Since I had again donned my sheepskin and my harp there was one thing which caused me serious thought. That was my trousers. It seemed to me that an artist ought not to wear long trousers; to appear in public an artist should have short trousers with stockings coming over them, laced over and over with colored ribbons. Trousers were all right for a gardener, but now… I was an artist! Yes, I must wear knickers. I quickly took the scissors from Etiennette’s work-case.
“While I arrange my trousers,” I said to Mattia, “you ought to show me how you play the violin.”
“Oh, I’d like to.”
He began to play, while I boldly stuck the points of my scissors into my trousers a little above the knee. I commenced to cut the cloth.
Yet, however, they were a beautiful pair of gray cloth trousers, with vest and coat to match, and I had been so proud of them when M. Acquin had given them to me, but I did not consider that I was spoiling them by shortening them, quite the contrary.
At first I scarcely listened to Mattia; I was too busy cutting my trousers, but soon I stopped manipulating the scissors and became all ears. Mattia played almost as well as Vitalis.
“Who taught you the violin?” I asked, clapping my hands.
“No one, I studied alone.”
“Hasn’t any one explained to you anything about music?”