Книга - Pinocchio

Pinocchio
Carlo Collodi


HarperCollins is proud to present its incredible range of best-loved, essential classics."But I am not like other boys! I always tell the truth.”The story of Pinocchio has remained one of the best-loved children’s tales for over a century. However, the original 1883 novel about the adventures of the mischievous marionette on his quest to become a real boy began as a sophisticated story for both adults and children, and includes political satire, slapstick humour and questions about the role of tradition and society. From the moment Geppetto decides to carve himself a son from a magical piece of wood, the tale lurches from one fantastical episode to another, in one of the most enchanting fables of all time.









PINOCCHIO

Carlo Collodi








Table of Contents

Title Page (#u89a64160-4105-5eae-9b99-8f12cb8c4eee)

History of Collins (#u319ada8a-c487-54d0-baea-cbaa66f31f43)

Life & Times (#ud922112d-93b6-56cd-8aa0-9ffafe604978)

Chapter 1 (#u951216d9-a8f9-56bd-a425-1b36e86e488b)

Chapter 2 (#ue70ee91d-89a6-55e4-81ef-69818548fa9e)

Chapter 3 (#u88e25e9f-0520-585f-b1bc-a656193ff11c)

Chapter 4 (#ued83135d-da2e-5adf-8f37-b7a45270dd9d)

Chapter 5 (#uf0fd5b53-a47f-5f06-b3ac-617b4b9d9017)

Chapter 6 (#ue7ab7cbd-c284-50e6-b105-9d1517679fba)

Chapter 7 (#ued5a85af-d09f-5ffc-94e3-d3d2a9a1d644)

Chapter 8 (#u623200d6-32df-50ee-b67e-427e035670e1)

Chapter 9 (#u4c38aa99-189d-54b8-ad92-6cd3afc46345)

Chapter 10 (#u3d4e4046-d35d-5f28-9a43-ce3fb9b8a49e)

Chapter 11 (#uadf06aac-eb58-5676-bd04-f4ebe9ebfc35)

Chapter 12 (#ua82f413e-c321-57cb-bc13-7861a047a2fe)

Chapter 13 (#u10ed6f7a-2547-52a5-afb8-6e89ca14efaf)

Chapter 14 (#ud282c56f-a007-593f-a846-2415e2df02b0)

Chapter 15 (#ueb7e1b5b-8c43-500f-b7ec-494a1e5d746d)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)

Classic Literature: Words and Phrases adapted from the Collins English Dictionary (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




History of Collins (#ulink_85976c77-4f34-5adb-b05f-599051389bb1)


In 1819, millworker William Collins from Glasgow, Scotland, set up a company for printing and publishing pamphlets, sermons, hymn books and prayer books. That company was Collins and was to mark the birth of HarperCollins Publishers as we know it today. The long tradition of Collins dictionary publishing can be traced back to the first dictionary William published in 1824, Greek and English Lexicon. Indeed, from 1840 onwards, he began to produce illustrated dictionaries and even obtained a licence to print and publish the Bible.

Soon after, William published the first Collins novel, Ready Reckoner, however it was the time of the Long Depression, where harvests were poor, prices were high, potato crops had failed and violence was erupting in Europe. As a result, many factories across the country were forced to close down and William chose to retire in 1846, partly due to the hardships he was facing.

Aged 30, William’s son, William II took over the business. A keen humanitarian with a warm heart and a generous spirit, William II was truly ‘Victorian’ in his outlook. He introduced new, up-to-date steam presses and published affordable editions of Shakespeare’s works and Pilgrim’s Progress, making them available to the masses for the first time. A new demand for educational books meant that success came with the publication of travel books, scientific books, encyclopaedias and dictionaries. This demand to be educated led to the later publication of atlases and Collins also held the monopoly on scripture writing at the time.

In the 1860s Collins began to expand and diversify and the idea of ‘books for the millions’ was developed. Affordable editions of classical literature were published and in 1903 Collins introduced 10 titles in their Collins Handy Illustrated Pocket Novels. These proved so popular that a few years later this had increased to an output of 50 volumes, selling nearly half a million in their year of publication. In the same year, The Everyman’s Library was also instituted, with the idea of publishing an affordable library of the most important classical works, biographies, religious and philosophical treatments, plays, poems, travel and adventure. This series eclipsed all competition at the time and the introduction of paperback books in the 1950s helped to open that market and marked a high point in the industry.

HarperCollins is and has always been a champion of the classics and the current Collins Classics series follows in this tradition – publishing classical literature that is affordable and available to all. Beautifully packaged, highly collectible and intended to be reread and enjoyed at every opportunity.





Life & Times (#ulink_605df6fc-06d9-55fc-9ef0-c4c9702b7152)

The Original Pinocchio


As one might expect, the novel Pinocchio is quite different from other picture-book and animated versions, such as the Disney film of 1940. It was originally published in 1883 as The Adventures of Pinocchio and was written in Italian, by the children’s author Carlo Collodi.

Collodi’s imaginings are very akin to those of the English author Lewis Carroll, who published Alice in Wonderland in 1865 and Through the Looking Glass in 1871. Both writers indulge in ever more weird and wonderful meanderings, aware that they have given themselves license to write whatever comes into their minds by the nature of the genre they have chosen. The 18th century was a curious time for children’s literature in this respect, as it was the style to take children into imaginary realms filled with anthropomorphic animals and mythical entities, as if realism were the preserve of adult literature.

In Pinocchio, Collodi conjured up a rather unfeeling and spiteful character in the eponymous protagonist, whom he devised as a manifestation of his own counter-conventional views on Italian society. Pinocchio is born as a boy, but – like a baby – without a moral compass, so he is disrespectful, selfish and lacking in both sympathy and empathy.

The tale begins with a rather violent slapstick routine between two characters named Maestro Cherry and Geppetto, who manage to break into verbal and then physical fights before the former gives the latter the piece of wood that will soon be carved to become Pinocchio. This sets the tone for the book in general, which is rather at odds with the traditionally accepted view of the story, which has been tamed to present Pinocchio as naughty rather than nasty.

For example, Jiminy Cricket, the much-loved companion and advisor to Pinocchio in the Disney film, is killed by Pinocchio in the original. In the novel, he is simply called the Talking Cricket and is struck by a hammer thrown by Pinocchio when he tells the wooden boy that a life of idleness will land him in the hospital or prison.

Geppetto has a reputation for being unpleasant before he creates the marionette, but he is put in his place by the demanding Pinocchio, whom he sees as his son. He tries to discipline the wooden boy and to teach him the value of selflessness. Thus, a peculiar love-hate relationship is established through their codependence. Geppetto needs Pinocchio because he is lonely and needs someone to love. Pinocchio needs Geppetto because he needs food and repair.

Having run away to the theatre, nearly been burned alive and then been swindled by a fox and a cat, Pinocchio is revisited by the Talking Cricket as a ghost. The cricket tries to give Pinocchio guidance but is rebuffed once again when he remarks that the wooden boy will come to grief if he always insists on having things his own way. Pinocchio then embarks on a fantastic and disturbing adventure, where he is pursued by assassins and left for dead, but is then rescued and revived by taking animals and fairies.

In chapter 17, we witness Pinocchio tell three lies, resulting in his nose growing enormously long, so that he becomes trapped in a cottage. His nose is then reduced in size by woodpeckers, enabling Pinocchio to escape and continue on his bizarre journey.

The climax of the Pinocchio story comes when the marionette is transformed into a real boy. After more than two years of struggle, he has finally learned enough lessons in life to know how to behave properly and to show kindness. His reward is to become flesh and blood, along with 50 gold coins. This happens after he has rescued Geppetto from incarceration in the stomach of a monstrous shark and they have returned home.




Morals from the Marionette


The allegory in Pinocchio is a matter of interpretation, in many respects. The story is so filled with fanciful nonsense that the core theme becomes rather obscured for much of the book. Collodi’s main objective seems to be a tale with a moral attached. The moral is that a happy life is more likely to come to those children who behave well and think of others before themselves. Additionally, that children only have themselves to blame for their unhappiness if they fail.

It may seem a little harsh, but that was very much the established view of fate at that time. Succeeding in life was hard work, so it was generally felt that failure resulted from weakness. Darwin had published On the Origin of Species in 1859, and people misapprehended his ‘survival of the fittest’ concept. They dismissed the notion of any disadvantage that came as a consequence of social-cultural environment and nurture, instead putting the onus entirely on the self. The message was black and white: learn to be the fittest you can be and everything else will fall into place because you’ll deserve it.

In his early adulthood, Collodi had fought for the Tuscan army in the Italian Wars of Independence, against the Austrian Empire. He had a very keen sense of right and wrong in the world and his forays into literature began with satirical sketches designed to express and disseminate his political views. He was already in his mid-fifties when he began work on Pinocchio. He died in his mid-sixties, before the story had had sufficient time to burgeon in popularity and begin to show signs of becoming the classic that we know today.

Pinocchio undoubtedly owes a lot of its mass appeal to Disney; not just for taking the story to a global audience, but also for editing and abridging the story, as well as making the characters more appealing. In the original illustrations, by Italian cartoonist Enrico Mazzanti, Pinocchio is a rather unattractive stick man, with a downward-pointing nose like that of a proboscis monkey. The Disney version is a cute little boy with an upward-pointing, fingerlike nose. Similarly, the Talking Cricket is transformed into Jiminy Cricket, dressed in tails and top hat and with four human limbs instead of an insect’s six. Disney took the basic story and used its successful formula to make Pinocchio conform to the rest of the portfolio. Some may dislike the ‘saccharin treatment’ of Disney, but one cannot deny that knew what they were doing.

In chapter 3, when Geppetto is carving Pinocchio from the piece of wood, the nose begins to grow and Geppetto is unable to prevent it from growing, no matter how much he cuts away. In chapter 17, Pinocchio’s nose grows because he tells lies. This contrast has led scholars to conclude that Collodi’s intention was that Pinocchio’s nose actually grows when he is feeling anxious, rather than simply telling lies. So the ubiquitous interpretation of Pinocchio’s nose growth as an indicator of untruths is incorrect. It just so happens that telling lies makes Pinocchio feel uneasy, which is why his nose grows. But why quibble over such a detail? The moral that telling lies will show on your face is good advice for children, which is partly why the Pinocchio tale has persisted.

The overriding message from Pinocchio is that people can change. Pinocchio himself finds compassion and consideration for others after being mistreated by other characters in the story until he realizes what he has run away from was what many children yearn for – a stable and loving home. Geppetto discovers his kindliness by learning to care for someone else apart from himself. Collodi seems to imply that the good in all of us will appear in the right circumstances and that cannot be a bad comment on the human condition in a world where the bad in many people dominates.




CHAPTER 1 (#ulink_151dbc47-764c-5241-88bd-efd24f17e613)


How it happened that Mr Cherry, the carpenter, found a piece of wood that laughed and cried like a child

There was once upon a time …

‘A king!’ my little readers will shout together.

No, children, you make a mistake. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood.

It was not the best, but just a common piece of wood, such as is used in stoves and fireplaces to kindle the fire and warm the rooms in winter.

How it happened I cannot tell, but the fact is that one fine day this piece of wood just happened to be there in the shop of an old carpenter whose real name was Mr Antonio, but everyone called him Mr Cherry, because the tip of his nose was always as red and shiny as a ripe cherry.

As soon as Mr Cherry noticed this piece of wood, he was delighted. He rubbed his hands together joyfully and said, ‘This has come at exactly the right moment. It is just what I need to make a leg for my little table.’

Then, without hesitating a moment, he took his sharp axe to strip off the bark and the rough part of the wood. But just as he raised the axe for the first blow, he stopped with his arm in the air, for he heard a very tiny voice, begging him gently, ‘Don’t strike me too hard!’

You can imagine old Mr Cherry’s surprise.

He looked round the room to see where the tiny voice had come from, but he saw nobody. He looked under the bench – nobody. He looked in the cupboard which was always shut; but there was nobody. He looked in the basket of chips and sawdust – no one. He opened the door and looked out into the street – no one! What was to be done?

‘I see,’ he said at last, laughing and scratching his wig, ‘I must have imagined that tiny voice. Now let’s to work!’

He raised his axe again, and down it went on the piece of wood.

‘Oh, you hurt me!’ complained the same tiny voice.

This time Mr Cherry was struck all of a heap. His eyes stood out of his head, his mouth was wide open, and his tongue hung out over his chin, as you see on some fountain masks.

As soon as he could speak he said, trembling and stuttering with fright, ‘But where did that tiny voice come from that cried “Oh”? There’s not a living soul here. Is it possible that this piece of wood has learnt to cry and complain like a baby? I can’t believe it. This piece of wood – just look at it! It’s nothing but a piece of firewood, like all the others; when you put it on the fire it will make a kettle boil. Well, then? Is someone hidden inside it? If there is, so much the worse for him. I’ll attend to him!’

And he took the poor piece of wood in both hands and, without mercy, started to beat it against the wall.

Then he stopped and listened to hear if any tiny voice were complaining this time. He waited two minutes – nothing; five minutes – nothing; ten minutes – and still nothing!

‘Now I understand!’ he exclaimed, laughing and pulling his wig. ‘I must have imagined that tiny voice that said “Oh!” I’d better do my work.’ And, because he was very frightened, he began singing to encourage himself.

Meanwhile he put the axe down and, taking his plane, began planing and shaping the piece of wood.

But while the plane went to and fro, he again heard that tiny voice which said, laughing, ‘Stop! you’re tickling me!’

This time, poor Mr Cherry dropped as if struck by lightning.

When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor. He was so changed you could hardly have recognized him. Even the end of his nose, which was always red, had turned blue with fright.




CHAPTER 2 (#ulink_89c66fea-6d98-5010-af38-7fad91ef2146)


Mr Cherry gives the piece of wood to his friend, Geppetto, who plans a marvellous puppet that can dance, and fence, and turn somersaults in the air

At that moment somebody knocked on the door. ‘Come in!’ said the carpenter; but he was too weak to stand up.

A little, jolly old man came into the shop. His name was Geppetto, but when the boys in the neighbourhood wanted to tease him they called him by his nickname of Polendina, because of his yellow wig which looked very like a dish of polenta.

Geppetto was very short-tempered. Woe betide anybody who called him Polendina! He simply went wild, and no one could do anything with him.

‘Good morning, Mr Antonio,’ said Geppetto. ‘What are you doing down there?’

‘I am teaching the ants how to read.’

‘Much good may it do you!’

‘What brought you here, Mr Geppetto?’

‘My legs. Mr Antonio, I have come to ask you a favour.’

‘Here I am, ready to serve you,’ answered the carpenter, getting to his knees.

‘I had an idea this morning.’

‘Let us hear it.’

‘I thought I would make a fine wooden puppet – a really fine one, that can dance, fence, and turn somersaults in the air. Then, with this puppet, I could travel round the world, and earn my bit of bread and my glass of wine. What do you think about it?’

‘Bravo, Polendina!’ cried that same tiny, mysterious voice.

When he heard the name Polendina, Mr Geppetto became so angry that he turned as red as a ripe pepper. He turned to the carpenter, and said in a fury, ‘Why do you annoy me?’

‘Who is annoying you?’

‘You called me Polendina!’

‘No, I didn’t!’

‘Oh! Perhaps I did it! But I say that it was you.’

‘No!’

‘Yes!’

‘No!’

‘Yes!’

And, as they grew more and more excited, from words they came to blows. They seized one another’s wigs, and even hit and bit and scratched each other.

At the end of the fight Geppetto’s yellow wig was in Mr Antonio’s hands, and the carpenter’s grey wig between Geppetto’s teeth.

‘Give me my wig!’ said Mr Antonio.

‘You give me mine, and let us make a peace treaty!’

So the two little old men, each taking his own wig, shook hands, and promised to be good friends for ever.

‘Now, neighbour Geppetto,’ said the carpenter, to prove that they were friends again, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘I would like to have a little piece of wood to make my marionette. Will you give it to me?’

Mr Antonio, pleased as Punch, hurried to his bench, and took the piece of wood which had frightened him so much. But, just as he was giving it to his friend, it shook so hard that it slipped out of his hands, and struck poor Geppetto’s shin.

‘Ah! This is a fine way to make me a present, Mr Antonio! You have almost lamed me.’

‘Upon my honour, I didn’t do it!’

‘Oh! So I did it then!’

‘It’s all the fault of this piece of wood –’

‘Yes, I know the wood hit me, but you threw it at my legs!’

‘I did not throw it at you!’

‘That’s a lie!’

‘Geppetto, don’t insult me! If you do, I shall call you Polendina.’

‘Blockhead!’

‘Polendina!’

‘Donkey!’

‘Polendina!’

‘Ugly monkey!’

‘Polendina!’

When he heard himself called Polendina for the third time Geppetto, blind with rage, rushed at the carpenter, and the second fight was worse than the first.

When it was over, Mr Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, and Geppetto two buttons less on his jacket. Honours thus being even, they shook hands again, and vowed to be good friends for ever. Then Geppetto took the piece of wood and, thanking Mr Antonio, went limping home.




CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_ccdc0473-b3f6-5a63-b88e-a73fc08779b5)


Geppetto goes home and makes his puppet; he calls him Pinocchio; the puppet gets into mischief

Geppetto’s little room on the ground floor was lit by a window under the stairs. His furniture could not have been simpler. An old chair, a tottering bed, and a broken-down table. At the back of the room you could see a fireplace, with the fire lit; but the fire was painted, and over the fire was painted a kettle boiling merrily, with a cloud of steam that was just like real steam.

As soon as he arrived home, Geppetto took his tools and began to make his puppet.

‘What shall I call him?’ he asked himself. ‘I think I shall call him Pinocchio. That name will bring him good luck. I once knew a whole family of Pinocchios: there was Pinocchio the father, and Pinocchia the mother, and Pinocchii the children, and they all got along splendidly. The richest of them was a beggar.’

Having thought out a name for his puppet, he started his work with great determination. He made his hair, his forehead, and his eyes in a very short time.

As soon as the eyes were finished, imagine his bewilderment when he saw them moving and looking at him!

When Geppetto saw those two wooden eyes looking at him, he did not like it at all, and he said angrily, ‘Naughty wooden eyes, why are you staring at me?’

But no one answered.

After the eyes, he made the nose; but as soon as it was finished, it began to grow. It grew, and it grew, and in a few minutes’ time it was as long as if there was no end to it.

Poor Geppetto worked fast to shorten it; but the more he cut it off, the longer that insolent nose became.

After the nose, he made the mouth; but before he had finished it, it began to laugh and poke fun at him.

‘Stop laughing!’ said Geppetto; but he might as well have spoken to the wall.

‘Stop laughing, I say!’ he shouted, menacingly.

The mouth stopped laughing, and stuck out its tongue.

However, as Geppetto did not want to spoil the puppet, he pretended not to see it, and continued his work.

After the mouth, he made the chin, then the neck, the shoulders, the stomach, the arms, and the hands.

As soon as the hands were finished, Geppetto’s wig was snatched from his head. He looked up, and what should he see but his yellow wig in the puppet’s hands.

‘Pinocchio! Give me back my wig at once!’

But Pinocchio, instead of giving back the wig, put it on his own head, and was almost hidden under it.

This cheeky, mocking behaviour made Geppetto feel sadder than ever before in his life. He turned to Pinocchio, and said, ‘You scoundrel of a son! You are not even finished, and you already disobey your father! That’s bad, my boy – very bad!’ And he wiped away a tear.

There were still the legs and feet to make.

When Geppetto had finished the feet, he received a kick on the nose.

‘It serves me right,’ he said to himself. ‘I should have thought of it before. Now it is too late.’

He took the puppet in his hands, and put him down on the floor to see if he could walk; but Pinocchio’s legs were stiff, and he did not know how to move them. So Geppetto led him by the hand, and showed him how to put one foot before the other.

When the stiffness went out of his legs, Pinocchio started to walk alone, and run around the room; and finally he slipped through the door into the street and ran away.

Poor old Geppetto ran after him as quickly as he could, but he did not catch him, for the little rascal jumped like a rabbit, and his wooden feet clattered on the pavement, making as much noise as twenty pairs of wooden shoes.

‘Catch him! Catch him!’ cried Geppetto.

But when the people saw that wooden puppet running as fast as a racehorse, they looked at him in amazement, and then laughed, and laughed, and laughed, until their sides were aching.

At last, by some lucky chance, a policeman came and when he heard the clatter, he thought somebody’s horse had run away from its master. So he courageously stood in the middle of the street with his legs apart, in order to stop it, and prevent any more trouble.

From far away, Pinocchio saw the policeman barricading the street, and he decided to run between his legs; but he failed dismally.

The policeman, without moving from his place, picked him up by the nose – that ridiculous, long nose, that seemed made on purpose to be caught by policemen – and returned him to Geppetto, who wanted to pull his ears to punish him for his naughtiness. Imagine what he felt when he could not find any ears! And do you know why? Because he had made him in such a hurry that he had forgotten his ears.

So he took him by the nape of his neck, and as they walked away he said, shaking his head menacingly, ‘You just come home, and I’ll settle your account when we get there!’

At this threatening remark, Pinocchio threw himself down on the ground, and refused to walk.

A crowd of idle and inquisitive people gathered around him. Some said one thing, some another.

‘The poor puppet,’ said some of them, ‘is right, not wanting to go home! Who knows how horribly that bad Geppetto might beat him?’

And others added, with evil tongues, ‘Geppetto seems to be a good man, but he is a perfect tyrant with children. If we leave that poor marionette in his hands, he may tear him to pieces.’

In short, so much was said and done that the policeman let Pinocchio go, and decided to take poor Geppetto to prison.

He could not, for the time being, say anything in his own defence, but he cried like a calf and, as they walked towards the prison, he whimpered, ‘Wretched son! And to think that I worked so hard to make a fine puppet! But serve me right. I ought to have known what would happen!’

What happened afterwards is almost too much to believe; and I shall tell you about it in the following chapters.




CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_bf2aa9ae-50e8-50f2-86b3-f382a9e764b2)


The story of Pinocchio and the talking cricket in which we see that naughty children do not like to be corrected by those who are wiser than they are

Well, I must tell you children, that while poor Geppetto was led to prison through no fault of his own, that rascal Pinocchio, left alone, ran home across the fields as quickly as possible. In his hurry he jumped over high banks, thorn hedges, and ditches full of water, like a kid, or a young hare running away from the hunters.

When he arrived home, he found the door ajar. Pushing it open he went in, and locked it securely after him. Then he threw himself down on the ground with a great sigh of relief.

But the relief did not last long, for he heard someone in the room saying ‘Cri-cri-cri!’

‘Who is calling me?’ said Pinocchio, frightened.

‘It is I.’

Pinocchio turned and saw a big cricket creeping up the wall. ‘Tell me, cricket, who are you?’

‘I am the talking cricket, and I have lived in this room a hundred years or more.’

‘But now this is my room, and you will oblige me by going away at once, without even turning round.’

‘I shall not leave,’ replied the cricket, ‘until I have told you a great truth.’

‘Well then, tell me, and be quick about it!’

‘Woe to those boys who revolt against their parents, and run away from home. They will never do any good in this world, and sooner or later they will repent bitterly.’

‘Sing away, cricket, just as long as you please! But as for me, tomorrow at sunrise I am going to leave; for if I stay here the same will happen to me as happens to other boys: I shall be sent to school, and one way or other, by love or by force, I shall be made to study.’

‘You poor fool! Don’t you know that, if you spend your time like that, you will grow up to be a great donkey, and everyone will make fun of you?’

‘Be quiet, you good for nothing, croaking cricket!’ shouted Pinocchio.

But the cricket, who was patient, and a philosopher too, instead of being offended by such impudence, continued in the same tone, ‘But if you don’t like to go to school, why don’t you learn a trade, so that you may at least earn your bread honestly?’

‘Do you want me to tell you something?’ answered Pinocchio, beginning to lose his patience. ‘Of all the trades in the world, there is only one which really attracts me.’

‘And what might that be?’

‘To eat, drink, sleep, and amuse myself, and to lead a vagabond life from morning to night.’

‘Let me tell you,’ said the talking cricket, as calm as ever, ‘that those who follow that trade finish, nearly always, in a hospital or in prison.’

‘Be careful, you cricket of ill omen! If you make me angry, woe betide you!’

‘Poor Pinocchio! I am really sorry for you!’

‘Why are you sorry for me?’

‘Because you are a puppet, and – what is worse – you have a wooden head.’

At these last words Pinocchio lost his temper and, seizing a mallet from the bench, threw it at the cricket.

Perhaps he did not mean to hit him, but unfortunately the mallet struck him right on the head. The poor cricket had scarcely time to cry ‘Cri-cri-cri’, and there he was, stretched out stiff, and flattened against the wall.




CHAPTER 5 (#ulink_c44bd243-1e03-58c5-9c1d-3197838b7b01)


Pinocchio is hungry, and he looks for an egg to make himself an omelette; but just as he breaks it in the pan the omelette flies through the window

It was growing dark, and Pinocchio remembered that he had eaten nothing all day. There was a painful feeling in his stomach that closely resembled appetite.

With boys appetite grows fast. In fact, after a few minutes his appetite became hunger, and in no time he was as hungry as a wolf. His hunger was unbearable.

Poor Pinocchio hurried to the fireplace where a kettle was boiling and put out his hand to lift the lid and see what was in it; but the kettle was only painted on the wall. Imagine his disappointment! His nose, which was already too long, grew three inches longer.

He ran about the room, searched in every cupboard and in every possible place for a little bread – even dry bread. He would have been grateful for a crust, or a bone left by a dog, for a fishbone or a cherry stone – in short, for anything he could chew. But he found nothing, just nothing, absolutely nothing.

He kept growing hungrier every moment, yet he could do nothing but yawn. He yawned so tremendously that his mouth reached his ears; and after he yawned he spattered, and he felt as if he hadn’t any stomach left.

At last, in despair, he began to cry, saying, ‘The talking cricket was right. I did wrong to revolt against my father and run away from home. If my father were here now, I shouldn’t be dying of yawning. Oh, hunger is a dreadful illness!’

Suddenly, in a rubbish heap, he noticed something white and round that looked like an egg. In less than no time he grabbed it. It was really an egg.

To describe his joy would be impossible; you can only imagine it. He feared he might be dreaming. He turned the egg from one hand to the other, and patted it and kissed it as he said, ‘Now, how shall I cook it? Shall I make an omelette? No, it would be better to poach it. But perhaps it would be more tasty if I fried it in a pan. Or shall I just boil it in the shell? No, the quickest way would be to poach it. I am just dying to eat it.’

Without further ado, he set a stewing pan over a brazier of red charcoal. Instead of oil or butter, he put some water in it and when the water began to boil – tac! he broke the eggshell and held it over the pan that the contents might drop into it.

But instead of the yolk and white of an egg, a little chicken flew out and, making a polite curtsy, said gaily, ‘A thousand thanks, Master Pinocchio, for having spared me the trouble of breaking the shell! Take care of yourself, and give my love to the folks at home. I hope to see you again.’

With that, the chicken spread its wings and, flying through the open window, was soon lost to sight.

The poor puppet stood there as if bewitched, with his eyes fixed, his mouth open, and the broken eggshell in his hands. When he recovered a little from his first bewilderment, he began to cry, and scream, and stamp on the floor in despair; and as he sobbed he said, ‘Indeed, the talking cricket was right. If I hadn’t run away from home, and if my father were here, I should not now be dying of hunger. Oh, hunger is a dreadful illness!’

His stomach was complaining more than ever and, as he did not know how to quieten it, he decided to go out again into the village, in the hope of meeting some charitable person who would give him some bread.




CHAPTER 6 (#ulink_59d0a58f-9f87-5720-9691-a4e9ebd34539)


Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on the brazier, and, when he wakes up in the morning, finds them burnt off

It was a windy, cold night. The thunder was fierce, and the lightning as violent as though the sky was on fire. A bitter wind whistled angrily, raising clouds of dust and making the trees tremble and groan.

Pinocchio was frightened of thunder, but he was still more hungry than frightened; so he opened the door, and ran as fast as he could to the village, which he soon reached, panting, with his tongue hanging out like a hunting dog’s.

But all was dark and quiet. The shops were closed, the doors and windows shut, and there was not even a dog in the street. It seemed a village of the dead.

However Pinocchio, driven by hunger and despair, gave a very long peal at the doorbell of one of the houses, saying to himself, ‘This will bring somebody out.’

And indeed, a little old man with a nightcap on his head came to the window, and shouted angrily, ‘What do you want at this hour?’

‘Will you be so kind as to give me some bread?’

‘Wait! I’ll be back at once!’ said the old man, believing that he had to do with one of those street urchins who amuse themselves at night by ringing doorbells, and rousing good people who are sleeping peacefully.

In half a minute the window was opened, and the same voice called Pinocchio, ‘Stand under the window, and hold out your hand!’

Pinocchio held out his hands, and a great kettle of water poured down on him, drenching him from head to foot, as if he had been a pot of dry geraniums.

He went home wet as a rag and exhausted with fatigue and hunger. He had no strength to stand, and so he sat down, and put his wet, muddy feet on the brazier full of burning coal.

Then he fell asleep, and while he was asleep his feet, which were wooden, caught fire, and slowly burned away to cinders.

Pinocchio slept and snored, as though his feet belonged to someone else. At last, at daybreak, he was awakened by someone rapping on the door.

‘Who is it?’ he called, yawning, and rubbing his eyes.

‘It is I!’ answered a voice.

And it was the voice of Geppetto.




CHAPTER 7 (#ulink_fdbee599-159a-5fde-b3cf-b7acad958c05)


Geppetto comes home, and gives Pinocchio the breakfast that the poor man had brought for himself

Poor Pinocchio’s eyes were still half closed, and he had not noticed that his feet were burnt off. Thus, when he heard his father’s voice, he tumbled down from his stool to run and open the door; but, after staggering a couple of times, he fell his full length on the floor, making a noise as of a whole bag of wooden ladles falling from the fifth storey.

‘Open the door!’ cried Geppetto from the street.

‘I can’t, Daddy,’ answered the marionette, crying, and rolling over and over on the floor.

‘Why not?’

‘Because somebody has eaten my feet!’

‘And who has eaten them?’

‘The cat,’ said Pinocchio, seeing the cat who was just then playing with some shavings with his forepaws.

‘Open the door, I tell you!’ Geppetto cried again. ‘If you don’t, I’ll give you the cat-o’-nine-tails when I get in!’

‘Believe me, I can’t stand up. Oh, poor me! Poor me! I shall have to walk on my knees for the rest of my life!’

Geppetto, thinking that all this complaint was just another of Pinocchio’s tricks, decided to end it for good. He climbed up the wall, and got in at the window.

At first he was angry, and scolded him; but, when he saw his own Pinocchio lying on the floor, and really without feet, his anger vanished.

He took him in his arms, kissed and caressed him, spoke many affectionate words and, with tears on his cheeks, he said, sobbing, ‘My dear little Pinocchio, how did you burn your feet?’

‘I don’t know, Daddy. But believe me, it has been a horrid night. I shall never forget it as long as I live. It thundered and lightninged, and I was very hungry, and the talking cricket said, “It serves you right; you have been wicked and you deserve it!” And I said, “Be careful, cricket!” And he said, “You are a puppet, and you have a wooden head!” And I threw the hammer at him, and he died; but it was his fault, for I didn’t want to kill him. And the proof of that is that I put the pan on the brazier, but the chicken flew away and said, “Good-bye, I shall see you again. Give my love to the folks!” And I got more and more hungry; and for that reason the little old man with the nightcap opened the window, and said, “Stand under the window and hold up your hat!” And I got a kettleful of water on my head. It isn’t a disgrace to ask for a bit of bread, is it? I ran back home as quick as I could; and because I was so very hungry, I put my feet on the brazier to dry them. And then you came home, and I felt that my feet were burnt off, and I’m still so hungry, but I have no more feet! Boo-hoo-hoo!’ And poor Pinocchio began to cry and scream so loudly that he could have been heard five miles away.

Geppetto had only understood one thing of all this jumble of words – that Pinocchio was dying of hunger.

He took three pears out of his pocket, and said, giving them to him, ‘These three pears were for my breakfast, but I willingly give them to you. Eat them, and may they do you good!’

‘If you want me to eat them, kindly peel them for me.’

‘Peel them for you?’ cried Geppetto, astonished. ‘I would never have thought, my lad, that you were so refined and fastidious. That’s too bad! We should get used, from childhood, to eating everything, and liking it; for one never knows what might happen in this curious world.’

‘That’s all very well,’ retorted Pinocchio, ‘but I’ll never eat fruit that isn’t peeled. I can’t stand skins.’

So that patient, kind Geppetto took a knife and peeled the three pears, putting all the peelings on the corner of the table.

When Pinocchio had eaten the first pear in two mouthfuls, he was about to throw away the core, but Geppetto stopped him.

‘Don’t throw it away! There might be some use for it.’

‘Can you imagine I shall ever eat the core?’ cried Pinocchio, turning on him in a rage.

‘Who knows! This is a curious world,’ replied Geppetto, calmly.

So the three cores, instead of being thrown out of the window, were placed on the corner of the table together with the parings.

When he had eaten, or rather devoured the three pears, Pinocchio yawned, and then began to whimper, ‘I’m still hungry.’

‘But, my son, I have nothing more to give you.’

‘Nothing? Nothing at all?’

‘Only the peelings and cores you left.’

‘All right!’ said Pinocchio. ‘If there’s really nothing else, I might eat some peelings.’

And he began promptly. At first he made faces; but, one after another, he quickly ate all the peelings; and after them the cores. And when he had eaten everything, he clapped his stomach and said cheerfully, ‘Now I feel better!’

‘You see,’ said Geppetto, ‘I was right when I said you should not be so refined and fastidious about your food. My dear boy, we never know what might happen to us. This is a curious world.’




CHAPTER 8 (#ulink_281d34ff-0914-5f44-8091-a8e0e54d0b5b)


Geppetto makes Pinocchio new feet, and sells his own coat to buy him a primer

As soon as the marionette had satisfied his hunger, he began to cry and grumble because he wanted new feet.

But Geppetto, in order to punish him for all his naughtiness, let him cry and complain for half a day. Then he said, ‘Why should I make you new feet? So that you may escape from home again?’

‘I promise,’ said the marionette, sobbing, ‘that from now on I’ll be good.’

‘All children, when they want something, tell the same story,’ replied Geppetto.

‘I promise to go to school, and study, and do my best as a good boy should –’

‘All children, when they want something, say the same thing.’

‘But I’m not like other children! I’m better than all of them, and I always tell the truth. I promise you, daddy, that I shall learn a trade, and be the staff and comfort of your old age.’

Geppetto tried to look very severe; but his eyes were full of tears, and his heart was full of sadness when he saw his poor Pinocchio in such a dreadful state. He did not say another word, but, taking his tools and two little pieces of seasoned wood, he set to work as hard as he could.

In less than an hour the feet were ready – two well-shaped, nimble swift little feet that might have been carved by a great artist.

Then Geppetto said to Pinocchio, ‘Shut your eyes and go to sleep.’

Pinocchio shut his eyes, and pretended to be asleep. And while he did so Geppetto, with some glue melted in an eggshell, fastened the feet in place; and he did it so neatly that no one could even see where they were joined together. As soon as Pinocchio discovered he had his feet again, he jumped down from the table where he was lying and began to gambol and dance around the room, nearly mad with joy.

‘Now, to prove to you how grateful I am,’ said Pinocchio to his father, ‘I want to go to school at once.’

‘What a good boy!’

‘But if I’m going to school, I must have some clothes.’

Geppetto, who was poor and had not a farthing in his pocket, made Pinocchio a suit out of flowered paper, a pair of shoes out of bark from a tree, and a cap out of bread.

Pinocchio ran to look at himself in a basin of water; and he was so pleased with himself that he said, as he strutted about, ‘I look exactly like a gentleman!’

‘Yes, indeed,’ answered Geppetto, ‘but remember, it is not fine clothes that make a gentleman, but clean clothes.’

‘By the way, speaking of school,’ added Pinocchio, ‘there’s still something I must have – the most necessary of all.’

‘And that is …?’

‘I have no primer.’

‘That’s right. But how shall I get one?’

‘That’s easy! Go to the bookseller and buy one.’

‘And the money?’

‘I haven’t any.’

‘Neither have I,’ added the good old man, sadly.

Pinocchio, although he was usually very cheerful, became sad, too; for poverty, when it is real poverty, destroys all joy, even in children.

‘Wait,’ Geppetto cried suddenly and, jumping up, he put on his old coat, full of holes and patches, and ran out of the shop.

In a little while he was back again, with a primer in his hand for Pinocchio. But the poor man was in his shirt-sleeves, and it was snowing outside.

‘Where is your coat, Daddy?’

‘I have sold it.’

‘Why did you sell it?’

‘Because it made me too warm.’

Pinocchio understood this answer instantly; and he was so overcome by the feelings of his good heart, that he threw his arms around Geppetto’s neck and kissed him again and again.




CHAPTER 9 (#ulink_850c67c9-0eb5-5d63-af8f-376c3b144116)


Pinocchio sells his primer that he may go and see the marionettes

When it stopped snowing, Pinocchio started for school with his fine new primer under his arm. On the way, he never stopped imagining all sorts of fine plans, and he built a thousand castles in the air, each one more beautiful than the other.

He began by saying to himself, ‘At school today I shall learn to read in no time; tomorrow I shall learn to write, and the day after tomorrow I shall learn all the figures. Then I shall be clever enough to earn lots of money; and with the very first money I get I shall buy my father the nicest, new, cloth coat. But why cloth? It shall be made of gold and silver, with diamond buttons. That poor man really deserves it; for, that I should be a learned man, he sold his coat to buy me a book – in this cold weather, too! Only fathers can make such sacrifices.’

While he was saying this more and more excitedly, he thought he heard music in the distance that sounded like fife and drum: fi-fi-fi … zum, zum, zum, zum.

He stopped and listened. The sounds came from the end of the street that crossed the one which led to school, at the end of the little village near the sea.

‘What can the music be? What a pity I have to go to school! Otherwise …’ He hesitated, deciding whether to go to school or listen to the fifes.

‘Today I shall listen to the fifes, and tomorrow I shall go to school,’ this naughty boy said finally, shrugging his shoulders.

No sooner said than done. He ran, and the farther he ran the more distinctly he heard the tune of the fifes and the beating of the big drum: fi-fi-fi, fi-fi-fi … zum, zum, zum.

At last he came to a little square full of people who were gathered around a great building of boards and cloth, painted in all colours of the rainbow.

‘What is that big building?’ Pinocchio asked a boy who seemed to live there.

‘Read the poster – it is all written there – and then you’ll know.’

‘I’d gladly read it, but I don’t know how to read today.’

‘Bravo, nincompoop! I’ll read it for you. Know, then, that on that big poster, in fiery red letters, is written: GREAT PUPPET show.’

‘Is it long since the play began?’

‘It’s just beginning now.’

‘How much does it cost to go in?’

‘Twopence.’

Pinocchio was in such a fever of curiosity that he lost his self-control and without any shame, he said to the little boy, ‘Will you lend me twopence until tomorrow?’

‘I’d simply love to,’ said the boy, laughing at him, ‘but I can’t today.’

‘I shall sell you my jacket for twopence,’ said the puppet.

‘What could I do with a jacket of flowered paper? If it should rain and got wet, I couldn’t take it off.’

‘Will you buy my shoes?’

‘They’re only good for lighting a fire.’

‘What will you give me for my cap?’

‘That would be a fine bargain! A cap made of bread! The mice might eat it right off my head!’

Pinocchio was sitting on horns. He was almost ready to make one more offer, but he had not the courage. He hesitated, but at last he said, ‘Will you buy this new primer for twopence?’

‘I am only a boy, and I do not buy anything from other boys,’ said the other, having more sense than the puppet.

‘I’ll give you twopence for the primer,’ cried an old-clothes dealer who had overheard the conversation.

The book was sold at once. And to think that poor Geppetto stayed at home shivering in his shirt-sleeves, because he had to sell his coat to buy that primer for his son!




CHAPTER 10 (#ulink_3050fe42-adca-57b8-af5a-efb506e1547a)


The puppets recognize Pinocchio as one of them, and are pleased to see him, but Fire-eater, the Showman, appears in the midst of their joy, and Pinocchio almost comes to a bad end

When Pinocchio entered the puppet show, he nearly caused a revolution. You must know that the curtain was up, and they had just started the play.

Harlequin and Punchinello were on the stage, quarrelling as usual, threatening every moment to come to blows.

The audience paid the closest attention, and were laughing until they were sore to see those two puppets quarrelling and gesticulating and calling each other names, just as if they were truly two reasoning beings, two real persons.

But all at once Harlequin stopped and, turning to the public, pointed to the pit of the theatre, and shouted dramatically:

‘Heavens above! Am I awake, or am I dreaming? That must be Pinocchio there!’

‘Yes, it’s indeed Pinocchio!’ cried Punchinello.

‘It is indeed!’ exclaimed Miss Rosy, peeping from the back of the stage.

‘Here’s Pinocchio! Here’s Pinocchio!’ shouted all the puppets in chorus, running to the stage from every wing. ‘Here’s Pinocchio! Here’s our brother Pinocchio! Hurrah for Pinocchio!’

‘Come up here to me, Pinocchio!’ cried Harlequin. ‘Come and throw yourself into the arms of your wooden brothers!’

At this affectionate invitation, Pinocchio made one jump from the back of the pit to the front seats. Another jump, and he landed on the head of the orchestra leader; and from there he jumped to the stage.

It is impossible to describe the hugging and kissing that followed, the friendly pinches, the brotherly taps that Pinocchio received from the actors and actresses of that puppet company.

It was a very spectacular sight, but the audience, when they saw that the play had stopped, grew impatient and began shouting, ‘The play! We want the play! Go on with the play!’

However, their breath was wasted, for the puppets, instead of continuing the play, redoubled their noise and, placing Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him in triumph before the footlights.

Suddenly the Showman appeared. He was very tall, and so ugly that he frightened anyone who looked at him. His beard was like black ink, and it was so long that it reached the ground. Believe me, he stepped on it when he walked. His mouth was as big as an oven, his eyes were like two burning red lanterns, and he was constantly cracking a great whip made of serpents and foxes’ tails, twisted together.

When the Showman appeared so unexpectedly, everybody was speechless. No one breathed. You could have heard a fly in the air. Even the poor puppets, male and female, trembled like so many leaves.

‘Why have you come here to disturb my theatre?’ he asked Pinocchio, in a voice like that of a spook with a bad cold in his head.

‘Believe me, Your Honour, it was not my fault.’

‘Not another word! We shall settle our accounts tonight.’

As soon as the show was over, the Showman went into the kitchen, where the whole sheep, which he was preparing for his supper, was roasting on the slowly turning spit.

When he saw that there was not enough wood to finish roasting it, he called Harlequin and Punchinello and said, ‘Bring me in Pinocchio! You will find him hanging on a nail. He is made of nice, dry wood, and I am sure he will make a good fire for my roast.’

At first Harlequin and Punchinello hesitated; but, when the Showman glanced at them menacingly, they obeyed. In a few moments they returned to the kitchen carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling like an eel out of water, and shouting desperately,

‘O Daddy, O Daddy, save me! I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die!’




CHAPTER 11 (#ulink_c9eb657c-37a4-5ed9-a550-e1a3ddad7939)


Fire-eater sneezes and pardons Pinocchio, who later saves the life of his friend Harlequin

Fire-eater, for that was the Showman’s name, looked a horrid man, there can be no doubt about it, particularly with his black beard hanging down like an apron covering his chest and legs. Yet at heart, he was really not so bad. When he saw poor Pinocchio struggling and crying, ‘I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!’ he felt sorry for him and, although he tried not to, at last he could not help it and sneezed violently.

Harlequin, who had been sad and downhearted, and looking like a weeping willow, when he heard that sneeze, became cheerful, and bending towards Pinocchio, whispered, ‘Good news, brother! The Showman has sneezed. That’s a sign that he’s pitying you, and you are saved.’

For you must know that, whilst other men weep, or at least pretend to wipe their eyes, when they pity somebody, whenever Fire-eater really pitied anyone, he had the habit of sneezing.

After the Showman had sneezed, he continued speaking gruffly, and shouted at Pinocchio, ‘Can’t you stop crying? It gives me a nasty feeling in my stomach. I feel such a pain that … that … Atchoo! Atchoo!’ – and this time he sneezed twice.

‘God bless you!’ said Pinocchio.

‘Thank you. And your father and mother, are they alive?’ asked Fire-eater.

‘My father is, but I never knew my mother.’

‘Who knows how sorry your old father would be if I threw you on the fire! Poor old man! I pity him. A-tchoo! A-tchoo! A-tchoo!’ – and he sneezed three times.

‘Bless you!’ cried Pinocchio.

‘Thank you. But on the other hand, you must be sorry for me, too, because, as you see, I haven’t enough wood to finish roasting my mutton – and believe me, you certainly would have been very useful. But now I have spared you, and I must not complain. Instead of you, I shall burn some puppet of my company under the spit. Come on, gendarmes!’

Two wooden gendarmes appeared immediately at this command. They were very tall, and very thin. They wore helmets, and carried drawn swords in their hands.

The Showman ordered them hoarsely, ‘Take that Harlequin, bind him strongly and throw him on the fire. My mutton must be well roasted!’

Imagine poor Harlequin! He was so frightened that his legs bent under him, and he fell on his face.

At this heart-breaking sight, Pinocchio knelt down at the Showman’s feet and, weeping, he soused with tears the whole length of his long beard. Then he pleaded, ‘Have mercy, Sir Fire-eater!’

‘There are no sirs here!’ replied the Showman, sternly.

‘Have mercy, cavalier!’

‘There are no cavaliers here!’

‘Have mercy, commander!’

‘There are no commanders here!’

‘Have mercy, Your Excellency!’

When he heard himself called Your Excellency, the Showman smiled with his lips and, suddenly growing kind and calmer, asked Pinocchio, ‘Well, what can I do for you?’

‘I implore you to pardon poor Harlequin!’

‘It cannot be done. As I pardoned you, I must put him on the fire, for my mutton must be well roasted.’

‘In that case,’ cried Pinocchio, rising and throwing away his cap of bread, ‘in that case, I know my duty. Forward, gendarmes! Bind me and throw me in the fire! It is not just that poor Harlequin, my truest friend, should die for me.’

These words, shouted in a loud, heroic voice, caused all the marionettes present to weep. Even the gendarmes, although made of wood, cried like newborn babies.

At first Fire-eater remained as hard and cold as ice: slowly he began to melt, and to sneeze. When he had sneezed four or five times, he opened his arms affectionately to Pinocchio, saying, ‘You are a good, brave boy! Come here, and give me a kiss.’

Pinocchio ran quickly and, climbing up the Showman’s beard like a squirrel, gave him a loud kiss on the tip of his nose.

‘And is my life spared?’ asked poor Harlequin, in a trembling voice that could hardly be heard.

‘Your life is spared,’ replied Fire-eater. Then he added, shaking his head, ‘Very well, then! This evening I must eat my mutton half done; but another time, woe to him who …!’

When they knew that their brothers were pardoned, all the puppets ran back to the stage, lit all the lights as for a festive performance, and began to jump and dance. They were still dancing at dawn.




CHAPTER 12 (#ulink_90fbc368-79fb-554a-898e-991695951342)


Fire-eater gives Pinocchio five pieces of gold to take to his father Geppetto: but Pinocchio is deceived by the fox and the cat, and goes away with them

The next day Fire-eater called Pinocchio aside and asked him, ‘What is your father’s name?’

‘Geppetto.’

‘And what is his trade?’

‘That of a very poor man.’

‘Does he earn very much?’

‘He earns as much as he needs for never having a farthing in his pocket. Just imagine, in order to buy a primer for my schooling, he had to sell his only coat: a coat that was so full of holes and patches that it was shameful.’

‘Poor fellow! I am almost sorry for him. Here are five gold pieces. Hurry up and give them to him, with my compliments.’

As you can well imagine, Pinocchio thanked the Showman a thousand times. One after another he embraced all the puppets of the company, even the gendarmes; then, almost beside himself with joy, he set out for home.

But before he had gone far he met a fox who was lame in one foot, and a cat who was blind in both eyes, getting along as best they could, like good companions in misfortune. The fox, who was lame, was leaning on the cat: and the cat, who was blind, was guided by the fox.

‘Good morning, Pinocchio,’ said the fox, approaching politely.

‘How do you know my name?’ asked the puppet.

‘I know your father well.’

‘Where did you see him?’

‘I saw him yesterday, at the gate of his house.’

‘And what was he doing?’

‘He was in his shirt-sleeves, and trembling with cold.’

‘Poor Daddy! But never mind! From now on, he will shiver no more.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I am now a rich man.’

‘You? A rich man?’ said the fox. And he began to laugh rudely and scornfully.

The cat laughed, too; but to hide it, she stroked her whiskers with her forepaws.

‘There’s nothing to laugh at,’ cried Pinocchio angrily. ‘I’m really sorry if what I say whets your appetite, but as you can see, there – if you understand such things – are five gold pieces.’ And he showed the money that Fire-eater had given him.

At the fascinating ringing of gold, the fox made an involuntary movement with the paw that seemed lame, and the cat opened wide her two blind eyes, but shut them again so quickly that Pinocchio could not notice.

‘And now,’ asked the fox, ‘what are you going to do with the money?’

‘First of all,’ answered the marionette, ‘I shall buy a beautiful new coat for my father – a coat made of gold and silver, and with diamond buttons. Then I will buy myself a primer.’

‘For yourself?’

‘Of course; for I mean to go to school and study hard.’

‘Look at me,’ said the fox. ‘It is because of my foolish passion for study that I lost the use of my leg.’

‘And look at me,’ said the cat. ‘Because of my foolish passion for study, I lost the sight of both my eyes.’

At that very moment, a white blackbird that was sitting on a hedge by the road sang its usual song, and said, ‘Pinocchio, don’t listen to the advice of evil companions. If you do, you’ll regret it.’

Poor blackbird, if only he had not said it! The cat, with a great leap, jumped upon him and, without giving him time to say ‘oh’, swallowed him in a mouthful, feathers and all.

Having devoured him she wiped her mouth, shut her eyes and shammed blindness as before.

‘Poor blackbird!’ said Pinocchio. ‘Why did you treat him so?’

‘I did it to give him a lesson. He will learn not to be meddlesome again, when other people are talking.’

They had gone nearly half-way towards Pinocchio’s home, when the fox suddenly stopped and said, ‘Would you like to double your fortune?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Would you like to multiply those five miserable gold pieces into a hundred, a thousand, two thousand times?’

‘Who wouldn’t! But how?’

‘That’s very easy. But instead of going home, you must come with us.’

‘And where are you going?’

‘We are going to Dupeland.’

Pinocchio thought for a moment, and then said resolutely, ‘No, I’m not going. I’m nearly at home, and I want to go to my father, who is waiting for me. Who knows how much he suffered because I didn’t come home? I know I have been a very bad boy, and that the talking cricket was right when he said, “Disobedient children never do any good in this world.” I have learnt it at my expense, for I have suffered many misfortunes! And last night, in Fire-eater’s house, I was nearly … Oh, even to think of it, makes me shiver!’

‘Well, then,’ said the fox, ‘so you really want to go home? Run along, then, and so much the worse for you!’

‘So much the worse for you!’ repeated the cat.

‘Think well, Pinocchio, because you’re losing a fortune!’

‘A fortune!’ repeated the cat.

‘Your five gold pieces might become two thousand in one day!’

‘Two thousand!’ repeated the cat.

‘But how could they possibly become so many?’ demanded Pinocchio, opening his mouth wide in astonishment.

‘I’ll explain it to you right now,’ said the fox.

‘You must know that in Dupeland there is a sacred field called the Field of Miracles. You dig a little hole in this field, and you put in it, let’s say, a gold piece. Then you cover it with earth, water it from the spring with two buckets of water, sprinkle two pinches of salt over it, and go quietly to bed. During the night the gold pieces will grow and blossom; and the next morning, when you get up and go back to the field, what do you find? You find a marvellous tree, laden with as many gold pieces as an ear of corn has grains at harvest-time.’

‘Suppose,’ said Pinocchio, more bewildered than ever, ‘that I buried my five gold pieces in that field, how many should I find there the next morning?’

‘That’s very easy to tell,’ replied the fox. ‘It’s a problem that can be solved on your fingers. Suppose every gold piece yields five hundred gold pieces; multiply five hundred by five, and the next morning you will find in your pocket two thousand five hundred shining gold pieces.’

‘Oh, wonderful!’ shouted Pinocchio, dancing for joy. ‘When I have collected these gold pieces, I shall keep two thousand for myself, and I shall make a present of the other five hundred to both of you.’

‘A present – to us?’ exclaimed the fox, as if offended. ‘God forbid!’

‘God forbid!’ repeated the cat.

‘We do not work for gain,’ said the fox. ‘We do everything for other people.’

‘For other people,’ echoed the cat.

‘What good people!’ thought Pinocchio. And, instantly forgetting his father, the new coat, the primer, and all his good resolutions, he said to the fox and the cat, ‘Well, let’s start! I shall come with you.’




CHAPTER 13 (#ulink_a5e7e8ba-91d4-58dd-97db-ed25ff4737b9)


The Red Crab Inn

They walked, and walked, and walked, and finally towards evening, tired out, they arrived at the Red Crab Inn.

‘Let us stop here a little while,’ said the Fox, ‘that we may eat a bite, and rest a few hours. At midnight we must go on again, so that we can reach the Field of Miracles early tomorrow morning.’

They entered the inn, and sat down at a table, but none of them had any appetite.

The poor cat had a bad indigestion, and could eat no more than thirty-five mullet with tomato sauce, and four helpings of tripe with Parmesan cheese; and, because she thought the tripe was not well seasoned, she asked three times for the butter and grated cheese.

The fox, too, would gladly have nibbled at something, but since the doctor had put him on a strict diet, he had to be content with a hare in sweet-savoury sauce, garnished with fat spring chickens and young pullets. After the hare, he ordered a special dish composed of partridges, rabbits, frogs, lizards, and other titbits, but he would not touch anything more. He said he was so disgusted at the sight of food that he could not eat another mouthful.

The one who ate least of all was Pinocchio. He asked for some nuts and some bread, but he left them all on his plate. The poor child’s thoughts were fixed on the Field of Miracles, and he was suffering a mental indigestion of gold pieces.

When they had supped, the fox said to their host, ‘Give us two nice rooms – one for Mr Pinocchio, and the other for me and my friend. We shall take a little nap before we leave. Don’t forget that, at midnight, we must continue our journey.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the host, winking at the fox and the cat as if to say, ‘I understand what you are up to. We know each other.’

As soon as he was in bed, Pinocchio fell asleep, and began to dream. He dreamed that he was in the middle of a field, and the field was full of small trees, the branches of which were laden with gold pieces swinging gently in the breeze, and chattering as if to say, ‘Whoever wants us, come and take us!’ But just at the most interesting moment – that is, when Pinocchio stretched out his hand to pick a handful and put them in his pocket – he was suddenly awakened by three violent knocks on the door.

It was the innkeeper, who came to tell him that it was midnight.

‘Are my companions ready?’ asked Pinocchio.

‘Ready! They left two hours ago.’

‘Why were they in such a hurry?’

‘Because the cat received a message that her eldest son was very sick with chilblains, and not expected to live.’

‘Did they pay for our supper?’

‘What an idea! They were far too well-mannered to offer such an insult to a gentleman like you.’

‘That’s too bad! Such an insult would have been a great pleasure!’ said Pinocchio, scratching his head. Then he inquired, ‘And where did those good friends of mine say they would wait for me?’

‘In the Field of Miracles, tomorrow morning, at sunrise.’

Pinocchio paid for his supper, and that of his friends, with a gold piece, and left. It was so dark that he had to grope his way, and it was impossible to see as far as his hand before his face. In the country round him, not a leaf stirred. Only a few night birds, flying across the road from one hedge to the other, brushed Pinocchio’s nose with their wings, frightening him so that he jumped back, crying, ‘Who goes there?’

An echo answered from the distant hills, ‘Who goes there? Who goes there? Who goes there?’

As he walked on he saw a little creature on the trunk of a tree, which shone with a pale faint light, like a night lamp with a china shade.

‘Who are you?’ asked Pinocchio.

‘I am the ghost of the talking cricket,’ was the reply, in a low, low voice, so faint that it seemed to come from another world.

‘What do you want from me?’ said the marionette.

‘I want to give you some advice. Go back home, and carry the four gold pieces you have left to your poor father, who is weeping and longing for you.’

‘Tomorrow my father will be a rich gentleman, for these four gold pieces will have become two thousand.’

‘My boy, never trust people who promise to make you rich in a day. They are generally crazy swindlers. Listen to me, and go back home.’

‘No, on the contrary, I am going forward.’

‘It is very late.’

‘I am going forward.’

‘The night is dark.’

‘I am going forward.’

‘It’s a dangerous road …’

‘I am going forward.’

‘Remember that children who do as they please and want to have their own way, are sorry for it sooner or later.’

‘That’s an old story. Good night, cricket!’

‘Good night, Pinocchio. May Heaven preserve you from dangers and assassins!’

With these words, the talking cricket disappeared as suddenly as when you blow out a candle; and the path was darker than before.




CHAPTER 14 (#ulink_a4304af9-44d1-5831-8ad7-9ada5908827f)


Pinocchio does not listen to the good advice of the talking cricket, and meets the assassins

‘Really,’ said Pinocchio to himself, as he continued his journey, ‘how unfortunate we poor boys are! Everybody scolds us, everybody warns us, everybody advises us. When they talk you would think they are all our fathers, or our school-masters – all of them: even the talking cricket. Just imagine – because I would not listen to that tiresome talking cricket, who knows, according to him, how many misfortunes will befall me? I shall even meet some assassins! Fortunately I don’t believe, and never have believed, in assassins. I am sure that assassins have been invented by fathers to frighten us, so that we should not dare to go out at night. But supposing I should meet them, on the road, would I be afraid of them? Certainly not! I should walk straight up to them and say, “Mr Assassins, what do you want from me? Just remember that there’s no joking with me. You had better be quiet, and go about your business!” If those wretched assassins heard me talking like that, I can just see them running away like the wind. But if, by chance, they didn’t run away, I would and that would be the end of it.’

Pinocchio would have continued his musings, but at that moment he thought he heard a rustling of leaves behind him.

Turning quickly, he saw two frightful black figures wrapped in charcoal sacks leaping towards him on tiptoe, like two spectres.

‘There they are, for sure!’ he said to himself and, not knowing where to hide his gold pieces, he put them in his mouth, under his tongue.

Then he tried to run away; but before he could take the first step, he felt himself seized by his arms, and heard two horrible, cavernous voices cry, ‘Your money, or your life!’

Pinocchio not being able to speak, since the money was in his mouth, made a thousand bows and gestures to show those masked fellows, whose eyes were visible only through holes in the sacks, that he was a poor puppet, and hadn’t even a counterfeit farthing in his pocket.

‘Come, come! Less nonsense, and hand over your money!’ the two brigands cried menacingly.

But the puppet made signs with his hands, as if to say, ‘I haven’t any!’

‘Hand over your money, or you are dead!’ said the taller of the assassins.

‘Dead!’ repeated the other.

‘And after we have killed you, we shall kill your father, too!’

‘Your father, too!’ repeated the other.

‘No, no, no, not my poor father!’ cried Pinocchio in despair. But as he spoke, the gold pieces clinked in his mouth.

‘Ah, ha, you rascal! So you hid your money under your tongue! Spit it out, at once!’

Pinocchio did not obey.

‘Oh, so you cannot hear what we say? Wait a moment, we’ll make you spit it out!’

And one of them seized the puppet by the end of his nose, and the other by his chin, and they pulled without mercy, one up, the other down, to make him open his mouth; but it was no use. Pinocchio’s mouth was as tightly closed as if it had been nailed and riveted.

Then the smaller assassin drew a horrid knife, and tried to force it between his lips, like a chisel, but Pinocchio, quick as lightning, bit off his hand and spat it out. Imagine his astonishment when he saw that it was a cat’s paw he spat to the ground!

Encouraged by this first victory, using his nails he freed himself from the assassins and, jumping over the hedge by the roadside, fled across the country. The assassins ran after him, like dogs after a hare. The smaller one, who had lost a paw, ran on one leg, though goodness knows how he did it.

After they had run miles and miles, Pinocchio was completely exhausted. Seeing himself lost, he climbed a very tall pine-tree, and seated himself on its highest branch. The assassins tried to climb after him, but half-way up they slipped and fell to the ground, hurting their hands and feet.

Yet they did not give up. They gathered a heap of dry sticks at the foot of the tree, and set fire to it. In less than no time the pine started to burn, and blazed like a candle in the wind. Pinocchio, seeing that the flames were mounting fast, and not wanting to end his life like a roasted pigeon, leaped down from the tree-top, and ran again across the fields and vineyards. The assassins followed him, running close without seeming a bit tired.

It was nearly daybreak, and they were still running, when suddenly Pinocchio found the way barred by a wide, deep ditch full of dirty, coffee-coloured water. What was he to do?

‘One, two, three!’ cried the puppet and, dashing forward, he jumped over it. The assassins jumped, too; but they had not judged the distance properly, and – Swash! Splash! – they fell right in the middle of the ditch.

Pinocchio heard the splashing of water and, running, he laughed, and shouted, ‘A good bath to you, Mr Assassins!’

He was sure that they were drowned, when, turning to look, he saw them both running after him, still wrapped in their sacks, from which the water was dripping as if they were two leaky baskets.




CHAPTER 15 (#ulink_d1bb542b-22be-5203-8ad6-dbdf66b52414)


The assassins follow Pinocchio and, having caught him, hang him on a branch of the big oak tree

This time, the puppet thought that the end was near. He was ready to fall to the ground and surrender when he noticed a little house, as white as snow, far away among the dark green trees.

‘If I had enough breath to get to that house, perhaps I’d be safe,’ he told himself.

Wasting no time, he ran through the wood, with the assassins on his track.

After a desperate race of nearly two hours, he arrived at last, worn out, at the door of the little house.

He knocked, but no one answered.

He knocked again, louder, for he heard the footsteps of the assassins; but all was silent as before.

Seeing that it was useless to knock, he began kicking the door, and beating it with his head. At that, a lovely child opened the window. Her hair was blue, and her face as white as wax; her eyes were closed, and her hands were crossed on her breast.

Without moving her lips she said in a very low voice that seemed to come from another world, ‘There is nobody in this house. They are all dead.’

‘But at least you should open the door and let me in,’ cried Pinocchio, weeping, and entreating her.

‘I am dead, too.’

‘Dead? Then what are you doing at the window?’

‘I am waiting for the bier to come, and take me away.’

As she said this she disappeared, and the window closed itself, silently.

‘Oh, beautiful blue-haired child,’ cried Pinocchio, ‘open the door, for pity’s sake! Have mercy on a poor boy pursued by assass –’

But before he could finish, he felt himself seized by the neck, and heard those cruel threatening voices, ‘This time you won’t escape!’

The puppet, feeling that his end was near, began to tremble, so violently that the joints of his wooden legs creaked, and the gold pieces under his tongue clinked together.

‘Now, then,’ demanded the assassins, ‘will you open your mouth, or will you not? You won’t answer, eh? Well, leave it to us. We’ll open it for you this time!’

And, drawing two great knives as sharp as razors – Slash! they stabbed him savagely.

Luckily the puppet was made of the hardest wood, and the knives broke into a thousand pieces. Only the handles remained in the assassins’ hands, who stood staring at each other.

‘Now I see,’ said one of them, ‘he must be hung. Let us hang him!’

‘Let us hang him!’ repeated the other.

No sooner said than done. They bound his arms behind his back and, putting a running noose around his throat, they tied him to a branch of a big oak tree.

Then they sat down on the grass, and waited for his last kick; but after three hours, the puppet’s eyes were still wide open, and he was kicking stronger than ever.

Losing their patience, and tired of waiting, they turned to Pinocchio, and said with a sneering voice, ‘Good-bye, until tomorrow, when we shall be back. And let’s hope you’ll be so polite as to see that we find you very dead, and your mouth wide open!’ Then they left.

Meanwhile, a stormy north wind had begun to blow, and it raged, and whistled, and blew the poor puppet back and forth as fast as a bell-clapper on a wedding-day. It hurt him dreadfully, and the running noose tightened around his throat so that he could not breathe.

Little by little his eyes grew dim, and, although he felt that death was near, still he hoped that some kind person might come and save him. He waited and waited, but nobody came – absolutely nobody.





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