Geppetto Makes His Puppet Some Clothes
No sooner had the puppet satisfied his hunger than he began to cry and to grumble because he wanted a pair of new feet.
But Geppetto, to punish him for his naughtiness, allowed him to cry and to despair for half the day. He then said to him:
"Why should I make you new feet? To enable you, perhaps, to escape again from home?"
"I promise you," said the puppet, sobbing, "that for the future I will be good."
"All boys," replied Geppetto, "when they are bent upon obtaining something, say the same thing."
"I promise you that I will go to school and that I will study and bring home a good report."
"All boys, when they are bent on obtaining something, repeat the same story."
"But I am not like other boys! I am better than all of them and I always speak the truth. I promise you, papa, that I will learn a trade and that I will be the consolation and the staff of your old age."
Geppetto's eyes filled with tears and his heart was sad at seeing his poor Pinocchio in such a pitiable state. He did not say another word, but, taking his tools and two small pieces of well-seasoned wood, he set to work with great diligence.
In less than an hour the feet were finished: two little feet—swift, well-knit and nervous. They might have been modelled by an artist of genius.
Geppetto then said to the puppet:
"Shut your eyes and go to sleep!"
And Pinocchio shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep.
And whilst he pretended to sleep, Geppetto, with a little glue which he had melted in an egg-shell, fastened his feet in their place, and it was so well done that not even a trace could be seen of where they were joined.
No sooner had the puppet discovered that he had feet than he jumped down from the table on which he was lying and began to spring and to cut a thousand capers about the room, as if he had gone mad with the greatness of his delight.
"To reward you for what you have done for me," said Pinocchio to his father, "I will go to school at once."
"Good boy."
"But to go to school I shall want some clothes."
Geppetto, who was poor and who had not so much as a penny in his pocket, then made him a little dress of flowered paper, a pair of shoes from the bark of a tree, and a cap of the crumb of bread.
Pinocchio ran immediately to look at himself in a crock of water, and he was so pleased with his appearance that he said, strutting about like a peacock:
"I look quite like a gentleman!"
"Yes, indeed," answered Geppetto, "for bear in mind that it is not fine clothes that make the gentleman, but rather clean clothes."
"By the bye," added the puppet, "to go to school I am still in want—indeed, I am without the best thing, and the most important."
"And what is it?"
"I have no spelling-book."
"You are right: but what shall we do to get one?"
"It is quite easy. We have only to go to the bookseller's and buy it."
"And the money?"
"I have got none."
"Neither have I," added the good old man, very sadly.
And Pinocchio, although he was a very merry boy, became sad also, because poverty, when it is real poverty, is understood by everybody—even by boys.
"Well, patience!" exclaimed Geppetto, all at once rising to his feet, and putting on his old corduroy coat, all patched and darned, he ran out of the house.
He returned shortly, holding in his hand a spelling-book for Pinocchio, but the old coat was gone. The poor man was in his shirt-sleeves and out of doors it was snowing.
"And the coat, papa?"
"I have sold it."
"Why did you sell it?"
"Because I found it too hot."
Pinocchio understood this answer in an instant, and unable to restrain the impulse of his good heart he sprang up and, throwing his arms around Geppetto's neck, he began kissing him again and again.
As soon as it stopped snowing Pinocchio set out for school with his fine spelling-book under his arm. As he went along he began to imagine a thousand things in his little brain and to build a thousand castles in the air, one more beautiful than the other.
And, talking to himself, he said:
"Today at school I will learn to read at once; then tomorrow I will begin to write, and the day after tomorrow to figure. Then, with my acquirements, I will earn a great deal of money, and with the first money I have in my pocket I will immediately buy for my papa a beautiful new cloth coat. But what am I saying? Cloth, indeed! It shall be all made of gold and silver, and it shall have diamond buttons. That poor man really deserves it, for to buy me books and have me taught he has remained in his shirt-sleeves. And in this cold! It is only fathers who are capable of such sacrifices!"
Whilst he was saying this with great emotion, he thought that he heard music in the distance that sounded like fifes and the beating of a big drum: Fi-fie-fi, fi-fi-fi; zum, zum, zum.
He stopped and listened. The sounds came from the end of a cross street that led to a little village on the seashore.
"What can that music be? What a pity that I have to go to school, or else—"
And he remained irresolute. It was, however, necessary to come to a decision. Should he go to school? or should he go after the fifes?
"Today I will go and hear the fifes, and tomorrow I will go to school," finally decided the young scapegrace, shrugging his shoulders.
The more he ran the nearer came the sounds of the fifes and the beating of the big drum: Fi-fi-fi; zum, zum, zum, zum.
At last he found himself in the middle of a square quite full of people, who were all crowded round a building made of wood and canvas, and painted a thousand colors.
"What is that building?" asked Pinocchio, turning to a little boy who belonged to the place.
"Read the placard—it is all written—and then you will know."
"I would read it willingly, but it so happens that today I don't know how to read."
"Bravo, blockhead! Then I will read it to you. The writing on that placard in those letters red as fire is:
"The Great Puppet Theater."
"Has the play begun long?"
"It is beginning now."
"How much does it cost to go in?"
"A dime."
Pinocchio, who was in a fever of curiosity, lost all control of himself, and without any shame he said to the little boy to whom he was talking:
"Would you lend me a dime until tomorrow?"
"I would lend it to you willingly," said the other, "but it so happens that today I cannot give it to you."
"I will sell you my jacket for a dime," the puppet then said to him.
"What do you think that I could do with a jacket of flowered paper? If there were rain and it got wet, it would be impossible to get it off my back."
"Will you buy my shoes?"
"They would only be of use to light the fire."
"How much will you give me for my cap?"
"That would be a wonderful acquisition indeed! A cap of bread crumb! There would be a risk of the mice coming to eat it whilst it was on my head."
Pinocchio was on thorns. He was on the point of making another offer, but he had not the courage. He hesitated, felt irresolute and remorseful. At last he said:
"Will you give me a dime for this new spelling-book?"
"I am a boy and I don't buy from boys," replied his little interlocutor, who had much more sense than he had.
"I will buy the spelling-book for a dime," called out a hawker of old clothes, who had been listening to the conversation.
And the book was sold there and then. And to think that poor Geppetto had remained at home trembling with cold in his shirt-sleeves in order that his son should have a spelling-book.
When Pinocchio came into the little puppet theater, an incident occurred that almost produced a revolution.
The curtain had gone up and the play had already begun.
On the stage Harlequin and Punch were as usual quarrelling with each other and threatening every moment to come to blows.
All at once Harlequin stopped short and, turning to the public, he pointed with his hand to some one far down in the pit and exclaimed in a dramatic tone:
"Gods of the firmament! Do I dream or am I awake? But surely that is Pinocchio!"
"It is indeed Pinocchio!" cried Punch.
"It is indeed himself!" screamed Miss Rose, peeping from behind the scenes.
"It is Pinocchio! it is Pinocchio!" shouted all the puppets in chorus, leaping from all sides on to the stage. "It is Pinocchio! It is our brother Pinocchio! Long live Pinocchio!"
"Pinocchio, come up here to me," cried Harlequin, "and throw yourself into the arms of your wooden brothers!"
At this affectionate invitation Pinocchio made a leap from the end of the pit into the reserved seats; another leap landed him on the head of the leader of the orchestra, and he then sprang upon the stage.
The embraces, the friendly pinches, and the demonstrations of warm brotherly affection that Pinocchio received from the excited crowd of actors and actresses of the puppet dramatic company are beyond description.
The sight was doubtless a moving one, but the public in the pit, finding that the play was stopped, became impatient and began to shout: "We will have the play—go on with the play!"
It was all breath thrown away. The puppets, instead of continuing the recital, redoubled their noise and outcries, and, putting Pinocchio on their shoulders, they carried him in triumph before the footlights.
At that moment out came the showman. He was very big, and so ugly that the sight of him was enough to frighten anyone. His beard was as black as ink, and so long that it reached from his chin to the ground. I need only say that he trod upon it when he walked. His mouth was as big as an oven, and his eyes were like two lanterns of red glass with lights burning inside them. He carried a large whip made of snakes and foxes' tails twisted together, which he cracked constantly.
At his unexpected appearance there was a profound silence: no one dared to breathe. A fly might have been heard in the stillness. The poor puppets of both sexes trembled like so many leaves.
"Why have you come to raise a disturbance in my theater?" asked the showman of Pinocchio, in the gruff voice of a hobgoblin suffering from a severe cold in the head.
"Believe me, honored sir, it was not my fault!"
"That is enough! Tonight we will settle our accounts."
As soon as the play was over the showman went into the kitchen, where a fine sheep, preparing for his supper, was turning slowly on the spit in front of the fire. As there was not enough wood to finish roasting and browning it, he called Harlequin and Punch, and said to them:
"Bring that puppet here: you will find him hanging on a nail. It seems to me that he is made of very dry wood and I am sure that if he were thrown on the fire he would make a beautiful blaze for the roast."
At first Harlequin and Punch hesitated; but, appalled by a severe glance from their master, they obeyed. In a short time they returned to the kitchen carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling like an eel taken out of water and screaming desperately: "Papa! papa! save me! I will not die, I will not die!"
The Puppets Began to Dance Merrily
The showman, Fire-Eater—for that was his name—looked like a wicked man, especially with his black beard that covered his chest and legs like an apron. On the whole, however, he had not a bad heart. In proof of this, when he saw poor Pinocchio brought before him, struggling and screaming "I will not die, I will not die!" he was quite moved and felt very sorry for him. He tried to hold out, but after a little he could stand it no longer and he sneezed violently. When he heard the sneeze, Harlequin, who up to that moment had been in the deepest affliction and bowed down like a weeping willow, became quite cheerful and, leaning towards Pinocchio, he whispered to him softly:
"Good news, brother. The showman has sneezed and that is a sign that he pities you, and consequently you are saved."
Most men, when they feel compassion for somebody, either weep or at least pretend to dry their eyes. Fire-Eater, on the contrary, whenever he was really overcome, had the habit of sneezing.
After he had sneezed, the showman, still acting the ruffian, shouted to Pinocchio:
"Have done crying! Your lamentations have given me a pain in my stomach. I feel a spasm that almost—Etchoo! etchoo!" and he sneezed again twice.
"Bless you!" said Pinocchio.
"Thank you! And your papa and your mamma, are they still alive?" asked Fire-Eater.
"Papa, yes; my mamma I have never known."
"Who can say what a sorrow it would be for your poor old father if I were to have you thrown amongst those burning coals! Poor old man! I pity him! Etchoo! etchoo! etchoo!" and he sneezed again three times.
"Bless you" said Pinocchio.
"Thank you! All the same, some compassion is due to me, for as you see I have no more wood with which to finish roasting my mutton, and, to tell you the truth, under the circumstances you would have been of great use to me! However, I have had pity on you, so I must have patience. Instead of you I will burn under the spit one of the puppets belonging to my company. Ho there, gendarmes!"
At this call two wooden gendarmes immediately appeared. They were very long and very thin, and had on cocked hats, and held unsheathed swords in their hands.
The showman said to them in a hoarse voice:
"Take Harlequin, bind him securely, and then throw him on the fire to burn. I am determined that my mutton shall be well roasted."
Only imagine that poor Harlequin! His terror was so great that his legs bent under him, and he fell with his face on the ground.
At this agonizing sight Pinocchio, weeping bitterly, threw himself at the showman's feet and, bathing his long beard with his tears, he began to say, in a supplicating voice:
"Have pity, Sir Fire-Eater!"
"Here there are no sirs," the showman answered severely.
"Have pity, Sir Knight!"
"Here there are no knights!"
"Have pity, Commander!"
"Here there are no commanders!"
"Have pity, Excellence!"
Upon hearing himself called Excellence the showman began to smile and became at once kinder and more tractable. Turning to Pinocchio, he asked:
"Well, what do you want from me?"
"I implore you to pardon poor Harlequin."
"For him there can be no pardon. As I have spared you he must be put on the fire, for I am determined that my mutton shall be well roasted."
"In that case," cried Pinocchio proudly, rising and throwing away his cap of bread crumb—"in that case I know my duty. Come on, gendarmes! Bind me and throw me amongst the flames. No, it is not just that poor Harlequin, my true friend, should die for me!"
These words, pronounced in a loud, heroic voice, made all the puppets who were present cry. Even the gendarmes, although they were made of wood, wept like two newly born lambs.
Fire-Eater at first remained as hard and unmoved as ice, but little by little he began to melt and to sneeze. And, having sneezed four or five times, he opened his arms affectionately and said to Pinocchio:
"You are a good, brave boy! Come here and give me a kiss."
Pinocchio ran at once and, climbing like a squirrel up the showman's beard, he deposited a hearty kiss on the point of his nose.
"Then the pardon is granted?" asked poor Harlequin in a faint voice that was scarcely audible.
"The pardon is granted!" answered Fire-Eater; he then added, sighing and shaking his head:
"I must have patience! Tonight I shall have to resign myself to eat the mutton half raw; but another time, woe to him who displeases me!"
At the news of the pardon the puppets all ran to the stage and, having lighted the lamps and chandeliers as if for a full-dress performance, they began to leap and to dance merrily. At dawn they were still dancing.
Pinocchio Meets the Cat and the Fox
The following day Fire-Eater called Pinocchio to one side and asked him:
"What is your father's name?"
"Geppetto."
"And what trade does he follow?"
"He is a beggar."
"Does he gain much?"
"Gain much? Why, he has never a penny in his pocket. Only think, in order to buy a spelling-book so that I could go to school he was obliged to sell the only coat he had to wear—a coat that, between patches and darns, was not fit to be seen."
"Poor devil! I feel almost sorry for him! Here are five gold pieces. Go at once and take them to him with my compliments."
Pinocchio was overjoyed and thanked the showman a thousand times. He embraced all the puppets of the company one by one, even to the gendarmes, and set out to return home.
But he had not gone far when he met on the road a Fox lame of one foot, and a Cat blind of both eyes, and they were going along helping each other like good companions in misfortune. The Fox, who was lame, walked leaning on the Cat; and the Cat, who was blind, was guided by the Fox.
"Good-day, Pinocchio," said the Fox, greeting him politely.
"How do you come to know my name?" asked the puppet.
"I know your father well."
"Where did you see him?"
"I saw him yesterday at the door of his house."
"And what was he doing?"
"He was in his shirt-sleeves and shivering with cold."
"Poor papa! But that is over; for the future he shall shiver no more!"
"Why?"
"Because I have become a gentleman."
"A gentleman—you!" said the Fox, and he began to laugh rudely and scornfully. The Cat also began to laugh, but to conceal it she combed her whiskers with her forepaws.
"There is little to laugh at," cried Pinocchio angrily. "I am really sorry to make your mouth water, but if you know anything about it, you can see that these are five gold pieces."
Splash! Splash! They fell Into theVery Middle of the DitchSplash! Splash! They Fell Into the Ditch
And he pulled out the money that Fire-Eater had given him.
At the jingling of the money the Fox, with an involuntary movement, stretched out the paw that seemed crippled, and the Cat opened wide two eyes that looked like two green lanterns. It is true that she shut them again, and so quickly that Pinocchio observed nothing.
"And now," asked the Fox, "what are you going to do with all that money?"
"First of all," answered the puppet, "I intend to buy a new coat for my papa, made of gold and silver, and with diamond buttons; and then I will buy a spelling-book for myself."
"For yourself?"
"Yes indeed, for I wish to go to school to study in earnest."
"Look at me!" said the Fox. "Through my foolish passion for study I have lost a leg."
"Look at me!" said the Cat. "Through my foolish passion for study I have lost the sight of both my eyes."
At that moment a white Blackbird, that was perched on the hedge by the road, began his usual song, and said:
"Pinocchio, don't listen to the advice of bad companions; if you do you will repent it!"
Poor Blackbird! If only he had not spoken! The Cat, with a great leap, sprang upon him, and without even giving him time to say "Oh!" ate him in a mouthful, feathers and all.
Having eaten him and cleaned her mouth she shut her eyes again and feigned blindness as before.
"Poor Blackbird!" said Pinocchio to the Cat, "why did you treat him so badly?"
"I did it to give him a lesson. He will learn another time not to meddle in other people's conversation."
They had gone almost half-way when the Fox, halting suddenly, said to the puppet:
"Would you like to double your money?"
"In what way?"
"Would you like to make out of your five miserable sovereigns, a hundred, a thousand, two thousand?"
"I should think so! but in what way?"
"The way is easy enough. Instead of returning home you must go with us."
"And where do you wish to take me?"
"To the land of the Owls."
Pinocchio reflected a moment, and then he said resolutely:
"No, I will not go. I am already close to the house, and I will return home to my papa, who is waiting for me. Who can tell how often the poor old man must have sighed yesterday when I did not come back! I have indeed been a bad son, and the Talking-Cricket was right when he said: 'Disobedient boys never come to any good in the world.' I have found it to be true, for many misfortunes have happened to me. Even yesterday in Fire-Eater's house I ran the risk—Oh! it makes me shudder only to think of it!"
"Well, then," said the Fox, "you are quite decided to go home? Go, then, and so much the worse for you."
"So much the worse for you!" repeated the Cat.
"Think well of it, Pinocchio, for you are giving a kick to fortune."
"To fortune!" repeated the Cat.
"Between today and tomorrow your five sovereigns would have become two thousand."
"Two thousand!" repeated the Cat.
"But how is it possible that they could become so many?" asked Pinocchio, remaining with his mouth open from astonishment.
"I will explain it to you at once," said the Fox. "You must know that in the land of the Owls there is a sacred field called by everybody the Field of Miracles. In this field you must dig a little hole, and you put into it, we will say, one gold sovereign. You then cover up the hole with a little earth; you must water it with two pails of water from the fountain, then sprinkle it with two pinches of salt, and when night comes you can go quietly to bed. In the meanwhile, during the night, the gold piece will grow and flower, and in the morning when you get up and return to the field, what do you find? You find a beautiful tree laden with as many gold sovereigns as a fine ear of corn has grains in the month of June."
"So that," said Pinocchio, more and more bewildered, "supposing I buried my five sovereigns in that field, how many should I find there the following morning?"
"That is an exceedingly easy calculation," replied the Fox, "a calculation that you can make on the ends of your fingers. Every sovereign will give you an increase of five hundred; multiply five hundred by five, and the following morning will find you with two thousand five hundred shining gold pieces in your pocket."
"Oh! how delightful!" cried Pinocchio, dancing for joy. "As soon as ever I have obtained those sovereigns, I will keep two thousand for myself and the other five hundred I will make a present of to you two."
"A present to us?" cried the Fox with indignation and appearing much offended. "What are you dreaming of?"
"What are you dreaming of?" repeated the Cat.
"We do not work," said the Fox, "for interest: we work solely to enrich others."
"Others!" repeated the Cat.
"What good people!" thought Pinocchio to himself, and, forgetting there and then his papa, the new coat, the spelling-book, and all his good resolutions, he said to the Fox and the Cat:
"Let us be off at once. I will go with you."
A LITTLE CHICKEN POPPED OUT, VERY GAY AND POLITE
Dinner at The Red Craw-Fish Inn
They walked, and walked, and walked, until at last, towards evening, they arrived, all tired out, at the inn of The Red Craw-Fish.
"Let us stop here a little," said the Fox, "that we may have something to eat, and rest ourselves for an hour or two. We will start again at midnight, so as to arrive at the Field of Miracles by dawn tomorrow morning."
Having gone into the inn they all three sat down to table, but none of them had any appetite.
The Cat, who was suffering from indigestion and feeling seriously indisposed, could only eat thirty-five fish with tomato sauce and four portions of tripe with Parmesan cheese; and because she thought the tripe was not seasoned enough, she asked three times for the butter and grated cheese!
The Fox would also willingly have picked a little, but as his doctor had ordered him a strict diet, he was forced to content himself simply with a hare dressed with a sweet and sour sauce, and garnished lightly with fat chickens and early pullets. After the hare he sent for a made dish of partridges, rabbits, frogs, lizards and other delicacies; he could not touch anything else. He cared so little for food, he said, that he could put nothing to his lips.
The one who ate the least was Pinocchio. He asked for some walnuts and a hunch of bread, and left everything on his plate. The poor boy's thoughts were continually fixed on the Field of Miracles.
When they had supped, the Fox said to the host:
"Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. Pinocchio, and the other for me and my companion. We will snatch a little sleep before we leave. Remember, however, that at midnight we wish to be called to continue our journey."
"Yes, gentlemen," answered the host, and he winked at the Fox and the Cat, as much as to say: "I know what you are up to. We understand one another!"
No sooner had Pinocchio got into bed than he fell asleep at once and began to dream. And he dreamed that he was in the middle of a field, and the field was full of shrubs covered with clusters of gold sovereigns, and as they swung in the wind they went zin, zin, zin, almost as if they would say: "Let who will, come and take us." But just as Pinocchio was stretching out his hand to pick handfuls of those beautiful gold pieces and to put them in his pocket, he was suddenly awakened by three violent blows on the door of his room.
It was the host who had come to tell him that midnight had struck.
"Are my companions ready?" asked the puppet.
"Ready! Why, they left two hours ago."
"Why were they in such a hurry?"
"Because the Cat had received a message to say that her eldest kitten was ill with chilblains on his feet and was in danger of death."
"Did they pay for the supper?"
"What are you thinking of? They are too well educated to dream of offering such an insult to a gentleman like you."
"What a pity! It is an insult that would have given me so much pleasure!" said Pinocchio, scratching his head. He then asked:
"And where did my good friends say they would wait for me?"
"At the Field of Miracles, tomorrow morning at daybreak."
Pinocchio paid a sovereign for his supper and that of his companions, and then left.
Outside the inn it was so pitch dark that he had almost to grope his way, for it was impossible to see a hand's breadth in front of him. Some night-birds flying across the road from one hedge to the other brushed Pinocchio's nose with their wings as they passed, which caused him so much terror that, springing back, he shouted: "Who goes there?" and the echo in the surrounding hills repeated in the distance: "Who goes there? Who goes there?"
As he was walking along he saw a little insect shining dimly on the trunk of a tree, like a night-light in a lamp of transparent china.
"Who are you?" asked Pinocchio.
"I am the ghost of the Talking-Cricket," answered the insect in a low voice, so weak and faint that it seemed to come from the other world.
"What do you want with me?" said the puppet.
"I want to give you some advice. Go back and take the four sovereigns that you have left to your poor father, who is weeping and in despair because you have not returned to him."
"By tomorrow my papa will be a gentleman, for these four sovereigns will have become two thousand."
"Don't trust to those who promise to make you rich in a day. Usually they are either mad or rogues! Give ear to me, and go back, my boy."
"On the contrary, I am determined to go on."
"The hour is late!"
"I am determined to go on."
"The night is dark!"
"I am determined to go on."
"The road is dangerous!"
"I am determined to go on."
"Remember that boys who are bent on following their caprices, and will have their own way, sooner or later repent it."
"Always the same stories. Good-night, Cricket."
"Good-night, Pinocchio, and may Heaven preserve you from dangers and from assassins."
No sooner had he said these words than the Talking-Cricket vanished suddenly like a light that has been blown out, and the road became darker than ever.
Pinocchio Escapes from his Assassins
"Really," said the puppet to himself, as he resumed his journey, "how unfortunate we poor boys are. Everybody scolds us and gives us good advice. See now; because I don't choose to listen to that tiresome Cricket, who knows, according to him, how many misfortunes are to happen to me! I am even to meet with assassins! That is, however, of little consequence, for I don't believe in assassins—I have never believed in them. For me, I think that assassins have been invented purposely by papas to frighten boys who want to go out at night. Besides, supposing I was to come across them here in the road, do you imagine they would frighten me? Not the least in the world. I should go to meet them and cry: 'Gentlemen assassins, what do you want with me? Remember that with me there is no joking. Therefore go about your business and be quiet!' At this speech they would run away like the wind. If, however, they were so badly educated as not to run away, why, then I would run away myself and there would be an end of it."
But Pinocchio had not time to finish his reasoning, for at that moment he thought that he heard a slight rustle of leaves behind him.
He turned to look and saw in the gloom two evil-looking black figures completely enveloped in charcoal sacks. They were running after him on tiptoe and making great leaps like two phantoms.
"Here they are in reality!" he said to himself and, not knowing where to hide his gold pieces, he put them in his mouth precisely under his tongue.
Then he tried to escape. But he had not gone a step when he felt himself seized by the arm and heard two horrid, sepulchral voices saying to him:
"Your money or your life!"
Pinocchio, not being able to answer in words, owing to the money that was in his mouth, made a thousand low bows and a thousand pantomimes. He tried thus to make the two muffled figures, whose eyes were only visible through the holes in their sacks, understand that he was a poor puppet, and that he had not as much as a counterfeit nickel in his pocket.
"Come, now! Less nonsense and out with the money!" cried the two brigands threateningly.
And the puppet made a gesture with his hands to signify: "I have none."
"Deliver up your money or you are dead," said the tallest of the brigands.
"Dead!" repeated the other.
"And after we have killed you, we will also kill your father!"
"Also your father!"
"No, no, no, not my poor papa!" cried Pinocchio in a despairing voice, and as he said it the sovereigns clinked in his mouth.
"Ah! you rascal! Then you have hidden your money under your tongue! Spit it out at once!"
Pinocchio was obstinate.
"Ah! you pretend to be deaf, do you? Wait a moment, leave it to us to find a means to make you give it up."
And one of them seized the puppet by the end of his nose, and the other took him by the chin, and began to pull them brutally, the one up and the other down, to force him to open his mouth. But it was all to no purpose. Pinocchio's mouth seemed to be nailed and riveted together.
Then the shorter assassin drew out an ugly knife and tried to put it between his lips like a lever or chisel. But Pinocchio, as quick as lightning, caught his hand with his teeth, and with one bite bit it clear off and spat it out. Imagine his astonishment when instead of a hand he perceived that a cat's paw lay on the ground.
Encouraged by this first victory he used his nails to such purpose that he succeeded in liberating himself from his assailants, and, jumping the hedge by the roadside, he began to fly across the country. The assassins ran after him like two dogs chasing a hare, and the one who had lost a paw ran on one leg, and no one ever knew how he managed it.
After a race of some miles Pinocchio could go no more. Giving himself up for lost, he climbed the trunk of a very high pine tree and seated himself in the topmost branches. The assassins attempted to climb after him, but when they had reached half-way up they slid down again and arrived on the ground with the skin grazed from their hands and knees.
But they were not to be beaten by so little; collecting a quantity of dry wood, they piled it beneath the pine and set fire to it. In less time than it takes to tell, the pine began to burn and to flame like a candle blown by the wind. Pinocchio, seeing that the flames were mounting higher every instant, and not wishing to end his life like a roasted pigeon, made a stupendous leap from the top of the tree and started afresh across the fields and vineyards. The assassins followed him, and kept behind him without once giving up.
The day began to break and they were still pursuing him. Suddenly Pinocchio found his way barred by a wide, deep ditch full of stagnant water the color of coffee. What was he to do? "One! two! three!" cried the puppet, and, making a rush, he sprang to the other side. The assassins also jumped, but not having measured the distance properly—splash! splash! they fell into the very middle of the ditch. Pinocchio, who heard the plunge and the splashing of the water, shouted out, laughing, and without stopping:
"A fine bath to you, gentleman assassins."
And he felt convinced that they were drowned, when, turning to look, he perceived that, on the contrary, they were both running after him, still enveloped in their sacks, with the water dripping from them as if they had been two hollow baskets.
They Hung Pinocchio to the Big Oak Tree
At this sight the puppet's courage failed him and he was on the point of throwing himself on the ground and giving himself over for lost. Turning, however, his eyes in every direction, he saw, at some distance, a small house as white as snow.
"If only I had breath to reach that house," he said to himself, "perhaps I should be saved."
And, without delaying an instant, he recommenced running for his life through the wood, and the assassins after him.
At last, after a desperate race of nearly two hours, he arrived quite breathless at the door of the house, and knocked.
No one answered.
He knocked again with great violence, for he heard the sound of steps approaching him and the heavy panting of his persecutors. The same silence.
Seeing that knocking was useless, he began in desperation to kick and pommel the door with all his might. The window then opened and a beautiful Child appeared at it. She had blue hair and a face as white as a waxen image; her eyes were closed and her hands were crossed on her breast. Without moving her lips in the least, she said, in a voice that seemed to come from the other world:
"In this house there is no one. They are all dead."
"Then at least open the door for me yourself," shouted Pinocchio, crying and imploring.
"I am dead also."
"Dead? Then what are you doing there at the window?"
"I am waiting for the bier to come to carry me away."
Having said this she immediately disappeared and the window was closed again without the slightest noise.
"Oh! beautiful Child with blue hair," cried Pinocchio, "open the door, for pity's sake! Have compassion on a poor boy pursued by assas—"
But he could not finish the word, for he felt himself seized by the collar and the same two horrible voices said to him threateningly:
"You shall not escape from us again!"
The puppet, seeing death staring him in the face, was taken with such a violent fit of trembling that the joints of his wooden legs began to creak, and the sovereigns hidden under his tongue to clink.
"Now, then," demanded the assassins, "will you open your mouth—yes or no? Ah! no answer? Leave it to us: this time we will force you to open it!"
And, drawing out two long, horrid knives as sharp as razors, clash!—they attempted to stab him twice.
But the puppet, luckily for him, was made of very hard wood; the knives therefore broke into a thousand pieces and the assassins were left with the handles in their hands, staring at each other.
"I see what we must do," said one of them. "He must be hung! let us hang him!"
"Let us hang him!" repeated the other.
Without loss of time they tied his arms behind him, passed a running noose round his throat, and hung him to the branch of a tree called the Big Oak.
They then sat down on the grass and waited for his last struggle. But at the end of three hours the puppet's eyes were still open, his mouth closed, and he was kicking more than ever.
Losing patience, they turned to Pinocchio and said in a bantering tone:
"Good-bye till tomorrow. Let us hope that when we return you will be polite enough to allow yourself to be found quite dead, and with your mouth wide open."
And they walked off.
In the meantime a tempestuous northerly wind began to blow and roar angrily, and it beat the poor puppet from side to side, making him swing violently, like the clatter of a bell ringing for a wedding. And the swinging gave him atrocious spasms, and the running noose, becoming still tighter round his throat, took away his breath.
Little by little his eyes began to grow dim, but although he felt that death was near he still continued to hope that some charitable person would come to his assistance before it was too late. But when, after waiting and waiting, he found that no one came, absolutely no one, then he remembered his poor father, and, thinking he was dying, he stammered out:
"Oh, papa! papa! if only you were here!"
His breath failed him and he could say no more. He shut his eyes, opened his mouth, stretched his legs, gave a long shudder, and hung stiff and insensible.