The Leopard by Giuseppe Di Lampedusa

rays, no longer overwhelming, were lighting amiably on the araucarias, the pines, the lusty plane trees which were the glory of the place. From the end of the main alley, sloping gently down between high laurel hedges framing anonymous busts of broken-nosed goddesses, could be heard the gentle drizzle of spray falling into the fountain of Amphitrite. He moved swiftly toward it, eager to see it again. The waters came spurting in minute jets, blown from shells of Tritons and Naiads, from noses of marine monsters, spluttering and pattering on greenish verges, bouncing and bubbling, wavering and quivering, dissolving into laughing . Little gurgles; from the whole fountain, the tepid water, the stones covered with velvety moss, emanated a promise of pleasure that would never turn to pain. Perched on an islet in the middle of the round basin, modelled by a crude but sensual sculptor, a vigorous smiling Neptune was embracing a willing Amphitrite; her navel, wet with spray and gleaming in the sun, would be the nest, shortly, for hidden kisses in subaqueous shade. Don Fabrizio paused, gazed, remembered, regretted. He stood there a long while.
    "Uncle, come and look at the foreign peaches. They've turned out fine. And leave these indecencies, which are not for men of your age." Tancredi's affectionate mocking voice called him from his voluptuous torpor. He had not heard the boy come; he was like a cat. For the first time he felt a touch of rancor prick him at sight of Tancredi; this fop with the pinchedin waist under his dark blue suit had been the cause of those sour thoughts of his about death two hours ago. Then he realized that it was not rancor, just disguised alarm: he was afraid the other would talk to him about Concetta. But his nephew's approach and tone was not that of one preparing to make amorous confidences to a man like himself. Don Fabrizio grew calm again; his nephew was looking at him with the affectionate irony which youth accords to age. "They can allow themselves to be a bit nice to us, as they're so sure to be free of us the day of our funerals." He went with Tancredi to look at the "foreign peaches." The graft with German cuttings, made two years ago, had succeeded perfectly; there was not much fruit, a dozen or so, on the two grafted trees, but it was big, velvety, luscious-looking, yellowish, with a faint flush of rosy pink on the cheeks, like those of Chinese girls. The Prince gave them a gentle squeeze with his delicate fleshy fingers. "They seem quite ripe. A pity there are too few for tonight. But we'll get them picked tomorrow and see what they're like."
    "There! That's how I like you, Uncle; like this, in the part of agricola pius- appreciating in anticipation the fruits of your own labors, and not as I found you a moment ago, gazing at all that shameless naked flesh."
    "And yet, Tancredi, these peaches are also products of love, of coupling."
    "Of course, but legal love, blessed by you as their master) and by Nino the gardener as notary. Considered, fruitful love. As for those," he went on, pointing at the fountain whose shimmer could just be discerned through a veil of plane trees, "d'you really think they've been before a priest? "
    The conversation was taking a dangerous turn and Don Fabrizio hastily changed its direction. As they moved back up toward the house Tancredi began telling what he had heard of the love-life of Donnafugata: Menica, the daughter of Saverio the keeper, had let herself be put with child by her young man; the marriage would be rushed now. Calicchio had just avoided being shot by an angry husband.
    "But how d'you know such things?"
    "I know, Uncle, I know. They tell me everything i they know I'll sympathize." When they reached the top of the steps, which rose from the garden to the palace with gentle turns and long landings, they could see the dusky horizon beyond the trees; over toward the sea huge, inky clouds were climbing up the sky. Perhaps the anger of God was satiated and