Original subtitles

- THE PRINCE'S MANUSCRIPT -

Hello? Hello?

Hello? Who is this?

This is Guido Lanza. I'd like to speak with Professor Pace. Who is this?

The Professorisn't here. I'm his student.

Would you like to leave a message?

No. It's no matter.

- Goodbye. - Thank you.

- Hello? - Marco, it's Guido. I'm in Rome.

How are you?

It's been years. Why are you in Rome?

I'd like to see you.

If you agree, I could meet you at home at a certain time.

No!

I'd preferto come by yourhoteI.

- Let's say... at 5 o'clock? - As you like.

I'll wait foryou at 5. I'm at the HoteI Centrale. Marco,

I'm very happy to be seeing you again.

- Room 12, please. - Here you are.

Since childhood, I had been taught to conceaI my emotions,

and when it was absolutely necessary

I was to express them in an implied manner.

This was the behaviour of the class to which I belonged

in Palermo in the 50's,

the city where lived like a clandestine He,

the very wise and caustic prince,

the best friend of my 20-year-old life.

Giubino, it's ready.

The guests are waiting foryou, but it's freezing in there.

No one will notice, cheri.

Thanks.

Princess Alessandra Wolff of Lampedusa

received guests in a salon giving the impression

that her sociaI prestige had been preserved intact.

The visitors were Bebbuzzo, who was the Baron Sgadari of Lo Monaco,

a very pleasant great lover of music; the philosopherCorrado Fatta of Fratta;

Fortunio Parodi of Belsito and his Danish wife, Thove;

Alek Boltho, a baron from the Baltics, as the lady of the house;

and the joviaI Lylia lliascenko,

descendent of a very wealthy Ukrainian family and Licy's childhood friend.

Excuse me, Giuseppe, before I forget...

These are poems written by a young friend of mine.

I'd be very gratefuI if afteryou've read them

you could meet him and give him your opinion.

Mh.

All right.

Sorry.

Marco, I'm so happy that you've come!

- My friend, Cristina... - Good evening.

Nice to meet you.

Please, come in, sit down!

I've brought you something that you'll like.

Well done!

- Well done, my young friend! - Don't tell me that he is Marco!

You see? It's as if you already know everyone.

- This is Beatrice. - How do you do?

- And this is Antonio. - Good evening. - And Cristina.

Let's go have something to drink.

- Here you are at last! - This is my dearfriend Leonardo.

- Marco Pace. - Come! - Good evening.

Anna...

- Cristina and... - I'm Guido Lanza.

You must be the smuggler of musicaI scores...

I'd like to order a few things from you.

The scores I find, I give to people who I like.

I sometimes sell them, but I choose my clients, too.

Have you given my poems to the Prince?

Lampedusa promised he would read them, don't worry.

"I am not what I am".

Shakespeare gave this motto to the traitorlago.

And Julien SoreI could apply it as well.

Rememberhis passionate defence in "The Red and the Black".

"I therefore deserve to die, gentlemen of the jury".

"But if I were less guilty, I see around me men"

"who have no time for any pity that my youth might deserve,"

"and who will wish to punish me and for ever discourage"

"this generation of young men who being born into an inferior class"

"and being oppressed by poverty"

"have the good fortune to get themselves a decent education,"

"and the audacity to mingle in what the rich call society".

"That is my crime, gentlemen".

The first impression he gave

was that of an exceptionally intelligent person.

He was gifted with levity and loved to shock,

to be the centre of attention,

but his way of being had nothing frivolous about it.

Hello. Do you remember?. I'm Guido.

Hi.

It will be hard to face the exam afteryourperformance.

Have you got a cigarette?

- I know you write poetry. - How did you know?

I heard you spoke with Bebbuzzo.

- Has the Prince read yourbook? - Not yet.

Well... I have to go. Bye.

Hello, Dad.

How did it go?

Good boy!

- GIVEN 5.000 TO MARCO -

It's beautifuI, Prince. Did it belong to yourhouse?

Everything I bring here belongs to my family.

This is what I can give you, Prince.

- Here you are. - Thank you.

See that gentleman?

He's the Prince of Lampedusa, a very intelligent man.

Good day, Prince.

Prince, my friend here has been in Lapland.

He even stayed with reindeerraisers for a month.

That's not all, Prince. He was also with gold diggers

and he brought home some gold too.

- My respects, Prince. - Goodbye.

Why is it better that you don't smoke?

First: because you save 300 lire every day.

Second: if you go to jaiI,

you are not allowed to smoke and you'll sufferless,

already being free of the habit.

Third: yourhands won't get dirty.

Fourth: yourpockets... won't be all dirty.

It's happened again, once again.

I found myself out in the countryside... alone.

The moon was full...

Yes, I was there... all dirty, not knowing how I got there.

Why didn't you lock yourself in the house as I told you?

I did, but afterwards... I must have reopened the door.

I told you to hide the key, to close the doorwith the chain.

People notice. They look at me...

"Not right in the head", that's what they say of me in the countryside.

I... have no more faith, Doctor.

- I have no hope to heaI myself. - But you can heaI, you must believe me.

Look at me.

You mustn't be ashamed.

I am not a priest.

This is simply an illness. And it can be cured.

The airis full of unforgivable things.

- Do you know him? - Barely.

- What is his background? - His father is a small-time lawyer. - Mh.

- He has a certain talent. - He likes to shock.

- How are your studies going? - I don't know.

Truthfully, I like otherthings as well.

- For example, music. - Ah...

What sort of music?

All of it!

- From Gregorian chant to "Aida"'s elephants. - Ah!

But on any menu you must make a choice!

I hope you're not saying that you enjoy

watching those horrible shows that give Italians the illusion

they understand Shakespeare, Schiller, VictorHugo, Goethe...

Just because they've listened to some surrogate

on the notes written by Verdi orGounod.

Next Sunday I'll take you to the Massimo Theatre.

I'm sure you will reconsider.

#Innkeeper! Anotherbottle of Xeres!#

We reached the point of sharing confidences.

He told me he had to distance himself from Licy occasionally,

had to leave behind that strange imitation of a couple,

find refuge somewhere else.

That's my cousin, Lucio Piccolo of Calanovella.

My beloved dog Puck is dead!

What value can be placed upon our cherished dead?

Upon the sobs we have within us

funeraI wakes with low flames

the sighs of anguish forthe passing of a misunderstood life

forthe times when darkness descends from above

clear and endless...

Move over a bit there.

No, don't touch me! Move over a bit. Overhere, please.

Oh, Misses, please! Eh, eh! Ssshh!

What is it about?

Is Casimiro doing photographs so that you can choose a woman?

Can you think of anotherway?

- I do not intend to marry. - Ah...

May I ask where this

irresistible desire to procreate,

this need to contribute to the continuation of the species comes from?

The three of us decided... Giovanni, Casimiro and me...

The only one who could assure an heir without losing his liberty was me.

I'm sure you've given thought to this problem.

I tried to forget, to forget them. Uselessly.

I have a vivid memory of my first meeting him.

His physicaI aspect immediately revealed

a very strong personality.

- Ah. - Hello. I'm Marco Pace.

Come in.

His dark eyes, with theirtimid avoidance,

dominated you at every moment.

It was a strange initiative of Bebbuzzo to bring you to me.

Nevertheless, it wasn't such a bad idea.

I am not in the habit of reading professionally.

I always read formyself... untiI I am completely bored.

I hope my manuscript didn't bore you as well.

This may seem a bit strange,

but I believe that boredom is an obligatory passage

to attaining the... incomparable pleasure of literature.

- You are youngerthan I thought. - I'm 20 years old.

I've read yourpoetry...

It's unusuaI. There is a bit too much heart...

A bit too much sentiment.

Why? Can one write without sentiment?

Good literature avoids the ridiculous

which life is not willing to spare us.

I appreciate more detached writers,

those who can hide theirfeelings.

- But I liked yourpoetry. - I hope that's true.

It might be betterif it wasn't.

The truth is only the worst interpretation of a fact.

Who is this young man?

My pleasure, Princess.

I am Marco Pace.

Please, excuse me, I was about to go.

As I left, he told me that his cousin, Lucio Piccolo,

had read my poetry and wanted to speak with me about it.

You seem... more apt to teaching.

It's not bad, but... there's no shadowing, there's no mystery,

there is no madness in yourpoetry.

I don't know if you understand me...

Poetry is a message in a bottle.

We Sicilians have... a totaI modesty...

Such a modesty of existence... that we preferto keep silence.

When we break that silence, it must be with something worth saying.

- What are you doing? - I'm going for a swim!

Aren't you coming?

I don't swim.

Is it up to me?

No...

The stars will tell.

What do you think the stars are predicting today?

Mhmmm... That... you shouldn't leave unfinished what you've begun.

- It's Guido. - Guido, who? - Guido.

Really!

- How are you? - Very well.

Maybe I've disturbed you.

Absolutely. I'll be seeing you, Guido.

Guido was like a cat, fast, gracefuI and ironic...

His indifferent gaze seemed to communicate his certainty

in every moment, with every gesture

that he was the sole heir to the class with the secret to life.

- IN MY WHOLE LIFE I'VE BEEN WISHING THE SAME THING! -

- TO MAKE A MASTERPIECE. STENDHAL -

- Good day, Marco. - Princess...

- Lylia, my dear! - Marco, you see?

I ratherliked "Anna Karenina".

There is a great mastery.

Of course you must forget the noveI and look at it differently.

On the otherhand it's cinema, it's entertainment.

Tolstoy's prose is quite anotherthing.

I see you are a great lover of cinema.

I confess I like it too and I went to see that film.

I was attracted by all the clamourit provoked.

Didn't you

notice something peculiarin the film? - I can't say that I did...

No, I didn't.

- Did you see it, Guido? - Yes.

Didn't you notice anything?

I agree with Marco, it was amusing.

Of course, the locations and set designs were dreadfuI.

That Biedermeierfurniture, for example, was all wrong.

You're right.

It's clear that ouryoung poet cannot tell

a modern artefact from a Louis XV chair.

These things are obviously not important to him.

This is possible, too.

They both wanted to strike at my vanity.

While it did not surprise me coming from Guido,

it did hurt me terribly that the Prince had sided with him.

- Goodbye, Princess - Good evening, Marco.

May I ask you to stay a moment? I'd like to speak with you.

Of course.

I thought I might like to give you lessons in language

and English literature.

If you agree, we could begin tomorrow.

Thank you.

It was his game: to strike and then flatter...

What had the Princess whispered to him?

I still knew nothing about them, but I was filled with anticipation.

- Does silence embarrass you? - That depends.

In this moment it does, very much.

- Marco, what is yourtalent? - What do you mean?

What is your gift? Where do you exceI?

- My memory, perhaps. - Yourmemory...

- What for?. - 20 years from now, I'II... rememberwhat you tell me today.

I'll rememberthe colour of yourtie and the shirt you're wearing.

It's that type of memory...

- A speciaI one? - Yes. More orless.

- And yourworst fault? - My memory.

- There's no escaping from certain memories. - Yes, I understand.

Did you wish to say something?

Why did you offerto give me these lessons?

For... severaI reasons.

I've done nothing else in my life but read.

But that is not the answer to your question.

I don't quite know how to give you a better one,

except that you'll discover the answeryourself along the way.

Now, open the notebook I've given you.

Start reading, from the beginning, please.

Some love too little,

some too long.

Some sell and others buy.

Some do the deed with many tears

and some without a sigh.

For each man kills

the thing he loves, yet each man... does not die.

Alcuni amano troppo poco,

altri troppo a lungo.

Alcuni vendono e alcuni comprano.

C'e chi uccide con... troppe lacrime

e chi senza nessuna. - Mh-mh.

- For each... - No, wait.

Give me the book.

Some love too little, some too long.

Alcuni amano troppo brevemente e altri troppo a lungo.

Some sell and others buy. C'e chi vende e chi compra.

Some do the deed with many tears and some without a sigh.

Chi uccide iI proprio amore senza un singhiozzo

e chi con un fiume di lacrime.

For each man kills the thing he loves,

yet each man does not die.

Ma... nessuno tra coloro che hanno ucciso cio che amavano

paga con la propria morte.

I'd like you to repeat the grammaticaI exceptions which we spoke about...

It may seem useless to you, but... the mechanicaI memory exercise

is not at all useless. - Pat, pet, pit, pot.

You can't say that to me! You can't!

It's nothing. Let's continue.

Is that one of yourwife's patients?

Pat, pet, pit, pot, put. Bag, beg, big, bog, bug.

- Are you tired? - No.

I was thinking of how strange pain is.

Sometimes there is a need to scream

and others a need fortotaI silence.

He does not die a death of shame

on a day of dark disgrace...

- Happy New Year! - Happy New Year! - You too!

- Happy New Year! - You'll see, Giuseppe,

this will be a good yearforyou. Lylia... Ah... - Happy New Year!

It's been a long time since we noted the arrivaI of a new year.

J'adore le champagne!

On the night I met Giuseppe at the Italian Embassy with his uncle

we got drunk on champagne and dizzy on Shakespeare!

It was an unforgettable night.

I'll get another one right away.

Prince, Mr Pace is here. Shall I let him in?

No, wait. I'll go.

- Good evening, Prince. - Good evening.

I wanted to wish you a Happy New Year.

No, thank you, Marco.

It was very kind of you. Don't be offended.

I also wish you a very Happy New Year.

- I hope I haven't disturbed you. - No, no.

Good night, Principe.

It was in the winter of 1954 that on the same day

all three of us lost and then found each other again

searching in vain for something that none of us

thought we could give to one another.

The peasants have been given idle land, truly stony ground.

- I'm already late. I'm going. - I've nearly finished.

- We'll be there in 5 minutes by car. It's pouring! - Thanks anyway.

As you wish.

I saw Concetta's legs yesterday when I was playing in the garden.

Stop that!

Mum!

How long have you been out?

Don't worry, let's go home.

Nothing's happened.

Duke, you're wanted at the door.

What happened to you?

We had agreed you'd meet me!

We'd said tomorrow, Prince.

I'm sorry, there may have been a misunderstanding.

Perhaps... No, certainly I made a mistake.

Come to the house. My fatherwould be happy to see you.

No...

No...

I'm leaving.

I believe... the time has come... to call me... Giuseppe

and not Prince anymore. - That would be a great pleasure.

It is forme as well a pleasure

to have known you.

- Have you lit the fireplace? - Yes.

- Mr Pace is waiting foryou. - Ah.

Pardon me, I had a problem that caused me to be late.

I was late as well.

I think it's best we continue reading Stevenson,

which we interrupted the last time.

Overhead,

the wild huntsman of the storm

passed continuously

in one blare of mingled noises;

screaming wind, straining timber,

lashing rope's end, pounding block

and bursting sea contributed;

and I could have thought there was at times another,

a more piercing, a more human note,

that dominated all, like the wailing of an angeI;

I could have thought I knew the angeI's name, and that his wings were black.

Pace, what is it? You seem distracted.

You don't seem in tune with Stevenson's prose!

That's not it.

I have problems with my mother.

You've alluded to personaI problems before as well.

I've already asked you not to do this.

We are here because we both love literature

and because my reading can help you discover

that inestimable treasure that is hidden from you.

Suffering or adversity can happen to anyone.

At any rate, we have agreed without saying so

to leave outside of this room all personaI affections or anguish.

We have a pact,

ourpact.

To confuse the sense of these meetings would be a grave error,

as if to consider the storm outside

as the same tempest described by Stevenson.

One of the two must now leave without a trace.

Mum, I'm going.

How are yourlessons going?

- Giuseppe always speaks well of you. - That's not necessarily a good sign.

You know the Prince likes people who do not declare theirfeelings.

- What do you expect from these lessons? - Nothing.

What should I expect?

You're his only student, that must mean something!

That's Leonardo's car!

Leave everything as it is, don't touch anything.

How long has this carbeen here?

I don't know. It wasn't there last night.

You have to come into town and sign a statement.

I can't leave, Officer. I am working here.

- I've told you all I know. I can't tell you anything more. - What happened?

Baron Agnello's son was kidnapped.

- Is he a friend of yours? - Yes.

On the heels of the bandit Giuliano, some young men had kidnapped Leonardo.

Our dreams were once again crushed by the violence

that seemed to assault the place we were given to live.

Ah... Please, sit down.

- If you wish to finish, I can wait. - No, no. It's nothing important.

I thought that today we would speak of StendhaI, who's my favourite author.

It seems that you too have had the chance to appreciate him.

- What is it? - Atelephone call, Prince. A DoctorCorrao...

Ah. Excuse me for a moment.

- "HISTORY WITHOUT A NAME" -

- "THE LEOPARD". PART ONE -

I've always agreed with StendhaI.

The belief that a person's souI can be revealed

through what they say is banaI.

Given such a thing were possible,

we can understand the essence of man

only through his actions, through his gazes,

through his mutterings, through his silences,

from his sudden need to speak, from the rhythm of his walk,

and never, never, from his discourses, which are always a mask,

discreet or shameless, of the truth. But vanity always disgusted StendhaI,

although he had a high opinion of himself.

He had even foreseen the date of his own success, I think.

He was convinced he'd be read only afterhis own death

and it was this very warning, this very prophecy,

that put us on guard against the vanity of those who write,

against the idea that literature could change us,

a vanity which could be forgiven in one as young as you

but less in one like my cousin Lucio,

even though he deserves all of his success.

The reality is that despite everything we remain what we are.

We are and we will be in every instant of ourlives

ourselves, nothing more.

Don't be disappointed if I think differently.

The fact is that literature has changed my life.

When I read a book,

I read it because it allows me to understand myself

orto understand you

orthings I have neverhad and things I may neverhave.

Since I've met you and been with you, I think I've changed very much.

Since we've been meeting regularly,

I've begun to admire in you some unusuaI qualities.

I have been surprised by yourfacility and speed

in perfecting yourEnglish.

I don't doubt you'd be better than others in analysing

the sense of the works of Proust orDickens.

But... that isn't the reaI problem.

Try to look at yourself when you sit,

when you cross yourlegs, when you move,

when you interrupt me to make your observations,

the way you choose the colour of your clothes.

Look at yourself while you enterthis room,

how you greet my wife...

These are the moments when you are truly yourself,

and only in these moments. - Are you saying I'm clumsy?

I'm simply telling you that there is more truth in your small gestures

than in all that impeccable intelligence you use while speaking of Conrad

oryourbeloved Wagner.

It seems you wish to deny a sense to these lessons.

I don't think you want to continue them.

- You feeI you're wasting time with me. - On the contrary.

Ourmeetings were very probably a way to occupy time, not to waste it.

Don't give such weight to what I said, it's not ajudgement.

Don't be afraid. In fact, why don't we speak about fearnow,

about thrillers, crime novels?

A genre that only provincials would considerminor.

The thrilleris based on one of our strongest emotions,

on one of society's driving forces:

fear.

Fear of the future, of the afterlife...

The fear of revolution.

PhysicaI fear... MoraI fear...

Who placed this lock here? Do you know who has the key?

Who are you?

My name is Lampedusa. I lived here once.

All of the Lampedusas... are dead.

Only kids come here now... to screw.

Queers come here too. That's why there's a lock.

Do you understand, Lampedusa? Do you want the key?

Yes, please. Thank you.

My name is Lampedusa.

- Is Marco at home? - Come in.

I swear, Marco, I had nothing to do with it!

- I don't want to get involved! - Go in.

- No one is going to notice! - You can convince him

that this will be just between you two and no one will know anything.

I don't think...

Prince... To what do I owe the honour of this visit?

May I introduce my friends?

Nino...

Enzo...

And Gaetano.

I see you're busy.

This is the Mahler score that you'd been looking for.

I had it bound foryou. I hope you like it.

I'll leave you to yourfriends.

They were leaving!

Please, stay for a while.

I'm so happy you've come.

On some other occasion. Perhaps.

It was the only time he came to my house,

perhaps to tell me something he wouldn't say later,

orto see who I really was.

Come, kids! We're going to the balcony.

Who are you?

Huh?

Who are you?

He's my brother.

He asked who you are.

I'm glad you've accepted to come.

- You have a beautifuI house. - Sure...

It's a bit hard to get to the kitchen

orwalk around in your shorts, you're never alone.

One afternoon Guido invited me to his house.

He made me feeI at home, we joked and laughed a lot.

We were like two friends who time had made closer.

I couldn't understand why he had wanted to see me.

It was a strange walk.

We passed through seemingly endless, grandiose salons.

- Be carefuI. The Duke always sits at the head of the table. - All right.

- Good day, Duke. - The three children... - Continue.

It's magnificent.

I could neverlive in a house like this one.

I thought as much.

- Something to drink? - Yes, please.

I was speaking of you to Cristina.

- She really doesn't know you either. - In a certain sense, that's true.

Are you mysterious by choice ornecessity?

I'm less mysterious than you think.

It is still not clear if you're... a Jacobin or a dandy.

Don't be afraid, I'm neither.

- Do you recognize it? - Of course.

- It's the lesson notebook. - Giuseppe gave it to me.

He told me he'd burn it.

If it was important foryou to let me know, you've done it.

There was an inscription on the front cover.

It seemed the ultimate betrayaI to me. My distance then became rancour.

Come...

- Where is the Monsignor?. - He's in Abano taking the cure.

- Ah. - I can tell the Abbess. Yourname?

- You can tell her Lampedusa is here. - The Prince of Lampedusa?

As you wish.

Go inside now, sisters!

If you'd given me warning, I'd have prepared a different welcome.

It's a great honour to have you here with us.

Thank you, Mother, you're very kind.

Please, would you give my guests a tour?.

- Sure... - I'd like to stay here for a few moments alone. - Of course.

- Please, follow me. - Let's go.

It's very beautifuI.

It has given me great pleasure

to be able to spend the afternoon with you.

I also wanted you to see what my mystic ancestors left to me.

They left it to me

without bothering to ask what I would have thought of it,

without doubting for a moment

that one day I would be in my element,

perfectly at home.

If you think about it,

it's truly a mystery.

It's not even a source of income,

nothing. Yet today I feeI truly serene here.

I hope... that you too... will eventually feeI the same.

- Goodbye, Princess. - Goodbye. - Goodbye, Prince.

Goodbye.

What does this poor old man want from me?

He approached me very seriously and said:

"Prince, I saw the film about this painter, Toulouse-Lautrec... "

"An incredible life! But I didn't understand one thing:"

"is it a legend... " - Marco, what's happened to you?

You may enterif you like.

I can't stay today.

- Could you tell the Prince, please? - Of course. - Thank you.

Marco!

If you need my help, come to see me.

Thank you, Princess.

I'm not sleeping. Come in, sit down.

As you know, I spend ten hours of every day in absolute solitude.

Not being able to read the entire time

I amuse myself by constructing theories,

which would neverwithstand the slightest criticaI examination,

except for one, perhaps, the one I call the "theory of angels".

I seemed to notice that occasionally these beings appear on earth

and in their existence they emit a light... which is more than human.

To belong to this extremely restricted elite

it is not enough to be a genius. Not Shakespeare

norDante

norMichelangelo, norBaudelaire,

not one of them is an angeI. To be admitted into this circle,

one must die young

or at least cease all artistic activity in theiryouth.

But this activity must be

of a supremely high value.

In the end, it must reveaI itself... as an apparition

that is brief, dazzling,

in such a way that it gives all of us, who are grey mortals,

the sensation... of having a superhuman visitor

who regarded us for an instant, leaving us

with a bitterlament, because of the same fleetingness of its presence.

I know it is not theirfault, but some mud stains

mark the wings of Marlowe and Shelley.

Rimbaud is undoubtedly an angeI, but... like Marlowe,

we don't know if he came from above orbelow.

The lewdness of Raffaello,

the folly of Holderlin,

the irascibility of that genius of Masaccio,

the wife of Mozart

are the slight impurities on the candour of theirbeing.

But as an angeI of the first class,

as an archangeI, a seraph, a cherub,

as an angeI in full relief, a one hundred carat angeI,

as an angeI with white wings of the first degree,

guaranteed against termites, there is only John Keats.

Now and then, it's good to walk in the company of angels

along the roads of this world.

- Have you ever done that, Pace? - I can't, Prince.

An old deviI keeps me locked in his library and prevents me from doing it.

- What are you trying to say? - Nothing. It was a fleeting joke.

I allowed myself to joke on your obstinacy

to look down at unreachable heights,

with the risk of losing a large part of that landscape.

The part of landscape

that interests you, precisely. - I think all landscapes deserve a glance.

Indeed... you never choose a point of view.

Perhaps because you don't possess one that is your own.

- On the otherhand, I don't think you want one. - I don't think so.

If I'm not mistaken, that is what I'm here for.

Yes, but I don't think you're gaining anything from it.

No one is forcing you to be here.

There is no deviI holding you to our agreement.

The truth is that you allow yourself to be transported

by... the banality of your own ideas. - The truth?

It was you, dear Prince, who taught me that the truth

is the worst possible interpretation of a fact. - Pace...

Pace...

You insist upon not understanding.

You continue to create doubts on the true reasons why we are here together

and that is why we've reached this point

I would advise you now

to stop these lessons. We'll resume them some time from now.

If inside him, an old man,

the din of life escaping was very strong,

what could the tumult have been of those casks still piled high,

which were emptied in an instant of those poorbodies...

I think formalities are superfluous. If you agree,

I will read only the essentials of the adoption petition.

On this 22nd of June, 1956 the undersigned, Roberto Alaimo,

Judge of the Appellate Court of Palermo,

grants adoption, seeing appropriate intent

with consent of the naturaI parents who are here present:

Enrico Lanza and Mariateresa Filangeri Cuto Lanza,

of their son Guido Lanza to the petitioners Giuseppe Tomasi of Lampedusa

and his consort Alessandra Wolff of Lampedusa.

- If there are no objections... - No! Objections?

- We're all very happy! - Congratulations.

- My best wishes, Prince. - Thank you.

Do you rememberwhen we met that young German Count?

He fell madly in love with you.

- I'm very pleased to see you, Marco. - Me too.

May I botheryou for a moment?

- Right now? - Yes, now.

I'd like you to read this.

- What is it? - A noveI.

- You wrote it? - Yes.

Your son is waiting foryou.

- What are you reading? - Something extraordinary!

A romance noveI.

It's chaste... and perverse...

- You haven't yet asked me who wrote it. - It's Marco Pace.

It's him, isn't it?

- Yes. - When did he give it to you? - This morning.

Actually, he chose a rather particular day to give it to you.

As if nothing had happened, we began ourlessons again.

He nevermentioned my noveI to me.

There is a time to speak and a time to be silent, my friend,

and chatter often drowns literature.

Authors like George Bernard Shaw sin with vanity,

which has always impeded lesser artists from understanding

that ideas in generaI are worth nothing.

There is no fundamentaI problem of humanity,

whether dealing with a slave, the middle class, or socialists,

that was not touched upon by this author.

Certainly, you listen to him as he is sometimes amusing.

But... 50 years from now,

when all women will dress as men do,

when there will no longerbe avaricious masters of the house

and the practice of medicine will be nationalized,

who will he matterto?

Shaw sinned against art.

He sacrificed his great capacities

on an altar of ideas which he did not share.

You probably don't agree with this judgement

of a man who sacrificed his life to democracy.

I'm certain that you believe that the duty of an artist

is to make betterthe society in which he lives.

In the end, you believe in everything in which I do not believe.

It's late, I have to leave.

- Stay for a moment. - I have an appointment.

I am asking you forthe courtesy

of staying a bit longerwith me.

I'd like you to begin reading the noveI I've written.

Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

The daily recitaI of the rosary was over.

Forhalf an hour the steady voice of the Prince

had recalled the glorious and sorrowfuI mysteries;

forhalf an hour othervoices had interwoven

a lilting hum,

from which, now and again, would chime some unlikely words:

"love", "virginity", "death";

and during that hum the aspect of the rococo drawing room seemed to change.

The sea in the background was a dash of pure colour.

The mountains which had seemed so alarmingly full of hidden...

...of this daughter of his. But he was even fonder of Tancredi.

Give it to me. Allow me to be an actorfor a bit.

Conquered for ever by the youth's affectionate banter,

he had begun during the last few months to admire his intelligence too:

that quick adaptability, that worldly penetration,

that innate artistic subtlety,

with which he could use the demagogic terms then in fashion,

while hinting to initiates that forhim, the Prince of Falconeri,

this was only a momentary pastime.

All this amused Don Fabrizio,

and in people of his character and standing,

the faculty forbeing amused makes up fourfifths of affection.

I don't deny that a few Sicilians, once off the island,

may succeed in breaking the spell.

But they would have to leave Sicily very young.

By 20 it's too late: the crust is formed.

They will remain convinced that their country is just like all others,

basely calumniated,

that the civilized norm is here and the oddities are elsewhere.

Don Fabrizio's voice quickly put such trifling in its place,

these insignificant details. Wait!

"He put such trifling in its place", eliminate the "insignificant details".

He talked of Tancredi as he was now, of the quick attentive youth,

always ready with a remark

which enraptured those who loved him and exasperated everyone else.

What is it?

Nothing.

I was thinking that Tancredi's charactertruly stands out.

But it's as if the authorhad a moraI reserve in regards to him

and maybe that's why he admires him even more.

Do you think so?

Yourfatherwanted you to be a lawyer, right?

My father always allowed me to do what I wanted.

Perhaps you were fortunate in that sense.

- There is no weight on you. - What about you?

Didn't you everwish to be someone else,

to not be who you are?

I believe I have always desired that.

It happened to me once in London,

the only city that knows how to give one the joy of disappearance,

to lose oneself in an ocean,

to know enjoyment,

to not be anyone.

The old masterhad assessed his passage on this earth,

a vast backdrop on which I was a simple spectator.

He didn't ask me for ajudgement,

just as he had not given any on my noveI.

I continued to relate to his subtleties.

What exchange hid the fact that both of us were simultaneously

tempted to be writers was a thing I didn't understand at the time.

The last work of Shakespeare, "The Tempest",

is among his highest creations.

But... to say that his concept of the world is contained here

would be an error. Which concept of the world?

Every spirit changes at least three orfourtimes in the course of a life.

It's here, in Prospero, that we find ourShakespeare,

the master of the elements,

the powerfuI meek disillusioned spellbinder.

"And my ending is despair".

These are the last words to us on the threshold of death

of the gentleman of shadows and of smiles.

Giuseppe, come here.

- Bravo, Lylia! - Bravo! Thanks. - Excellent!

Congratulations, Prince.

Perhaps the time has come to call me by name.

If you haven't given me that confidence in all these years,

I don't see what has changed now.

I wanted to say that the day aftertomorrow I can't meet you.

I wanted to finish copying "The Leopard",

but I can't take any more time off my studies.

I understand.

But, as far as I'm concerned,

I will call you by name from now on.

You haven't yet told me your opinion of "The Leopard".

You've never asked me forit.

And you've nevermentioned my noveI either.

Evidently, you didn't think it worthy of attention.

Anyway, I found "The Leopard" very interesting,

although it's in contradiction to everything you taught me.

You've written a noveI that isn't similarto yourself.

In a certain sense, you are absolutely correct.

Goodbye then... Marco.

DearMarco, I waited foryou uselessly.

Afew months ago, I found some papers by chance

that Giuseppe wrote as comments on a book of yours,

which I must suppose you neverwanted to publish.

To tell the truth, I knew about yourbook

and about the opinion that Giuseppe had of it.

I never spoke to you of it and perhaps doing it today

will create anothermisunderstanding in ourrelationship.

Years of silence have passed between us,

a hostile silence,

years in which we had to accept, despite ourselves,

that a good part of ourlives played a part in the biography

of an unusuaI man.

The papers I will give you belong to you.

What belongs to me is the role of witness

of a unique relationship between a teacher and his student.

With my unchanged admiration, Guido.

Citizens from Palermo, comrades,

within an hour the comrade Girolamo Li Causi

will inaugurate the election campaign of the Italian Communist Party.

Prince!

Ah, it's you.

It's cold, maybe we should go in.

Vittorini... returned the manuscript to me

with a letter in which he accused "The Leopard"

of being extremely outdated, from XIX century.

Evidently, even as an author... I lived in the wrong century.

Goodbye, love...

- Thanks for coming. - I'm very sorry. - Thanks, Guido.

Such a tragedy... Should you need anything, let me know.

You're very kind, but don't worry forme.

- My condolences. - Thanks.

I'll try.

I'm very sorry, Marco.

- Giuseppe isn't well. - I know.

What silence...

This is one of the rare quiet places in this city.

There is always recompense in silence.

That doesn't mean renouncement orloss.

We can say much of ourselves

by not expressing what we'd like to confess.

Yourbook, dearMarco, shows clearly that this can be done.

And that's valuable.

It's as if it were inevitable

that on yourpages I found ourtruest meeting.

And for once ourfriendship was unmarked by any reticence.

DearGuido,

there are messages which arrive too late at their destination to be acceptable.

I don't know if it's still possible to tell our story

with restraint and without lies.

When Leonardo told me of the Prince's death

there was an immense physicaI relief in myself,

as if a suffocation had stopped forever.

I still haven't finished paying forthat moment.

Not hearing him speak, not making him read my books,

not telling him what his book meant to the world...

DearGuido, I hope that a surreaI place of memory

will be the sole paradise where we three can meet again.

- IN 1958, UNDER GIORGIO BASSANI AND FELTRINELLI PUBLISHERS -

- THE NOVEL "THE LEOPARD" WAS HAILED BY READERS AND CRITICS -

- AS A MASTERPIECE OF XX CENTURY ITALIAN LITERATURE. -

- IT WON THE STREGAAWARD IN 1959 AND WAS PUBLISHED -

- AROUND THE WORLD WITH CLAMOROUS AND INCREASING SUCCESS. -

Subtitles STUDIO ASCI - Crema