My copy of Giuseppe di Lampedusa’s acclaimed historical novel, first published by Giangiacomo Feltrinelli Editore, Milan in 1958, is The Folio Society Limited’s 1988 edition using William Collins Sons & Co., translated version of 1960.
These are the boards and the spine.
The book is considered one of Italy’s greatest masterpieces.
Set in the Risorgimento period of 1861 when Garibaldi and his redshirts had provided the military power to unite the several kingdoms of Italy, including toppling the two of Sicily, the story concerns the struggles of Don Fabrizio, the charismatic Prince of Salina to accept the forces of change consequent on the new order, as many of the European nation states were created during the centre of the nineteenth century.
The seven months of the year spent in stifling, energy sapping, heat; the freedom from labouring themselves; and the expanses of rough terrain contributed to the decadence of the dying aristocracy represented by the Prince, nevertheless a kind, albeit flawed, gentleman.
The story is packed throughout with poetic prose engaging all the senses, as in “heavy [note the adjective] scents of the garden”; “…silence, emphasised rather than disturbed by the distant barking of Bendicò baiting……”; “dull rhythmic beat of a cook’s knife…”. There are numerous examples of simile, metaphor, and alliteration, such as “decaying boats bobbed up and down , desolate as mangy dogs.”
Di Lampedusa enjoys humour – dry as in “eight shotguns of uncertain damaging power” or ribald as in the bath scene when Father Pirrone disturbs Don Fabrizio, his first ever naked man, while failing to cover himself with a bathrobe.
The description of the fountain of Amphitrite is lusciously erotic. Also “The food seemed so delicious because sensuality was circulating in the house” says our author, subtly going on to suggest it.
Many sections of the book are symbolic of more than they tell, for example the exploration by the young lovers, as yet innocent of consummation, of a vast many-roomed house not previously experienced by themselves or others. Don’t we all think no-one has ever been so blessed before?
The troubles of Don Fabrizio include, and are symbolic of, the politics of revolution.
The chapter on The Ball, closing with the exhaustion of guests finally realising that the party is over, is surely a metaphor for the end of the aristocratic dominance of the country.
This is the story of a man’s life and death; as such it gives deep insight into his last thoughts as he thinks over his years and his failings. Again his last journey in his weakened condition symbolises the loss of this physically and socially powerful giant of a man’s position in society.
Raleigh Trevelyan in his helpful translation observes that one of the book’s central messages is “that every generation as it grows older feels a sense of loss, perhaps a loss of values.”
Not knowing Italian I cannot compare the translation with the original, but it must be self-evident that in his work Archibald Colquhoun has captured the beauty of the author’s language.
More examples of the prose are shown on this page above the drawing by Ian Ribbons at the close of one of the chapters.
There are a few more such illustrations which don’t add as much as his
free flowing colour pages reflecting the action and the perspective of the scenes.
On this day in 1968 Jackie and I were first married, so we celebrated this evening with a meal at Rokali’s, where I enjoyed prawn Jaipur and special rice, while Mrs Knight relished Rokali’s special meal with a little of my rice. We shared an excellent paratha; she drank Diet Coke and I drank Kingfisher beer.