiente era troppo rischioso. Così, con più coraggio che certezza, i fratelli presero una decisione: partire.

Their parents, educated and with a broader vision of the world, didn’t want that uncertain fate for their children either. Very close by, in Potenza, there was a prestigious university, still attended by thousands of students today. Their father had studied there and worked as a notary, while their mother — an uncommon woman for her time — had studied philosophy. They raised their children with books, ideals, and a deep awareness of the value of knowledge. But they knew that knowledge alone, in a land at war, was not enough. So, with pain and hope, they supported their sons’ departure.

They chose Argentina. More precisely, a region northeast of Buenos Aires: Entre Ríos, situated between the Paraná and Uruguay rivers. A fertile, open land of citrus and vines, where many other Italians had already found hope. Concordia was their destination — a city surrounded by living nature, which seemed to promise a different kind of life.

At just fourteen, they left behind the Lucanian Alps and set off toward the unknown. But the longing for freedom, peace, and progress gave them wings. They worked hard from the first day, and later brought their family over. Over the years, they built a legacy: farmland, livestock, trade routes. They brought in the finest Shortorn specimens from England. With their constant work and vision for the future, they became key figures in the rural world of Entre Ríos, Argentina.

But this story is not just about them.

Concordia, with its lush vegetation, humid climate, and a deep, crystal-clear river flowing like a living artery, also attracted other kinds of dreamers. One of them was a French nobleman — Count Demachy — who, dazzled by the beauty of San Carlos Park, had a castle built there. He brought everything from Europe: marble, furniture, crystal chandeliers. And he also brought his wife, a ballerina who had left the stage for love.

For years, they lived there as if that corner were their own tropical kingdom. The castle rose atop a hill, surrounded by blooming pink lapachos and jacarandas swaying in the river breeze. The sunsets lit the stones ablaze, and the dirt roads smelled of damp orange trees.

And also drawn by the friendship that bound him to the Count and his many invitations, a young French aviator flew over the region. Some say he came from Brazil and decided to venture further into Argentina to visit his friend. But his plane had trouble and had to make an emergency landing near Concordia. He needed help. That’s how Antoine de Saint-Exupéry arrived at the castle.

He was not yet the acclaimed author of Il piccolo principe, ma piuttosto un esploratore dell'aria, un uomo solitario in una terra straniera. Lì, tra aranci e cieli aperti, ho trovato una pausa. Sorvolò i campi, percorse i sentieri del parco e, secondo molti resoconti, fu lì che iniziò a disegnare la sua opera più amata: Il castello del conte e il piccolo principe sarebbe poi diventato il simbolo di quel momento.

Perhaps it was that blend of nostalgia, strangeness, and tenderness that ignited his imagination.
Perhaps it was the arrival of spring, with orange blossoms in bloom — able to transport one to the tender days of childhood — that led him back to an innocent tale, but above all, a deeply moving one.
A story that spoke of the essential, without adornment, as if only a pure heart could write it.

Because sometimes, you don’t need a desert for a fox to appear. Sometimes a forgotten castle, a turquoise sky, and an unexpected town are enough.

Questo era il posto che molti avrebbero poi chiamato Il castello del conte e il piccolo principe, dove mito e memoria danzano all'ombra dei lapachos.

The castle came to an abrupt end. When the Count’s wife left him, he too decided to leave. He departed with a broken heart, abandoning everything. And legend has it that after his departure, the townspeople looted the castle and eventually set it on fire. Today, only ruins remain, covered in moss and memory.

But if one walks through San Carlos Park in silence, letting the sounds of wind in the leaves and the crunch of tall grass underfoot guide them, it seems that something of that world still lingers. As if Concordia kept in its humid air the voices of those who dreamed of beginning again — of those who came to write, through words or actions, a story that didn’t yet exist.
E se il silenzio è vero, forse si potrebbe anche sentire il suono dolce degli zoccoli dei cavalli del Conte che attraversano il bosco, come una melodia che trascende il tempo