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Updated: June 22, 2025
He glanced round before replying, then lowering his voice he said: "Garofoli is in prison. They took him because he beat Orlando to death." I was shocked at this. I was pleased to hear that they had put Garofoli in prison, and for the first time I thought the prisons, which inspired me with so much horror, had their use. "And the other boys?" I asked. "Oh, I don't know.
The moment Garofoli entered the room two small boys took their places, one on each side of him, and were waiting until he had finished speaking. Then one took his felt hat and placed it carefully on the bed, and the other brought forward a chair. They did this with the same gravity and respect that a choir boy waits upon a priest.
"You know how afraid you are of Barberin, so you can imagine how I fear Garofoli. If he's out of prison he'll be sure to catch me. Oh, my poor head; how he used to bang it! And then he will part us; of course he'd like to have you as one of his pupils, but he could not force you to stay, but he has a right to me. He's my uncle." I had not thought of Garofoli.
"No, you imbecile," he said, pushing the boy aside roughly. Then he turned to another child and said with an ingratiating smile: "Ricardo, dearie, bring a match." The "dearie" hastened to obey. "Now," said Garofoli, when he was comfortably installed and his pipe burning; "now to business, my little angels. Bring the book, Mattia." Garofoli made a sign to the boy who had lit the first match.
On the walls was a drawing of a head in charcoal and some flowers and birds. "Are you there, Garofoli?" asked Vitalis; "it is so dark I can't see any one. It's Vitalis." A weak, drawling voice replied to Vitalis' question. "Signor Garofoli has gone out; he will not be back for two hours." A boy about twelve years of age came forward. I was struck by his strange looks.
But his warning was not necessary, for I trod upon his heels, and to be more sure of him I held a corner of his coat in my hand. We crossed a big courtyard to a dirty, dismal house where surely the sun had never penetrated. It was the worst looking place I had seen so far. "Is Garofoli in?" asked Vitalis of a man who, by the light from a lantern, was hanging rags against the door.
"Oh, no, I was thinking of you when I said 'that's a good thing, because if you were Italian you would probably come here to work for Signor Garofoli, and I'd be sorry for you." "Is he wicked, then?" The boy did not reply, but the look he gave me spoke more than words. As though he did not wish to continue the conversation, he went over to the fireplace.
From this, and the fine clothes you wore when he found you, we think your parents must be rich. "Then Jerome said he had to go off to Paris," she continued, "to find the musician who hired you. This musician said that a letter sent to Rue Mouffetard to a man named Garofoli would reach him." "And haven't you heard from Barberin since he went?" I asked, surprised that he had sent no news.
Who laughed the loudest?" All pointed to the boy who had come home first, bringing his piece of wood. "How much are you short, you there?" demanded Garofoli. "It's not my fault." "And the one who says 'it's not my fault' will get an extra cut. How much is missing?" "I brought back a big piece of wood, a beautiful piece of wood...." "That's something.
That was a good time for me, because Garofoli had stopped giving me blows just then to see if it would hurt me more to go without supper, so when I got something to eat outside I didn't care. But one day Garofoli came along and saw me eating something, a bowl of soup that the fruiterer gave me, then he knew why I didn't mind going without supper at home.
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