Free The Leopard by Giuseppe Di Lampedusa Page B

mind that he gave a start of surprise. Danger. But danger for whom? He had a great affection for Concetta; he liked her perpetual submission, the placidity with which she yielded to the slightest hint of a paternal wish: a submission and placidity, incidentally, which he rather overvalued. His natural tendency to avoid any threat to his own calm had made him miss the steely glint which crossed her eyes when the whims she was obeying were really too vexing. Yes, the
    Prince was very fond of this daughter of his. But he was even fonder of his nephew. 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 a momentary 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. Tancredl) he considered, had a great future i he would be the standard-bearer of a counterattack which the nobility, under new trappings, could launch against the new social State. To do this he lacked only one thing: money; this Tancredi did not have; none at all. And to get on in politics, now that a name counted less, would require a lot of money: money to buy votes, money to do the electors favors, money for a dazzling style of living. Style of livino, And would Concetta, with all those passive virtues of hers, be capable of helping an ambitious and brilliant husband to climb the slippery slopes of the new soc ety? Timid, reserved, bashful as she was? Wouldn't she always remain just the pretty schoolgirl she was now, a leaden weight on her husband's feet?
    "Can you see Concetta, Father, as ambassadress in Vienna or Petersburg?"
    The question astounded Father Pirrone. "What has that to do with it? I don't understand." Don Fabrizio did not bother to explain i he plunged back into his silent thoughts. Money? Concetta would have a dowry, of course. But the Salina fortune would have to be divided into seven parts, unequal parts at that, of which the girls' would be the smallest. Well, then? Tancredi needed much more: Maria Santa Pau, for instance, with four estates already hers and all those uncles priests and misers; or one of the Sutera girls, so ugly but so rich. Love, Of course, love. Flames for a year, ashes for thirty. He knew what love was. . . . Anyway, Tancredi would always find women falling for him like ripe pears. Suddenly he felt cold. The water on him had evaporated, and the skin of his arms was icy. The ends of his fingers were crinkling. Oh dear, what a lot of bothersome talk it would all mean. That must be avoided. . . . "Now I have to go and dress, Father. Tell Concetta, will you, that I'm not in the least annoyed, but that we'll talk about all this later when we're quite sure it's not all just the fancy of a romantic girl. Au revoir, Father."
    He got up and passed into the dressing room. From the Mother Church next door rang a lugubrious funeral knell. Someone had died at Donnafugata, some tired body unable to withstand the deep gloom of Sicilian summer had lacked the stamina to await the rains. "Lucky person," thought the Prince, as he rubbed lotion on his whiskers. "Lucky person, with no worries now about daughters, dowries, and political careers." This ephemeral identification with an unknown corpse was enough to calm him.
    "While there's death there's hope," he thought; then he saw the absurd side of letting himself get into such a state of depression because one of his daughters wanted to marry. "Ce sont leurs affaires, apr~s tout,"' he thought in French, as he did when his cogitations were becoming embarrassing. He settled in an armchair and dropped off into a doze. An hour later he awoke refreshed and went down into the garden. The sun was already low, and its