Pinocchio promises the Fairy to be good and to study, as he is growing tired of being a Marionette, and wishes to become a real boy.
If Pinocchio cried much longer, the little woman thought he would melt away, so she finally admitted that she was the little Fairy with Azure Hair.
“You rascal of a Marionette! How did you know it was I?” she asked, laughing.
“My love for you told me who you were.”
“Do you remember? You left me when I was a little girl and now you find me a grown woman. I am so old, I could almost be your mother!”
“I am very glad of that, for then I can call you mother instead of sister. For a long time I have wanted a mother, just like other boys. But how did you grow so quickly?”
“That’s a secret!”
“Tell it to me. I also want to grow a little. Look at me! I have never grown higher than a penny’s worth of cheese.”
“But you can’t grow,” answered the Fairy.
“Why not?”
“Because Marionettes never grow. They are born Marionettes, they live Marionettes, and they die Marionettes.”
“Oh, I’m tired of always being a Marionette!” cried Pinocchio disgustedly. “It’s about time for me to grow into a man as everyone else does.”
“And you will if you deserve it—”
“Really? What can I do to deserve it?”
“It’s a very simple matter. Try to act like a well-behaved child.”
“Don’t you think I do?”
“Far from it! Good boys are obedient, and you, on the contrary—”
“And I never obey.”
“Good boys love study and work, but you—”
“And I, on the contrary, am a lazy fellow and a tramp all year round.”
“Good boys always tell the truth.”
“And I always tell lies.”
“Good boys go gladly to school.”
“And I get sick if I go to school. From now on I’ll be different.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. I want to become a good boy and be a comfort to my father. Where is my poor father now?”
“I do not know.”
“Will I ever be lucky enough to find him and embrace him once more?”
“I think so. Indeed, I am sure of it.”
At this answer, Pinocchio’s happiness was very great. He grasped the Fairy’s hands and kissed them so hard that it looked as if he had lost his head. Then lifting his face, he looked at her lovingly and asked: “Tell me, little Mother, it isn’t true that you are dead, is it?”
“It doesn’t seem so,” answered the Fairy, smiling.
“If you only knew how I suffered and how I wept when I read ‘Here lies—‘”
“I know it, and for that I have forgiven you. The depth of your sorrow made me see that you have a kind heart. There is always hope for boys with hearts such as yours, though they may often be very mischievous. This is the reason why I have come so far to look for you. From now on, I’ll be your own little mother.”
“Oh! How lovely!” cried Pinocchio, jumping with joy.
“You will obey me always and do as I wish?”
“Gladly, very gladly, more than gladly!”
“Beginning tomorrow,” said the Fairy, “you’ll go to school every day.”
Pinocchio’s face fell a little.
“Then you will choose the trade you like best.”
Pinocchio became more serious.
“What are you mumbling to yourself?” asked the Fairy.
“I was just saying,” whined the Marionette in a whisper, “that it seems too late for me to go to school now.”
“No, indeed. Remember it is never too late to learn.”
“But I don’t want either trade or profession.”
“Why?”
“Because work wearies me!”
“My dear boy,” said the Fairy, “people who speak as you do usually end their days either in a prison or in a hospital. A man, remember, whether rich or poor, should do something in this world. No one can find happiness without work. Woe betide the lazy fellow! Laziness is a serious illness and one must cure it immediately; yes, even from early childhood. If not, it will kill you in the end.”
These words touched Pinocchio’s heart. He lifted his eyes to his Fairy and said seriously: “I’ll work; I’ll study; I’ll do all you tell me. After all, the life of a Marionette has grown very tiresome to me and I want to become a boy, no matter how hard it is. You promise that, do you not?”
“Yes, I promise, and now it is up to you.”
Pinocchio goes to the seashore with his friends to see the Terrible Shark.
In the morning, bright and early, Pinocchio started for school.
Imagine what the boys said when they saw a Marionette enter the classroom! They laughed until they cried. Everyone played tricks on him. One pulled his hat off, another tugged at his coat, a third tried to paint a mustache under his nose. One even attempted to tie strings to his feet and his hands to make him dance.
For a while Pinocchio was very calm and quiet. Finally, however, he lost all patience and turning to his tormentors, he said to them threateningly:
“Careful, boys, I haven’t come here to be made fun of. I’ll respect you and I want you to respect me.”
“Hurrah for Dr. Know-all! You have spoken like a printed book!” howled the boys, bursting with laughter. One of them, more impudent than the rest, put out his hand to pull the Marionette’s nose.
But he was not quick enough, for Pinocchio stretched his leg under the table and kicked him hard on the shin.
“Oh, what hard feet!” cried the boy, rubbing the spot where the Marionette had kicked him.
“And what elbows! They are even harder than the feet!” shouted another one, who, because of some other trick, had received a blow in the stomach.
With that kick and that blow Pinocchio gained everybody’s favor. Everyone admired him, danced attendance upon him, petted and caressed him.
As the days passed into weeks, even the teacher praised him, for he saw him attentive, hard working, and wide awake, always the first to come in the morning, and the last to leave when school was over.
Pinocchio’s only fault was that he had too many friends. Among these were many well-known rascals, who cared not a jot for study or for success.
The teacher warned him each day, and even the good Fairy repeated to him many times:
“Take care, Pinocchio! Those bad companions will sooner or later make you lose your love for study. Some day they will lead you astray.”
“There’s no such danger,” answered the Marionette, shrugging his shoulders and pointing to his forehead as if to say, “I’m too wise.”
So it happened that one day, as he was walking to school, he met some boys who ran up to him and said:
“Have you heard the news?”
“No!”
“A Shark as big as a mountain has been seen near the shore.”
“Really? I wonder if it could be the same one I heard of when my father was drowned?”
“We are going to see it. Are you coming?”
“No, not I. I must go to school.”
“What do you care about school? You can go there tomorrow. With a lesson more or less, we are always the same donkeys.”
“And what will the teacher say?”
“Let him talk. He is paid to grumble all day long.”
“And my mother?”
“Mothers don’t know anything,” answered those scamps.
“Do you know what I’ll do?” said Pinocchio. “For certain reasons of mine, I, too, want to see that Shark; but I’ll go after school. I can see him then as well as now.”
“Poor simpleton!” cried one of the boys. “Do you think that a fish of that size will stand there waiting for you? He turns and off he goes, and no one will ever be the wiser.”
“How long does it take from here to the shore?” asked the Marionette. “One hour there and back.”
“Very well, then. Let’s see who gets there first!” cried Pinocchio.
At the signal, the little troop, with books under their arms, dashed across the fields. Pinocchio led the way, running as if on wings, the others following as fast as they could.
Now and again, he looked back and, seeing his followers hot and tired, and with tongues hanging out, he laughed out heartily. Unhappy boy! If he had only known then the dreadful things that were to happen to him on account of his disobedience!
The great battle between Pinocchio and his playmates. One is wounded. Pinocchio is arrested.
Going like the wind, Pinocchio took but a very short time to reach the shore. He glanced all about him, but there was no sign of a Shark. The sea was as smooth as glass.
“Hey there, boys! Where’s that Shark?” he asked, turning to his playmates.
“He may have gone for his breakfast,” said one of them, laughing.
“Or, perhaps, he went to bed for a little nap,” said another, laughing also.
From the answers and the laughter which followed them, Pinocchio understood that the boys had played a trick on him.
“What now?” he said angrily to them. “What’s the joke?”
“Oh, the joke’s on you!” cried his tormentors, laughing more heartily than ever, and dancing gayly around the Marionette.
“And that is—?”
“That we have made you stay out of school to come with us. Aren’t you ashamed of being such a goody-goody, and of studying so hard? You never have a bit of enjoyment.”
“And what is it to you, if I do study?”
“What does the teacher think of us, you mean?”
“Why?”
“Don’t you see? If you study and we don’t, we pay for it. After all, it’s only fair to look out for ourselves.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Hate school and books and teachers, as we all do. They are your worst enemies, you know, and they like to make you as unhappy as they can.”
“And if I go on studying, what will you do to me?”
“You’ll pay for it!”
“Really, you amuse me,” answered the Marionette, nodding his head.
“Hey, Pinocchio,” cried the tallest of them all, “that will do. We are tired of hearing you bragging about yourself, you little turkey cock! You may not be afraid of us, but remember we are not afraid of you, either! You are alone, you know, and we are seven.”
“Like the seven sins,” said Pinocchio, still laughing.
“Did you hear that? He has insulted us all. He has called us sins.”
“Pinocchio, apologize for that, or look out!”
“Cuck—oo!” said the Marionette, mocking them with his thumb to his nose.
“You’ll be sorry!”
“Cuck—oo!”
“We’ll whip you soundly!”
“Cuck—oo!”
“You’ll go home with a broken nose!”
“Cuck—oo!”
“Very well, then! Take that, and keep it for your supper,” called out the boldest of his tormentors.
And with the words, he gave Pinocchio a terrible blow on the head.
Pinocchio answered with another blow, and that was the signal for the beginning of the fray. In a few moments, the fight raged hot and heavy on both sides.
Pinocchio, although alone, defended himself bravely. With those two wooden feet of his, he worked so fast that his opponents kept at a respectful distance. Wherever they landed, they left their painful mark and the boys could only run away and howl.
Enraged at not being able to fight the Marionette at close quarters, they started to throw all kinds of books at him. Readers, geographies, histories, grammars flew in all directions. But Pinocchio was keen of eye and swift of movement, and the books only passed over his head, landed in the sea, and disappeared.
The fish, thinking they might be good to eat, came to the top of the water in great numbers. Some took a nibble, some took a bite, but no sooner had they tasted a page or two, than they spat them out with a wry face, as if to say:
“What a horrid taste! Our own food is so much better!”
Meanwhile, the battle waxed more and more furious. At the noise, a large Crab crawled slowly out of the water and, with a voice that sounded like a trombone suffering from a cold, he cried out:
“Stop fighting, you rascals! These battles between boys rarely end well. Trouble is sure to come to you!”
Poor Crab! He might as well have spoken to the wind. Instead of listening to his good advice, Pinocchio turned to him and said as roughly as he knew how:
“Keep quiet, ugly Gab! It would be better for you to chew a few cough drops to get rid of that cold you have. Go to bed and sleep! You will feel better in the morning.”
In the meantime, the boys, having used all their books, looked around for new ammunition. Seeing Pinocchio’s bundle lying idle near-by, they somehow managed to get hold of it.
One of the books was a very large volume, an arithmetic text, heavily bound in leather. It was Pinocchio’s pride. Among all his books, he liked that one the best.
Thinking it would make a fine missile, one of the boys took hold of it and threw it with all his strength at Pinocchio’s head. But instead of hitting the Marionette, the book struck one of the other boys, who, as pale as a ghost, cried out faintly: “Oh, Mother, help! I’m dying!” and fell senseless to the ground.
At the sight of that pale little corpse, the boys were so frightened that they turned tail and ran. In a few moments, all had disappeared.
All except Pinocchio. Although scared to death by the horror of what had been done, he ran to the sea and soaked his handkerchief in the cool water and with it bathed the head of his poor little schoolmate. Sobbing bitterly, he called to him, saying:
“Eugene! My poor Eugene! Open your eyes and look at me! Why don’t you answer? I was not the one who hit you, you know. Believe me, I didn’t do it. Open your eyes, Eugene? If you keep them shut, I’ll die, too. Oh, dear me, how shall I ever go home now? How shall I ever look at my little mother again? What will happen to me? Where shall I go? Where shall I hide? Oh, how much better it would have been, a thousand times better, if only I had gone to school! Why did I listen to those boys? They always were a bad influence! And to think that the teacher had told me—and my mother, too!—‘Beware of bad company!’ That’s what she said. But I’m stubborn and proud. I listen, but always I do as I wish. And then I pay. I’ve never had a moment’s peace since I’ve been born! Oh, dear! What will become of me? What will become of me?”
Pinocchio went on crying and moaning and beating his head. Again and again he called to his little friend, when suddenly he heard heavy steps approaching.
He looked up and saw two tall Carabineers near him.
“What are you doing stretched out on the ground?” they asked Pinocchio.
“I’m helping this schoolfellow of mine.”
“Has he fainted?”
“I should say so,” said one of the Carabineers, bending to look at Eugene. “This boy has been wounded on the temple. Who has hurt him?”
“Not I,” stammered the Marionette, who had hardly a breath left in his whole body.
“If it wasn’t you, who was it, then?”
“Not I,” repeated Pinocchio.
“And with what was he wounded?”
“With this book,” and the Marionette picked up the arithmetic text to show it to the officer.
“And whose book is this?”
“Mine.”
“Enough.”
“Not another word! Get up as quickly as you can and come along with us.”
“But I—”
“Come with us!”
“But I am innocent.”
“Come with us!”
Before starting out, the officers called out to several fishermen passing by in a boat and said to them:
“Take care of this little fellow who has been hurt. Take him home and bind his wounds. Tomorrow we’ll come after him.”
They then took hold of Pinocchio and, putting him between them, said to him in a rough voice: “March! And go quickly, or it will be the worse for you!”
They did not have to repeat their words. The Marionette walked swiftly along the road to the village. But the poor fellow hardly knew what he was about. He thought he had a nightmare. He felt ill. His eyes saw everything double, his legs trembled, his tongue was dry, and, try as he might, he could not utter a single word. Yet, in spite of this numbness of feeling, he suffered keenly at the thought of passing under the windows of his good little Fairy’s house. What would she say on seeing him between two Carabineers?
They had just reached the village, when a sudden gust of wind blew off Pinocchio’s cap and made it go sailing far down the street.
“Would you allow me,” the Marionette asked the Carabineers, “to run after my cap?”
“Very well, go; but hurry.”
The Marionette went, picked up his cap—but instead of putting it on his head, he stuck it between his teeth and then raced toward the sea.
He went like a bullet out of a gun.
The Carabineers, judging that it would be very difficult to catch him, sent a large Mastiff after him, one that had won first prize in all the dog races. Pinocchio ran fast and the Dog ran faster. At so much noise, the people hung out of the windows or gathered in the street, anxious to see the end of the contest. But they were disappointed, for the Dog and Pinocchio raised so much dust on the road that, after a few moments, it was impossible to see them.
During that wild chase, Pinocchio lived through a terrible moment when he almost gave himself up as lost. This was when Alidoro (that was the Mastiff’s name), in a frenzy of running, came so near that he was on the very point of reaching him.
The Marionette heard, close behind him, the labored breathing of the beast who was fast on his trail, and now and again even felt his hot breath blow over him.
Luckily, by this time, he was very near the shore, and the sea was in sight; in fact, only a few short steps away.
As soon as he set foot on the beach, Pinocchio gave a leap and fell into the water. Alidoro tried to stop, but as he was running very fast, he couldn’t, and he, too, landed far out in the sea. Strange though it may seem, the Dog could not swim. He beat the water with his paws to hold himself up, but the harder he tried, the deeper he sank. As he stuck his head out once more, the poor fellow’s eyes were bulging and he barked out wildly, “I drown! I drown!”
“Drown!” answered Pinocchio from afar, happy at his escape.
“Help, Pinocchio, dear little Pinocchio! Save me from death!”
At those cries of suffering, the Marionette, who after all had a very kind heart, was moved to compassion. He turned toward the poor animal and said to him:
“But if I help you, will you promise not to bother me again by running after me?”
“I promise! I promise! Only hurry, for if you wait another second, I’ll be dead and gone!”
Pinocchio hesitated still another minute. Then, remembering how his father had often told him that a kind deed is never lost, he swam to Alidoro and, catching hold of his tail, dragged him to the shore.
The poor Dog was so weak he could not stand. He had swallowed so much salt water that he was swollen like a balloon. However, Pinocchio, not wishing to trust him too much, threw himself once again into the sea. As he swam away, he called out:
“Good-by, Alidoro, good luck and remember me to the family!”
“Good-by, little Pinocchio,” answered the Dog. “A thousand thanks for having saved me from death. You did me a good turn, and, in this world, what is given is always returned. If the chance comes, I shall be there.”
Pinocchio went on swimming close to shore. At last he thought he had reached a safe place. Glancing up and down the beach, he saw the opening of a cave out of which rose a spiral of smoke.
“In that cave,” he said to himself, “there must be a fire. So much the better. I’ll dry my clothes and warm myself, and then—well—”
His mind made up, Pinocchio swam to the rocks, but as he started to climb, he felt something under him lifting him up higher and higher. He tried to escape, but he was too late. To his great surprise, he found himself in a huge net, amid a crowd of fish of all kinds and sizes, who were fighting and struggling desperately to free themselves.
At the same time, he saw a Fisherman come out of the cave, a Fisherman so ugly that Pinocchio thought he was a sea monster. In place of hair, his head was covered by a thick bush of green grass. Green was the skin of his body, green were his eyes, green was the long, long beard that reached down to his feet. He looked like a giant lizard with legs and arms.
When the Fisherman pulled the net out of the sea, he cried out joyfully:
“Blessed Providence! Once more I’ll have a fine meal of fish!”
“Thank Heaven, I’m not a fish!” said Pinocchio to himself, trying with these words to find a little courage.
The Fisherman took the net and the fish to the cave, a dark, gloomy, smoky place. In the middle of it, a pan full of oil sizzled over a smoky fire, sending out a repelling odor of tallow that took away one’s breath.
“Now, let’s see what kind of fish we have caught today,” said the Green Fisherman. He put a hand as big as a spade into the net and pulled out a handful of mullets.
“Fine mullets, these!” he said, after looking at them and smelling them with pleasure. After that, he threw them into a large, empty tub.
Many times he repeated this performance. As he pulled each fish out of the net, his mouth watered with the thought of the good dinner coming, and he said:
“Fine fish, these bass!”
“Very tasty, these whitefish!”
“Delicious flounders, these!”
“What splendid crabs!”
“And these dear little anchovies, with their heads still on!”
As you can well imagine, the bass, the flounders, the whitefish, and even the little anchovies all went together into the tub to keep the mullets company. The last to come out of the net was Pinocchio.
As soon as the Fisherman pulled him out, his green eyes opened wide with surprise, and he cried out in fear:
“What kind of fish is this? I don’t remember ever eating anything like it.”
He looked at him closely and after turning him over and over, he said at last:
“I understand. He must be a crab!”
Pinocchio, mortified at being taken for a crab, said resentfully:
“What nonsense! A crab indeed! I am no such thing. Beware how you deal with me! I am a Marionette, I want you to know.”
“A Marionette?” asked the Fisherman. “I must admit that a Marionette fish is, for me, an entirely new kind of fish. So much the better. I’ll eat you with greater relish.”
“Eat me? But can’t you understand that I’m not a fish? Can’t you hear that I speak and think as you do?”
“It’s true,” answered the Fisherman; “but since I see that you are a fish, well able to talk and think as I do, I’ll treat you with all due respect.”
“And that is—”
“That, as a sign of my particular esteem, I’ll leave to you the choice of the manner in which you are to be cooked. Do you wish to be fried in a pan, or do you prefer to be cooked with tomato sauce?”
“To tell you the truth,” answered Pinocchio, “if I must choose, I should much rather go free so I may return home!”
“Are you fooling? Do you think that I want to lose the opportunity to taste such a rare fish? A Marionette fish does not come very often to these seas. Leave it to me. I’ll fry you in the pan with the others. I know you’ll like it. It’s always a comfort to find oneself in good company.”
The unlucky Marionette, hearing this, began to cry and wail and beg. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he said:
“How much better it would have been for me to go to school! I did listen to my playmates and now I am paying for it! Oh! Oh! Oh!”
And as he struggled and squirmed like an eel to escape from him, the Green Fisherman took a stout cord and tied him hand and foot, and threw him into the bottom of the tub with the others.
Then he pulled a wooden bowl full of flour out of a cupboard and started to roll the fish into it, one by one. When they were white with it, he threw them into the pan. The first to dance in the hot oil were the mullets, the bass followed, then the whitefish, the flounders, and the anchovies. Pinocchio’s turn came last. Seeing himself so near to death (and such a horrible death!) he began to tremble so with fright that he had no voice left with which to beg for his life.
The poor boy beseeched only with his eyes. But the Green Fisherman, not even noticing that it was he, turned him over and over in the flour until he looked like a Marionette made of chalk.
Then he took him by the head and . . .
Pinocchio returns to the Fairy’s house and she promises him that, on the morrow, he will cease to be a Marionette and become a boy. A wonderful party of coffee-and-milk to celebrate the great event.
Mindful of what the Fisherman had said, Pinocchio knew that all hope of being saved had gone. He closed his eyes and waited for the final moment.
Suddenly, a large Dog, attracted by the odor of the boiling oil, came running into the cave.
“Get out!” cried the Fisherman threateningly and still holding onto the Marionette, who was all covered with flour.
But the poor Dog was very hungry, and whining and wagging his tail, he tried to say:
“Give me a bite of the fish and I’ll go in peace.”
“Get out, I say!” repeated the Fisherman.
And he drew back his foot to give the Dog a kick.
Then the Dog, who, being really hungry, would take no refusal, turned in a rage toward the Fisherman and bared his terrible fangs. And at that moment, a pitiful little voice was heard saying: “Save me, Alidoro; if you don’t, I fry!”
The Dog immediately recognized Pinocchio’s voice. Great was his surprise to find that the voice came from the little flour-covered bundle that the Fisherman held in his hand.
Then what did he do? With one great leap, he grasped that bundle in his mouth and, holding it lightly between his teeth, ran through the door and disappeared like a flash!
The Fisherman, angry at seeing his meal snatched from under his nose, ran after the Dog, but a bad fit of coughing made him stop and turn back.
Meanwhile, Alidoro, as soon as he had found the road which led to the village, stopped and dropped Pinocchio softly to the ground.
“How much I do thank you!” said the Marionette.
“It is not necessary,” answered the Dog. “You saved me once, and what is given is always returned. We are in this world to help one another.”
“But how did you get in that cave?”
“I was lying here on the sand more dead than alive, when an appetizing odor of fried fish came to me. That odor tickled my hunger and I followed it. Oh, if I had come a moment later!”
“Don’t speak about it,” wailed Pinocchio, still trembling with fright. “Don’t say a word. If you had come a moment later, I would be fried, eaten, and digested by this time. Brrrrrr! I shiver at the mere thought of it.”
Alidoro laughingly held out his paw to the Marionette, who shook it heartily, feeling that now he and the Dog were good friends. Then they bid each other good-by and the Dog went home.
Pinocchio, left alone, walked toward a little hut near by, where an old man sat at the door sunning himself, and asked:
“Tell me, good man, have you heard anything of a poor boy with a wounded head, whose name was Eugene?”
“The boy was brought to this hut and now—”
“Now he is dead?” Pinocchio interrupted sorrowfully.
“No, he is now alive and he has already returned home.”
“Really? Really?” cried the Marionette, jumping around with joy. “Then the wound was not serious?”
“But it might have been—and even mortal,” answered the old man, “for a heavy book was thrown at his head.”
“And who threw it?”
“A schoolmate of his, a certain Pinocchio.”
“And who is this Pinocchio?” asked the Marionette, feigning ignorance.
“They say he is a mischief-maker, a tramp, a street urchin—”
“Calumnies! All calumnies!”
“Do you know this Pinocchio?”
“By sight!” answered the Marionette.
“And what do you think of him?” asked the old man.
“I think he’s a very good boy, fond of study, obedient, kind to his Father, and to his whole family—”
As he was telling all these enormous lies about himself, Pinocchio touched his nose and found it twice as long as it should be. Scared out of his wits, he cried out:
“Don’t listen to me, good man! All the wonderful things I have said are not true at all. I know Pinocchio well and he is indeed a very wicked fellow, lazy and disobedient, who instead of going to school, runs away with his playmates to have a good time.”
At this speech, his nose returned to its natural size.
“Why are you so pale?” the old man asked suddenly.
“Let me tell you. Without knowing it, I rubbed myself against a newly painted wall,” he lied, ashamed to say that he had been made ready for the frying pan.
“What have you done with your coat and your hat and your breeches?”
“I met thieves and they robbed me. Tell me, my good man, have you not, perhaps, a little suit to give me, so that I may go home?”
“My boy, as for clothes, I have only a bag in which I keep hops. If you want it, take it. There it is.”
Pinocchio did not wait for him to repeat his words. He took the bag, which happened to be empty, and after cutting a big hole at the top and two at the sides, he slipped into it as if it were a shirt. Lightly clad as he was, he started out toward the village.
Along the way he felt very uneasy. In fact he was so unhappy that he went along taking two steps forward and one back, and as he went he said to himself:
“How shall I ever face my good little Fairy? What will she say when she sees me? Will she forgive this last trick of mine? I am sure she won’t. Oh, no, she won’t. And I deserve it, as usual! For I am a rascal, fine on promises which I never keep!”
He came to the village late at night. It was so dark he could see nothing and it was raining pitchforks.
Pinocchio went straight to the Fairy’s house, firmly resolved to knock at the door.
When he found himself there, he lost courage and ran back a few steps. A second time he came to the door and again he ran back. A third time he repeated his performance. The fourth time, before he had time to lose his courage, he grasped the knocker and made a faint sound with it.
He waited and waited and waited. Finally, after a full half hour, a top-floor window (the house had four stories) opened and Pinocchio saw a large Snail look out. A tiny light glowed on top of her head. “Who knocks at this late hour?” she called.
“Is the Fairy home?” asked the Marionette.
“The Fairy is asleep and does not wish to be disturbed. Who are you?”
“It is I.”
“Who’s I?”
“Pinocchio.”
“Who is Pinocchio?”
“The Marionette; the one who lives in the Fairy’s house.”
“Oh, I understand,” said the Snail. “Wait for me there. I’ll come down to open the door for you.”
“Hurry, I beg of you, for I am dying of cold.”
“My boy, I am a snail and snails are never in a hurry.”
An hour passed, two hours; and the door was still closed. Pinocchio, who was trembling with fear and shivering from the cold rain on his back, knocked a second time, this time louder than before.
At that second knock, a window on the third floor opened and the same Snail looked out.
“Dear little Snail,” cried Pinocchio from the street. “I have been waiting two hours for you! And two hours on a dreadful night like this are as long as two years. Hurry, please!”
“My boy,” answered the Snail in a calm, peaceful voice, “my dear boy, I am a snail and snails are never in a hurry.” And the window closed.
A few minutes later midnight struck; then one o’clock—two o’clock. And the door still remained closed!
Then Pinocchio, losing all patience, grabbed the knocker with both hands, fully determined to awaken the whole house and street with it. As soon as he touched the knocker, however, it became an eel and wiggled away into the darkness.
“Really?” cried Pinocchio, blind with rage. “If the knocker is gone, I can still use my feet.”
He stepped back and gave the door a most solemn kick. He kicked so hard that his foot went straight through the door and his leg followed almost to the knee. No matter how he pulled and tugged, he could not pull it out. There he stayed as if nailed to the door.
Poor Pinocchio! The rest of the night he had to spend with one foot through the door and the other one in the air.
As dawn was breaking, the door finally opened. That brave little animal, the Snail, had taken exactly nine hours to go from the fourth floor to the street. How she must have raced!
“What are you doing with your foot through the door?” she asked the Marionette, laughing.
“It was a misfortune. Won’t you try, pretty little Snail, to free me from this terrible torture?”
“My boy, we need a carpenter here and I have never been one.”
“Ask the Fairy to help me!”
“The Fairy is asleep and does not want to be disturbed.”
“But what do you want me to do, nailed to the door like this?”
“Enjoy yourself counting the ants which are passing by.”
“Bring me something to eat, at least, for I am faint with hunger.”
“Immediately!”
In fact, after three hours and a half, Pinocchio saw her return with a silver tray on her head. On the tray there was bread, roast chicken, fruit.
“Here is the breakfast the Fairy sends to you,” said the Snail.
At the sight of all these good things, the Marionette felt much better.
What was his disgust, however, when on tasting the food, he found the bread to be made of chalk, the chicken of cardboard, and the brilliant fruit of colored alabaster!
He wanted to cry, he wanted to give himself up to despair, he wanted to throw away the tray and all that was on it. Instead, either from pain or weakness, he fell to the floor in a dead faint.
When he regained his senses, he found himself stretched out on a sofa and the Fairy was seated near him.
“This time also I forgive you,” said the Fairy to him. “But be careful not to get into mischief again.”
Pinocchio promised to study and to behave himself. And he kept his word for the remainder of the year. At the end of it, he passed first in all his examinations, and his report was so good that the Fairy said to him happily:
“Tomorrow your wish will come true.”
“And what is it?”
“Tomorrow you will cease to be a Marionette and will become a real boy.”
Pinocchio was beside himself with joy. All his friends and schoolmates must be invited to celebrate the great event! The Fairy promised to prepare two hundred cups of coffee-and-milk and four hundred slices of toast buttered on both sides.
The day promised to be a very gay and happy one, but—
Unluckily, in a Marionette’s life there’s always a BUT which is apt to spoil everything.
Pinocchio, instead of becoming a boy, runs away to the Land of Toys with his friend, Lamp-Wick.
Coming at last out of the surprise into which the Fairy’s words had thrown him, Pinocchio asked for permission to give out the invitations.
“Indeed, you may invite your friends to tomorrow’s party. Only remember to return home before dark. Do you understand?”
“I’ll be back in one hour without fail,” answered the Marionette.
“Take care, Pinocchio! Boys give promises very easily, but they as easily forget them.”
“But I am not like those others. When I give my word I keep it.”
“We shall see. In case you do disobey, you will be the one to suffer, not anyone else.”
“Why?”
“Because boys who do not listen to their elders always come to grief.”
“I certainly have,” said Pinocchio, “but from now on, I obey.”
“We shall see if you are telling the truth.”
Without adding another word, the Marionette bade the good Fairy good-by, and singing and dancing, he left the house.
In a little more than an hour, all his friends were invited. Some accepted quickly and gladly. Others had to be coaxed, but when they heard that the toast was to be buttered on both sides, they all ended by accepting the invitation with the words, “We’ll come to please you.”
Now it must be known that, among all his friends, Pinocchio had one whom he loved most of all. The boy’s real name was Romeo, but everyone called him Lamp-Wick, for he was long and thin and had a woebegone look about him.
Lamp-Wick was the laziest boy in the school and the biggest mischief-maker, but Pinocchio loved him dearly.
That day, he went straight to his friend’s house to invite him to the party, but Lamp-Wick was not at home. He went a second time, and again a third, but still without success.
Where could he be? Pinocchio searched here and there and everywhere, and finally discovered him hiding near a farmer’s wagon.
“What are you doing there?” asked Pinocchio, running up to him.
“I am waiting for midnight to strike to go—”
“Where?”
“Far, far away!”
“And I have gone to your house three times to look for you!”
“What did you want from me?”
“Haven’t you heard the news? Don’t you know what good luck is mine?”
“What is it?”
“Tomorrow I end my days as a Marionette and become a boy, like you and all my other friends.”
“May it bring you luck!”
“Shall I see you at my party tomorrow?”
“But I’m telling you that I go tonight.”
“At what time?”
“At midnight.”
“And where are you going?”
“To a real country—the best in the world—a wonderful place!”
“What is it called?”
“It is called the Land of Toys. Why don’t you come, too?”
“I? Oh, no!”
“You are making a big mistake, Pinocchio. Believe me, if you don’t come, you’ll be sorry. Where can you find a place that will agree better with you and me? No schools, no teachers, no books! In that blessed place there is no such thing as study. Here, it is only on Saturdays that we have no school. In the Land of Toys, every day, except Sunday, is a Saturday. Vacation begins on the first of January and ends on the last day of December. That is the place for me! All countries should be like it! How happy we should all be!”
“But how does one spend the day in the Land of Toys?”
“Days are spent in play and enjoyment from morn till night. At night one goes to bed, and next morning, the good times begin all over again. What do you think of it?”
“H’m—!” said Pinocchio, nodding his wooden head, as if to say, “It’s the kind of life which would agree with me perfectly.”
“Do you want to go with me, then? Yes or no? You must make up your mind.”
“No, no, and again no! I have promised my kind Fairy to become a good boy, and I want to keep my word. Just see: The sun is setting and I must leave you and run. Good-by and good luck to you!”
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“Home. My good Fairy wants me to return home before night.”
“Wait two minutes more.”
“It’s too late!”
“Only two minutes.”
“And if the Fairy scolds me?”
“Let her scold. After she gets tired, she will stop,” said Lamp-Wick.
“Are you going alone or with others?”
“Alone? There will be more than a hundred of us!”
“Will you walk?”
“At midnight the wagon passes here that is to take us within the boundaries of that marvelous country.”
“How I wish midnight would strike!”
“Why?”
“To see you all set out together.”
“Stay here a while longer and you will see us!”
“No, no. I want to return home.”
“Wait two more minutes.”
“I have waited too long as it is. The Fairy will be worried.”
“Poor Fairy! Is she afraid the bats will eat you up?”
“Listen, Lamp-Wick,” said the Marionette, “are you really sure that there are no schools in the Land of Toys?” “Not even the shadow of one.”
“Not even one teacher?”
“Not one.”
“And one does not have to study?”
“Never, never, never!”
“What a great land!” said Pinocchio, feeling his mouth water. “What a beautiful land! I have never been there, but I can well imagine it.”
“Why don’t you come, too?”
“It is useless for you to tempt me! I told you I promised my good Fairy to behave myself, and I am going to keep my word.”
“Good-by, then, and remember me to the grammar schools, to the high schools, and even to the colleges if you meet them on the way.”
“Good-by, Lamp-Wick. Have a pleasant trip, enjoy yourself, and remember your friends once in a while.”
With these words, the Marionette started on his way home. Turning once more to his friend, he asked him:
“But are you sure that, in that country, each week is composed of six Saturdays and one Sunday?”
“Very sure!”
“And that vacation begins on the first of January and ends on the thirty-first of December?”
“Very, very sure!”
“What a great country!” repeated Pinocchio, puzzled as to what to do.
Then, in sudden determination, he said hurriedly:
“Good-by for the last time, and good luck.”
“Good-by.”
“How soon will you go?”
“Within two hours.”
“What a pity! If it were only one hour, I might wait for you.”
“And the Fairy?”
“By this time I’m late, and one hour more or less makes very little difference.”
“Poor Pinocchio! And if the Fairy scolds you?”
“Oh, I’ll let her scold. After she gets tired, she will stop.”
In the meantime, the night became darker and darker. All at once in the distance a small light flickered. A queer sound could be heard, soft as a little bell, and faint and muffled like the buzz of a far-away mosquito.
“There it is!” cried Lamp-Wick, jumping to his feet.
“What?” whispered Pinocchio.
“The wagon which is coming to get me. For the last time, are you coming or not?”
“But is it really true that in that country boys never have to study?”
“Never, never, never!”
“What a wonderful, beautiful, marvelous country! Oh—h—h!!”