The Leopard

by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

Tancredi, disturbed, would not let Angelica touch a cupboard on the wall of the drawing room, which he shut up himself. It was very deep, and it contained the oddest things: little rolls of fine silken cord; little silver boxes immodestly adorned; stuck to the outside, on their underside, were tiny labels with obscure indications neatly handwritten, a little like the labels on an apothecary’s jars: “Estr. catch.” “Tirch-stram.” “Partopp.”; phials whose contents had evaporated; a roll of dirty stuff standing upright in a corner; inside was a bundle of small whips, switches of bull’s muscle, some with silver handles, others wrapped halfway up in a charming old silk, white with little blue stripes, on which could be seen three rows of blackish marks; and metal instruments for inexplicable purposes. Tancredi was afraid, also of himself; he realized he had arrived at the secret nucleus, the center from which all the carnal agitation within the palace radiated outward.

Yes!