The Adventures of Pinocchio
He did not finish, for two powerful hands grasped him by the neck and
the same two horrible voices growled threateningly: “Now we have you!”
The Marionette, seeing death dancing before him, trembled so hard that
the joints of his legs rattled and the coins tinkled under his tongue.
“Well,” the Assassins asked, “will you open your mouth now or not? Ah!
You do not answer? Very well, this time you shall open it.”
Taking out two long, sharp knives, they struck two heavy blows on the
Marionette’s back.
Happily for him, Pinocchio was made of very hard wood and the knives
broke into a thousand pieces. The Assassins looked at each other in
dismay, holding the handles of the knives in their hands.
“I understand,” said one of them to the other, “there is nothing left to
do now but to hang him.”
“To hang him,” repeated the other.
They tied Pinocchio’s hands behind his shoulders and slipped the noose
around his neck. Throwing the rope over the high limb of a giant oak
tree, they pulled till the poor Marionette hung far up in space.
Satisfied with their work, they sat on the grass waiting for Pinocchio
to give his last gasp. But after three hours the Marionette’s eyes were
still open, his mouth still shut and his legs kicked harder than ever.
Tired of waiting, the Assassins called to him mockingly: “Good-by till
tomorrow. When we return in the morning, we hope you’ll be polite enough
to let us find you dead and gone and with your mouth wide open.” With
these words they went.
A few minutes went by and then a wild wind started to blow. As it
shrieked and moaned, the poor little sufferer was blown to and fro
like the hammer of a bell. The rocking made him seasick and the noose,
becoming tighter and tighter, choked him. Little by little a film
covered his eyes.
Death was creeping nearer and nearer, and the Marionette still hoped
for some good soul to come to his rescue, but no one appeared. As he was
about to die, he thought of his poor old father, and hardly conscious of
what he was saying, murmured to himself:
“Oh, Father, dear Father! If you were only here!”
These were his last words. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth,
stretched out his legs, and hung there, as if he were dead.
CHAPTER 16
The Lovely Maiden with Azure Hair sends for the poor Marionette, puts
him to bed, and calls three Doctors to tell her if Pinocchio is dead or
alive.
If the poor Marionette had dangled there much longer, all hope would
have been lost. Luckily for him, the Lovely Maiden with Azure Hair once
again looked out of her window. Filled with pity at the sight of the
poor little fellow being knocked helplessly about by the wind, she
clapped her hands sharply together three times.
At the signal, a loud whirr of wings in quick flight was heard and a
large Falcon came and settled itself on the window ledge.
“What do you command, my charming Fairy?” asked the Falcon, bending his
beak in deep reverence (for it must be known that, after all, the Lovely
Maiden with Azure Hair was none other than a very kind Fairy who had
lived, for more than a thousand years, in the vicinity of the forest).
“Do you see that Marionette hanging from the limb of that giant oak
tree?”
“I see him.”
“Very well. Fly immediately to him. With your strong beak, break the
knot which holds him tied, take him down, and lay him softly on the
grass at the foot of the oak.”
The Falcon flew away and after two minutes returned, saying, “I have
done what you have commanded.”
“How did you find him? Alive or dead?”
“At first glance, I thought he was dead. But I found I was wrong, for
as soon as I loosened the knot around his neck, he gave a long sigh and
mumbled with a faint voice, ‘Now I feel better!’”
The Fairy clapped her hands twice. A magnificent Poodle appeared,
walking on his hind legs just like a man. He was dressed in court
livery. A tricorn trimmed with gold lace was set at a rakish angle over
a wig of white curls that dropped down to his waist. He wore a jaunty
coat of chocolate-colored velvet, with diamond buttons, and with two
huge pockets which were always filled with bones, dropped there
at dinner by his loving mistress. Breeches of crimson velvet, silk
stockings, and low, silver-buckled slippers completed his costume. His
tail was encased in a blue silk covering, which was to protect it from
the rain.
“Come, Medoro,” said the Fairy to him. “Get my best coach ready and set
out toward the forest. On reaching the oak tree, you will find a poor,
half-dead Marionette stretched out on the grass. Lift him up tenderly,
place him on the silken cushions of the coach, and bring him here to
me.”
The Poodle, to show that he understood, wagged his silk-covered tail two
or three times and set off at a quick pace.
In a few minutes, a lovely little coach, made of glass, with lining as
soft as whipped cream and chocolate pudding, and stuffed with canary
feathers, pulled out of the stable. It was drawn by one hundred pairs
of white mice, and the Poodle sat on the coachman’s seat and snapped his
whip gayly in the air, as if he were a real coachman in a hurry to get
to his destination.
In a quarter of an hour the coach was back. The Fairy, who was waiting
at the door of the house, lifted the poor little Marionette in her arms,
took him to a dainty room with mother-of-pearl walls, put him to bed,
and sent immediately for the most famous doctors of the neighborhood to
come to her.
One after another the doctors came, a Crow, and Owl, and a Talking
Cricket.
“I should like to know, signori,” said the Fairy, turning to the three
doctors gathered about Pinocchio’s bed, “I should like to know if this
poor Marionette is dead or alive.”
At this invitation, the Crow stepped out and felt Pinocchio’s pulse, his
nose, his little toe. Then he solemnly pronounced the following words:
“To my mind this Marionette is dead and gone; but if, by any evil
chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is still
alive!”
“I am sorry,” said the Owl, “to have to contradict the Crow, my famous
friend and colleague. To my mind this Marionette is alive; but if, by
any evil chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is
wholly dead!”
“And do you hold any opinion?” the Fairy asked the Talking Cricket.
“I say that a wise doctor, when he does not know what he is talking
about, should know enough to keep his mouth shut. However, that
Marionette is not a stranger to me. I have known him a long time!”
Pinocchio, who until then had been very quiet, shuddered so hard that
the bed shook.
“That Marionette,” continued the Talking Cricket, “is a rascal of the
worst kind.”
Pinocchio opened his eyes and closed them again.
“He is rude, lazy, a runaway.”
Pinocchio hid his face under the sheets.
“That Marionette is a disobedient son who is breaking his father’s
heart!”
Long shuddering sobs were heard, cries, and deep sighs. Think how
surprised everyone was when, on raising the sheets, they discovered
Pinocchio half melted in tears!
“When the dead weep, they are beginning to recover,” said the Crow
solemnly.
“I am sorry to contradict my famous friend and colleague,” said the Owl,
“but as far as I’m concerned, I think that when the dead weep, it means
they do not want to die.”
CHAPTER 17
Pinocchio eats sugar, but refuses to take medicine. When the undertakers
come for him, he drinks the medicine and feels better. Afterwards he
tells a lie and, in punishment, his nose grows longer and longer.
As soon as the three doctors had left the room, the Fairy went to
Pinocchio’s bed and, touching him on the forehead, noticed that he was
burning with fever.
She took a glass of water, put a white powder into it, and, handing it
to the Marionette, said lovingly to him:
“Drink this, and in a few days you’ll be up and well.”
Pinocchio looked at the glass, made a wry face, and asked in a whining
voice: “Is it sweet or bitter?”
“It is bitter, but it is good for you.”
“If it is bitter, I don’t want it.”
“Drink it!”
“I don’t like anything bitter.”
“Drink it and I’ll give you a lump of sugar to take the bitter taste
from your mouth.”
“Where’s the sugar?”
“Here it is,” said the Fairy, taking a lump from a golden sugar bowl.
“I want the sugar first, then I’ll drink the bitter water.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes.”
The Fairy gave him the sugar and Pinocchio, after chewing and swallowing
it in a twinkling, said, smacking his lips:
“If only sugar were medicine! I should take it every day.”
“Now keep your promise and drink these few drops of water. They’ll be
good for you.”
Pinocchio took the glass in both hands and stuck his nose into it. He
lifted it to his mouth and once more stuck his nose into it.
“It is too bitter, much too bitter! I can’t drink it.”
“How do you know, when you haven’t even tasted it?”
“I can imagine it. I smell it. I want another lump of sugar, then I’ll
drink it.”
The Fairy, with all the patience of a good mother, gave him more sugar
and again handed him the glass.
“I can’t drink it like that,” the Marionette said, making more wry
faces.
“Why?”
“Because that feather pillow on my feet bothers me.”
The Fairy took away the pillow.
“It’s no use. I can’t drink it even now.”
“What’s the matter now?”
“I don’t like the way that door looks. It’s half open.”
The Fairy closed the door.
“I won’t drink it,” cried Pinocchio, bursting out crying. “I won’t drink
this awful water. I won’t. I won’t! No, no, no, no!”
“My boy, you’ll be sorry.”
“I don’t care.”
“You are very sick.”
“I don’t care.”
“In a few hours the fever will take you far away to another world.”
“I don’t care.”
“Aren’t you afraid of death?”
“Not a bit. I’d rather die than drink that awful medicine.”
At that moment, the door of the room flew open and in came four Rabbits
as black as ink, carrying a small black coffin on their shoulders.
“What do you want from me?” asked Pinocchio.
“We have come for you,” said the largest Rabbit.
“For me? But I’m not dead yet!”
“No, not dead yet; but you will be in a few moments since you have
refused to take the medicine which would have made you well.”
“Oh, Fairy, my Fairy,” the Marionette cried out, “give me that glass!
Quick, please! I don’t want to die! No, no, not yet--not yet!”
And holding the glass with his two hands, he swallowed the medicine at
one gulp.
“Well,” said the four Rabbits, “this time we have made the trip for
nothing.”
And turning on their heels, they marched solemnly out of the room,
carrying their little black coffin and muttering and grumbling between
their teeth.
In a twinkling, Pinocchio felt fine. With one leap he was out of bed and
into his clothes.
The Fairy, seeing him run and jump around the room gay as a bird on
wing, said to him:
“My medicine was good for you, after all, wasn’t it?”
“Good indeed! It has given me new life.”
“Why, then, did I have to beg you so hard to make you drink it?”
“I’m a boy, you see, and all boys hate medicine more than they do
sickness.”
“What a shame! Boys ought to know, after all, that medicine, taken in
time, can save them from much pain and even from death.”
“Next time I won’t have to be begged so hard. I’ll remember those black
Rabbits with the black coffin on their shoulders and I’ll take the glass
and pouf!--down it will go!”
“Come here now and tell me how it came about that you found yourself in
the hands of the Assassins.”
“It happened that Fire Eater gave me five gold pieces to give to my
Father, but on the way, I met a Fox and a Cat, who asked me, ‘Do you
want the five pieces to become two thousand?’ And I said, ‘Yes.’ And
they said, ‘Come with us to the Field of Wonders.’ And I said, ‘Let’s