Although I am such a great man now, I should find it very awkward to be
obliged to answer questions as to my parentage and infancy.
Even my nationality I could not state precisely, though I know I am as much
Italian as English, perhaps rather more. From Italy I have inherited my
genius and enthusiasm for art, from England I think I must have got my
common-sense, and the capacity of keeping the money which I make; also a
certain natural coldness of disposition, which those who only know me as a
public character do not dream of. All my earliest memories are very vague
and indistinct. I remember tramping over France and Italy with a man and
woman--they were Italian, I believe--who beat me, and a fiddle, which I
loved passionately, and which I cannot remember having ever been without.
They are very shadowy presences now, and the name of the man I have
forgotten. The woman, I think, was called Maddalena. I am ignorant whether
they were related to me in any way: I know that I hated them bitterly, and
eventually, after a worse beating than usual, ran away from them. I never
cared for any one except my fiddle, until I knew Ninette.
I was very hungry and miserable indeed when that rencontre came about.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173