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- Herausgeber: DigiCat
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
Carlo Collodi's "Pinocchio" is a seminal work in children's literature that intricately weaves adventure, morality, and the complexities of human experience into the tale of a wooden puppet who dreams of becoming a real boy. Written in a vibrant, whimsical style, the novel employs rich allegory and humor, illustrating the struggles between good and evil as Pinocchio navigates a world filled with temptation and deception. This classic narrative, first serialized in 1881, reflects the cultural and social dynamics of late 19th-century Italy, highlighting the importance of education, familial bonds, and ethical conduct in an era grappling with modernization and moral ambiguity. Collodi, born Carlo Lorenzini in 1826, was a political satirist and journalist before transitioning into children's literature, influenced by his own childhood experiences and the Italian folklore of his time. His insights into human nature, shaped by his liberal ideals and interest in social issues, permeate the narrative of "Pinocchio," making it much more than a simple story for children—it serves as a critique of societal norms and a poignant exploration of identity and growth. This timeless tale is recommended for readers of all ages, as it transcends generational boundaries, offering valuable lessons wrapped in enchantment. "Pinocchio" invites readers to ponder the nature of truth and transformation, making it an essential read for anyone seeking to understand the human condition through the lens of a child's adventure.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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Pinocchio
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I
Once upon a time there was—
“A king?” my little readers will immediately say.
No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not fine wood, but a simple piece of wood from the wood yard,—the kind we put in the stoves and fireplaces so as to make a fire and heat the rooms.
I do not know how it happened, but one beautiful day a certain old woodcutter found a piece of this kind of wood in his shop. The name of the old man was Antonio, but everybody called him Master Cherry on account of the point of his nose, which was always shiny and purplish, just like a ripe cherry.
As soon as Master Cherry saw that piece of wood he was overjoyed; and rubbing his hands contentedly, he mumbled to himself, “This piece of wood has come in good time. I will make from it a table leg.”
No sooner said than done. He quickly took a sharpened ax to raise the bark and shape the wood; but when he was on the point of striking it he remained with his arm in the air, because he heard a tiny, thin little voice say, “Do not strike so hard!”
Just imagine how surprised good old Master Cherry was! He turned his bewildered eyes around the room in order to see whence that little voice came; but he saw no one. He looked under the bench, and no one; he looked in a sideboard which was always closed, and no one; he looked in the basket of chips and shavings, and no one; he opened the door in order to glance around his house, and no one. What then?
“I understand,” he said, laughing and scratching his wig; “I imagined I heard that little voice. I will start to work again.”
He took up the ax and again gave the piece of wood a hard blow.
“Oh! you have hurt me!” cried the little voice, as if in pain.
This time Master Cherry became dumb, with his scared eyes nearly popping out of his head, with his mouth opened wide, and with his tongue hanging down on his chin, like a gorgon head on a fountain.
As soon as he could speak he said, trembling and stammering from fright, “But where does that little voice come from that says ‘Oh’? There is nothing alive in this room. Can it be that this piece of wood has learned to cry and scream like a baby? I cannot believe it. This is an ordinary piece of wood for the fireplace, like all other pieces with which we boil a pot of beans. What next? What if there may be some one hidden inside? If there is, so much the worse for him. I will settle him.” And saying this, he seized with both hands that poor piece of wood and knocked it around without pity against the stone wall of the room.
Then he stopped to listen, so as to hear if there was any voice that complained. He waited two minutes, and nothing; five minutes, and nothing; ten minutes, and nothing.
“I understand,” he said, forcing a laugh and rubbing his wig; “I imagined that I heard a voice cry ‘Oh!’ I will begin to work again.” And because he was somewhat frightened, he tried to hum an air so as to make himself courageous.
Meanwhile he stopped working with the ax and took up a plane to make the wood even and clean; but while he planed he heard again the little voice, this time in a laughing tone, “Stop! you are taking the skin off my body.”
This time poor Master Cherry fell down as if shot. When he opened his eyes he found himself sitting on the ground. His face appeared transfigured, and the end of his nose, which was always purple, became blue from great fear.
CHAPTER II
At this moment there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said the woodcutter, without having strength enough to arise.
Then a lively old man called Geppetto entered the room. The boys in the neighborhood, when they wished to make him angry, called him Corn Meal, because his wig was of that color. Geppetto was very queer. Woe to any one who called him Corn Meal! He became suddenly like a beast and no one could hold him.
“Good morning, Master Antonio,” said Geppetto. “What are you doing on the ground?”
“I am teaching the ants their A B C’s.”
“Much good that does!”
“What has brought you here, brother Geppetto?”
“My legs. Do you know, Master Antonio, that I have come to ask a favor of you?”
“Here I am, prompt to serve you!” replied the woodcutter, raising himself on his knees.
“This morning I had an idea.”
“Let me hear it.”
“I thought that I would make a pretty wooden marionette; I mean a wonderful marionette, one that can dance, walk, and jump. With this marionette I wish to travel through the world and earn for myself a little bread. What do you think of it?”
“Very good, Corn Meal!” cried the same little hidden voice.
On hearing himself called Corn Meal brother Geppetto became as red as a pepper with rage, and turning toward the woodcutter, said to him furiously, “Why do you offend me?”
“Who has offended you?”
“You have called me Corn Meal.”
“I did not.”
“I say you did.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
And becoming more angry, they finally came to blows. They scratched, bit, and rumpled each other, and seized each other by the hair. At the end of the struggle Master Antonio found in his hands the wig of Geppetto, and Geppetto noticed that he had the speckled wig of the woodcutter in his mouth! “Give me my wig!” cried Master Antonio.
“Then give me mine, and let us make peace.”
The old men, after having returned their wigs, shook hands and swore to remain good friends all their lives.
Peace having been restored, the woodcutter said, “What then, brother Geppetto, can I do for you?”
“I should like a piece of wood to make a marionette. Will you give it to me?”
Master Antonio gladly took up the piece of wood that had frightened him so. But when he was about to hand it to Geppetto the piece of wood gave a spring, and, slipping violently from his hands, fell and struck the shins of poor Geppetto.
“Ah! you are very polite when you give presents! Truly, Master Antonio, you have nearly lamed me.”
“I swear to you that I did not do it.”
“Then I did it.”
“The fault is all in this piece of wood.”
“I know that, but it was you who threw it at my legs.”
“I did not throw it.”
“Story-teller!”
“Geppetto, do not offend me or I will call you Corn Meal.”
“Mule!”
“Corn Meal!”
“Ass!”
“Corn Meal!”
“Ugly monkey!”
“Corn Meal!”
Hearing himself called Corn Meal for the third time, Geppetto lost control of himself. He approached the woodcutter and gave him a blow. When the battle was ended Master Antonio found two scratches on his nose, and Geppetto a few buttons less on his jacket. They again shook hands and swore to remain good friends all the rest of their lives. Geppetto took up the piece of wood in his arms and, thanking Master Antonio, went home, limping all the way.
CHAPTER III
Geppetto’s home consisted of one room on the ground floor. It received light from a window under a staircase. The furniture could not have been more simple,—a broken chair, a poor bed, and a nearly ruined table. On one of the partitions there was a fireplace with wood burning; but the fire was painted, and above it there was also painted a boiling pot with clouds of steam all around it that made it quite real.
As soon as he entered Geppetto began to make a marionette. “What name shall I give him?” he said to himself. “I think I will call him Pinocchio. That name will bring with it good fortune. I have known a whole family called Pinocchio. Pinocchio was the father, Pinocchio was the mother, and the children were called little Pinocchios, and everybody lived well. The richest of them begged.”
When he had found the name for the marionette he began to work with a will. He quickly made the forehead, then the hair, and then the eyes. After he had made the eyes, just imagine how surprised he was to see them look around, and finally gaze at him fixedly! Geppetto, seeing himself looked at by two eyes of wood, said to the head, “Why do you look at me so, eyes of wood?”
No response.
After he had made the eyes he made the nose; but the nose began to grow, and it grew, grew, grew, until it became a great big nose, and Geppetto thought it would never stop. He tried hard to stop it, but the more he cut at it the longer that impertinent nose became.
After the nose he made the mouth. The mouth was hardly finished when it commenced to sing and laugh. “Stop laughing,” said Geppetto, vexed; but it was like talking to the wall. “Stop laughing, I repeat it,” he said again in a loud tone. Then the mouth stopped laughing and stuck out its tongue.
Geppetto, in order not to notice the impudence, feigned not to see it and continued to work. After the mouth he made the chin, then the neck, then the shoulders, then the body, then the arms and hands.
Hardly had he finished the hands when Geppetto felt his wig pulled off. He quickly turned, and what do you think he saw? He saw his yellow wig in the hands of the marionette. “Pinocchio! give me back my wig immediately,” he said. But Pinocchio, instead of giving back the wig, put it on his own head, making himself look half smothered.
At this insolence Geppetto looked sad and melancholy, a thing he had never done before in his life; and turning to Pinocchio, said: “Bad little boy! You are not yet finished and already lack respect to your father. Bad, bad boy!” And he dried a tear.
There were now only the legs and feet to make. When Geppetto had finished them he felt a kick on the end of his nose. “I deserve it,” he said to himself; “I ought to have thought of this at first! Now it is too late!” Then he took the marionette in his arms and placed him on the ground to make him walk. Pinocchio behaved at first as if his legs were asleep and he could not move them. Geppetto led him around the room for some time, showing him how to put one foot in front of the other. When his legs were stretched Pinocchio began to walk and then to run around the room. When he saw the door open he jumped into the street and ran away.
Poor Geppetto ran as fast as he could, but he was not able to catch him; Pinocchio jumped like a rabbit. He made a noise with his wooden feet on the hard road like twenty pairs of little wooden shoes.
“Stop him! stop him!” cried Geppetto; but the people in the street, seeing the wooden marionette running as fast as a rabbit, stopped to look at it, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed, so that it is really hard to describe how they enjoyed it all.
Finally, through good fortune, a soldier appeared, who, hearing all the noise, thought that some colt had escaped from its master. He planted himself in the middle of the road and with a fixed look determined to catch the runaway. Pinocchio, when he saw the soldier in the road, tried to pass between his legs, but he could not do it. The soldier, scarcely moving his body, seized the marionette by the nose (which was a very ridiculous one, just the size to be seized by a soldier) and consigned him to the hands of Geppetto, who tried to correct him by pulling his ears. But just imagine—when he searched for the ears he could not find them! Do you know why? Because, in the haste of making Pinocchio, he did not finish carving them.
Then Geppetto took him by the neck, and, while he led him back, said, shaking him, “Wait until we get home and I will give you a whipping.”
Pinocchio, at this threat, threw himself on the ground and refused to walk farther. Meanwhile the curious people and the loungers began to stop and surround them. First one said something, then another. “Poor marionette!” said one of them, he is right not to want to go back to his home. Who knows how hard Geppetto beats him?” And others added maliciously: “That Geppetto appears a kind man, but he is a true tyrant with boys. If he gets that poor marionette in his hands, he will break him in pieces.”
Altogether they made so much noise that the soldier gave Pinocchio back his liberty and took to prison instead that poor old man, who, not finding words at first with which to defend himself, wept like a calf, and on approaching the prison stammered out: “Wicked son! and to think I tried so hard to make a good marionette! I ought to have thought of all this at first.”
What happened afterward is a story so strange that you will hardly believe it. However, I will tell it to you in the following chapters.
CHAPTER IV
I will tell you then, children, that while poor old Geppetto was led to prison without having done any wrong, that rogue Pinocchio, being free, took to his heels and ran toward the fields in order more easily to reach his house. In his haste he jumped high mounds of earth, hedges of thorns, and ditches of water, just as rabbits and deer do when chased by hunters.
When he arrived before the house he found the door to the street half shut. He pushed it open, entered the room, and bolted the door. Then he threw himself down on the floor and heaved a great big sigh of happiness.
But that happiness did not last very long because he heard some one crying in the room—“Cri-cri-cri!”
“Who is speaking to me?” said Pinocchio, frightened.
“It is I.”
Pinocchio turned around and saw a large cricket that walked slowly up on the wall.
“Tell me, Cricket, who are you?”
“I am the Talking Cricket, and I have lived in this room for more than a hundred years.”
“To-day, however, this room is mine,” said the marionette, “and if you wish to do me a favor, go away immediately, without even turning yourself around once.”
“I will not go away from here,” said the Cricket, “without telling you a great truth.”
“Tell it to me and be gone.”
“Woe to boys who rebel against their parents, and who foolishly run away from their homes. They will never get along well in the world, and sooner or later will bitterly repent of their actions.”
“Sing on, little Cricket, if it pleases you; but I know that to-morrow, at the dawn of day, I shall go away, because if I remain here, what happens to all other boys will happen to me. I shall have to go to school and be made to study; and I will tell you in confidence that I have no wish to study at all, and I propose to play and run after butterflies and climb trees and take the little birds out of their nests.”
“Poor little stupid thing! Do you not know that in doing so you will become a donkey, and that everybody will make fun of you?”
“Calm yourself, bad Cricket of ill omen!” cried Pinocchio.
But the Cricket, who was a patient philosopher, instead of becoming angry at this impertinence, continued in the same tone of voice: “And if it does not please you to go to school, why not at least learn a trade, so as to be able to earn honestly a piece of bread?”
“Do you wish me to tell you?” replied Pinocchio, who began to lose patience; “because among the trades of the world there is only one that suits my genius.”
“And what trade may that be?”
“That of eating, drinking, sleeping, and amusing myself, and of living, from morning to night, an easy life.”
“Those who live that way,” said the Talking Cricket with his usual calmness, “always end in the hospital or in prison.”
“Take care, bad Cricket of ill omen! If you make me angry I pity you.”
“Poor Pinocchio! you make me pity you.”
“Why do I make you pity me?”
“Because you are a marionette; and, what is worse, you have a wooden head.”
At these words Pinocchio jumped up enraged, and taking a hammer from a bench flung it at the Talking Cricket.
Perhaps he did not believe himself capable of doing such a thing; but unfortunately the hammer struck the Cricket in the head so suddenly that he had only the breath to say “Cri-cri-cri,” and then remained stuck fast to the wall.
