Читать книгу The Essays of Douglas Jerrold - Douglas William Jerrold - Страница 10

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Giulio and Ippolito were sons of a farmer living near Padua. The old man was of a quiet and placable temper, rarely suffering any mischance to ruffle him, but, in the firm and placid hope of the future, tranquillising himself under the evil of the present. If blight came upon his corn one year, he would say ’twere a rare thing to have blights in two successive seasons; and so he would hope that the next harvest, in its abundance, might more than compensate for the scarcity of the last. Thus he lived from boyhood to age, and retained in the features of the old man a something of the lightness and vivacity of youth. His sons, however, bore no resemblance to their father. Instead of labouring on the farm they wasted their time in idly wishing that fortune had made them, in lieu of healthy, honest sons of a farmer, the children of some rich magnifico, that so they might have passed their days in all the sports of the times, in jousting, hunting, and in studying the fashions of brave apparel. They were of a humour at once impetuous and sulky, and would either idly mope about the farm, or violently abuse and ill-treat whomsoever accident might throw in their way. The old man was inly grieved at the wilfulness and disobedience of his sons, but, with his usual disposition, hoped that time might remedy the evil; and so, but rarely reproving them, they were left sole masters of their hours and actions.

One night, after supper, the brothers walked into the garden to give loose to their idle fancies, always yearning after matters visionary and improbable. It was a glorious night, the moon was at the full, and myriads of stars glowed in the deep blue firmament. The air stirred among the trees and flowers, wafting abroad their sweetness; the dew glittered on the leaves, and a deep-voiced nightingale, perched in a citron tree, poured forth a torrent of song upon the air. It was an hour for good thoughts and holy aspirations. Giulio threw himself upon a bank, and, after gazing with intentness at the sky, exclaimed:—

“Would that I had fields ample as the heavens above us!”

“I would,” rejoined Ippolito, “I had as many sheep as there are stars.”

“And what,” asked Giulio, with a sarcastic smile, “would your wisdom do with them?”

“Marry,” replied Ippolito, “I would pasture them in your sageship’s fields.”

“What!” exclaimed Giulio, suddenly raising himself upon his elbow, and looking with an eye of fire upon his brother; “whether I would or not?”

“Truly, ay,” said Ippolito, with a stubborn significance of manner.

“Have a care,” cried Giulio, “have a care, Ippolito; do not thwart me. Am I not your elder brother?”

“Yes; and marry, what of that? Though you came first into the world, I trow you left some manhood for him who followed after.”

“You do not mean to insist that, despite my will, despite the determination of your elder brother, you will pasture your sheep in my grounds?”

“In truth but I do.”

“And that,” rejoined Giulio, his cheek flushing, and his lip tremulous, “and that without fee or recompense?”

“Assuredly.”

Giulio leaped to his feet, and, dashing his clenched hand against a tree, with a face full of passion, and in a voice made terrible by rage, he screamed, rather than said, “By the Blessed Virgin but you do not!”

“And by St Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins I protest I will.” This was uttered by Ippolito in a tone of banter and bravado that for a moment made the excited frame of Giulio quiver from head to foot. He gazed at the features of Ippolito, all drawn into a sneer, and for a moment gnashed his teeth. He was hastily approaching the scoffer, when, by an apparently strong effort, he arrested himself, and, turning upon his heel, struck hastily down another path, where he might be seen pacing with short, quick steps, whilst Ippolito, leaning against a tree, carelessly sang a few lines of a serenata. This indifference was too much for Giulio; he stopped short, turned, and then rapidly came up to Ippolito, and with a manner of attempted tranquillity, said, “Ippolito, I do not wish to quarrel with you; I am your elder brother; then give up the point.”

“Not I,” replied Ippolito, with the same immovable smile.

“What, then, you are determined that your sheep shall, in very despite of me, pasture in my fields?”

“They shall.”

“Villain!” raved Giulio; and ere the word was well uttered he had dashed his clenched hand in his brother’s face. Ippolito sprang like a wild beast at Giulio, and for a moment they stood with a hand at each other’s throat, and their eyes, in the words of the Psalmist, were “whetted” on one another. They stood but to gain breath, then grappled closer. Ippolito threw his brother to the earth, huddling his knees upon him, furious blows were exchanged, but scarce a sound was uttered, save at intervals a blasphemous oath or a half-strangled groan. Giulio was completely overpowered by the superior strength and cooler temper of his brother; but, lying prostrate and conquered, his hands pinioned to his breast, and Ippolito glaring at him with malicious triumph, he cursed and spat at him. Ippolito removed his hand from his brother’s throat, and ere his pulse could beat, Giulio’s poniard was in his brother’s heart. He gave a loud shriek, and fell a streaming corpse upon his murderer. The father, roused by the sound, came hurrying to the garden; Giulio, leaping from under the dead body, rushed by the old man, who was all too speedily bending over his murdered child. From that hour hope and tranquillity forsook the father; he became a brain-sick, querulous creature, and in a few months died almost an idiot. Giulio joined a party of robbers, and, after a brief but dark career of crime, was shot by the sbirri.

Ye who would build castles in the air—who would slay your hours with foolish and unprofitable longings—ponder on the visionary fields, the ideal sheep of Giulio and Ippolito.