THE ADVENTURES OF PINOCCHIO

by C. Collodi

(Pseudonym of Carlo Lorenzini)

Translated from the Italian by Carol Della Chiesa

CHAPTER 1

How it happened that Mastro Cherry, a carpenter, found a piece of wood that wept and laughed like a child.

Centuries ago there lived—

"A king!" my young readers will say right away.

No, children, you're wrong. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It wasn't fancy or expensive. Far from it. It was just an ordinary block of firewood, the kind of thick, solid log people burn in winter to make cold rooms warm and cozy.

I don't know exactly how it happened, but somehow this piece of wood ended up one day in the shop of an old carpenter. His real name was Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him Mastro Cherry, because the tip of his nose was so round, red, and shiny that it looked just like a ripe cherry.

The moment he spotted that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry felt delighted. Rubbing his hands together happily, he muttered to himself:

"This has come at just the right time. I'll use it to make a table leg."

He grabbed his hatchet to strip off the bark and shape the wood. But just as he raised it for the first strike, he froze with his arm in the air—because he had heard a tiny voice plead:

"Please be careful! Don't hit me so hard!"

Picture the look of shock on Mastro Cherry's face! His already funny face grew even funnier.

He glanced nervously around the room, trying to find where that tiny voice had come from—but there was no one there! He looked under the workbench—no one! He peeked in the closet—no one! He searched through the wood shavings—no one! He opened the door and looked up and down the street—still no one!

"Ah, I understand now!" he said, laughing and scratching his wig. "I must have only imagined I heard that tiny voice! Well then—back to work."

He struck the piece of wood with a heavy blow.

"Ow! That hurt!" cried the very same distant little voice.

This time Mastro Cherry froze completely. His eyes bulged, his mouth hung open, and his tongue dropped down onto his chin.

As soon as he could speak again, he stammered, shaking with fright:

"Where is that voice coming from, when nobody's here? Could it be that this piece of wood has somehow learned to cry and weep like a child? I can hardly believe it. It's just an ordinary log, good only for burning in a stove, same as any other. But... could someone be hiding inside it? If so, he'll be sorry. I'll teach him a lesson!"

With that, he grabbed the log with both hands and began knocking it around without mercy. He threw it on the floor, against the walls, and even up toward the ceiling.

He listened, waiting for the tiny voice to cry out in pain. He waited two minutes—nothing. Five minutes—nothing. Ten minutes—still nothing.

"Ah, I see," he said, forcing a brave laugh and smoothing down his wig. "I must have just imagined that tiny voice! Well then—back to work!"

The poor man was scared half out of his wits, so he tried singing a cheerful tune to build up his courage.

He set the hatchet aside and picked up his plane to smooth out the wood. But as he ran it back and forth, he heard the same tiny voice again. This time it giggled as it spoke:

"Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! That tickles my stomach!"

This time poor Mastro Cherry collapsed as if he'd been shot. When he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.

His face had completely changed; fear had turned even the tip of his nose from red to deep purple.

CHAPTER 2

Mastro Cherry gives the piece of wood to his friend Geppetto, who plans to carve a Marionette that can dance, fence, and turn somersaults.

At that very moment, a loud knock sounded on the door. "Come in," called the carpenter, too weak and shaken to stand up.

The door opened, and a sharply dressed little old man stepped inside. His name was Geppetto, though the neighborhood boys called him Polendina*—because of the yellow wig he always wore, which was exactly the color of cornmeal.

\A type of cornmeal mush*

Geppetto had quite a temper. Heaven help anyone who called him Polendina! He would turn as fierce as a wild animal, and nothing could calm him down.

"Good day, Mastro Antonio," said Geppetto. "What are you doing down there on the floor?"

"I'm teaching the ants their ABCs."

"Good luck with that!"

"What brings you here, friend Geppetto?"

"My legs carried me. And you should feel honored, Mastro Antonio—I've come to ask you for a favor."

"I'm at your service," the carpenter answered, pulling himself up onto his knees.

"This morning I had a wonderful idea."

"Let's hear it, then."

"I want to carve myself a beautiful wooden Marionette—one so wonderful it can dance, fence, and turn somersaults. With it, I plan to travel the world and earn my bread and wine. What do you think?"

"Bravo, Polendina!" called out that same tiny voice, coming from nowhere anyone could see.

Hearing himself called Polendina, Geppetto turned as red as a pepper. Whirling toward the carpenter, he snapped angrily:

"Why are you insulting me?"

"Who's insulting you?"

"You called me Polendina."

"I did not."

"So I suppose I imagined it! But I know it was you."

"No, it wasn't!"

"Yes, it was!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Growing angrier by the second, they moved from arguing to fighting, scratching, biting, and slapping each other.

When the scuffle ended, Mastro Antonio was holding Geppetto's yellow wig, and Geppetto had the carpenter's curly wig stuck in his mouth.

"Give me back my wig!" barked Mastro Antonio.

"You give back mine, and we'll call it even."

The two little old men, each with his own wig back on his own head, shook hands and promised to stay friends for the rest of their lives.

"Well then, Mastro Geppetto," said the carpenter, showing he held no grudge, "what did you need?"

"I need a piece of wood to carve my Marionette. Will you give me one?"

Delighted, Mastro Antonio walked straight to his workbench to fetch the piece of wood that had frightened him so badly. But just as he handed it over, it gave a violent jerk, slipped from his grip, and struck poor Geppetto right in the shins.

"Ah! Is this how you give gifts, Mastro Antonio? You've nearly crippled me!"

"I swear I didn't do it!"

"So I did it, I suppose!"

"It's this piece of wood's fault."

"You're right—but remember, you were the one holding it when it hit my legs."

"I did not throw it!"

"Liar!"

"Geppetto, don't insult me, or I'll call you Polendina."

"Idiot!"

"Polendina!"

"Donkey!"

"Polendina!"

"Ugly monkey!"

"Polendina!"

Hearing himself called Polendina for the third time, Geppetto lost his temper completely and lunged at the carpenter. The two of them gave each other quite a beating.

Afterward, Mastro Antonio had two fresh scratches on his nose, and Geppetto was missing two buttons from his coat. Having settled the score, they shook hands once more and swore to remain friends for life.

Then Geppetto picked up the fine piece of wood, thanked Mastro Antonio, and limped home.

CHAPTER 3

As soon as he gets home, Geppetto carves the Marionette and names it Pinocchio. The Marionette's first pranks.

Geppetto's house was small, but neat and comfortable. It was just one room on the ground floor, with a tiny window tucked under the stairway. The furniture was simple: an old chair, a wobbly bed, and a rickety table. On the wall opposite the door, someone had painted a fireplace with logs burning inside it. Above the painted fire was a painted pot, appearing to boil happily and send up clouds that looked almost like real steam.

As soon as he got home, Geppetto grabbed his tools and began cutting and shaping the wood into a Marionette.

"What should I name him?" he wondered aloud. "I think I'll call him PINOCCHIO. That name will bring him good luck. I once knew an entire family of Pinocchios—Pinocchio the father, Pinocchia the mother, and all the little Pinocchi children—and every one of them did well for themselves. Even the richest one made his living by begging!"

Once he'd chosen the name, Geppetto got to work carving the hair, the forehead, and the eyes. Imagine his surprise when he noticed those eyes moving—and then staring right at him! Geppetto felt insulted and said in a hurt voice:

"Rude wooden eyes, why are you staring at me like that?"

No answer came.

Next Geppetto carved the nose, but the moment he finished it, it began to stretch. It grew and grew and grew until it seemed like it would never stop.

Poor Geppetto kept trimming it shorter, but the more he cut, the longer that stubborn nose became. Finally, in despair, he gave up and left it alone.

Then he carved the mouth.

It had barely been finished when it burst out laughing, mocking him.

"Stop that laughing!" Geppetto said angrily—but he might as well have been talking to a wall.

"I said stop laughing!" he roared like thunder.

The mouth stopped laughing—but stuck out a long tongue instead.

Not wanting to start another fight, Geppetto pretended not to notice and kept working. After the mouth came the chin, the neck, the shoulders, the chest, the arms, and the hands.

Just as he was putting the finishing touches on the fingertips, Geppetto felt his wig get yanked right off his head. He looked up—and there was his yellow wig, clutched in the Marionette's hand!

"Pinocchio, give me back my wig!"

But instead of returning it, Pinocchio plopped it onto his own head, where it nearly swallowed him whole.

Stunned by this surprising trick, Geppetto felt sadder and more discouraged than he'd ever felt before.

"Pinocchio, you naughty boy!" he cried. "You're not even finished yet, and already you're being disrespectful to your poor old father. That's very bad, my son, very bad!"

He wiped away a tear.

There were still legs and feet to carve. The moment they were done, Geppetto felt a sharp kick right on the tip of his nose.

"I suppose I deserve that," he told himself. "I should have thought of this before I made him. Now it's too late!"

He took hold of the Marionette under the arms and set him down on the floor to teach him how to walk.

Pinocchio's legs were so stiff he couldn't move them at first, so Geppetto held his hand and showed him how to put one foot in front of the other.

Once his legs loosened up, Pinocchio began walking on his own—then running all around the room. He dashed through the open door and, with one leap, was out in the street. And away he flew!

Poor Geppetto chased after him but couldn't catch up, because Pinocchio bounded along in great leaps, his wooden feet clattering on the stones so loudly it sounded like twenty peasants stomping around in wooden clogs.

"Catch him! Catch him!" Geppetto shouted. But the people on the street just stopped to stare at the wooden Marionette racing by like the wind, laughing until tears rolled down their faces.

Finally, by pure luck, a Carabineer* happened to be nearby. Hearing all the commotion, he assumed a runaway colt was loose, and he planted himself firmly