“Yes,” growled ’Ntoni, “and when we have sweated and steamed to build our nest we haven’t anything left to eat; and when we have managed to get back the house by the medlar we shall just have to go on wearing out our lives from Monday to Saturday, and never do anything else.”
“And don’t you mean to work any more? What do you mean to do—turn lawyer?”
“I don’t mean to turn lawyer,” said ’Ntoni, and went off to bed in high dudgeon.
But from that time forth he thought of nothing but the easy, wandering life other fellows led; and in the evening, not to hear all that idle chatter, he stood by the door with his shoulders against the wall, watching the people pass, and meditating on his hard fate; at least one was resting against the fatigues of to-morrow, when must begin again over and over the same thing, like Cousin Mosca’s ass, that when they brought the collar reached out his neck to have it put on. “We’re all asses!” he muttered; “that’s what we are—asses! beasts of burden.” And it was plainly enough to be seen that he was tired of that hard life, and longed to leave it, and go out into the world to make his fortune, like those others; so that his mother, poor woman, was always stroking him on the shoulder, and speaking to him in tones that were each like a caress, looking at him with eyes full of tears, as if she would read his very soul. But he told her there was no cause to grieve, that it was better he should go, for himself and for the rest of them, and when he came back they would all be happy together.
The poor mother never closed her eyes that night, and steeped her pillow with tears. At last the grandfather himself perceived it, and called his grandson outside the door, under the shrine, to ask him what ailed him.
“What is it, my boy?” he said. “Tell your grandpapa; do, that’s a good boy.”
’Ntoni shrugged his shoulders; but the old man went on nodding his head, and seeking for words to make himself understood properly.
“Yes, yes! you’ve got some notion in your head, boy! some new notion or other. ‘Who goes with lame men limps himself before long.’”
“I’m a poor miserable devil, that’s what it is.”
“Well, is that all? You knew that before. And what am I, and what was your father? ‘He is the richest who has the fewest wants. Better content than complaint.’”