“And I haven’t any money,” he added, “and I haven’t had a bite to eat since yesterday.”
I was not rich, but I had enough to give something to poor Mattia. How I would have blessed one who would have given me a crust of bread when I was wandering round Toulouse, famished like Mattia now.
“Stay here until I come back,” I said.
I ran to a bakery at the corner of the street and soon returned with a roll, which I offered him. He devoured it in a moment.
“Now,” I said, “what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I was trying to sell my violin when you spoke to me, and I would have sold it before, if I hadn’t hated to part with it. My violin is all I have and when I’m sad, I find a spot where I can be alone and play to myself. Then I see all sorts of beautiful things in the sky, more beautiful than in a dream.”
“Why don’t you play your violin in the streets?”
“I did, but I didn’t get anything.”
How well I knew what it was to play and not get a coin.
“What are you doing?” he asked.