All language subtitles for Il manoscritto del principe (2000) EN

- 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 Professor isn'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 prefer to come by your hotel.

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

I'll wait for you at 5.
I'm at the Hotel Centrale. Marco,

I'm very happy
to be seeing you again.

- Room 12, please.
- Here you are.

Since childhood, I had been taught
to conceal 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 for you,
but it's freezing in there.

No one will notice, chéri.

Thanks.

Princess
Alessandra Wolff of Lampedusa

received guests in a salon
giving the impression

that her social 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 philosopher Corrado 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 jovial 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 grateful
if after you'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 dear friend Leonardo.

- Marco Pace.
- Come! - Good evening.

Anna...

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

You must be the smuggler
of musical scores...

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

The scores I find,
1 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.

“L am not what I am"...

Shakespeare gave this motto
to the traitor Iago.

And Julien Sorel
could apply it as well.

Remember his 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
after your performance.

Have you got a cigarette?

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

I heard you spoke with Bebbuzzo.

- Has the Prince read your book?
- Not yet.

Well... I have to go. Bye.

Hello, Dad.

How did it go?

Good boy!

- GIVEN 5.000 TO MARCO -

It's beautiful, Prince.
Did it belong to your house?

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 reindeer raisers 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 jail,

you are not allowed to smoke
and you'll suffer less,

already being free of the habit.

Third: your hands won't get dirty.

Fourth: your pockets...
won't be all dirty.

It's happened again,
once again.

1 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.

1told you to hide the key,
to close the door with the chain.

People notice.
They look at me...

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

...have no more faith, Doctor.

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

Look at me.

You mustn't be ashamed.

1'am not a priest.

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

The air is 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 other things 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, Victor Hugo, Goethe...

Just because they've listened
to some surrogate

on the notes
written by Verdi or Gounod.

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

I'm sure you will reconsider.

#innkeeper!
Another bottle 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

funeral wakes with low flames

the sighs of anguish for the passing
of a misunderstood life

for the times when darkness
descends from above

clear and endless...

Move over a bit there.

No, don't touch me!
Move over a hit. Over here, 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 another way?

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

Way 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 physical aspect
immediately revealed

a very strong personality.

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

Come in.

His dark eyes,
with their timid 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.

1'am not in the habit
of reading professionally.

I always read for myself...
until I am completely bored.

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

This may seem a bit strange,

hutl believe that boredom
is an obligatory passage

to attaining the... incomparable
pleasure of literature.

- You are younger than I thought.
- I'm 20 years old.

I've read your poetry...

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

Abit 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
their feelings.

-But I liked your poetry.
-I'hope that's true.

It might be better if it wasn't.

The truth is only the worst
interpretation of a fact.

Who is this young man?

My pleasure, Princess.

1 am Marco Pace.

Please, excuse me,
1 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 your poetry.

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

Poetry is a message in a bottle.

We Sicilians
have... a total modesty...

Such a modesty of existence...
that we prefer to 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?

1 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, graceful 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 rather liked "Anna Karenina".

There is 2 great mastery.

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

On the other hand it's cinema,
it's entertainment.

Tolstoy's prose
is quite another thing.

I see you are
a great lover of cinema.

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

I was attracted
by all the clamour it provoked.

Didn't you

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

No, I didn't.

- Did you see it, Guido?
-Yes.

Didn't you notice anything?

1 agree with Marco,
it was amusing.

Of course, the locations
and set designs were dreadful.

That Biedermeier furniture,
for example, was all wrong.

You're right.

It's clear
that our young poet cannot tell

amodern 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 your talent?
- What do you mean?

What is your gift?
Where do you excel?

- My memory, perhaps.
- Your memory...

- What for? - 20 years from now,
I'll... remember what you tell me today.

I'll remember the colour of your tie
and the shirt you're wearing.

It's that type of memory...

- A special one?
- Yes. More or less.

- And your worst fault?
- My memory.

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

Did you wish to say something?

Why did you offer to give me
these lessons?

For... several reasons.

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

But that is not the answer
to your question.

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

except that you'll discover
the answer yourself 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'¢ chi uccide
con... troppe lacrime

0 Chi senza HQSSUHQ.
-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'é chi vende e chi compra.

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

Chi uccide il 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 grammatical
exceptions which we spoke about...

It may seem useless to you, but...
the mechanical 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 your wife's patients?

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

- Are you tired?
- No.

1 was thinking of how strange pain is.

Sometimes there is a need to scream

and others a need for total silence.

He does not die a death of shame

on 2 day of dark disgrace...

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

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

this will be a good year for you.
Lylia... Ah... - Happy New Year!

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

♪ 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, Mir 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.

1 also wish you
a very Happy New Year.

- 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 father would 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 for me as well a pleasure

to have known you.

- Have you lit the fireplace?
- Yes.

- Mr Pace is waiting for you.
- 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,

amore piercing,
a more human note,

that dominated all,
like the wailing of an angel;

1 could have thought I knew the angel'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 personal 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 personal affections or anguish.

We have a pact,

our pact.

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.

{Guido, Guido,
what do you want from me?)

{What do you think
you can find here today)

{that isn't already clear
from our past?)

(You want to return,
but it's impossible.)

Mum, I'm going.

How are your lessons going?

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

You know the Prince likes people
who do not declare their feelings.

- 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 car been here?

1 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 Stendhal, who's my favourite author.

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

- What is it? - A telephone call,
Prince. A Doctor Corrao...

Ah. Excuse me for a moment.

- "HISTORY WITHOUT A NAME" -

- "THE LEOPARD".
PART ONE -

I've always agreed
with Stendhal.

The belief that a person's soul
can be revealed

through what they say
is banal.

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 Stendhal,

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 after his 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 our lives

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

or to understand you

or things I have never had
and things I may never have.

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

Since we've been meeting regularly,

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

I have been surprised
by your facility and speed

in perfecting your English.

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

the sense of the works
of Proust or Dickens.

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

Try to look at yourself
when you sit,

when you cross your legs,
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 enter this 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

or your beloved Wagner.

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

1 don't think
you want to continue them.

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

Our meetings 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 fear now,

about thrillers, crime novels?

A genre that only provincials
would consider minor.

The thriller is 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.

Physical fear... Moral fear...

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

Who are you?

My name is Lampedusa.
Ilived 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!

- 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.

1 don't think...

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

Way 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 for you.
I hope you like it.

I'll leave you to your friends.

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,

of to 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 beautiful house.
- Sure...

It's a bit hard
to get to the kitchen

or walk around in your shorts,
you're never alone.

One afternoon
Guido invited me to his house.

He made me feel 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 careful. The Duke always sits
at the head of the table. - All right.

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

It's magnificent.

1 could never live
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 or necessity?

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 for you
to let me know, you've done it.

There was an inscription
on the front cover.

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

Come...

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

- Ah.
- can tell the Abbess. Your name?

- 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 beautiful.

It has given me great pleasure

to be able to spend
the afternoon with you.

1 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 feel truly serene here.

I hope... that you too...
will eventually feel 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 lite!
But I didn't understand one thing:"

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

You may enter if 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 never withstand
the slightest critical 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
alight... which is more than human.

To belong
to this extremely restricted elite

it is not enough to be a genius.
Not Shakespeare

nor Dante

nor Michelangelo, nor Baudelaire,

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

one must die young

or at least cease
all artistic activity in their youth.

But this activity must be

of a supremely high value.

In the end, it must reveal 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 bitter lament, because of
the same fleetingness of its presence.

I know it is not their fault,
but some mud stains

mark the wings
of Marlowe and Shelley.

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

we don't know if he came
from above or below.

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 their being.

But as an angel of the first class,

as an archangel,
a seraph, a cherub,

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

as an angel 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?
- Ican't, Prince.

An old devil 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 other hand, I don't think
you want one. - 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 devil 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

1 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 poor bodies...

{I lived in anticipation
of a chance meeting,)

{of a simple look.)

(The sultry weather made
the indecision of my 20 years grow.)

{Meanwhile,
1 continued to visit him)

{in the great room
lined with books,)

{where his voice made me
a slave to his incantations.)

{Where his voice made me
a slave to his incantations...)

1 think formalities are superfluous.
If you agree,

1 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 natural 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 remember when we met
that young German Count?

He fell madly in love with you.

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

Way I bother you for a moment?

- Right now?
- Yes, now.

I'd like you to read this.

- What is it?
- A novel.

- You wrote it?
-Yes.

Your son is waiting for you.

- What are you reading?
- Something extraordinary!

Aromance novel.

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 our lessons again.

He never mentioned
my novel 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 general
are worth nothing.

There is no fundamental 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 longer be
avaricious masters of the house

and the practice of medicine
will be nationalized,

who will he matter to?

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 2 man who sacrificed his Wife
to democracy.

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

is to make better the 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.

1 am asking you for the courtesy

of staying a bit longer with me.

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

Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

The daily recital
of the rosary was over.

For half an hour
the steady voice of the Prince

had recalled
the glorious and sorrowful mysteries;

for half an hour other voices
had interwoven

alilting 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 actor for 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 for him, the Prince of Falconeri,

this was only
amomentary pastime.

All this amused Don Fabrizio,

and in people
of his character and standing,

the faculty for being amused
makes up four fifths of affection.

1 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 character truly stands out.

But it's as if the author had
amoral reserve in regards to him

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

Do you think so?

Your father wanted 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 ever wish
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 master had assessed
his passage on this earth,

a vast backdrop
on which I was a simple spectator.

He didn't ask me for a judgement,

just as he had not given any
oh my novel.

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
1 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
or four times in the course of a life.

It's here, in Prospero,
that we find our Shakespeare,

the master of the elements,

the powerful 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
after tomorrow I can't meet you.

I wanted to finish
copying "The Leopard”,

hutl can't take any more time
off my studies.

I understand.

But, as far as I'm concerned,

1 will call you by name
from now on.

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

You've never asked me for it.

And you've never mentioned
my novel 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 novel
that isn't similar to yourself.

In a certain sense,
you are absolutely correct.

Goodbye then... Marco.

Dear Marco,
I waited for you uselessly.

A few months ago,
1 found some papers by chance

that Giuseppe wrote as comments
oh a book of yours,

which I must suppose
you never wanted to publish.

To tell the truth,
I knew about your book

and about the opinion
that Giuseppe had of it.

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

will create another misunderstanding
in our relationship.

Years of silence
have passed between us,

a hostile silence,

years in which we had to accept,
despite ourselves,

that a good part of our lives
played a part in the biography

of an unusual 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...
Ilived 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 for me.

- My condolences.
- Thanks.

I'll try.

I'm very sorry, Marco.

- Giuseppe isn't well.
- [ 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 or loss.

We can say much of ourselves

by not expressing
what we'd like to confess.

Your book, dear Marco,
shows clearly that this can be done.

And that's valuable.

It's as if it were inevitable

that on your pages
1 found our truest meeting.

And for once our friendship
was unmarked by any reticence.

Dear Guido,

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

1 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 physical relief in myself,

as if a suffocation
had stopped forever.

I still haven't finished
paying for that moment.

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

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

Dear Guido, I hope that
a surreal 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 STREGA AWARD IN 1959
AND WAS PUBLISHED -

- AROUND THE WORLD WITH CLAMOROUS
AND INCREASING SUCCESS. -

Subtitles
STUDIO ASCI - Crema