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Transcriber's Note:

  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
  been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

  The frequent use of ellipses has been retained as printed.

  On page 19, "I had better tried" should possibly be "I had better
  try".




THE HEART OF PINOCCHIO

  [Illustration: "BUT SMELL THIS" ... AND WHILE HE SPOKE THE RASCAL OF
   A PINOCCHIO TOOK IN BOTH HIS HANDS THE DISH AND HELD IT CLOSE TO
   STOLZ'S NOSE]




     THE HEART OF
     PINOCCHIO

     _New Adventures of the
     Celebrated Little Puppet_

     _By_

     COLLODI NIPOTE
     (_Paolo Lorenzini_)

     _Adapted from the Italian by_
     VIRGINIA WATSON

     _With Drawings by
     J. R. Flanagan_

     HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
     NEW YORK AND LONDON




_The Twilight Series_

Imaginative Stories and Fairy Tales

Illustrated--Jackets Printed in Colors

     THE HOLLOW TREE AND DEEP WOODS BOOK. By A. B. Paine
     THE HOLLOW TREE SNOWED-IN BOOK. By A. B. Paine
     HOLLOW TREE NIGHTS AND DAYS. By A. B. Paine
     ALICE IN WONDERLAND. By Lewis Carroll
     THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS. By Lewis Carroll
     HOME FAIRY TALES. By Jean Mace
     DANISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. By J. Christian Bay
     FAVORITE FAIRY TALES. Illustrated by Peter Newell
     TWILIGHT LAND. By Howard Pyle
     THE DWARF'S TAILOR. By Zoe Dana Underhill
     FAIRY BOOK. By Edouard Laboulaye
     LAST FAIRY TALES. By Edouard Laboulaye
     PINOCCHIO. By Carlo Collodi
     THE HEART OF PINOCCHIO. By Collodi Nipote
     THE WATER BABIES. By Charles Kingsley


THE HEART OF PINOCCHIO


     Copyright, 1919, by Harper & Brothers
     Printed in the United States of America




CONTENTS


     CHAP.                                                        PAGE

     I. _How Pinocchio Discovered that He Had a Heart and Had
     Become a Real Boy_                                              1

     II. _How Pinocchio Recognized the Advantages of His
     Wooden Body_                                                   22

     III. _How Pinocchio Sent a Solemn Protest to Francis
     Joseph to Rectify an Official Bulletin_                        33

     IV. _How Pinocchio Learned that War Changes Everything--Even
     the Meaning of Words_                                          62

     V. _In Which Pinocchio Discovers that Sometimes When You
     Want to Advance You Have to Take a Step Backward_              78

     VI. _Wherein We See Pinocchio's Heart_                         92

     VII. _How Pinocchio Came Face to Face with Our Alpine
     Troops_                                                       110

     VIII. _How Pinocchio Made Two Beasts Sing--Contrary to
     Nature_                                                       135

     IX. _How Pinocchio Complained Because He Was No Longer
     a Wooden Puppet_                                              151

     X. _Many Deeds and Few Words_                                 177

     XI. _And Now--Finished or Not Finished_                       199




ILLUSTRATIONS


     "_But smell this_" ... _and while he spoke the
     rascal of a Pinocchio took in both hands the
     dish and held it close to Stolz's nose_            _Frontispiece_

     "_I see the suet-eaters_"                        _Facing page_ 36

     _He saw a rag tied to a pole waving_                "          42

     "_You beastly little creature, what game are you
     playing?_"                                          "          46

     _One day he managed to capture a pig and to drag
     it along behind him_                                "          62

     _His foot caught Cutemup right in the stomach and
     knocked him breathless_                             "          88

     _Pinocchio did his best to get on his feet, but
     couldn't succeed_                                   "         116

     _Ciampanella, the company cook_                     "         134




INTRODUCTION


Dear Boys and Girls,--Let us hope that none of you has been so
unfortunate as to have missed the pleasure of watching sometime or
other a puppet show. Probably Punch and Judy is the one you know best,
but there are many others with jolly little fellows who dance in and
out of all sorts of adventures. So you can imagine Pinocchio, the hero
of this book, as one of those lively puppets. And, in case you have
never read the earlier book about him, you will want to know something
of what happened to him before you meet him in these pages.

One day a poor carpenter, called Master Cherry, began to cut up a
piece of wood to make a table-leg of it when, to his utmost amazement,
the piece of wood cried out, "Do not strike me so hard!" The
frightened carpenter stopped for a moment, and when he began again and
struck the wood a blow with his ax the voice cried out once more,
"Oh, oh! you have hurt me so!" The carpenter was now so terrified that
he was only too glad to turn the piece of wood over to a neighbor,
Papa Geppetto, who cut it up into the shape of a boy puppet, painted
it, and named it Pinocchio--which means "a piece of pinewood." As soon
as he had finished making him, Pinocchio grabbed the old man's wig off
his head and started in to play tricks. Papa Geppetto then taught the
puppet to walk, and when naughty Pinocchio discovered he could use his
legs, he ran away. Then began all kinds of adventures, and Pinocchio
was sometimes naughty and selfish, and sometimes kind and considerate,
but always funny and jolly.

In this new book Pinocchio's heart has grown through love and
consideration for others, so that he becomes a real boy and takes part
in the war to help his beautiful country, Italy.

     THE TRANSLATOR.




THE HEART OF PINOCCHIO

  [Illustration]




THE HEART OF PINOCCHIO




CHAPTER I

_How Pinocchio Discovered That He Had a Heart and Had Become a Real
Boy_


He yawned, stuck out his tongue and licked the end of his nose, opened
his eyes, shut them again, opened them once more and rubbed them
vigorously with the back of his hand, jumped up, and then sat down on
the sofa, listening intently for several minutes, after which he
scratched his noddle solemnly. When Pinocchio scratched his head in
this way you could be sure that there was trouble in the air. And so
there was. The room was empty, the windows closed, and the door as
well; no noise came from the still quiet street; a deep silence
filled the air, yet there, right there, close to him, he heard queer
sounds like blows--tick-tock ... tick-tock ... tick-tock ...
tick-tock.

  [Illustration]

It sounded like some one who was amusing himself by rapping with his
knuckles on a wooden box--tick-tock ... tick-tock ... tick-tock.

"But who is it?" called out the puppet, suddenly, jumping down from
the sofa and running to peer into every corner of the room. When he
had knocked over the chest, rummaged the wardrobe with the mirror,
upset the little table, turned over the chairs, pulled the pictures
off the walls, and torn down the window-curtains, he found himself
seated on the floor in the middle of the room, dead tired, his face
all smeared with dust and spider-webs, his shirt in tatters, his
tongue hanging out like a pointer's returning from the hunt. Yet
there, close to him, he still heard that strange tick-tock ...
tick-tock ... tick-tock ... and it seemed as if those mysterious
fingers were rapping even more quickly upon the mysterious wooden box.
Pinocchio would have pulled his hair out in desperation if Papa
Geppetto hadn't forgotten to make him any. But as the desperation of
puppets lasts just about as long as the joy of poor human beings,
Pinocchio, laying his right forefinger on the point of his magnificent
nose, calmly remarked:

"Let me argue this out. There is no one else in here but me. I am
keeping perfectly quiet, not even drawing a long breath, yet the noise
keeps up.... Then, since it is not I who am making the noise, some one
else must be making it, and as no one outside me is making it,
whatever makes it must be inside me."

This seemed reasonable, but Pinocchio, who had not expected he would
come to such a conclusion, gave a start, kicked violently, and began
to roll around on the ground, yelling as if he would split his throat:
"Help! Help!" The thought had suddenly come to him that during the
night a mouse had jumped into his mouth and down into his stomach and
was searching about in it for some way to get out. But the quieter he
kept the noisier grew the tick-tock; in fact, so loud that it seemed
to cut off his breath. Fear made him calm.

"Let me argue this out," he said again, laying his forefinger against
his nose. "It cannot be a mouse; the movement is too regular, so
regular that if I weren't sure that I went to bed without supper I
should think I had swallowed Papa Geppetto's watch by mistake.... Hm!
If he hadn't told me time and time again that I am only a little
puppet without a heart I should almost believe that I had one down
inside me, and that this tick-tock were indeed ..."

"Just so!"

"Who said 'Just so'? Who said 'Just so'?" called Pinocchio, looking
around in terror. Naturally no one answered him.

"Hm! Did I dream it?" he asked himself. "And even if there is any one
who thinks he can frighten me with his 'just so' he will find himself
much mistaken. A brave boy does not know what fear is, and I begin to
think ...

"'Just so' or not 'just so,' if any one has anything to say to me let
him come forward and he will learn what kind of blows I can give."

  [Illustration]

He turned round and stepped back a few steps. It seemed to him that
some one was making a threatening gesture at him. Without hesitating a
moment, he rushed forward with his head down, thrashing out blows like
a madman. Then he heard a terrible smashing of glass. Pinocchio had
hit out at his own image in the wardrobe mirror, which naturally was
shattered to bits. There is no need for me to tell you how he felt,
because you will have no trouble in picturing it for yourselves.

"But how did I come to make such a blunder?" he asked himself, as soon
as he had recovered from his surprise. "How did I happen not to
recognize myself in the mirror? Am I really so changed...? Can I
indeed be changed into a real little boy or am I a puppet as I always
was?"

"Just so! Just so! Just so!"

This time there could be no doubt about it. Pinocchio sprang toward
the window, opened it, and stuck his head out. There below, a few feet
lower down, was a beautiful terrace covered with flowering plants. In
the midst of the plants was a stand, and on the stand a magnificent
green parrot who just at that moment was scratching under his beak
with his claw, and looking around him with one eye open. Down in the
street below there was not a soul to be seen.

"Oh, you ugly beast! Was it you who was chattering 'just so, just so,
just so'?"

The parrot burst out into a crazy laugh and began to sing in his
cracked voice:

     "Coccorito wants to know
     Who the glass gave such a blow.
     Coccorito knows it well
     And the master he will tell."

"Hah! Hah! Hah!" And he burst out into another guffaw. Patience, which
is the only heritage of donkeys, was certainly not Pinocchio's
principal virtue. Moreover, the parrot laughed in such a rude manner
that he would have annoyed Jove himself.

  [Illustration]

"Stop it, idiot!"

"Idiot, idiot, 'yot, 'yot."

"Beast!"

"Beast!"

"Take care ..."

"Take ca-a-a-re."

"I'll give it to you."

"You, you, you."

     "Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!
     Who the glass gave such a blow?
     Coccorito knows it well
     And the master he will tell."

"Will you? I'll make you shut up. Take this, you horrid beast!"

There was a large terra-cotta pot with a fine plant of basil in it
standing on the window-sill, and the furious Pinocchio seized it in
both hands and hurled it down with all his force. Coccorito would have
come to a sad ending if the god of parrots had not protected his
topknot. The flower-pot grazed the stand and was shattered against the
marble parapet, and the pieces, falling down, hit against the large
stained-glass window opening on to the terrace and broke it.

Pinocchio, who could hardly believe that he had done so much damage,
stood still a moment and gazed stupidly at the pile of broken pieces
and at the parrot, who laughed as if he would burst. But when
Pinocchio saw a big officer rush angrily over the terrace, with his
hair brushed up on his head, a huge mustache beneath his curved nose,
and a thick switch in his hand, he was seized with such a fright that
he threw over his shoulders the first thing in the way of clothing he
could lay his hand on, rushed to the door, opened it with a kick, ran
through a small room adjoining, sped down the stairs at breakneck
speed, flung open the street door and--Heavens! He felt a violent
blow on his stomach and, as if hurled from a catapult, he was thrown
into the air and fell down the rest of the steps, his legs out before
him. But he didn't stay still when he got to the bottom. He sprang up
like a jack-in-the-box, rubbed himself on the injured part, and was
off again. He seemed to see some one strolling there in the middle of
the street; he thought he heard himself called twice or thrice by a
well-known voice, but the fear which was driving him bade him run, and
he ran with all the strength he had in his body.

  [Illustration]

Poor Papa Geppetto! It was indeed he who was strolling in the middle
of the street and who, seeing Pinocchio flying out of the house like a
madman, wrapped in a flowered chintz curtain, had called to him
imploringly.

And so it was--in his hurry Pinocchio had thrown over his shoulders
one of the curtains of his room, and if I must tell you all the
truth, he was a perfectly comical sight. Soon Pinocchio had a string
of people at his heels crying out: "Catch the madman! Give it to the
madman!"

Catch him! That was easy to say, but it was no easy matter to grab
hold of the rascal. Indeed, his pursuers were soon weary, and
Pinocchio might have thought himself safe if a dog hadn't suddenly
joined in the game. It was a large jet-black poodle that had come from
no one knew where. With a couple of bounds he had caught up with
Pinocchio and had seized the curtain in his teeth and was dragging it
through the dust. Suddenly he stiffened on his four legs and Pinocchio
gave a little whirl and found himself face to face with the animal.

"Ho, ho, ho! What do I see? Oh, Medoro, don't you recognize me? Give
me your paw."

Medoro growled and shook the curtain violently, which was still
knotted about Pinocchio's waist. It was only then that he noticed the
strange covering he had on and burst out laughing.

"Oh, Medoro! What do you really want to do with this rag? I'll give it
to you willingly."

He had scarcely undone the knots when Medoro made a spring and was off
down the street they had come, the curtain in his teeth. The puppet
stood there, quite upset. Medoro had given him a lesson. The dog that
had been so friendly had turned on him and, after having pulled the
miserable old curtain off him, had made off without paying any further
attention to his old friend.

  [Illustration]

"A fine way of doing!" he grumbled. "I'll catch cold running around
after that rag. Papa Geppetto won't even thank him.... I had better
tried to mend the mirror of the wardrobe or the general's window."

The thought of all the troubles he had caused the poor man in so short
a time made Pinocchio rather melancholy, and two big tears shone in
his bright little eyes. But suddenly he sighed a deep sigh, shrugged
his shoulders several times, and with his head high and his hands on
his hips, set off again on his way, whistling a popular song.

He had not gone a hundred steps when he stopped suddenly, cocked his
ear, listened a moment quietly, and then flung himself into the fields
which bordered the street. The wind brought from far off the gay notes
of a military band.

There was a huge crowd, but Pinocchio didn't give that a thought, in
spite of the fact that he was very tired with his long run. By pushing
and poking and kicks in the shins he got up into the front row.
Soldiers were passing. At the head was a company of bicycle
sharpshooters (bersaglieri), then the band, then the regiment, the Red
Cross ambulance, and soldiers, and a long line of sappers. Everybody
clapped, threw kisses and flowers, and overwhelmed the bersaglieri
with little gifts. The soldiers broke ranks and mingled with the crowd
and answered the applause with loud cheers for Italy, the King, and
the Army. Some of them marched along in the midst of their families;
weeping mothers begged their sons to be careful; the fathers bade them
be brave, reminding them of the fighting in '48, '66, '70--the
glorious years of our emancipation. The little boys kept close to
their fathers, proud to see them armed like the heroes of old legends,
and many of the girls besought their sweethearts: "Write to me, won't
you? Every day I want you to write to me. If I don't get letters from
you I shall think that you are dead and I shall weep so bitterly."

Dead! This word affected Pinocchio so that suddenly he felt his heart
beating loudly--that strange tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock which had
startled him earlier that morning.

Dead? "Oh! where are they going?" he asked a sprightly old man who was
standing near by, shouting, "Hurrah for Italy!" as if he were a boy.

"They are going to the war."

"Are they really off to war? Will they fire only powder from their
guns, or real, lead bullets, too?"

"Indeed yes, real bullets, too."

"And will they all die?"

"We hope not all of them--but they are going to fight for the honor
and greatness of their country, and he who dies for his country may
die happy."

Pinocchio did not breathe. He scratched his head solemnly, and with
his eyes and mouth made such a face that if the little old man had
seen it he would probably have boxed his ears for him. This "die
happy" was silly. Death had always frightened him whenever he had come
near to it.

"Have you been to war?" Pinocchio asked the little old man, half
ironically.

"Can't you see?" and he pointed to a row of medals pinned on his coat.

"And you would go back?"

"Certainly, if they would take me as a volunteer."

This reply brought a strange longing to Pinocchio, all the more that
the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock in the box inside of his body was
making so much noise that it rang in his ears. And then the gay notes
of the band, the joyous air of the soldiers, the cheers of the crowd,
suddenly brought a strange idea into his head. The war, with its
cannon, marches on one side, fighting on the other, horses dashing,
flags waving in the wind, songs of victory, medals on the breast,
prisoners tied together like sausages, war trophies, danced before his
eyes in a fantastic dance. The war must be just the place for him, all
the more so when he thought that it couldn't be easy to get to it if
the little old man who had been there so often couldn't go now.

"I, too, will go to the war with the soldiers," he said, in a low
voice, and without wasting a moment he pushed his way between the
troops, who, now that they were approaching the station, began to
close up the ranks. He found himself by the side of a young blond
soldier, who seemed more lonely and sad than the others.

"Will you take me with you?" Pinocchio asked, pulling at his coat.

"Where?"

"To the war."

"You? Are you crazy?"

"No, indeed."

"And you ask me to take you with me?"

"Whom, then, must I ask?"

"There is the guard down there, that one with a blue scarf over his
shoulder."

When Pinocchio got an idea in his head he had to work it out at any
cost. So he repeated his demand to the lieutenant of the guard, who,
smiling under his mustache, pointed out the captain inspecting the
troops. But the captain could decide nothing without the consent of
the battalion commander, who, for his part, would have had to ask the
approval of the colonel. He advised Pinocchio to hasten matters by
going to the adjutant, who could present his request directly to the
general.

They were now in the station. The soldiers took their places in the
huge cars, around which crowded their families, friends, and the
cheering, curious throng. At the end of the train some first-class
carriages were attached into which the orderlies carried the
hand-baggage of their higher officers. In front of one compartment
reserved for one of these was piled up a regular mountain of small
objects--little packages, boxes, rugs, furs, which a cavalry soldier
was trying to carry inside. The adjutant, a few feet away, was looking
on, trembling with impatience and vexation.

"Quick! Quick! You lazybones! Quick! Quick! Mollica. General
Win-the-War will be here in a minute and his things are not yet
inside. I'll put you under arrest for a fortnight."

"I respectfully beg the adjutant to observe that I have only two hands
for the service of my general and of my country."

"And I beg you to observe that the train is about to start off."

"If the adjutant would order some one to give me a hand ..."

"There isn't any one to be had, confound it!"

Just at that moment Pinocchio advanced resolutely toward the adjutant
to put forward his request to be enlisted.

"Mr. Adjutant ... I have come ... to ..."

The adjutant didn't let Pinocchio say another word, but caught hold of
him under the chin, squeezed him, shook him gently ... and said:

"Good! I understand ... you want to do something for the army.... Good
boy! You are the best kind of a volunteer. Fine! Help Private Mollica
to carry in all this stuff and your country will be grateful to you.
And you, Mollica, hurry up. I beg you to observe that now you have the
four hands you requested for the job. We understand each other, heh?"

Then he was off toward a group of soldiers who were chalking on the
door of one of the railway carriages in large letters: "_Through
Train--Venice--Trieste--Vienna_." A big crowd had gathered around,
stopping the traffic.

"Ho, boys, who told you to write _through train_? Next time ask
permission from your superior officer.... There will be a little stop
before we get there."

"Doesn't matter, sir, as long as we _get_ there."

"Well! You can tell when a train leaves, but not whether it will ever
arrive."

"Hurrah for Italy!"

"Good boys! I like that. But rub out what you have written. You are
first-class soldiers, you are. We understand each other, heh?" And off
he went.

With Pinocchio's aid Private Mollica performed miracles. In a few
minutes the general's things were inside, beautifully arranged in the
baggage-racks.

"You are a prodigy, boy, I tell you. You have done me a great service
and my adjutant will be so pleased that if you will promise to keep
guard here a moment I will go to tell him so that he can thank you in
the general's name."

"Go along; I'll stay," Pinocchio replied, and took up a position in
front of the door that was so soldierly you might have taken him for a
distant relative of Napoleon the Great before St. Helena.

But a minute had not gone by and Mollica had not got a hundred steps
away when Pinocchio turned as pale as death and trembled so with
fright that he almost fell off the step. He had caught sight a short
way off of General Win-the-War surrounded by a crowd of officers; and
with his marvelous vision had recognized in him Papa Geppetto's
furious tenant, whose stained glass he had shattered a few hours
before, all on account of saucy Coccorito.

He was lost; there was no possible way of escape! Win-the-War was
coming direct to his compartment and the adjutant was guiding him. The
crowd in the way divided before him and the soldiers stood stiffly at
attention. Even Mollica stood there straight as a ramrod.... Pinocchio
gave a leap into the compartment, hoping to escape by the opposite
door. But it was not possible to open it.... He heard the sound of
the approaching steps, the ring of the spurs.... Pinocchio flung
himself down on the floor of the compartment and hid himself, face
downward, under one of the seats.

The general, a colonel, and the adjutant got in. A band struck up the
national air; thousands of voices cheered the King, Italy, and the
Army. The soldiers responded with youthful courage.... You heard a
continual medley of good-bys and good wishes, and the quick, sharp
repetition of commands. A hundred voices were singing, "Farewell, my
dear one, farewell"; a hundred others sang Garibaldi's Hymn.... There
was a profound silence in the compartment. Perhaps the superior
officers felt the great responsibility of the moment and were moved by
it. Pinocchio didn't dare breathe for fear of betraying himself, but
in his breast the tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock beat so loudly that
he thought it must resound all along the wooden walls of the carriage.
The notes of the national air seemed to be quicker ... the cries of
the crowd louder ... the locomotive whistled shrilly a desperate
good-by ... the train began to move....

"Gentlemen," said the general to his two companions, "let Italy's fate
now be fulfilled. To-morrow we shall cross the frontier, for the glory
of our King and for the greatness of our country. Long live Italy!"

There was so much emotion in the old soldier's voice that Pinocchio
felt as if a rope were strangling his throat. When the train was under
way, rumbling noisily along the rails, he burst out crying and
discovered that he had a heart just as if he were a real boy!




CHAPTER II

_How Pinocchio Recognized the Advantages of His Wooden Body_


"So, Colonel, you understand? This afternoon we shall be at ----
(censor); we shall bivouac the troops; to-morrow morning at two we
must be on the march. We shall cross the frontier at ---- (censor) and
we shall descend toward ----. I expect rapid and united advance until
we encounter serious opposition. Remind the soldiers of the respect
due to property in the conquered lands and to the beaten foes taken
prisoners.... I have been told by the commander-in-chief that it has
been discovered that there is a host of spies who are working to
injure us. I command you to be very severe with spies caught in the
act, no matter what their age, race, or social standing. Tell your
officers to keep absolutely secret all orders which they receive. If
there is the slightest suspicion that an order relating to our advance
has reached the ear of a person suspected even in the slightest
degree, take him out, stand him with his face to the wall, and give
him eight bullets in his back. You understand--without fear of
consequences or that you may be mistaken. It would be better than to
allow--let us suppose such a case--a whole regiment to be destroyed."

  [Illustration]

Pinocchio, who had been beginning to enjoy the adventure, the swaying
of the train, which, as he lay on his face, tickled his stomach, and
the conversation of the general, which greatly interested him, was so
terrified at these words that his body felt like goose-flesh. For a
moment he thought he would faint. His ears rang loudly and he burst
into a sweat. Heigh-ho! The general was not a man to say such things
as a joke: "If there is the slightest suspicion that an order relating
to our advance has reached the ear of a person suspected even in the
slightest degree, take him out, stand him with his face to the wall,
and give him eight bullets in his back." It was clear. As clear as it
could be! Instead of a _single_ order, Pinocchio had overheard a
number ... they would certainly take him for a spy, and most certainly
the eight bullets would not be lacking.

"Eight!" he exclaimed to himself as soon as he had managed to grow a
little calmer. "Eight! One would be enough for me, and even that would
be too much! But I don't want to die with bullets in my back.... I am
not a spy at all. Well ... how can I persuade that orang-outang that I
am in this compartment and under this seat for no other purpose than
to go to war against my country's enemies, and because the authorities
certainly wouldn't let me go in a more decent way? And suppose he
recognizes me as the one who smashed his stained-glass window that
opened out on his terrace, instead of eight bullets, he will order me
a couple of dozen.... What a pity! Poor me! Poor Papa Geppetto, what
will he say about me? But, to sum it up, I am not a spy, and when any
one wants to pretend to be what he is not he must find out the way to
show them that he is not what they believe him to be.... The best way,
I think, would be to slip off quietly. No one saw me come in here ...
all I have to do is to get out without any one's seeing me. It can't
be very difficult to do that; I'll just stay quietly until the train
gets to its destination, then let these gentlemen step out, and a
minute later I'll fade away."

If you could have poked your head under the seat and seen Pinocchio's
face at this moment you would have been made happy by his joyful
smile. This little bit of reasoning had so quieted his mind that if
they had pressed eight muskets against his back to shoot the famous
eight bullets into him he would have begun to laugh as if they were
doing it only to tickle him.

He stretched himself out slowly, and, lulled by the swaying of the
train, was soon overcome by such a tranquil slumber that he couldn't
have slept better in his own little bed.

"Poor Pinocchio!" I think I hear you say. "What is going to happen to
him now?" Yes, that's the way. It is the usual rule in this world that
when a person thinks he can enjoy a moment of blessed repose some
misfortune is lying in wait for him. If Pinocchio, instead of letting
himself be overcome with sleep, had kept his eyes and ears open while
the train was slowing down and the locomotive ahead was puffing
noisily he would have heard General Win-the-War let out a yell of
pain. Of course, he should have kept it back, but in time of war we
pardon certain things, particularly when a general about to make an
attack suffers from the torture of rheumatic sciatica, an old trouble
of his.

"What's the matter, General?"

"My leg. My pain has come back; it's worse than an Austrian bullet."

"Perhaps you have taken a little cold."

"Perhaps.... It doesn't seem warm here, for a fact, does it, Colonel?"

"No, indeed."

"We are in the mountains and still climbing, and the temperature is
going down."

"Gracious me! so it is. They ought ... Major, do me the favor at the
next stop to ask if it is possible to heat the compartment. If the
rest of you don't like the heat you can just go into the next
compartment."

"The idea!"

At the next stop, which was not long in coming, the colonel asked
permission of his superior officer to go off for an inspection of his
men, and the major went off to see about heat for his commanding
officer. It was not a hard matter to obtain what he wanted. The
general was traveling in an up-to-date carriage, one of those that
have under the seats special steam coils which can be connected with
the exhaust pipes of the locomotive's boiler, and, by a simple
adjustment, begin to send out heat immediately.

The signal for departure had already been given when the major
returned joyfully to the compartment.

"Well?"

"The connection is made and we have heat on."

"Or rather we shall have it, because just now ..."

"Excuse me, General, all we have to do is to push that handle where
the sign says 'cold' and 'hot' and ..."

The general, who was following the maneuver attentively, uttered an
"Oh!" of relief as if the compartment were suddenly transformed into
a hothouse, and stretched his legs out comfortably, resting his feet
on the opposite seat.

I can't tell you where Pinocchio's thoughts were at this moment. But I
can assure you that he was dreaming and that they must have been
pleasant dreams, because there was a beautiful smile on his face. But
suddenly the expression changed to one strange and painful. Perhaps in
his dreams, while he was seated at a table that was spread with the
most delicious dainties, he felt himself slipping down, down, and
suddenly found himself on a hot gridiron with St. Lawrence in person.
It is certain that when he opened his eyes it was impossible to
breathe the air beneath the seat, and where his back touched it, it
was hot enough to bake a loaf of bread. He started to jump out, but
caught sight, right in front of his nose, of the little wheels in the
adjutant's spurs. The sight of these brought him back to his real
situation.

"But what is the matter?" he said to himself. "Is the axle of the
wheel on fire? And can I keep from burning? But if they notice it,
too? If no one moves that means that there is no danger ... but,
Heavens! it burns! Ouch! I am covered with sweat, but I have got to
stand it.... If I get out there will be the eight bullets in my back.
Poor me! How much better it would be if I were still nothing but a
wooden puppet!"

  [Illustration]

Well, I can't help him. It's too much for me. It would indeed have
been convenient at that moment to be made of wood, for he was in a
situation such as no one would wish for any creature of flesh and
blood--for me or you, for instance. He had either to stand being
steamed on the boiling pipe of the heating apparatus or to give
himself up into the hands of the general, who wouldn't delay long the
threatened shooting.

Pinocchio was a hero, also a regular martyr, because he stood the
torture more than half an hour, turning himself from side to side,
moving restlessly, and drawing up his body in one way and another
like the aforesaid St. Lawrence of blessed memory, the only difference
being that the saint expected to be well cooked on one side and then
to turn over and be cooked on the other; while Pinocchio, when he
discovered that a certain part of him was about to be cooked in
earnest, let out a loud scream and followed it by calls for "Help!
help!"

General Win-the-War and the adjutant jumped to their feet like
jacks-in-the-box, threw themselves down on the ground, and, without
paying any attention to the blow on the heads they gave each other,
ran their arms under the seat, and with outstretched hands seized hold
of Pinocchio and dragged him out. They nearly tore him in two like a
tender chicken, one pulling him on one side and one on the other.

"You wretch!"

"You scoundrel!"

"Who are you?"

"Speak, you miserable creature!"

"General, he is a spy."

"We must question him in German ... he must be an Austrian."

"_Wer sind Sie?_"

No answer.

"What language do you speak, you little beast?"

Poor Pinocchio couldn't even draw a long breath. The general clutched
him by the collar with such a military firmness that he turned the
color of a ripe cherry. A little more and he would have been strangled
to death.

The adjutant saved him by respectfully bidding the general remember
that in questioning a prisoner it is necessary to allow him to breathe
if you wish an answer.

"Mr. General ... forgive me. I am not a spy. It would be a real crime
if you had me shot ... just as soon as we arrive at ... Give me a gun
and I will go to war with the troops."

"Oh, you wretch! So you listened to all we said?"

"How could I help it? I was under here when the train started. It was
I who helped Private Mollica to put all your stuff inside."

"Even this leather case?"

"Certainly I, I myself."

"Even the despatch-case with the plans! Major, give me your revolver
so that I can shoot him like a dog."

"But why do you want to shoot me, Mr. General? I haven't done
anything.... I wanted to go to the war to hear the cannon, but I never
spied on any one, not even when I went to school.... Can you really
take me for a Boche? No, for gracious' sake, no.... Look at my
features.... No, no, no, for Heaven's sake! Keep your weapon quiet....
Don't you know who I am?... I am Pinocchio, Papa Geppetto's Pinocchio
... who only this morning broke your stained-glass window...."

At that point the general uttered such a roar that Pinocchio felt his
breath leave him. But he saw the officer hand back the pistol to the
major and take up from the seat a big leather bag; then he didn't see
the bag again, but he felt it several times and with great force
exactly on the part of his body which had suffered the most from the
heat of the steam coil.... But Pinocchio was saved by his sincerity.
General Win-the-War could certainly not have bothered to beat a real
spy, but I can tell you that at that moment Pinocchio would have
preferred to be still a wooden puppet.




CHAPTER III

_How Pinocchio Sent a Solemn Protest to Francis Joseph to Rectify an
Official Bulletin_


May had come with her blossoms, but up there a sharp wind was blowing
so that it seemed still February. Pinocchio, half naked as he was,
shivered like a leaf, and every now and then let out a sneeze which
sounded like a bursting shell. At every sneeze Mollica gave him a
kick, Corporal Fanfara a box on the ear, and Drummer Stecca a pinch.
The only one who didn't abuse him was Bersaglierino, the blond young
soldier, more melancholy than his companions, whom he had first
accosted in the station when they were setting out. I have told you
that Pinocchio trembled with cold, and I will tell you that it was
almost a good thing for him to do so; otherwise they would have seen
him tremble with fear. If this had happened, his teasing companions
would have driven him to despair. Pinocchio was to be pitied. He was
at the front, the frontier several miles behind them, and any minute
might bring Austrian bullets whistling through the air. The general
had spared the youngster from being shot in the back, but he had given
orders to put him in the very front line during the advance and to
keep him well guarded. In one case the guns of the enemy would do
justice to the suspected spy; in the other, Pinocchio would clear
himself by his conduct and at the same time would lose his desire for
a close view of the enemy.

Private Mollica was furious with him.

"Che-chew! che-chew! che-chew!"

"Plague take you!" Another kick. "Keep still, you little beast! If you
let the enemy spot us I'll stick this bayonet in your backbone."

"I can't stand it any longer. I am frozen--che-chew!"

"Stop it!" Another box on the ear. "You are all right. You wanted to
be a volunteer; now you see how much fun it is."

"I?"

"Yes, you.... You were the cause of the fine talking-to my general
gave me, and you made me lose my place as an orderly where I had a
chance to make extra soldi. If you hadn't gone and told him that you
had helped me to carry his things and if you hadn't slipped under the
seat of that same officer to listen to what he said, I shouldn't have
been punished by being sent to the front."

"Are you afraid, then, Mollica?"

"I afraid? But don't you know that if I catch sight of an Austrian
I'll eat him?"

"Like the food you took from the general," that rascal of a Pinocchio
dared to remark.

There was a chorus of laughs that stopped as if by magic at the sound
of a certain roar in the distance and of something whistling through
the air and very near.

"There they are!"

"We're in it."

"Where?"

"Where are they?"

Who paid any attention now to Pinocchio? All of them had drawn close
to one another and had rushed to the edge of the road, their guns
pointed, to examine the distant landscape. The mountain was very
steep there and covered with thick vegetation. Down at the bottom,
toward the plain, there seemed to be an unexpected rise ... after the
steep descent a green stretch through which a river ran like a silver
ribbon. Still farther, was a chain of low mountains, almost like a
cloud on the edge of the peaceful horizon.

There was the roar of some more shots and the whistling of the shells,
and a branch of a tree was splintered and fell.

Pinocchio, alone in the middle of the road, felt a creeping up and
down his spine and experienced a trembling in his legs that shook like
a palsied man's. The second time he heard a shell whistle he felt that
he must find a hole in which to hide himself. He looked about him and
caught sight near by of an enormous larch-tree which pointed directly
toward the heavens. I don't know how to explain it, but the sight of
it took away from Pinocchio the desire to hide himself under the
ground and made him wish to climb toward the stars. He gave a spring
and shinned up the big trunk in a flash. I bet you a plugged soldo
against a lira that you would have done the same....

  [Illustration: "I SEE THE SUET-EATERS"]

"I see them! I see them!"

"Who?"

"Whom do you see?"

"Where are they? Where are you that we can't see you?"

"I am up here."

"Bravo! And whom do you see?" Bersaglierino asked.

"I see the suet-eaters."

"Where are they?"

"Down there where there is a kind of slope there is a town hidden
among the trees ... up here you can see a roof and the spire of a
bell-tower ... you can see people on the roof ... you can see
something glisten ... now they are firing."

This time there were several reports, but they seemed to be aiming in
another direction, because there was not the usual whistle in the air.

"Whom are they 'strafing'?" Corporal Fanfara asked himself.

"I'll 'strafe' that scoundrel Pinocchio. If you don't come down alive
I will bring you down dead with a bullet in the seat of your
trousers."

"But listen! Look down there and see whom they're giving it to," cried
the enraged Bersaglierino, pointing out a marching column which was
hurrying below them.

"Our infantry!"

"Yes, indeed. They will beat us to it. It's a shame."

"Our company ought to start off at a double-quick."

"It must be a half-mile away."

"But the bersaglieri must get there first ... even if there are only
the four of us."

"Sure thing."

"Do you hear?"

"Forward, Savoy!"

And, heads lowered and bayonets fixed, they rushed down the slope.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Ho! boys! Ho! Mol-li-ca! Cor-po-ral!... Oh! They are going off
without me! What a mean thing to do! They leave me here at the top of
this tree and run off.... But if they think they can play me such a
trick they are mistaken.... I am hungry as a wolf, and if I don't get
them to feed me, whom can I join? Run, run.... We'll see who gets
there first!"

He climbed down the tree, grumbling as he went, tightened the belt of
his trousers, drank in several deep breaths of air, and then tore off
like an express train behind time.

I will tell you at once, not to keep you in suspense, that the
bersaglieri got there the first, the infantry second, and Pinocchio
... a good third. I call it a "good third" merely as a way of
expressing it, because when he arrived at the village our soldiers had
already passed through it and had advanced some distance beyond,
following the Austrians, who had taken to their heels and who were
suffering a sharp fire at short range.

The village was so small that it didn't even deserve the name of one.
There were ten houses in all besides the church with the bell-tower,
and a long shed over which waved the white flag with the red cross.
There was a deathlike silence everywhere. On the little square before
the church some bodies of Austrian soldiers were lying; among them was
that of an officer so ugly that he seemed to have died of fright, but
there was a red spot on his back. Pinocchio was terrified at the sight
of him, but he had such a longing for his sword, his automatic pistol,
his handsome belt, his light-blue cape, and his cap that he persuaded
himself it was perfectly silly to be afraid of a dead Austrian,
particularly when they weren't afraid of live ones. Without too much
reflection, he buckled on the dead man's belt, armed himself with the
pistol, wrapped himself in the blue cape, and pressed the cap down on
his head. He was good to look at, I can assure you.

  [Illustration]

The Hapsburg army had never had an officer who could be compared with
this puppet who had now become a real boy. Pinocchio was prancing up
and down in his new disguise, his sword clanking against the pavement,
just like any little lieutenant, when he heard a horrible roar high up
overhead, then, a moment later, an explosion which shook the ground!
When he lifted up his head to see what had happened he thought he
caught sight of some one walking about on the church's bell-tower. He
saw a rag tied to a pole waving and, as if in reply to a signal,
brumm! another shot that fell closer. Pinocchio, who was suspicious,
went into the vestry and, pistol in hand, rushed up the steep little
wooden stairs. He got to the top without even making the old
worm-eaten stairs squeak. In the space where the bells hung a man in
civilian's clothes had his back turned toward him. He was looking off
from the balcony, and kept on waving the red cloth. You could see the
vast expanse of the plain, and among the green a strange, intermittent
flash ... then a puff ... then you heard a roar, followed by a crash,
like a moving train rapidly approaching, then a tremendous explosion.
The shells never fell as far as the town, but burst all around it,
sending up columns of earth and smoke. And off there Pinocchio could
see the bersaglieri, the soldiers of his country. The traitor with his
signals was directing fire on the Italian troops.

Tell me truly, what would you have done if you had been in Pinocchio's
place? Would you have fired at the traitor? Yes or no. Well, Pinocchio
did the same--cocked his pistol, shut his eyes, pulled the trigger,
and pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum, seven shots went off. He had expected
only one, and was so frightened that he pitched his weapon away and
took to his heels, down the steps, without thought of the wretch, who,
for his part, did no more signaling, I assure you!

When he had got down to the square Pinocchio rushed across it, and was
about to run in the direction where he had seen his bersaglieri
fighting, when, passing by the shed where the Red Cross flag waved, he
thought he heard the sound of several voices in a lively discussion.
He stopped suddenly and very, very quietly approached a big window
closed merely by a wire netting. Inside he saw on one side of the
large room two rows of beds, in the middle a group of rough-looking
soldiers, with waxed mustaches, completely armed, who were busy
plotting together. Just at that moment they separated to go to bed.
They took off their weapons, hid them under the sheets, and slipped
themselves into bed, drawing the covers up to their noses.

  [Illustration: HE SAW A RAG TIED TO A POLE WAVING]

"_Wunderschön!_" ("Fine.")

"When Italian pigs come we make a colossal festival," grunted a Croat
and laughed boisterously. "We sick get well, and Italians all croak."

"I'll croak you," muttered Pinocchio, who in a twinkle had understood
the deviltry the wretches were planning. He made himself as small as
he could, so that the cape dragged on the ground like a petticoat,
slunk along the walls of the shed, then rushed off at full speed
toward the fields. He was just passing the last house of the village
when he found himself unexpectedly surrounded by a score of Austrian
soldiers in a half-tipsy condition, so that they took him for their
superior officer. He thought himself lost.

"Lieutenant, don't go farther. 'Talians still near and make croak all
Croats."

"Croat? I a Croat!"

"'Talians make croak Slovaks, too."

"Oh! Mamma!"

"_Ja, ja!_"

"_Ja, ja!_"

Pinocchio had a flash of intuition; he hid his hand under his cape,
unsheathed the sword, and, assuming so martial a manner that then and
there he could have been taken for a handsome brother of William, he
yelled and swore some doggerel which the dolts might think was
Hungarian, Dalmatian, or Rumanian, spun 'round and continued on his
way to the Italian position. The Austrians followed him, bayonets
fixed, convinced that the spirit of Tegetoff had come to life and was
leading them to victory. But instead, when they had gone a hundred
yards they were showered with bullets and had to fling themselves on
the ground in order to escape immediate extermination. Pinocchio saw
that he was being shot at more than the others, and didn't know why.
All around him the torn-up earth was strewn with plumes.

"I should like to know why they are after me especially, who am not
even firing, while they are sparing these monkeys who have followed me
and are shooting like mad. Oh! Perhaps it is on account of the uniform
of that miserable officer. If that is the case, my dear ones, enough
of your sport. 'Oho! I am an Italian. Stop firing, for Heaven's sake,
so that I can tell you something important. Oho! Enough, I say!'"

And standing up straight, he hurled the cape and the cap away from
him, and with no thought of danger, made for the spot from which came
the Italian fire.

Then came the end of the scene. The Croats behind him jumped to their
feet like so many jacks-in-the-box, threw their arms about and waved
their hands in the air.... From a hedge not far off, a company of
bersaglieri came running up and surrounded them, yelling, "Surrender!"

"If one of them moves, stick him like a toad," commanded a lieutenant.

"Don't worry, sir, I'll spit him for your roasting."

"Secure their officer."

"Heh, boys! don't joke ... lower your bayonets. I'm no Austrian
officer. I am Pinocchio. Mollica, don't you recognize me?"

"You beastly little creature, what game are you playing? But I'll run
you through, all the same."

"What's up now?"

"Lieutenant, Mollica wants to make believe that I am an Austrian
lieutenant, because I was the cause of his losing his place as
orderly with General Win-the-War, but I am Pinocchio. Do you know me?
I am glad. Order these twenty apes, which I have brought all the way
here, to be bound, and then if you give me thirty men I will guarantee
to catch some others that I have put to bed in the big barracks under
the protection of the Red Cross, who pretended they were ill, but who
had hidden their guns under the covers to 'croak Italian hogs.'"

"Where are they?"

"I'll tell you now ... then I'll show you up on the tower what a
pretty thing I found--a traitor who was making signals to some one far
off, and then, boom! there came one of those shells that burst. I
meant to let him have one little bullet, but the pistol fired so many
at him that I threw everything away...."

"But come on! Come on! Show me the way!"

"Right away, but on one condition--that when I have guided you, you
will give me something to eat, because I am so hungry that I could eat
that miserable Mollica."

  [Illustration: "YOU BEASTLY LITTLE CREATURE, WHAT GAME ARE YOU
PLAYING?"]

"Come on, boy, to the village. Double quick!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Who would have imagined that his regiment had been fighting
continuously for ten hours, leaving some dead on the field and sending
not a few wounded to the ambulance? There on the square of the village
won by Italy, beneath the shadow of the red, white, and green flag
that waved from the summit of the little tower, the brave boys gave
vent to unrestrained joy. It was time for rations. In the camp
kitchens big pots were steaming, but the soldiers did not crowd around
them as usual to fill their canteens. The bersaglieri's attention was
held by a sight which put them in good humor, and good humor in war is
a rare thing. Pinocchio was eating! He had swallowed three platefuls
of soup in five minutes, and as he continued to grunt that he was
hungry, they had given him a canteen full to the top and slipped into
it a piece of meat that would have been sufficient to satisfy the
hunger of four city employees.

"Look out for bones!"

"Are you going to eat them all?"

"If he stays with us he'll break the Government."

"Look out, boys, he'll end by bursting."

"Don't you split open with all the Austrians you have eaten, for pork
is more indigestible than asses' meat."

"Heh! don't find fault with the food."

"And what kind of meat do you call this?"

"The best beef."

"Lie! I am familiar with animals ... you give beef to the officers;
donkey-meat to the soldiers."

"Look out, you Pinocchio, you'll get into trouble with that tongue of
yours."

"Then let me eat in peace. You are all staring at me as if I were a
Zulu chewing a hen with her feathers on. My tongue can't be dainty
both talking and eating."

"Let's murder him."

And then there was a loud burst of laughter from all. Pinocchio was
shoveling food into his mouth with both his hands, so that his face
was red as a cock's comb and he could scarcely breathe.

They were already as fond of him as if he were their son. His
achievements had won for him a certain respect even from the officers
whom he amused with his monkeyshines. It had been decided to adopt
Pinocchio as the "son of the regiment" and to keep him at the front as
a mascot. He was to live with the troops and to wear the uniform of a
Boy Scout. The soldiers with common accord had put off his costume to
an opportune moment. Do you want to know the reason? The brave boys
were afraid to stick Pinocchio into puttees with so many spiral bands
because his little thin legs would have frightened people. For the
time being they had him put on a pair of short trousers which dragged
behind him on the ground, a little cape like a bersagliere's, and a
fez with a light-blue tassel so long that it touched his heels. This
tassel was Pinocchio's delight, who, in order to look at it, always
walked along with his head over his shoulder, and so would keep
bumping into first one thing and then another. One day the mischievous
Mollica made him run into one of the quarter-master-corps mules, and
Pinocchio saluted and asked its pardon. But when he ran into officers,
sergeants, corporals, and soldiers, instead of saluting he swore at
them all.

It is three days later. General Win-the-War's troops have not
advanced. Our bersaglieri are still in camp near ----. It is a
sultry, thundering afternoon. Many of the soldiers are sleeping. The
Bersaglierino is playing cards with Mollica. Corporal Fanfara is
shaving. Stecca is practising on his cornet, trying a variation on a
well-known tune. Pinocchio, in the back of the tent, is snoring so
loudly that Mollica every now and then hurls a handful of earth at his
nose to make him lower his note.

Suddenly the boredom is broken, every one jumps up and runs out to a
certain point and crowds around an automobile that has just arrived.
Pinocchio wakes up with a start, finds his mouth full of grit, his
nose dirty, and hears all the noise about him--has a terrible fright,
lets out a yell, and rushes out of the tent. But he is scarcely
outside before he feels himself caught up by his legs and whirled
around on the ground. He gets up again and is face to face with
Bersaglierino, who has not left his post and who laughs loudly at
Pinocchio's plight.

"What has happened?"

"The mail has come."

"And you're making all this racket for that? I thought it was the
Austrians."

"You little coward, you!"

"That's enough, Bersaglierino, if you say that to me again I'll give
you such a kick that will change your shape. But why don't you, too,
go to see if you have any letters?"

  [Illustration]

"Who do you think would write me? I am as alone in the world as a dog,
just like you, it seems."

"Yes, that's so," replied Pinocchio, swallowing hard, because he had
suddenly felt his throat tighten at the thought of Papa Geppetto, from
whom he had had no news for many a long day.

"It is a red-letter day for the others. Mollica will have a letter
from his father, Fanfara news from his two babies, Stecca kisses from
his wife.... I might be killed to-morrow by a bullet in the stomach
and they would let me rot in a ditch and that would be the end."

Mollica came back, his arms full of newspapers. His father, a
news-dealer in Naples, sent him a copy of every unsold publication,
knowing that anything may come in useful in war-times, even old news.

"Heh! Bersaglierino! You want us to play the postman and yet you don't
take any trouble to get your scented letter."

"You are joking?"

"No, it's no joke. Here is one really for you, and I congratulate you
because if you are engaged she must be at least a countess."

The Bersaglierino took the letter his comrade held out to him and read
the address over several times. There was no doubt; it was his name
that was written on the scented envelope the color of a blush rose. He
turned pale and stood for a moment undecided, then he tore it open and
read:

     DEAR BERSAGLIERINO,--I saw how sad and alone you were at the
     moment of your departure, so I felt it was my duty as a
     patriotic Italian girl to write to you. Go and fight for our
     country; do your duty bravely, and remember that in thought
     I follow and will follow you every minute. If you return
     valorously I will meet you and tell you how happy I am; if
     you fall wounded I will go to your hospital bed to soothe
     your suffering; if you die for your country my flowers shall
     lie on your grave and your name will always be written in my
     heart. Long live Italy!

     Your war-godmother,

     FATINA.

"Long live Italy!" Bersaglierino shouted like mad. He caught up his
hat with its cock plumes and tossed it in the air with all his force,
seized Pinocchio who was standing by him, and lifted him up in both
his arms, pulled his cap off his head, and then twirled it round on
his pate, scratching the poor boy's nose.

"What's got into you? Are you crazy?"

"Am I crazy? I am happy! I am not alone any more, do you understand? I
am no longer an unlucky fellow like you with no one belonging to him.
But I am fonder of you than ever. Give me a kiss ..." and he pressed
such a hearty kiss on his nose that his comrades laughed. But
Pinocchio longed to cry. The heart in his body beat a violent
tick-tock, tick-tock.

"Have you read what Franz Joe's newspapers say?--'Italian soldiers are
brigands who do not respect civilians or the wounded in the
hospitals.' That means you, dear Pinocchio, because you shot the
traitor on the tower. You can be sure that if the suet-eaters win they
will make you pay for the crime."

"Me?"

"Yes, indeed, you! You don't intend to say that I killed him, do you?
And you, thank God, are not an enlisted Italian soldier, therefore
..."

"I understand."

The camp was quiet once again; indeed, I might say that tender
memories had softened its youthful exuberance. The voices from home
were keeping the soldiers silent. It was as if every letter their eyes
fell on was speaking to them quietly and they were blessed in
listening, their faces shining with happiness. Corporal Fanfara held a
sheet of paper on which there was nothing but some strange scrawls. He
gazed at it with delight, and while two big tears ran down his cheeks
he murmured in his Venetian dialect, "My darling little rascals!"
These scrawls of theirs were more welcome to him than the letter from
his wife which told of privations, anxiety, and troubles. Private
Mollica was acting like a detective, searching through the newspaper
pages for his father's dirty finger-marks; and as there was little
trouble in finding them he kept repeating every moment, "This was made
by my dear old man." Then he kissed the marks so often that his whole
mouth was black with printer's ink.

Shortly after every one was writing, some bent over their
writing-tablets, some on the back of a good-natured comrade, some
stretched out on the ground, some on the edge of a bench, on the
staves of a barrel, on a tree-trunk, with pencils, fountain-pens, on
post-cards, envelopes, letter-paper spilled out miraculously from
portfolios, bags, and canteens. Every one was writing. The
Bersaglierino seemed to be composing a poem. He gesticulated, whacked
himself on the ear, beat time with his pen that squirted ink in every
direction, and every now and then declaimed under his breath certain
phrases that were so moving that they made even him weep.

Pinocchio was as silent and gloomy as the hood of a dirty kitchen
stove. Squatting at the entrance to the tent, he kept glancing at his
companions, and every now and then he would scratch his head so
vigorously that he might have been currycombing a donkey. When
Pinocchio scratched his head in that way ... Well, now you know that
matters were serious, but I tell you they were so serious that he had
the courage to interrupt the Bersaglierino in his literary studies.

"Excuse me, but will you do me a favor?"

"What do you want? Keep quiet ... leave me alone ... you make me lose
my thread of thought ..."

"So you write with thread, do you? Are you aware that they don't use
this any more?"

"Stop your nonsense. Leave me alone, puppet."

"Do me a favor and then ..."

"What is it? Spit it out!"

"Lend me a pencil and a piece of paper."

"You want to write, too?"

"Yes."

"Then you, too, have some one in the world who interests you?"

"Yes ... perhaps."

"A godmother like mine?"

"Hum! No indeed."

"You are serious about wanting to write?"

"Yes."

"Here's paper and pencil, then. Do you know how to write?"

"Once I knew how."

"All right. Then let me see it."

"Gladly."

Pinocchio rested his elbows on his knees, chin on his clasped hands,
and, biting his pencil, lost himself in profound meditation.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Excuse me, Bersaglierino."

"Ho! Finished already?"

"No ... that is ... yes, I have finished beginning, but ... I don't
know what you put before the beginning."

"Write, 'Dear So-and-so,' or 'My darling, etc., etc.'"

"But you see I can't put either 'dear' or 'my darling.'"

"So you are writing to a creditor?"

"Something like that."

"Heavens! Put his first name, his last name, swear at him, and that's
enough."

       *       *       *       *       *

"Excuse me, Bersaglierino..."

"Oh, are you still there?"

"Yes.... I haven't been able to start the beginning because ..."

"Do you or do you not know how to write?"

"Like a lawyer."

"Then?"

"I don't know what his last name is."

"Whose?"

"Franz Joe's."

"Writing to him? You want to write to him? To that miserable
Hapsburg?"

The news spread like lightning through the camp. The soldiers passed
it from mouth to mouth, laughing like mad: Pinocchio was writing to
Emperor Franz Joseph! This was interesting. They must know what the
letter said. It would certainly be something to amuse them. So walking
quietly, as if they were all eager to take him in the very act, they
approached the tent where Pinocchio was composing his missive, not
without difficulty. He had not been writing for several minutes and
the words seemed so long to put down on paper. He had to keep thinking
of the spelling, and the verbs bothered him terribly. When he raised
his head to draw a breath of relief before re-reading what he had
managed to write, he found himself surrounded by all the regiment.

"Oh, you are well brought up, aren't you? Who taught you to stick your
noses into other people's business?"

"To whom have you written?"

  [Illustration]

"To the one I wanted to."

"Let's see the scribbling."

"Look in your mirror and you will see worse lines on your own face."

"We want to read the letter."

"But if you are a pack of illiterates ..."

"Listen, either you will let me see it or I will take you by one ear
and the letter with the other hand, and I'll carry you both off to the
censor, who will haul you before a court martial that will condemn you
to be shot in the back."

"Oh, do you really want to see it, Mollica?"

"You heard what I said."

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"That you will take charge of it and see that it gets to its address."

"All right. Hand it here, you puppy. Listen to what he writes:

     "MR. FRANZ HAPSBURG,

     In his house in Austria,

     "You wrote in the papers that the Italian soldiers are
     rascals because they kill civilians and wounded Ostrians. I
     want you to know that you are mistaken, because as you know
     the traitor was killed by a pistol that shot off Ostrian
     bullets by itself while it was in my hands who am not in the
     army. That's how our soldiers found the traitor already
     dead, the traitor who made signals from the church tower, so
     that the shells fell on the ruins. As for the wounded in the
     horspital I can asshure you that they were better off than
     me and you, and that they had guns between their leggs under
     the sheets. He who tells lies goes to hell and you will
     certainly go there, but just now I'd like to send you there
     myself who don't give a hang for you.

     "PINOCCHIO."

I can't describe to you what took place after the letter had been
read.

They gave the poor youngster such a feast that they had to put him to
bed in a hammock. Before Private Mollica went to sleep he kept
repeating: "I have promised to take your letter to Franz Joseph....
You see if I don't send it through all the ranks till it reaches his
own hands. On Mollica's honor!... I have promised to take your letter
to Franz Joseph!"




CHAPTER IV

_How Pinocchio Learned That War Changes Everything--Even the Meaning
of Words_


The bersaglieri had passed the Isonzo and were intrenched at ----
(censor). You certainly know now what the Isonzo is, because war
teaches geography better than do teachers in the schools; so I don't
intend to explain it to you. Pinocchio had followed his friends, and I
assure you no one regretted his coming. When there were orders to
carry to the rear or purchases to be made, it was Pinocchio who
attended to them. Slender as a lizard and quick as a squirrel, he was
out of the trenches without being seen and slipped along the furrows
and ditches and the bushes with marvelous dexterity. He had been
absolutely forbidden to approach the loopholes, and when they caught
him about to disobey he got such boxes on the ears that he had to
rub them for half an hour afterward. Mollica, and the Bersaglierino
in particular, kept their eyes on him, so that they punished him
often.

  [Illustration: ONE DAY HE MANAGED TO CAPTURE A PIG AND TO DRAG IT
ALONG BEHIND HIM]

"I'd like to know why it is you two can stand with your noses against
the hole and I mayn't."

"Because of the _mosquitoes_."

"Who cares for them? I haven't the slightest fear of mosquitoes."

But when he saw them carry off a poor soldier hit in the middle of the
forehead and understood that the "mosquitoes" were Austrian bullets,
he gained a little wisdom. While the soldiers were suffering from the
trench life which restrained their ardent natures, keeping them still
and watchful, the rogue of a Pinocchio amused himself with all kinds
of jokes. Dirty as he could be, he was always grubbing with his nails
in the ground to deepen the trench, to make some new breastwork, to
build up an escarp. If they sent him out to find logs of wood to
repair the roofs of the dugouts he would come back laden with all
sorts of things. Hens and eggs were his favorite booty. One day he
managed to capture a pig and to drag it along behind him. But when
they got near the trenches the cussed animal began to squeal so
horribly that the Austrians opened up a terrific fire on him. For fear
of the "mosquitoes" Pinocchio had to let him go, and the pig ran to
take refuge among his brothers, the enemy.

That evening it rained cats and dogs. The trench was one slimy pool.
The rain dripped everywhere, penetrating, baring the parapets which
collapsed, squirting mud and gluing the feet of the soldiers, who, wet
to the bone, had to scurry through the wire to carry ammunition to
safety and to repair the damage done to the trench. Pinocchio,
barelegged, ran back and forth, bemired up to his hair, to give a
helping hand to his friends.

"What fun! We seem to be turning into crabs."

"You are a beastly little puppy!"

"Poor Mollica! You really make me sorry for you."

"I make you sorry for me?"

"Certainly. I shouldn't want to be you in all this downpour."

"Why?"

"Because this rain will melt your sugary nature."

Mollica, to convince him of the contrary, started to administer one of
his usual boxes on the ear, but he slipped and fell, face down, into
the mud.

  [Illustration]

"Are you comfortable, Private Mollica? Tell me were you ever in a
softer bed than now?... You look to me like a roll dipped in
chocolate.... Bersaglierino, come and see how ugly he is! All chalky
up into his hair.... I never saw any one look such an idiot!"

  [Illustration]

"I wish they would murder you, you beastly little puppy!"

After struggling about in the mud he managed to get to his feet again
and had almost caught him, but in one spring Pinocchio was far away.
The telephone dugout was a little deeper than the trench and the
water was rapidly filling it up. It was already up to the operator's
knees. A crowd of soldiers were working hard to stop the flood.

"What are you doing, stupids? Do you think you can bail out this
puddle with a cap? You are green. We ought to have big Bertha...."

He didn't get in another word. They took hold of him by his arms and
legs and soused him into the dirty water and held him under till he
had drunk a cupful. The telephone operator would have liked to see him
dead, then and there.

"Hold him under till he is as swollen as a toad. He was calling down
misfortune on us, wishing that a shell would fall on us. As if this
rain weren't enough (che-chew, che-chew!); we are chilled to the
marrow (che-chew!) and are likely to die bravely of cold ...
(che-chew!)."

"Enough! Let me go! Help! Bersaglierino! Mollica-a-a!"

"What are you doing to him? Let him go. Shame on you!" yelled
Bersaglierino, running up.

"But don't you know that he was wishing a shell would hit us, the
little wretch?"

"Just as if we hadn't enough troubles now."

"Of course you have enough, and one of your troubles is that you are
regular beasts," cried Pinocchio as soon as he could get his breath.
"I said I wished for Bertha, the cook in Papa Geppetto's house, to
sweep away the water in here, but now I wish I had a broom in my hand
to break its handle against your ribs."

"But don't you know that a 'Big Bertha' is a Boche gun that would have
blown us into a thousand pieces?"

"So, little devil, do you understand? And now that you have learned
your lesson, be off with you."

There was nothing else for poor Pinocchio to do but to spit out the
mud still in his mouth and turn on his heel.

"Bersaglierino, I would have believed anything but that words change
their meaning in this way. With these idiots you have to pay attention
to what you say. They made me swallow so much ditch-water that it will
be a miracle if I don't have little fish swimming around in my
stomach."

It stopped raining, but as if the Austrians didn't want to give the
bersaglieri time to repair the damages caused by the bad weather, they
began a furious bombardment of the trench. The "mosquitoes" kept up a
terrible singing. Huge projectiles churned up the ground all around,
digging out deep holes, raising whirls of earth, throwing off shreds
of stone and steel in every direction. One shell had fallen near the
telephone and had done great damage. The soldiers couldn't venture any
distance from the dugout to aim at the enemy who was firing at them
with such accuracy. Mud prevented their movements. They couldn't
change their positions because the slippery earth offered no foothold.
It was impossible to excavate deep because the earth slid down. It was
a critical moment. Several men had been killed, the wounded were
moaning bitterly, the dying were groaning.... But the Italian
bersaglieri did not lose courage and stood up against the foe, showing
a genuine disregard for their lives. Pinocchio longed to cry. He
wasn't thinking of the danger to himself, but of the fact that if this
devilish fire kept up much longer all his bersaglieri would be killed.
Wasn't there anybody to look out for them? What was our artillery
doing? Did they really intend to let them all be massacred?

He had scarcely thought this when he heard behind him the thunder of
Italian guns. A quarter of an hour later and the Austrians were quite
quiet. But the situation hadn't improved. Orders had come from the
second line to hold out at all costs because it wouldn't be possible
to relieve them until the next evening. An attack in force was
expected every minute.

The captain assembled his company and said: "Men, we must stick and be
ready for anything. We can't have reinforcements, but to-night they
will send us _chevaux de frise_ and barbed wire. But I don't want to
be caught like a bird in a net. We have plenty of 'jelly.' If two
would volunteer to carry a couple of pounds of it under the
entanglements of those gentlemen over yonder we might be able to
change our lodgings. They have a fine trench of reinforced concrete
with rooms and good beds and bathroom. We'd be better off there than
in this mud. What do you say, boys? Is there any one who ..."

They didn't even let him finish. All stepped forward, and, if I am to
tell you the truth, Pinocchio, too, but no one noticed him. Mollica
and the Bersaglierino were chosen.

It grew dark. Some of them, completely worn out, dozed leaning up
against the side of the trench. The Bersaglierino was writing rapidly
a letter in pencil. Mollica had pulled out of his knapsack the old
newspapers his father had sent him and seemed about to take up his old
studies of fingerprints. There were tears in his eyes.

"Heh! Mollica, you look as if you weren't pleased with the duty the
captain has given you."

"Well?"

"But you ought to let me go."

"You? But how do you suppose they would let a boy like you carry
jelly?"

"Do you think I would eat it all up? I won't say that I mightn't taste
it, especially if it is that golden-yellow kind that shivers like a
paralytic old man, but I would carry out the order like any one
else.... Only, I can't understand how for a little bit of jelly those
scoundrels will give up their comfortable trench. It's true that they
eat all sorts of miserable kinds of food and that Esau sold his
birthright for a mess of pottage, but ..."

"Shut up, you chatterbox! You'll see what will happen. I'll explain to
you that 'jelly' in war-time is what we call a mixture of stuff that
when put in a pipe under the wire entanglements and set off by a fuse
will blow you up sky-high in a thousand pieces, if you don't take to
your heels in time."

"And you ... want to go and be blown up?"

"No. I hope to come back safe and sound, and I have still to send your
letter to Franz Joey."

Pinocchio was silent and hid himself in a corner without another word.
I can't tell you exactly if he had some sad presentiment or if his
disillusion resulting from Mollica's technical explanation of "jelly"
had put him in a bad humor. There was no doubt about it--war had
changed the dictionary. He was still more certain of this when, an
hour later, he saw the "Frisian horses" arrive. He was expecting
beasts with at least four legs, and instead he saw them drag in front
of the trenches a huge roll of iron wound up in an enormous skein of
barbed wire. But there was still a greater surprise in store for him.
That very night he was to find out that in war-time not only the value
of words changes, but that there are some which are canceled from
certain persons' vocabulary.

It was night ... and there was nothing to be seen and you couldn't
even hear the traditional fly. From the Austrian trench there came a
dull regular noise. It seemed as if a lot of pigs were squealing.
Instead, it was the Croats who were snoring. No one slept in the
Italian trenches. There was a strange coming and going, a fantastic
flittering of shadows. There was low talking, commands were passed
from mouth to mouth and whispered in the ear--every one was making
preparations. Mollica and the Bersaglierino had put steel helmets on
their heads and had shields of the same metal on their arms.

"But what are you going to do? You look like the statue of Perseus in
the costume of a soldier."

"I would almost rather be in his place and with no more clothes than
he has on instead of in this get-up ... but what's there to be done
about it? I promised you to take the letter to Franz Joey."

A little later Mollica and Bersaglierino left the trench and wriggled
along the ground like serpents, carrying with them big metal boxes.
The bersaglieri took their places behind the loopholes, their muskets
in position, and stood there motionless, anxious, and restless.
Pinocchio, too, wanted to see what was happening, and, taking
advantage of his guardians' carelessness, slipped out of the trench
and squatted down in a big hole which an enemy projectile had hollowed
out twenty yards away.

The poor youngster was very sad. The black night, the silence
everywhere, the preparations he had watched and could not understand,
were the causes of his melancholy.

"But how under the sun did it ever enter Bersaglierino's head to offer
himself for this expedition?" he thought. "He might have let some one
else go. Not so bad for Mollica. He'll eat up the Austrians like
waffles. If any one dares to play a trick on him he'll land him a few
good blows and put him where he belongs, but Bersaglierino ... so
little and so frail.... If any misfortune happens to him ..."

Some time went by, I can't say how long, but it was quite a little
while, because Pinocchio had almost fallen asleep, when the air was
shaken by two tremendous explosions. He woke with a start, saw two red
flashes shining for an instant on a shower of fragments thrown up to a
great height ... then blackness and the fiendish rattling of the
machine-guns and crackle of musket fire. Suddenly a long white shaft
of light broke the darkness, coming from no one knew where, waving to
the right and to the left, and fixing itself on the ground between the
two trenches, which were immediately showered by shells.

"And Bersaglierino? And Mollica?" Pinocchio asked himself, anxiously,
feeling his throat tighten up.

Suddenly a black shadow was outlined in the gleam of a searchlight
that was operated from a distance. It crawled along the ground, moving
by starts. They had seen it, too, from the trenches and there were
confused cries of, "Come on!" ... "Bravo!" ... "A few more steps!" ...
"Stick to it!"

And the figure seemed to gain new strength and to bound like a wild
beast. But who was it? Surely the Bersaglierino. The form was small,
slender, and very quick. Mollica was large and slow. What had become
of him? Between the roar of the explosions and the whistle of the
shells there came a shrill cry of anguish. The little shadow slid
along, then a leap in the silvery ray, and it was lost in the
blackness of the earth torn by the rain of steel.

"Oh, beasts that they are! They have murdered him!" Pinocchio
screamed. "Enough! Enough! Wretches! Don't you see that he has ceased
to move? Stop shooting.... Give him time to recover.... Perhaps he is
wounded."

It seemed that the Austrian fire grew even more murderous.

Pinocchio, beside himself with fury, rushed out of his hiding-place
and in a couple of bounds was back in the trench.

"They have wounded Bersaglierino.... He is there ... out there in the
No Man's Land.... Help him ... don't let him die so."

They sprang over the top to rescue their wounded comrades, but had
scarcely gone a step before they were lost to him.

Pinocchio lost his head. He sprang out of the dugout and ran as fast
as he could into the spot still illuminated by the ray of silver. He
stumbled, fell, got up again, fell once more, but kept on crawling on
his hands and knees.... He heard a groan, felt a body, lifted it in
his arms, and, gathering all his strength together, began to drag it
toward the trench. All at once he felt his legs give way and he let
out a yell of terror. He was answered by another from a hundred
valiant throats; he saw a strange flash, felt a hurricane strike him,
a wave roll over him ... but before losing his senses there came to
him the cry of victory. The Italian bersaglieri had bayoneted those
who had wounded Bersaglierino and had won from the enemy one more
portion of their country.

A little later the stretcher-bearers were able to gather up the
wounded from the field of honor.




CHAPTER V

_In Which Pinocchio Discovers That Sometimes When You Want to Advance
You Have to Take a Step Backward_


For a long while Pinocchio didn't know whether he was alive or dead.
Then after a time he seemed to be dreaming, but the dreams were so
queer that ... just imagine, he thought he was a puppet again, asleep
on a chair with his feet resting on a brazier full of lighted
charcoal, that one of his feet was on fire and that the flame, little
by little, was creeping up his leg. And, just as once before when
something similar had happened, the dream became a painful reality.
However, there was another dream that comforted him. A lovely woman's
smiling face would come close to him and he would hear soft,
affectionate words. It was the queerest thing possible! It seemed to
him that this face was set in a lovely frame of light-blue hair which
came down like a veil, like a cape enfolding the graceful form of a
young girl. Some one had told him that her name was Fatina, and he
kept repeating the name, as once ... when he was still a little puppet
and the girl with blue hair ... But what had happened to him?

       *       *       *       *       *

One morning he opened his eyes and discovered that he was in a little
white bed in a white room, and that to right and left of him in two
other beds were two wounded men all enveloped in bandages.

  [Illustration]

"Bersaglierino! Bersaglierino!" cried Pinocchio, trying to raise
himself up in bed. But a horrid pain made him fall back on the pillow
and forced him to scream loudly. The door of the little room opened
and a Red Cross nurse in her blue uniform entered swiftly.

"Oh! At last! But be good and don't try to move! The Bersaglierino is
here on your right; he is better, but you must let him be quiet, and
you, too, need to rest."

"Tell me, Fatina, is the Bersaglierino really alive?"

"Don't you see him? Here he is. When he wakes up you can say a few
words to him. Yesterday he was so eager to know about you, but you
couldn't speak to him."

"Listen, Fatina, and I ... am I really alive?"

"It seems so to me."

"But am I ... made of wood or ..."

"You are made of iron."

"Of iron? Don't joke so with me, Fatina. If you want my nose to grow
longer, dearest lady, or if you want me to turn back into a wooden
puppet, I am ready to do so; but not of iron, no. I am too afraid of
rust."

"But what are you talking about? Let me feel your pulse. No, that's
all right, no fever. I said you were made of iron because you have
come out of it all so wonderfully. You were threatened with gas
gangrene, and if they had not amputated at once, it would have been
the end of you, but instead ..."

"Please, please ... what did they do to me?"

"They cut off your injured leg."

"My leg!"

"Yes, indeed; they couldn't help it."

"And when did they cut it off?"

"Three days ago."

"You are perfectly certain of this?"

"I was present."

"And I ... wasn't I present?"

"I think so."

"And how is it I didn't know anything about it?"

"You were asleep."

"I think it was you who were dreaming. Look."

Before Fatina could stop him Pinocchio caught the covers and threw
them off. One leg was indeed missing and just the one which he had
dreamed had been burned by the brazier. He saw a heap of bloody
bandages and let out such a scream that he made the other two wounded
start up.

The one on the left, who looked like a monk in a hood, because from
under the bands which bound his head a long shaggy beard was sticking
out, cried in annoyance:

"Heh! What is it, a locomotive? You are making as much noise as an
enemy's cannon."

"Be quiet, be quiet!"

"Bersaglierino, have you seen what they did to me? They've carried off
one of my legs without asking my permission."

"And they took off one of my arms, and they've made a hole in my head
and cut open my stomach."

"But what kind of dirty tricks are these? I want my leg.... I want my
leg!"

"If it were still on you it would be all swollen and black. Be silent,
shut up, and thank God that they haven't taken the other one. Because
Major Cutemup is here, and when he begins to amputate it is hard to
get him to stop. Imagine, they wanted to cut off my nose."

"I want my leg!"

"Be good."

"Fatina, I beg you, make them make me another one. Write to Geppetto
to make me another one, even of wood, but I want to be able to walk
and run. I want to go back to the war, I do!"

The patient on the left jumped out of his bed and, in giving him a
kiss, brushed his face with his bushy beard.

"There, you are a brave boy. You please me.... We will have another
leg made for you, and if you want to go back to see the Boches you can
come with me. Sister Fatina, is it not true that they're going to make
him a new leg?"

"Certainly."

"Of wood?"

"And with machinery inside so that you can move it as if it were a
real leg."

  [Illustration]

"Then ..."

"Will you be good?"

"Yes ... but as soon as I catch sight of Major Cutemup I'll tell him a
few things I think of him."

"How are you, Bersaglierino?"

"Better, Fatina dear."

"Be brave."

Then she moved softly away, as noiseless as a dream.

"Did you see, Pinocchio? Fatina kept her word. She had scarcely heard
that I was wounded before she hurried to my bed. She is an angel and I
am quite happy. But I owe it to you that I am alive. I had four
bullets in my back.... Those dogs had got the range on me, and if you
hadn't come to my aid they would have finished me.... And you weren't
lucky, either--they shot your leg to pieces, and if the company hadn't
appeared ... But we won! Hurrah for Italy!"

"And Mollica?"

"Dead. They found him near the wire, surrounded by a heap of dead
enemies. He made a regular slaughter. He had your letter to Franz
Joseph stuck on the end of his bayonet. Every time that he hit a foe
he cried, 'Beast of a potato-eater, take this letter and carry it to
your Joey.'"

"Poor Mollica! If I am able to get back there I'll avenge you."

"I told you I wanted you with me. You will see what we'll do to those
creatures. I am Captain Teschisso, of the Second Regiment of Alpine
Troops. What fights we have had! How we have 'strafed' them! A shell
splinter gave me a whack and carried off one of my ears, but if you
join me we'll have dozens of them every day."

"Will I go with you? Yes, indeed, if the Bersaglierino ..."

"As far as I am concerned, do what you've a mind to. I shall never
return to the regiment now.... You can't make war without an arm, but
..."

Just at this moment the door of the little white room opened and Major
Cutemup, followed by two young lieutenants, Fatina, and some men
nurses, came in. He was a short, squatty little man, with smooth face
and tiny eyes hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses, and with a stomach
that would have made an alderman jealous. He looked more like a
cab-driver than like an officer, and even more like a butcher who has
risen to be master of a shop by selling old beef for veal.

"Good morning, boys. You are getting on finely, eh? When I take hold
of you you either die or are better off than you were before anything
happened to you. Let's look at you, Bersaglierino. The arm's doing
well ... the wound in your head will be healed in ten days or so.
Thank God that I saved your eye. It was a risk ... we ought to have
taken it out if we had followed the usual method.... No, no, I find
you in good condition, so good, in fact, that I can tell you a piece
of news ... they have recommended you for the silver medal. I believe
his Majesty will come in person to pin it on your breast. It would be
a real honor for our hospital.

"And you, lad? But really I don't need to bother about you, either.
Boys are like lizards--you can cut them in pieces and they keep on
living."

"Please, please, Mr. Major Carve-Beefsteak, I should like to know who
gave you permission to cut off my leg."

"What? What? You dare ..."

"There's no good lecturing me, because I am not in the army, as poor
Mollica used to say, so you don't frighten me worth a soldo. So I am
just asking you who gave you permission to ... carry off my claw."

"Your claw? The femur was broken, the tibia cracked, the patella
shattered, your temperature up over a hundred, delirium, threatened
with gas gangrene.... I couldn't wait until you had gone to the devil
before asking your permission to amputate. And, moreover, no more
words about it. I cut when it's my duty to cut. If, in spite of the
operation, the gangrene had continued I should have amputated your
other leg as well. So let's look at it. Nurse, undo the bandages."

In a minute the bloody flesh was uncovered. Pinocchio bit his lips in
order to keep from yelling with pain. Cutemup approached in a solemn
manner, and, nearsighted as he was, had almost to stick his nose into
the wound to make his examination.

"Fine.... The healing process has already begun ... the granulation is
splendid, but have you any pain in the groin, boy?"

"How in the world do you expect me to know what that is?"

"Does it hurt you here?"

"No."

"Have you any pain in the sound leg?"

"No."

"Can you move it?"

"Yes."

"Bend it at the knee."

"I am doing it."

"Again, again, again. Does it pain you?"

"No."

"Fine!... Now stretch it out."

He should never have said that. Pinocchio stretched it out with such
agility that there was no difference from the way he usually
administered his solemnest kicks. His foot caught Cutemup right in the
stomach and knocked him breathless into the arms of the young
lieutenant, who had to resort to artificial respiration to revive him.

The Alpine soldier broke out into such an astonishing laugh from
beneath his bandages and his beard that the others, Fatina included,
had to echo him. Pinocchio played 'possum, perfectly still with his
eyes half closed. When Cutemup, quite recovered, sprang toward him to
give vent to his just vengeance, he seemed much surprised to see him
in such a state. He examined him attentively, and, keeping himself a
respectful distance away, poked with his forefinger two or three times
the leg which had given him such marvelous proof of vitality and
energy, then, turning to his colleagues, he began to speak in an
imposing manner:

"The accident which befell me was the result of the nervous depression
of the patient. The reflex motions have superiority over the will
centers. The muscles slacken at the lightest pressure, like a cord of
a strung bow. The vitality shown by the patient is due to a nervous
over-excitation, not noticeable until now. I shall keep the patient
under observation. If you come across similar cases, take notes of
them that I may include them in my article. I shall order extra
nutrition and care in building up the patient as soon as the wound has
healed completely. Sister Fatina, note for the boy special rations of
filet of beefsteak, roast chicken, eggs, custards well-sweetened, at
dinner and again at supper."

  [Illustration: HIS FOOT CAUGHT CUTEMUP RIGHT IN THE STOMACH AND
KNOCKED HIM BREATHLESS]

At this bill of fare Pinocchio's leg by some strange phenomenon began
to bend again from the knee.

The major, thoroughly absorbed in his lesson, did not notice it: "So,
then, that is understood. You, Captain Teschisso, are doing
splendidly; in a few days we'll take the bandage off you. Gentlemen,
let us go into the next room."

They had scarcely gone out and the door was scarcely closed before
Pinocchio burst out into such a hearty laugh that the captain and
Bersaglierino had to laugh, too.

"You don't seem too much depressed."

"What were you doing with that leg in the air?"

  [Illustration]

"Do you know, Captain, as my first kick had gained special nourishment
for me, I wanted to give him another one so that I could get a double
quantity; then there would have been something for all of you."

"Thank you, you shaved poodle."

Just then Fatina returned and was surprised to see Pinocchio laughing
so hard that his tongue was hanging out with happiness.

"What's this?"

"Fatina, my compliments. Did you hear what the major ordered? Filet of
beefsteak, chickens, custards with heaps of sugar, at dinner and again
at supper."

"You wretch!"

"I am not a wretch; I am a poor, weak invalid and no one had better
feel the muscles in my legs too much who doesn't want to get kicks in
the stomach."

"You little beast! Suppose I go and tell the major that ..."

"No, for Heaven's sake! Dear Fatina, keep quiet."

"On one condition."

"Let's hear it."

"That you will be good, that you will be patient and let yourself be
taken care of until it is time to fit your wooden leg."

"I promise you. You know, once I was made of wood all over. In order
to get ahead I can even make up my mind to take a step backward."




CHAPTER VI

_Wherein We See Pinocchio's Heart_


All three of them were now up again. It was to be for them a day of
great gladness. Yet all three were in a bad humor. They didn't even
talk. Captain Teschisso, dressed in a brand-new uniform, couldn't tear
himself away from the mirror, which he addressed in a low voice:

"Just see what they have made of me. I can't go on this way.... I am
not presentable. Without an ear, with a slash on the cheek, half my
beard gone ... I look like a wild animal to be shown at a circus.
Lord! How many kicks I'd like to give those dogs! They've botched me
so I'm no longer fit for this world.... It's against the regulations,
but before I die I want to devour heaps of those curs! Who allows them
to make war like this? Who permits them to reduce a captain of Alpine
troops to such a sight? It would be better for me to die at once. I'm
not good for anything, and that dog of a Cutemup might have made a
better job of me. Let him show himself and I'll give him a piece of my
mind."

Poor Teschisso! He was right! His ugly scar did disfigure him. Another
man would have wept at seeing himself thus; he trembled with eagerness
to be revenged.

Pinocchio, too, was grumbling like a stewpot, giving vent to his ill
humor. They had put on him a wooden leg that was a real triumph of
mechanism. It was jointed like a real one and moved with an automatic
motion in harmony with his sound leg. Pinocchio had tried to run, to
jump, and to balance, and had to convince himself that he had not lost
anything by the exchange. But the leg had one fault--when he extended
it it unbent too rapidly, hitting the heel on the ground with a noisy
and annoying sound. And in addition to this the mechanism, which was
still so new, rattled.

"Plague take it! My own didn't need to be oiled. Who knows how much
oil this one will expect me to give it? But that I'll make Mr. Cutemup
pay for. If he comes up to me and repeats that I am better than I
used to be I'll plant another kick in his stomach, then I'll ask how
he would manage to walk if it were his, on the tip of his toes, with
this heel that beats like a drumstick."

  [Illustration]

The Bersaglierino, too, had a wooden left arm. You wouldn't even have
noticed it. He could move it in any direction, and the gloved
artificial hand which came out of the sleeve of his gray jacket,
although a little stiff, could be moved as easily as a real hand. The
wound that furrowed his forehead didn't disfigure him; indeed, it gave
to his gentle features a certain air of nobility and fierceness. But
the Bersaglierino was sad, so sad that if you had looked into his
eyes you would have been certain that he had to make a great effort
not to cry. Pinocchio noticed it.

"Tell me, Bersaglierino, what was your business before the war?"

"What's that to you?"

"Oh, I just want to know."

"I was a journalist, a writer."

"Hm! Must be a horrid profession."

"Why?"

"Because you have to work so hard not to die of hunger."

"Who told you so?"

"Nobody. But if you had made a lot of money in your job you wouldn't
have left it to volunteer, and as you get only fourteen cents a day as
a volunteer at the front, as a civilian you must have been hard up all
the year. Then ... you needn't make a face ... you don't write with
the left hand ... so you can go back to being a journalist, even with
... the Austrian improvement."

He hoped to drive away his sadness by saying it in this way, but
instead he only increased it.

"Leave me in peace, puppet!" he said, roughly and with such a stern
tone that Pinocchio in his turn longed to cry.

At this moment the door of the room was opened with great violence and
Major Cutemup, as if hurled by a catapult, made his appearance,
followed by Fatina and by a regiment of soldiers and nurses. He was
red as the comb of a cock at his first crow, wheezed every now and
then like a pair of bellows, and dripped sweat as a bucket just out of
the well drips water.

"Sister Fatina, I rely on you ... I rely on you to see that everything
is in order. Four soldiers will wash the windows ... six will scrub
the floors, which must shine like a mirror, and everything must be
done in ten minutes. And you, boys, put on your special uniforms.... I
have great news for you. His Majesty has announced his visit to the
hospital; with his own august hands he will bestow the decorations.
You, Bersaglierino, who are among these fortunate ones, take care to
be irreproachable in your appearance. You, Captain ..."

"What! What did he say? Do you think I can let his Majesty see me in
this frightful condition? Half a beard, half a mustache, minus an ear,
half a face ..."

"But ... I don't know what you can do about it. Fix it up the best you
can."

"Certainly I'll fix it up, I'll ... Good Heavens! man, let me go to a
barber who can make me look like a Christian, because you, Major
Cutemup, have made me resemble one of Menelik's crew."

"But ..."

"But I swear that I won't let the dogs who got me in this condition
stick their fingers on my face, I tell you."

"Teschisso!"

"No, I won't let them touch me."

"Captain Teschisso, I must remind you of the respect due ..."

"What's that? Major Cutemup ... did you think I was talking of you?
Not a thought of doing so. I meant those dogs of Austrians."

"A-a-a-h! Then be off to the barber's."

"Thanks. I'll have him fix me up in a minute."

"Boy, hurry up. His Majesty is coming."

       *       *       *       *       *

Ten minutes later everything was shining like a mirror. The soldiers
were already at work in the adjoining room. Pinocchio had disappeared.
Teschisso had gone to be shaved. Fatina was arranging the white
window-curtains. The Bersaglierino was seated on his bed, his right
arm resting on his knee and his chin held in the hollow of his hand.

"What's the matter? What is it, Bersaglierino?"

He didn't answer, and Fatina, after having looked at him a minute with
her large, soft eyes, came up nearer and sat down beside him on the
little white bed.

"Tell me what's the trouble, Bersaglierino. Why are you crying? Why
don't you make yourself handsome? Didn't you hear? The King is coming
to give you the medal."

"Why should I care about that? What do you think that means to me,
Fatina?"

And then, since she seemed much astonished at his words, he continued,
vehemently:

"Why, indeed, should I care about that?... After they have sent me
away from here I shall go back to living alone like a dog ... to
fighting every day for my existence. Who will get any satisfaction
from the reward the King's hand has bestowed on me? No one. Perhaps
the day will come when I shall have to pin the medal on my coat to
keep the boys in the streets from making fun of me, the poor maimed
creature who will wander about playing a street-organ."

"Oh, Bersaglierino! I never imagined you could talk like that. I don't
want you to talk so."

And she spoke with so much feeling that he, fearing he had offended
her, started to beg her pardon:

"Fatina ..."

"Tell me, aren't you glad to have done your duty, to have given your
blood for your country? Didn't you volunteer? Didn't you go willingly
through the barbed wire to open a road of victory for your country?
And now you are almost blaming yourself for the good you have done,
for fear of the morrow. And you think yourself destined to end as a
laughing-stock of horrid little children? Oh, but you are bad! Tell
me, are you really so sure that you are alone in the world, that there
is no one who will rejoice to see shining on your breast the medal
your country has bestowed on you?"

"Ah, if it were so, Fatina, if it were true!"

"Do you believe that no one has followed you in thought through all
your dangers on the field of honor, that no one suffered, knowing you
were wounded, or trembled at the thought of your bed of pain? Do you
really believe that there is no one to rejoice at seeing you take up
again your place in the world? You are young, full of ardor and
intelligence ..."

"But I am poor, so poor!"

"You can get rich by working. You fought the war with weapons;
continue it with the pen. Write what you have seen; you will make a
name for yourself and some day will be the pride of your family."

"I! Don't make fun of me, Fatina. I, wounded, maimed, will never find
a woman to link her life with mine."

"Bersaglierino, I, too, am alone in the world, free to dispose of
myself. I am not rich, but I have enough to live on; I am not a
professor, but I am widely educated.... I will be frank; if to-morrow
a brave man like you, in the same condition, should come and ask me
..."

"To be his wife?"

"I should say yes, and I should be proud. Do you understand? Proud of
him and of the medal shining on his breast, which would seem like my
own...."

"Oh! Fatina, Fatina!"

He could say no more. Tears choked him. But she looked at him tenderly
with her kind eyes, and in them, too two large tears were shining.

Pinocchio could not stand any more of this. For half an hour he had
been hidden under the bed, had therefore listened to this noble
dialogue, and had had to bite his lips to keep from crying. But as it
was not amusing he could not stand it any longer. He crawled very
quietly from his hiding-place, approached Fatina and Bersaglierino
cautiously and without their seeing him or being able to put up any
resistance, he gathered the two heads in his arms, brought them close
together, and held them close, covering them both with kisses.

Pinocchio's generous and lovable impulse had found the way to unite
these two beings whom destiny had brought together. The picture they
made was interesting and touching and would have touched every one who
knew them, if at this moment Captain Teschisso had not entered, quite
made over by the barber.

"What ... what are you doing? Aren't you preparing for the august
visit?"

"Augusta? Who's she?"

"What? Don't you know that the King, the commander-in-chief of our
army, the first soldier of New Italy, the head of the state, the
corporal of the Zouaves, like his grandfather before him, the flower
of gentlemen, a good father of his family, one of the wisest
sovereigns of Europe...? In short, you'll see him soon. Hurry up,
because when I came in the royal automobile had been sighted.... Don't
you think that dog of a barber fixed me up fine? Anyway, he was able
to get rid of the half of my beard which the Germans shaved with a
shell."

The King? This short word frightened Pinocchio terribly. This man who
commanded everybody, who could put everybody in prison, who was named
Majesty, August, and Victor Emanuel all at the same time, who caused
the rooms to be polished in five minutes, who set Cutemup to
trembling, who kept all the wounded in the hospital in order, all of
them men of valor who had held their own against hundreds of the
foe--frightened him like a hobgoblin or something similar. At the
very thought of having his glance fall upon him he felt goose-flesh
all over his body.

"It isn't fear; it is lack of courage or something of that sort, but I
must get out of the way. I have never had anything to do with kings
and I don't know much about the way they think. If Augusta, or his
Majesty, is in a bad humor and should find my presence among the
soldiers out of order, he can bat his eye at Cutemup, make him a sign,
and ... whack! ... my head would roll on the ground. Wouldn't that
murderer of a surgeon be glad to be revenged for the kick I gave him
in the stomach? Yes, I must find some way ..."

His musings were interrupted by three bugle notes which brought every
one to attention.

"There he is! There he is!"

Then resounded enthusiastic hurrahs for the King.

Pinocchio disappeared under Bersaglierino's bed ... popped up again,
disguised himself, and no one noticed that ...

Captain Teschisso and the Bersaglierino stood at attention at the foot
of their beds, straight and immovable, awaiting the royal visit. The
King in his soldier way entered without ceremony, followed by his
aide-de-camp, General Win-the-War, Major Cutemup, and a number of
other officers of the garrison, Red Cross nurses, and other wounded
who had come from their rooms to take part in the ceremony. It didn't
seem possible that the room could hold so many persons, but all of
them crowded in, squeezing together in order to see the King and to be
near to him. And his face, which was wrinkled, was illuminated by a
kindly smile that spread out from his thick mustache grown prematurely
white. He gave Teschisso a military salute, then shook his hand
vigorously and said:

"I am so pleased to see you recovered. I am sure that when you go back
to your regiment I shall hear more of you. You Alpine troopers are all
of you wonderful soldiers."

"For Italy and for our King, your Majesty."

"For our Italy greater than ever."

"She shall be, if we have to shed all our blood."

"Such is my belief."

Major Cutemup had suddenly turned crimson with rage, and approached
Fatina, his large, angry eyes scowling at her from behind his
eyeglasses.

"Why have you treated me so?" he asked, in a low, furious voice.

"I?"

"Yes. I told you to put everything in order."

"Well?"

"Look at that mess!" and he nodded toward a kind of clothes-hanger
near the head of Bersaglierino's bed, on which were hung a hat with
cock plumes, a coat, with a pair of trousers all torn and ragged and
dirty. It was the uniform the brave young soldier had worn on the
field and which Fatina had hidden under the bed a little while ago.

Fatina didn't know what to say. The sudden appearance of this
clothes-hanger, ... those clothes spread out, affected her so that she
had no thought of the major or of his rage, which escaped in such
violent outbursts that they would have started a windmill going.

The King had approached Bersaglierino, and General Win-the-War
presented him, with these words:

"Your Majesty, this brave soldier has been proposed for the medal of
valor for the following reasons: enrolled as a volunteer, he took part
in the first battles with the enemy, giving an example of courage and
discipline; he volunteered to blow up the enemy wire defenses; he
carried out the assignment given him, and, unhurt himself, he tried to
free a comrade caught on the barbed wire and managed to put to flight
an enemy patrol which attacked him. Then he was hit several times by
machine-gun fire. Carried to the first-aid station, he showed the
greatest self-control and cheered for his King and his country when he
learned that his efforts had enabled his company to take an important
trench from the enemy."

The King took from the hand of his adjutant a silver medal hung from a
light-blue ribbon and pinned it on Bersaglierino's breast, who was so
pale with emotion that he looked as if he would faint, then clasped
the soldier's right hand in both of his and said:

"Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! You have done your duty as an Italian soldier.
Treasure this medal which your country gives you by the hand of your
King. Wear it always proudly on your breast. Every one should know
that you deserve it and that they should follow your example.... You
are crying? But it is with happiness, is it not?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"And now that you have recovered, what will you do?"

"I shall go back to my profession. I am a journalist."

"And ... will you be able?"

"I hope so. I was very severely wounded, but ..."

"You cured him, Major Cutemup?"

"I myself, your Majesty; he was one of the worst cases. The left arm
carried away by a shell splinter, wounded on the temple, and
threatened with damage to his eye, wounded in his third upper rib and
another wound in the groin with lesion in the intestines. An abdominal
operation was performed, his arm was amputated and there was a suture
in the occipital region.... The poor fellow has certainly had his
share."

"You can see that by looking at his glorious uniform; it is indeed a
document."

The uniform in question trembled and the plumed hat shook.

"Yes ... truly ... but ..."

"Would you deny it?"

"No, your Majesty, I wanted to say that that uniform shouldn't be
there just now. It is a glorious object, but in a hospital ward it may
have infectious germs.... I had given orders to ... but ... and if
your Majesty will permit, I will give orders to remove it at once."

He had scarcely finished speaking when the coat, trousers, and hat
suddenly fell to the ground with such a curious noise that Cutemup
could not help running up to see what had happened. Imagine how he
looked when he found himself face to face with Pinocchio, cold with
terror. He tried to hide him with the glorious garments in order to
carry him off, bundled up in them, but the King turned and asked:

"What's happened?"

"Your Majesty, I don't know how to explain it.... Under these clothes
was hidden a wretch who ..."

"Ah! I saw. I know him. Pinocchio is one of my old and dear
acquaintances. I am glad to see him among my soldiers, in
semi-military garb. Leave to Bersaglierino this uniform that is dear
to him. It will be a glorious souvenir for his family. Good-by, brave
soldier; remember your King. I called to you in the hour of need; if
to-morrow you have need of me, remember that I shall never forget
those who have served me on the battle-field."

And the good King, the loving father, the model soldier, turned to
leave, followed by his suite.

Before he had crossed the threshold Pinocchio had sprung to his feet,
flung him two kisses with the tips of his fingers, and began to dance
like mad with happiness. His wooden leg made a horrible noise. Fatina,
fearing Cutemup's anger, begged him to behave.

"What? What? If Cutemup scolds me, woe to him. Did you hear? The King
is an old acquaintance of mine. If he gets offended with me, I'll take
out my paper and pen and inkstand and I will write: 'Dear King, you
are the best and kindest man in the world, but do me the favor to cut
off the head, or some other organ, from the major who amputated my leg
without permission. In this world an eye for an eye, a head for a leg.
Many kisses from your Pinocchio.'"




CHAPTER VII

_How Pinocchio Came Face to Face with Our Alpine Troops_


If you had come across him unexpectedly in his new costume I assure
you you would not have recognized him. On his head was a woolen helmet
from which emerged only his eyes and the point of his nose; on his
back was a short coat of goatskin which swelled him out like a German
stuffed with beer and sausage; his legs were lost in a pair of big
boots with lots of nails. Around his waist was a huge belt of leather
from which hung a number of small rope ends, and in his hand he
carried a splendid stick with an iron point. Captain Teschisso was a
gentleman and wanted his new orderly to be magnificently equipped.
That odd creature of a mountaineer amused himself thoroughly with the
rascal Pinocchio. It didn't seem real to see him struggling to
conquer the mountain peaks and ready to fight those dogs of Austrians
who were up there and with whom he had so many accounts to settle.
They had arrived one morning at Fort ---- (censor). Teschisso had been
greeted like one raised from the dead. Finally the soldiers had thrown
their arms about his neck and kissed and hugged him. They all seemed
like one family, and for a fact they did all resemble one another a
little: tall, with extraordinary beards, with muscular legs straight
as a column and hands that seemed made to give vigorous blows.

  [Illustration]

"Where is my company?"

"On ---- [oh, that censor!], at nine thousand feet altitude."

"All well?"

"'Most all."

"And the Boches, where are they?"

"Bah! We've got them on the run."

"Send my things up to me with the first supply division; I'm off now
at once."

"Nine feet of snow and a biting wind."

"Heavens! If I were sure of finding that dog who cut my beard I would
go to hell itself."

"I am thinking less of you than of your little orderly."

"Ha! That youngster has a wooden leg and is as hardy as a goat."

Pinocchio, to show off, whirled his leg around and with a shy glance
convinced himself that in a wink of the eye he had won the respect of
the little garrison.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Listen, Captain, if you give me something to eat I'll go ahead; if
you don't, here's where I stay."

"Indeed!"

"How indeed! Did you understand that I am hungry?"

"And I have nothing more to give you to eat."

"And I stop here."

"You'll get caught in a blizzard and buried in snow and will be frozen
hard like Neapolitan ice-cream."

"But ... I'm hungry."

"You have eaten two rations of bread, a box of conserved beef, nearly
half a pound of chocolate ..."

"Is it my fault if the air of these mountains makes me as hungry as a
wolf? You should have told me before we left. Now I know why you are
always saying that you would like to eat so many Austrians. But if you
think I can get used to the same diet you are much mistaken."

"Are you coming or aren't you?"

"Is it much farther?"

"Do you see that cloud up there?"

"I defy any one not to see it."

"When that is passed there is a crack in the mountain called Spaccata;
we must cross that and we are there--at least if they haven't gone on
ahead."

"In the clouds? Really in the clouds?"

"Certainly."

"Listen, Captain, do I really seem to you as much of a fool as that?"

"Just now, yes."

"Thanks, but you can go in the clouds by yourself; I'll turn back and
bid you farewell."

He tried to make one of his usual pirouettes to turn around, but the
snow slipped under his feet and he fell, sitting down, and, sliding on
the white surface, was precipitated down the slope of the mountain
with terrifying speed.

  [Illustration]

"Help! Help!"

"Stick your staff in! Stick your staff in!" yelled Teschisso, who
already believed him lost.

He had need to yell. Pinocchio was flying along like a little steamer
under forced draught and couldn't hear anything, I assure you.
Suddenly he stopped as if he were nailed to the snow. That was to be
expected, you say, with that air of superior beings you assume every
now and then. I know--but I can tell you Pinocchio didn't expect it,
nor even Teschisso, who was leaping down to help his little friend.

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Do you feel ill?"

"No, not exactly ill, but I suffered terribly from--lack of courage."

"Why don't you get up?"

"I'm afraid of sliding off again."

"Let me help you."

Captain Teschisso took hold of the rope Pinocchio had tied around his
waist and pulled one end of it through his leather belt, fastened the
other end round his body, and, after planting his feet firmly, said:
"Take hold of the rope and pull yourself up. You are quite safe; the
mountain will crumble before I fall."

Pinocchio did his best to get on his feet, but couldn't succeed. His
hinder parts adhered to the crust of the snow as if some magician had
glued them firmly. Teschisso, who had little patience and thought that
Pinocchio was feigning in order not to have to climb the mountain,
gave such a vigorous pull on the rope tied to the boy's belt that he
jerked him up, swung him through the air for several feet, and flung
him face downward on a heap of snow as downy as a feather-bed. A piece
of gray cloth left behind showed the spot where Pinocchio had been
miraculously halted in his precipitous descent. Teschisso glanced at
it and couldn't keep back one of his loud, honest mountain laughs.
Pinocchio, believing he was being swung around for fun, sprang to his
feet, so furious that the captain's hilarity grew even stronger and
louder.

"Heavens! And you can thank Heaven that you are still in the land of
the living. Look there and feel the back of your trousers. Hah, hah,
hah! Don't you understand yet what has happened to you? You were
caught in a wolf-trap which the Austrians put there to catch some of
us, and instead you were the one, which isn't the same thing at all."

  [Illustration: PINOCCHIO DID HIS BEST TO GET ON HIS FEET, BUT COULDN'T
SUCCEED]

Notwithstanding the laughter of the captain, Pinocchio's anger
evaporated in a second. His eyes were fixed on the scraps of his
trousers that still hung on the teeth of the trap and his hands were
rubbing the frozen surface left uncovered. He longed to cry, and felt
so ridiculous that he was almost on the point of flinging himself
again down the snowy slope.

"Come on, come on! There's no time to lose. There is a long road to go
and the clouds are hanging lower. There's no sense in your staying
there like a macaw, weeping for the seat of your breeches. When we
arrive up there I'll have the company's tailor mend them for you.
You've got to march, and no more nonsense. Forward, march!"

"Captain, it's impossible."

"Heavens alive! How impossible?"

"I am not presentable."

"Why?"

"If we find the enemy and the Austrians see me with my trousers in
such a state, they will say that the Italian army ..."

"Fool! The Italian army never turns its rear to the enemy, and you
won't, either."

"But ..."

"If you are afraid of taking cold in your spine that's another matter.
If that's the case let's see what can be done."

Captain Teschisso turned Pinocchio over, took a copy of a newspaper
out of his pocket, folded it over four times, and stuck it into the
hole of the trousers. And he did it so well that the "Latest News"
with the headlines seemed to be framed in the ragged edges of the
cloth.

"There you are. Are you satisfied?"

To tell the truth, he would have preferred to consider a little before
answering, but the captain didn't give him the time. He started off
with a quick stride, pulling the rope after him which he had fastened
to his belt, as if bringing a calf to the butcher.

       *       *       *       *       *

I do not know if you, my children, have ever been up in the high
mountains. You must know that after you reach a certain altitude,
whether because the air becomes rarefied or because of the silence
that surrounds you, you seem to be living another life in another
world. Your breath grows shorter; it seems as if you could not draw a
long one, while the lungs are so full of oxygen that the heart beats
more rapidly; then fatigue is followed by a condition of strange
torpor. Nevertheless, you continue to climb without effort, as if the
legs moved automatically. If you speak, the voice reaches the ears
faintly as if it came from a distance. Sometimes you have a certain
discomfort called mountain-sickness, which makes the temples throb and
brings with it such a languor that the traveler is forced to give up
his ascent. Pinocchio, who for some time had been experiencing all
these sensations peculiar to the high mountains, found himself
suddenly hidden in a fog so thick that he couldn't see a hand's-breath
before his nose.

Not seeing Teschisso any more, and not feeling his numbed legs move,
and feeling himself dragged upward and upward through the darkness as
if by some prodigious force, he really imagined himself to have
entered a new world, and was seized by such a terror that he began to
scream as if his throat were being cut. But, seeing that his voice
didn't carry far and that Teschisso was not affected by it, he thought
it easier to let himself be dragged along and to spare his breath for
a better cause.

"I'd like to know where that creature is dragging me," he began to
grumble in a low voice like a somnambulist in the dark to give himself
courage. "I'd like to know where he is taking me. I am almost
beginning to believe that I am really in the clouds, but I'd like to
know what need there is to climb 'way up here to fight when there is
plenty of room down below. Anyway, I don't believe that we'll find a
single Austrian up here in the clouds; it's just a fancy of the
captain, who must be a trifle crazy. Once I heard a country priest say
that the Heavenly Father lives in the clouds to let the water down
when the peasants need it to water their cabbages and turnips, and to
keep the sun lighted to warm those who have no clothes. It looks to me
as if He had let the Alpine troops take His place.

"Hum! Let's see how this is going to come out. All I care about is to
fill my stomach when we arrive, because I am hungry and can't stand it
any longer. I've been eating snow for an hour now, but I don't get any
nourishment from that. I am beginning to think I was better off where
I was before. If Bersaglierino hadn't been injured I'd still be with
him and his fine regiment. At least down there I could hear some
noise ... patapin! patapum ... pum! Here there's nothing but snow and
ice, not a living person to be seen. I should just like to know with
whom we can fight. In any case, if the Austrians are up there it seems
to me it'll be hard to get close enough to bother them.... But it's
easy to see that the air up there isn't for me; I can scarcely go on,
but if I slip I'd have to fall all the way, as I did this morning. If
I hadn't been so frightened I should almost have enjoyed it. I went
along like a trolley-car, and such speed! But I left my trousers on
the way. A nice sight I'll be when I'm introduced to the company with
the newspaper on ... the rear front! And, to tell the truth, it
doesn't keep me very warm. I feel a little cold in my back. I don't
know whether it really comes from that, but I feel it, almost--if I
didn't feel so well--as if I were going to be sick."

Teschisso noticed the dead weight on the rope he was pulling and
absent-mindedly quickened his pace, so terrifyingly horizontal. If the
boy had fainted it wouldn't be an easy matter to carry him to safety
in such weather. Although he knew the rocks inch by inch, it was not
easy to find the way in the whiteness of the snow nor to judge how
much more of the road there still remained to cover, on account of the
fog which hid the landscape. He was reproaching himself for not having
listened to the advice of his comrades at the fort, who had advised
him to delay his climb, when he heard a strange metallic noise which
grew stronger each moment.

"No so bad. Here we are!"

He took a few steps more, then, pulling from his pocket a horn
whistle, he blew several short, shrill blasts. He was answered by a
dozen voices, one deep one calling:

"Who goes there?"

"Friends."

"Pasquale."

"Pinerolo."

"I'm well. Who are you?"

"Captain Teschisso."

"Bah! Don't believe it."

"Here, you dog! I tell you it is I."

"Captain Teschisso is killed. Too bad. I saw him fall down in the
valley."

"Oh, did you, Sergeant Minestron?"

"I'll be dogged if it isn't he; it really is he!"

From the fog emerged several Alpine figures; they came nearer, growing
more distinct, and then there was a yell of delight.

"It is he in flesh and blood. Hurrah!"

"Hurrah for our captain!"

"Thank God that he is really alive."

"Lieutenant, Lieutenant, come here ... a surprise!"

"Captain, how many surprises?"

"Let me get my breath; you are suffocating me with your hugs. Where
are they?"

"The Austrians?"

"Heavens! Whom do you suppose I'm talking about? I came up here for
the express purpose of getting even with them!"

"They are a long distance away, Captain. We must transport our
artillery up to Mount X [censor]; there we'll go for them."

"And have you got the _filovia_ [aerial railway] in working order for
that purpose?"

"Yes, indeed! They have been working on it for three days."

"And the company?"

"They are intrenched in the hut on Mount X with the battalion."

"It will take four good hours to get there."

"Even more, Captain."

"And how will I manage to tow along this lump of a Pinocchio who is
half dead with mountain-sickness?"

"Pinocchio?"

"Where is he?"

"Pull the rope and take him off my back; he has tired me out."

Pinocchio, who was in a state of great weakness and curiously sleepy,
felt himself lifted up and whirled around to the outburst of loud
laughter. It seemed to him that something slipped down his throat
which burned and made him cough and sneeze ... then he thought he was
stretched out on a bed that was rather hard, but covered with warm and
heavy coverings; then ... he experienced a strange feeling of comfort
disturbed only by a long, monotonous, persistent humming.

If he had been able to notice what was happening to him he would
either have died of fright or he would have believed himself in the
very hands of God. Fastened to the gun-carriage of a six-inch cannon,
suspended in the car of a _filovia_, he was traveling over the abyss
which separates two of our giant Alps. Below him was a sea of clouds,
above the beautiful blue sky, all about him the gleam of white snow,
and on the snow here and there a group of little gray points, like
grains of sand lost in all this immensity. Those were our Alpine
troops, the dear big boys who were laughing at the joke played on
Pinocchio, and defying serenely all the obstacles that nature opposed
to their victorious advance on Italian soil which Austria's power had
for so many years disputed with us.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Pinocchio regained his senses he found himself lying on the
ground wrapped up in coverlets and warm as a bun just out of the oven.
Above his head dangled horizontally the huge basket from which he had
been flung by the shock of its sudden halt, and which swung on the
steel cables of the _filovia_ as if it were weary of being up there
and eager to set about its job. All about was the gleam of the snow,
even though the light was growing paler every moment. I bet you a
soldo against a lira what hour it was. But Pinocchio guessed it from
the odor of cooking which sweetened the air all about, an odor which
would have brought a dead dyspeptic to life. He sniffed the air like a
bloodhound, rolled his eyes in every direction, in all corners, to
discover the spot whence came the delicious fragrance, but couldn't
see anything but snow, nothing, not even a curl of distant smoke. He
was so hungry that he thought he would faint.

"I am dreaming with eyes open. How is it possible that there should be
in this desert pastry covered with caramel sauce? Because I know I am
not mistaken ... the odor I smell is just that. If I had only a piece
of bread, by means of my nose and by means of my mouth I could fool
myself into believing that I was dining magnificently, but ..."

But the odor affected him so strongly that he had to get up to limber
up his muscles. He had scarcely got to his feet when a strange thing
happened--from the very spot where he had been lying a puff of smoke
rose gently upward, and this smoke had precisely the odor of pastry
covered with caramel sauce.

  [Illustration]

Pinocchio crossed his hands over his empty stomach and stood for a
moment pondering. Never in all his life had he had presented to him
so difficult a problem as this to solve. He thought and thought, and,
like Galileo, had recourse to the experimental method. He knelt down
in the snow and began to scrape it away with his hands on the spot
where his body, covered by the latest issue of the newspaper, had left
an impression. The smell of caramel sauce kept growing more fragrant,
and Pinocchio's tongue licked the end of his nose so solemnly that he
would have made the inventor of handkerchiefs blush with shame.
Suddenly a deep opening appeared under the snow. Pinocchio stuck his
arms in up to the elbows and uttered a shriek of terror. His hands and
wrists were held as in a fiery vise and his arms were pulled so
violently that he was jerked face down on the earth and his nose stuck
into the snow.

If he had not been in such an uncomfortable position and had been able
to look over his shoulder he would have seen four devils of Alpine
troopers advancing very quietly, guns pointed and bayonets fixed. It
could be only a starved Austrian who would attempt to enter through
the dugout's little window cut through the snow into the officers'
mess, and they intended giving him a fine welcome. A corporal with a
reddish beard which hung down to his stomach stood two paces away,
ready to give him a bayonet thrust that would have run him through
like a snipe on a spit, but suddenly he focused his eyes on a certain
point, advanced on his hands and knees, and began to read the "Latest
News" which he had caught sight of in the seat of Pinocchio's
trousers.

The Alpine troops are the bravest soldiers in the world; if any one
doubts this let him ask the hunters of that foolish gallows-bird of an
emperor; but they are not all well educated, and for this reason
Corporal Scotimondo, as soon as he had spelled out the interesting
headline, signaled to his comrades to advance cautiously.

You can't have the faintest idea of how important a newspaper
becomes, even if it is not a particularly late one, up there among
those snow-clad peaks where our soldiers were fighting for a greater
Italy. So this editorial, which contained the news of the miraculous
conquest of the Col di Lana, deserved to be preserved in the archives
among the masterpieces of our glory, instead of in the seat of
Pinocchio's trousers.

As I have told you, Corporal Scotimondo could scarcely spell, but
among his three comrades Private Draghetta was looked upon as a
genius, because as a civilian he had been a clerk in Cuneo. But
Draghetta, who could see the Austrians a mile off and when he saw them
never failed to knock them over with a shot from his gun, was
nearsighted as a mole, and when he wanted to read had to rub his nose
into the print.

When Pinocchio felt Draghetta's nose tickle him he began to kick like
a donkey stung by a gadfly.

"Hold him tight; tie him. We've taken the Col di Lana! The Col di Lana
is ours!"

"Really?"

"Is it true?"

"Read it, Draghetta ... don't be afraid ... I'll hold him for you."

Scotimondo sat astride Pinocchio's back and squeezed him with his
knees so hard that he took his breath away.

"'Yesterday our brave Alpine troops, supported by infantry regiments,
by means of a brilliant attack gained the highest summit of the Col di
Lana, which is now safely in our possession.' ... Hurrah!"

"Hurrah for Italy!"

"Hurrah for the King!"

They were crazy with joy and danced about on the snow like fiends,
throwing their plumed hats up into the air, waving their guns above
their heads. Suddenly, just as if they had risen from the ground, a
hundred soldiers appeared and surrounded them.

"What is it?"

"What has happened?"

"The Col di Lana is ours!"

"Hurrah for Italy!"

"Who told you so?"

"Where did you hear it?"

"In the latest news of the _Corriere_."

"Are you certain?"

"Where did you find it?"

"If you don't believe it, ask Draghetta."

All this noise, this rushing out of the trenches and the soldiers
staying in the open, was against regulations, so that Lieutenant
Sfrizzoli couldn't let it pass without giving vent to one of his usual
fits of rage. Red as a radish, he rushed toward Draghetta, shoving
apart the group of rejoicing Alpine soldiers, and stopped in front of
him, legs wide apart, and with fists clenched.

"Is it you, Draghetta, who have set the camp in such an uproar?"

"Not I, sir; it is the Col di Lana."

"What? What? What?"

"We've taken it, sir."

"Who told you?"

"I read it myself."

"Where?"

"On ... on ..."

"Well?"

"I don't want to be lacking in respect, sir, to my superior officer,
no matter what the occasion may be ..."

"Stupid! Tell me where you read it."

"On the frontispiece of a book without words belonging to an Austrian
soldier who ..."

Draghetta didn't succeed in getting out another word. Something
interposed between him and the lieutenant with a lightning-like
rapidity ... and he felt a terrible kick in the shins which made him
roll over on the ground with pain.

"Mr. Lieutenant, it is I ... the scout Pinocchio, under Captain
Teschisso's protection. I took part in the campaign on the Isonzo and
left a leg there and in its place I now have a wooden leg of perfect
Italian manufacturing. He told you what he thought was so, but I beg
to convince you of the contrary. But the news about the Col di Lana is
true, as true as can be. Here is the _Corriere_ which was on the
frontispiece ... of my book without words, in the seat of my trousers.
But, as I can't stand the cold, I beg you to have a patch put on and
to have served to me a plate of that pastry cooked under the snow,
because I am so hungry I could eat even you."

Shortly after the delighted Pinocchio sat in front of a dish piled
high with spaghetti, and surrounded by soldiers of the company who
never stopped asking him questions about how the war was going down in
the plains. With his mouth full he kept turning to this one and that
one, uttering inarticulate sounds that might have come from a sucking
pig.

       *       *       *       *       *

The arrival of Captain Teschisso was the signal for a furious attack.
He had seen in the distance a long file of the enemy clad in white
shirts moving across the snow; he had hurried to the dugout to give
the alarm and, taking command of the company, had flung himself on the
foe, who, relying too much on the secrecy of his attack, was beaten
and put to flight.

Pinocchio had assisted in the action at a loophole in the trench,
armed with the finest of spy-glasses. The Alpine troops had performed
prodigious deeds of valor. The captain came back with two prisoners,
one a Hungarian and one a Croat, whom he held by the collars as if
they were two mice surprised while robbing tripe from the larder.

"Heavens! What blows!" he cried, happily, to the soldiers who
surrounded him, rejoicing. "But, boys, I won't let them sleep
to-night. We must get ready for an attack in force. We must make these
pigs sing!"

There was no time to pay any attention to them. A few moments later a
rain of shells began to fall around the neighborhood of the dugout.
The Austrians wanted to revenge themselves from a distance for their
sudden rout. Teschisso ordered four mountain guns which had just
arrived by the _filovia_ to be mounted on the gun-carriages, assembled
his men, and ran to take up his position in an excavation nearly a
mile away whence it was possible to observe the enemy's position.
Pinocchio and Ciampanella, the company cook, remained behind to guard
the dugout, and to them had been assigned the care of the two
prisoners from whom Teschisso hoped later to obtain some definite
information.

  [Illustration: CIAMPANELLA, THE COMPANY COOK]




CHAPTER VIII

_How Pinocchio Made Two Beasts Sing--Contrary to Nature_


Excuse me, my children, for not having presented Ciampanella to you
before. Ciampanella was a pure-blooded Roman, born under the shadow of
the Capitol, like--the wolf kept at the cost of the City Commune. If
Francis Joseph had seen him he would have appointed him at once as
royal hangman because he had a gallows countenance and a body like a
gigantic negro. Yet he was the best-hearted man in the world, so good
that he wouldn't harm a fly.

This evening he was in such a good humor that he made even Pinocchio
laugh, whom the charge of the prisoners had made as serious as a
judge.

"Listen, youngster, don't bother yourself with these two scoundrels
whose throats I'll cut some day with my kitchen knife as if they were
pigs, and so you will be freed from the care of them, and I win back
the honor which I lose in feeding the enemies of my country."

"Are you crazy?"

"Why?"

"Didn't you hear what my captain said? We must make them sing."

"Them sing? It's easier to make the statue of Marcus Aurelius sing
that's of bronze and won't move from the Capitol for fear the
Councilors of the Commune might take it to a pawnbroker's."

"But I've found out already what their names are."

"I, too."

"Let's hear."

"Pigs."

"That is their family name, but the real name of the Croat is Stolz
and the Hungarian's is Franz."

"And then?"

"We've got to find out how many of them are down there in the
trenches; if there are others behind them; how many pieces of
artillery they have and where; from what point their munitions and
supplies come, and how many officers are in command of the troops."

"That's the easiest thing possible."

"You think so?"

"You ask them and they will answer."

"And if they pretend not to hear?"

"Leave it to me, youngster. I have a special way of making myself
understood, even by the deaf. I didn't read for nothing _The Spanish
Inquisition_. Bring to me here those two satellites of Franz Joe and
you'll hear the speeches I'll make them."

Ciampanella rubbed his ears, tied an apron around his waist as when he
entered upon his official functions, filled up the little stove with
charcoal and lighted a fine fire. When Pinocchio returned to the
kitchen, followed by the prisoners, a pair of tongs and a shovel were
heating on the red-hot charcoal.

At the sight of these the Croat and the Hungarian exchanged glances
and a few quick, dry phrases in their language.

Ciampanella advanced triumphantly to within a foot of them, bowed like
an actor to an applauding audience, and unfolded one of his most
polished discourses:

"Gentlemen, our officers say that we must respect the enemy, and I
respect you according to command; but in case any one should persist
in refusing to speak, just like the beasts, I should feel it my duty
to treat him like a beast, and my superiors would say to me,
'Ciampanella, you're right.' I explain this because we have need of
certain information, so we take the liberty of asking you in secret
certain things which you, gentlemen, can answer, after which we will
give you special attention in our culinary service. This is said and
promised, so I begin my questions. We want to know how many men and
how many officers that big simpleton of your emperor has whipped up
together against us."

No answer.

"What? Are you deaf? Don't you understand modern Italian? Then I'll
talk ancient Roman to you."

Ciampanella grabbed from the stove the red-hot shovel and waved it
before the Austrians' noses. Their eyes popped out with fright, but
they didn't utter a word.

"You will either answer or I will give you two kisses with the shovel
on your right cheeks and two on your left."

"'Talian pigs! Brigands!"

"May you be skinned alive! To call me a brigand! Me! Pinocchio, which
creature is this, Spitz or Spotz?"

"Franz."

"Listen, Franz, if you dare insult me another time, I'll untie your
hands and then I'll give you so many boxes on your ear that'll make
you more of an imbecile than your emperor."

"You kill us, we die mouths shut."

"We, we ... Wait before you talk in the plural; wait till I put this
red-hot shovel to Stolz's ear, and then ..."

Ciampanella came closer to the Croat, armed with his other heated
iron, but suddenly he felt a blow on his eye which half blinded him.

"... they can ..."

He couldn't finish because Pinocchio burst out laughing so wildly that
he had to hold his stomach. Ciampanella, who had been taken unaware by
the glass of water Pinocchio had thrown at him, let out all his anger
on him.

"Youngster, look out for yourself. I won't stand nonsense from you. I
owe to our enemies the respect enjoined by regulations, but you I can
take by the nape of the neck and set you down on the stove, and I'll
roast you as if you were beef."

Pinocchio became suddenly serious and began to swing his wooden leg so
nervously that if Major Cutemup had seen him he would have turned as
yellow as a Chinaman with fear. If the descendant of Romulus and Remus
had had the slightest idea of the kick which menaced him at this
moment he would have grown calm as if by magic. But Pinocchio, who had
seen Franz and Stolz exchange sly glances and a smile full of irony,
held himself in and, after scratching his head solemnly, approached
Ciampanella, who was wiping his eye with his apron, and taking hold
affectionately of his arm, said:

"So you want to roast me on your stove?"

"As I told you."

"Wouldn't it be better to cook something on it for our supper this
evening?"

"This evening's supper? But you know that this evening I wouldn't
light the fire if the commander-in-chief came in person to command me
to. When the company is in action I am free to do what I want, and
when I am free to do what I want I don't do anything. So if you are
hungry you'll have to eat bread and compressed meat, and if you don't
like it you'll have to fast."

"Listen, Ciampanella; you reason like Menenius Agrippa, who was an
ancient Roman able to make things clearer than modern Romans, but
sometimes you get tangled up in your premises."

"Listen, youngster, don't insult me, because as sure as Ciampanella is
my name I will wring your neck like a chicken's."

"But I'm not insulting you."

"Then tell me what kind of things are _premises_; otherwise ..."

"Otherwise you'll take me and make me sit on the stove and roast me,
won't you? That proves that the fire is lighted and that the charcoal
is burning for nothing, and so if, for example, the commander-in-chief
should pay you a visit he would give you a fortnight's imprisonment
for it, because when the company's in action you are free to do what
you want, but not in the kitchen, and if you are hungry you must eat
bread and compressed meat or fast."

"Heh, youngster! I didn't light the stove for culinary purposes, but
for strategic reasons. It was to make these two beasts talk."

"But they haven't talked."

"We'll fling them out and let the mad dogs eat them."

"But if you, instead of heating the shovel and tongs, had roasted a
young pullet and served it with one of those famous sauces ..."

"Chicken in the Roman style with potato puffs ..."

"Just look at Stolz. He's licking his greased whiskers as if the
potatoes were cooking under his nose."

"Look at Franz gaping."

"They have a dog's hunger, and in order to make them sing ..."

"You want me to cook a little supper such as I can cook if I set
myself to it, stick it under their noses, and ... Youngster, that's a
magnificent idea! When I write my _Manual of War Cookery_ I'll put you
on the frontispiece as the first of kitchen strategians. Leave things
to me and in half an hour I'll hand you out a couple of stews that
would raise up the dead better even than Garibaldi's Hymn!"

Pinocchio heaved a sigh. He had won such a battle that, if he had
been a German, would have caused the people to hammer I don't know how
many nails into his statue. While Ciampanella was bustling about on
all sides, plucking two young fowls, peeling potatoes, frying lard and
onions, melting butter in a saucepan, preparing a stew in another,
Pinocchio was striding up and down the kitchen, long and narrow as a
corridor, eying stealthily the two prisoners, who were beginning to
show signs of a growing restlessness. They had been fasting for more
than twenty-four hours and their last food had been such a mess that
it might have been requisitioned from the poultry-yard and the stable.

Ciampanella seemed eager to surpass himself. He hovered over his pots
without paying any attention to Pinocchio, but talking in a loud voice
as if he wished to impart a lesson in cookery to half the world.

"Listen, youngster, when you want to eat two savory young fowls you
must cook them in the Roman fashion according to Ciampanella's recipe,
which, when it is written down, will not have its equal in _Urbis et
Orbis_. I call it the Roman fashion, but it might also truly be
called the Ostrogothic fashion ... but that's the way. Take two young
fowls and cut them into pieces, put a good-sized lump of butter into a
saucepan and a little onion and fry it a little; dredge the fowls with
flour, and put them to simmer in the butter; when they are browned put
in some tomato paste, salt and pepper, and let them cook down, later a
grain of nutmeg, cover it and let it cook.... Do you smell that odor,
youngster? And just think how it will taste! You'll lick your napkin
like that dirty Croat who ... Ho! ho! look at his tongue hanging
out.... Ho! ho! ho!"

The air was filled with a fragrance so entrancing that it would have
given an appetite to the mouth of a letter-box; so imagine how the
miserable two felt, who, after all, were men of flesh and blood and
had no other defect than of having been born under the Executioner's
scepter. Stolz with his mouth wide open breathed in the air in deep
breaths, tasting it hungrily as if he could really taste the odor that
tickled his nostrils. Ciampanella stepped in front of him, and spouted
out one of his special speeches, gesticulating with his fork.

"Well, Mr. Croat? How do you think we do it? Franz Joe is worse off
than the least of our Alpine troops, because we are not reduced to
gnawing bones like you who make war in order to fish, as the proverb
says, in troubled waters. What a delicious odor, isn't it? But don't
stand there with your mouth open or I'll fill it with dish-water.
Here's some!"

"'Talian pig!" howled Stolz, half strangled with nausea and disgust,
spitting all around.

"If you call me an Italian pig again, I'll break your head in spite of
the respect they teach us is due the enemy, because in this world it
is tit for tat."

"Listen, Ciampanella," Pinocchio interrupted at the right moment, "if
the chickens are done we could sit down at the table and offer a bite
to Stolz."

"That's a good idea, youngster."

While the boy was setting the table and the chef was dishing up the
stew, from the distance came several tremendous rumblings, which
brought a smile to the faces of the prisoners, who exchanged
significant glances. The sound came from our six-inch guns that had
been dragged with such effort to the altitude of nine thousand feet
and arrived the day before by way of the _filovia_, which were now
opening fire on the enemy's trenches. If Franz and Stolz had had even
the faintest suspicion of this they would have changed their
expressions.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Dear Ciampanella, as a cook you should be put on the pedestal of a
monument. This chicken is a masterpiece. If that imbecile of a Stolz,
instead of standing there like a dog with his tongue hanging out, a
foot away from the tail of a hare, could give a lick to this
drumstick, I wager he would desert his emperor and demand Italian
citizenship."

  [Illustration]

"For my part, I'd rather give him the chicken than the citizenship."

"I would as lief have it," Stolz risked saying, passing his tongue
over his whiskers.

"I guess so."

"And I'll give you not only a drumstick, but half a chicken with gravy
and a loaf of bread to go with it, if you'll tell me ..."

"We can't talk; don't want to betray our country."

"Dear Stolz, you're a fine fellow, but if you can't talk I can't give
you anything to eat and we are quits. But I haven't asked you to
betray either Croatia, or even Hungary, if you are afraid of Franz's
hearing you."

"Oh, he speaks only Magyar."

"All the better; then you can tell me how many Bohemians, Slovaks,
Carinthians, Poles, Germans, and Styrians are intrenched on Mount X
opposite our men.... We'll leave out the Croats, your countrymen ...
and, moreover, I'll wager five soldi of Victor Emanuel against a crown
of your emperor that if they were here and smelled this odor they
wouldn't make such a to-do about it or talk like lawyers. But smell
this" ... and while he spoke the rascal of a Pinocchio took in both
his hands the dish with the stew and held it close to Stolz's nose,
who shut his eyes and heaved a sigh as if he were giving up his soul
to the god of all the Croats.

"You 'Talian scoundrel, if you give me and Franz all we can eat and
drink I'll tell you what you want to know."

"May the saints in Paradise reward you! If you sing and sing well,
look what delicate morsels I'll give you," cried Ciampanella, jumping
about with delight. He hastened to fill two plates with delicious food
and two loaves of fresh bread and half of a sharp old sheep's cheese
which would have brought a dead man to life.

"And now there's nothing more to do except to untie your hands and to
give you chairs to sit on."

"We have three lines of trenches, fifteen hundred men ... two
batteries placed on the Donkey's Saddle ... but you have Alpine troops
and we can't get the better of you. So our colonel had marvelous
plan--he had huge mine dug and thought to blow up Alpines to bust them
all up. This morning we attacked on purpose. When Alpines came face to
us, we go all back to retreat, but they not come to mined spot and
didn't all bust up. But when Alpines enter first trench which we leave
... bum! 'Talian pigs all dead and Austrian soldiers shout hurrah for
emperor. Did you hear little while ago lots of noise? I knows ... I
knows what it was ... big mine blow up."

"And 'Talian pigs all killed, aren't they?" yelled the enraged
Ciampanella. "And you think I am going to give you food? Not by a long
shot. See what game I'm going to play with you. In the mean time pray
to the god of all the Croats that what you have said may not be true,
because if, instead of making war as real soldiers do, your side has
committed such a despicable deed, you two shall pay for it, and as
truly as my name is Ciampanella, chef of the mess, you'll pay for it
dearly enough."

And shaking his lion head and jumping up in the air, waving his arms
about violently, he took up a piece of rope and bound the prisoners
tightly to a pole which supported the roof of the dugout.

"And now if you can eat these good gifts of God which I leave under
your nose, you'll do well, I assure you.... Come, Pinocchio, we must
take this news to the officer commanding our company, because I don't
believe anything wrong has happened yet."

"And the prisoners?"

"They won't escape, I, Ciampanella, assure you. They are tied up like
two pork sausages, and, besides, you know what we'll do? When the door
is shut we'll put up against it one of the bombs that they make which
go off almost without touching them. I know where some of them are
hidden away. If they should succeed in loosening the rope and should
try to get away they'll take a ride in the air. And now we'll wish the
gentlemen good appetite and be off on our own affairs."

Five minutes later Ciampanella and Pinocchio were running across the
snow through the dusk.




CHAPTER IX

_How Pinocchio Complained Because He Was No Longer a Wooden Puppet_


It was no easy matter for Ciampanella and Pinocchio to reach their
company, which was intrenched about three miles away, on a declivity
as sharp as a knife-blade, bordered by jagged precipices. They could
not have held out against artillery up there, but the position was
well chosen from which to hammer the enemy's first trench that was
built on a little slope two hundred yards lower down and less than two
miles away. Farther along there opened up a pass of great strategic
importance which the Austrians apparently were intending to defend at
all costs. Yet it had seemed strange to Teschisso that the foe with
its numerous exits should try to attack his Alpine troops in force,
all the more that his first line of defense might be considered as
irretrievably lost. For this reason he had restrained the impulse of
his brave soldiers to fight and decided to intrench them on the
difficult slope to await a favorable moment for decisive action. In
the mean time he had been able to hammer the enemy's position with
four large pieces of artillery which he had placed on a summit above
his intrenchment. When Pinocchio related to him how, with the aid of
the mess-cook, he had made Franz and Stolz sing, and repeated the few
words which he had heard from their mouths, he had no longer any doubt
regarding the foe's strange behavior.

"Heavens! Those scoundrels wanted to blow us up! Luckily I was
prudent, but you'll see what a joke I'll invent to play on those dogs!
Call Corporal Scotimondo."

The most important duties were usually intrusted to this soldier with
a face like a cab-driver's, with a large blond beard and full, ruddy
cheeks, who at first sight looked so good-natured. But he was a man of
exceptional energy and extraordinary courage. Calm and quiet when
danger raged, he could inspire in his comrades a boundless
confidence.

"Corporal, from information received I have learned that we have
opposite us fifteen hundred men."

"All the better."

"And a mined zone."

"That's not so good, not good at all."

"I have determined to attack the foe from the rear and force him on to
the mined zone. I shall set off with the whole company, leaving only
eight men in the trench, which they must hold at all costs and keep up
a devilish fire to make the enemy think we are all here. Do you
understand?"

"Certainly, certainly."

"You will command the squad."

"Thanks, Captain."

"I will leave you also Pinocchio and Ciampanella, so that there will
be ten of you. Choose the other eight quickly, because I am going to
give immediate orders to depart."

"Draghetta, Senzaterra, Pulin, Cattaruzza, and the four Scagnol
brothers."

"All right! Go and tell them. Remember that I trust you. I am
attempting a big coup, but if I succeed, Heavens, what a stroke!...
They'll fly up like birds."

A little later Pinocchio was witness of a marvelous and fantastic
scene. The narrow trench was alive with a mass of black figures that
moved noiselessly. The Alpine troops armed themselves with rope and
hatchets, filled up their canteens, and replenished their
cartridge-belts, whispering quick, concise sentences, interrupted with
laughs, quickly smothered as the rattle of an officer's sword was
heard. All these shadows grouped themselves in the depth of the trench
against a heap of huge stones and merged into the profound darkness.
For a time still there was to be heard coming from down below a
subdued rustle, then a profound silence. Pinocchio was strangely
affected and was eager to find out what had happened. He ran to the
end of the trench--there was not a soul there. Where had his Alpine
troops gone? Had they perhaps been swallowed up by the abyss which
yawned a few feet away? He was so terrified that he began to yell
desperately.

"Captain! Captain Teschis ..."

He didn't get the chance to finish; he felt two rough, heavy hands
grab him by the ears and lift him up three feet from the ground.

"Less racket here. Don't be such an idiot. Don't you know that in the
trenches you've got to be as quiet as in church, and ... here I'm in
command, and when I command anything I've got to be obeyed."

"I'll obey," Pinocchio grumbled, keeping back a cry of pain.

Corporal Scotimondo put him down gently on the ground, face to face
with himself, and then asked, sharply:

"What did you want with Captain Teschisso?"

"I? Nothing."

"Why did you call him, then?"

"I thought perhaps ... something terrible had happened.... He's gone
... they're all gone."

"Gone? How gone? They haven't disappeared; they've only gone down ..."

"Where?"

"The precipice, and then they'll climb up again on the other side,
will reach the first trench, will get the better of the enemy and
drive them on the mined zone. Then we'll see a fine sight. But until
this minute comes we've got to keep quiet and not make a racket. Do
you understand? Now go to sleep because you have been mobilized and
will have to stand sentry also, and, besides, to-morrow there'll be
things to do. Now march!"

  [Illustration]

Scotimondo emphasized this command with a kick which made Pinocchio
take the first steps and showed him the direction he was to go. The
unexpected disappearance of the Alpine troops still seemed miraculous
in spite of the simple explanation Scotimondo had given him, and
Pinocchio had a profound respect for everything that smacked of
magic.

  [Illustration]

"Yes, gone down," he grumbled to himself while he was nearing the
other end of the trench. "That's quickly said, but I'd just like to
know how it is possible for men of skin and bones to do such a thing.
The precipice is so deep and so steep that if Ciampanella had not
pulled me by the collar I should never have got here. And how will
they manage to get down it? Hum! I am almost beginning to believe that
these Alpine soldiers are in league with the devil. I saw two of them
yesterday with some kind of shoes a couple of yards long which flew
over the snow like airplanes. I wanted to ask the mess-cook to explain
it to me, but from fear he would make fun of me I kept quiet. But from
now on I must keep my eyes more on those men. If I discover they
really have any dealings with the devil I'll take myself off on the
first occasion."

He stumbled and fell face downward into a soft warm mass from which
came a dull grunt. Overcome with terror, he was about to take flight
when he felt himself held fast by a leg as firmly as if by a trap.

"I wish you'd get killed. Couldn't you let me sleep a minute? You must
be either a creditor or that tyrant of a picket officer going his
rounds.... If you are a creditor come back six months after peace is
declared, because now I won't pay you a soldo even if I had one. If
you are the picket officer I tell you that when I have put out the
fires I have a right to take my ease ... and now let me sleep ... May
you be ..."

"Oh, Ciampanella, let me go. Don't you recognize me? I am Pinocchio."

"Oh, it's you, youngster, is it? Did you intend to make me sing like
Spizzete Spazzete? I have nothing to tell you, but if you insist upon
my singing something for you at all costs, I will sing for you to get
up off me."

Pinocchio, seeing that the mess-cook was in one of his "moments,"
thought it prudent to leave him in peace, so he lay down on a heap of
straw that was close by, intending to go to sleep.

But his sleep didn't last long. About four o'clock in the morning,
when dawn was peeping over the horizon, he heard a shot that seemed to
come from a spot not far from the trench.

"Get your guns, boys!" yelled Scotimondo, rushing to a machine-gun,
while the others, guns in hand, took their places before the
loopholes. "It was Draghetta who saw the enemy. Boys, I count on you.
We've got to make a racket, lots of noise as if all the company were
here, and don't expose yourselves ... let them have a continuous and
intense fire."

His glance took in Pinocchio, who was gazing at him, his eyes wide
open with terror, and Ciampanella tranquilly dozing. With a bound he
caught up a gun and put it into the boy's hands.

"Ho, lad, stop standing there doing nothing or I'll break your neck!
I'll smash your head before the potato-eaters knock it in."

With another spring he was on top of the cook, who was calmly dreaming
a culinary dream, and gave him such a kick that he jumped up like a
jack-in-the-box.

"I hope they'll eat you."

"Ready to fire! Fire! for Heaven's sake!" Scotimondo screamed at him
and ran to take his post, grumbling, "but why doesn't the sentinel
come back? What's that scoundrel of a Draghetta doing?"

Ciampanella rubbed his eyes and discovered Pinocchio, who stood there
turning his gun round and round without having yet discovered what
exactly it was that he held.

"May the dogs eat you! Instead of standing there fiddling with your
weapon that you know as much about as I know about training fleas, you
would do better to give a look at the saucepan that it doesn't burn
instead of making me get that kick from the corporal."

"But what saucepan? Are you still asleep?"

"Didn't you hear what he yelled at me when he kicked me? 'Fire!
Fire!'"

"Certainly, but he meant the fire of the battery, not that of the
stove. Don't you know that we are expecting an attack?"

"Who says so? There's no need to wait for it. You can wait if you want
to, but I'm off. I don't know anything about war and don't know how to
shoot. When there are necks to wring or beasts to butcher I'm ready,
because they are hens or lambs or such like beasts, but Christians I
_can't_, and toward the enemy I have the respect ordered by our
superiors. Listen, youngster, if two bullets hit me in the rear I'll
take them and won't protest, but I don't stay here at the front unless
they tie me."

He was just getting away when Scotimondo, who had an eye on him,
turned hurriedly and poked a revolver at his back.

"Oh, very well! There are certain arguments you can't dispute. I'll
remain, but I'll find me a hole where I can be safe, because if I die
the _Manual of War Cookery_ won't be written," and he threw himself
down on a big stone, signaling to the "youngster" to follow him.

A voice outside was calling for help, only a few feet away from the
trench.

"Stay where you are, all of you. I'll go," commanded Scotimondo, and,
wriggling like a serpent, with his revolver in his hand, he set off
and was lost in the darkness. Shortly after he returned, dragging in
Draghetta.

"What's the matter? Are you wounded?"

"No, not exactly wounded, but I can't stand up. I'm afraid my feet are
frozen."

"Let's have a look," and he made him sit down and began to free him
from his woolen puttees, his hobnailed boots, his waterproof
stockings, and to rub his red, swollen feet with snow, all the time
continuing to question him.

"Was it you who fired that shot?"

"Yes."

"Is the enemy in sight?"

"They tried to leave their trenches--two little groups--one of their
usual nasty little ways to draw us out, and as my superiors did not
see them, I thought it my duty to give the alarm signal."

"You were right."

"But I wasn't able to get back because my legs gave way, so I had to
try to crawl on my hands and knees until I had only breath enough left
to call for help, certain and sure that ..."

"Heavens! Swine!" Scotimondo swore and stopped rubbing.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing; take your place at the machine-gun; I'll take mine
in the trench."

"Why?"

"You have need of rest," and he went off, growling, "poor Draghetta!
He tried to warn the rest of us and couldn't get away himself."

He again left the trench to reconnoiter. Half an hour later he
returned, assembled his men, and told them that the foe had retreated
to their trenches, but that as soon as it was lighter they would have
to make themselves heard, so as to keep the enemy from attempting an
attack, which would undoubtedly be fatal to the little garrison. They
would have to make a lot of noise, but must not waste ammunition,
because when Captain Teschisso's company came into action they would
probably have to support it.

"And I impress upon you the importance of not exposing yourselves.
_The first who does so I'll send to the devil myself._ I have need of
every one of you, and it's too much that out of ten one should be
without feet, one a cook, and _one who isn't even a man_."

"Did you hear that, youngster?" Ciampanella asked Pinocchio, when the
laugh which followed Scotimondo's words had died down. "Did you hear?
They want to send you to the firing-line. What do you think of that?"

But Pinocchio didn't reply. His wooden leg just then seemed to have
nervous twinges and rattled like a rusty key in a lock. The sun had
scarcely begun to rise above the horizon and the snow to glisten in
its rays when from the trench cut out of the slope narrow as a
knife-blade came a sound of firing that was truly infernal. The
machine-gun was smoking, but poor Draghetta didn't let it rest a
minute. The others kept up a tremendous fire and an accurate one,
because they could see that the parapet of the enemy's trench was
marked by little red clouds. Every now and then above the crackle of
the musketry resounded the humming of larger projectiles that had
their own special tone. The Austrian commanders were evidently laying
plans for the whole day because there was not even the shadow of an
enemy to be seen. They contented themselves with replying with an
occasional shell. But what would they have done if they had known that
opposite them were only seven men, and one of them disabled, and that
the formidable _ta-pum, ta-pum, ta-pum_ which rose above the whine of
the musketry came from--the _mouths_ of Pinocchio and Ciampanella?

The coming of the twilight cast a veil of melancholy over the little
garrison, wearied by the fatigues imposed by its continual vigilance
and the continual answer to the firing of the foe.

They were all expecting every moment to see Captain Teschisso's
company come into action, the Austrians swept from their trenches with
the bayonets at their backs and thrown on the mined zone where they
would all be blown up. Yet nothing of the sort was taking place. The
enemy had never appeared more quiet and as sure of himself as to-day.
What had happened to the company? It wasn't possible that it had been
captured by superior forces. The Alpine troops would have fought like
lions; the noise of their battle would have reached the trench, and
some one would certainly have returned to bring the news of the
disaster. It was more likely that Captain Teschisso, knowing that he
would have to engage a superior force, had decided to attack at night.
The surprise and the impossibility of judging the number of the
assaulting force would certainly keep the enemy from resisting. But
Corporal Scotimondo was not altogether satisfied with his captain's
tactics.

"I'm not a Napoleon," he grumbled, in his patois, striding with long
steps through the narrow passageway of the trenches, every now and
then making a right-about face. "I'm not a Napoleon. It's easy to say
'hold fast at all costs,' but in order to hold fast you have to have
men. My men are not made of iron; I am not made of iron; they need
rest and yet even to let them rest I can't allow the trench to be
without sentinels all night. If I change sentries every half-hour,
nobody sleeps; if I make them stay at the posts for two hours
according to regulations, they'll come back to me with their feet
frozen like Draghetta, and then we couldn't hold fast. Plague take it!
This is certainly a situation to upset a corporal. If ..."

He stopped suddenly because Pinocchio barred his way. He looked at him
for a minute in amazement, gestured with his head for him to move to
one side, but, seeing that he stood there as firmly as if he had taken
root, he grunted, I don't know whether with anger or surprise.

"Skip, boy, skip. Don't you understand anything? Don't you understand
I want you to get from under my feet?"

"Just a question, corporal."

"What is it?"

"You need a sentinel for to-night."

"Yes, a new one every half-hour."

"I have come to volunteer."

"Why not? I like the idea ... you, too, will take your half-hour's
turn, but this doesn't help me solve my problem of ..."

"But I have come to volunteer for the whole night."

"Really? Are you in earnest?"

"Yes, indeed. You see, Corporal Squassamondo, I should have liked to
remind you this morning early that I have a wooden leg, but I prefer
to tell you now. Wood doesn't freeze and so I can stand guard for ten
hours even without any danger, if you only give me enough to cover
myself with and plenty to eat."

"And the other leg?"

"Ciampanella has told me that storks sleep all night standing on one
leg and don't fall over. I am a man 'that's not a man,' but if I were
no more good than a stork I shouldn't have got a wooden leg on the
battle-field."

The little lesson had sunk in and Scotimondo felt it like a pinch on
the shins. He tried to be furious, but didn't succeed. He let out a
terrible "Good Heavens!" then was overcome with emotion, caught
Pinocchio in his arms, pressed him to himself, and kissed him again
and again.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a night blacker than a German conscience. Two shadows glided
over the snow and stopped in the shelter of a rock which dominated all
the narrow slope, the enemy's trenches, the awful mass of peaks and
jagged ridges. At the side of the adversary's position the snow was
marked with an enormous black streak which was lost in the depth of
the mountains. It was the abyss, a frightful wedge-shaped crack which
looked like an enormous interrogation point drawn with charcoal on an
immense white sheet.

"You feel all right?"

"Fine as possible."

"Did they give you a good supper?"

"I'm so full that I can't draw a long breath with all this stuff I've
got on me. I certainly sha'n't feel cold."

"In your right pocket you'll find a thermos bottle of hot coffee; in
the other, chocolate."

"Splendid."

"Do you want a gun?"

"What should I do with it? In case of alarm I'll keep sounding
'_ta-pum_' like this morning."

"Then you understand. You must keep a lookout down there all the time,
there where the white of the snow meets the black of the sky. If you
see anything white on black or black on white which moves give the
alarm; if not, keep still. Take good care not to fall asleep, because
if I should go the rounds and find you asleep I should be compelled to
kill you at your post."

"In that case wake me up ... five minutes beforehand."

"Well, I'm off."

"Good luck."

"I want to impress it on you--no racket now."

"Good-by, Scrollamondo. Don't worry."

       *       *       *       *       *

Pinocchio had the courage of a lion that night, and if the Austrians
had attempted an attack he would have felt equal to them all by
himself. As soon as he was alone he took out from the pockets of his
cloak, so full of food that they seemed a military depot, a thin rope
a couple of yards long, knotted one end of it, stuck his head through,
bending his good leg, put his foot on the rope, which he swung in
front of him at the height of his knee, and, leaning against the rock,
stood there still, resting on his wooden leg.

  [Illustration]

"And now I am ready," he muttered, contentedly; "now let them come on.
I'm not afraid of any one, not even of the snow. There's no denying
it--my idea was magnificent. If that simpleton Toni Salandra had had
one as good he would have saved the Ministry. Two feet of rope and the
trench is saved. With two soldi's worth of soap he could have saved
the finest Parliament our poor country has ever seen.... It's queer
that I haven't the slightest sensation of fear.... It's dark, but I
seem to see as well as by day. It must be that a sentinel's duty
clears the sight. I could swear that I could see a flea a mile away.
Besides, my duty is simple: I am to stay here and do nothing; I am not
to get my feet frozen, and as far as that is concerned there's no
danger; and I am to look out for white moving on black or black on
white. Then, _ta-pum_, _ta-pum_, _ta-pum_, like this morning, then
throw myself on the ground and creep back to the trench like a
cat.... What a fire we kept up this morning, I and Ciampanella! He
fired so often and so vigorously that he ended by falling over with
fright.... If he hadn't had to sleep off his fatigue I couldn't have
done the fine deed I'm doing. I am sure he wouldn't have let me get
cold like this ... because ... I didn't feel it at first, but now I
feel chills creeping up my spine!"

When Pinocchio stuck his hand into his pocket it touched the rounded
form of the thermos bottle. He took it out, put it to his lips, and
drank a mouthful. Five minutes later the boy felt the heat mounting to
his brain as if he were at the mouth of a furnace.

"Ah-ha! That's good! When I am a general like Win-the-War I'll heat
the railway compartment with coffee instead of with a radiator. I wish
they'd 'murder' the garments I got on, as Ciampanella says: When I
think that he made me run the risk of having eight bullets in my
stomach I don't know what to do. But before I would have him burned
up, it would be nice to sleep here under this upholstered seat, with
the lullaby of the train that sounds as if my nurse were singing it.
If he found me now I should like to drop into one of those dozes from
which even Ciampanella's _ta-pum_ wouldn't wake me.... If I go to
sleep I'll be cold. That tyrant of a Scotimondo would just as lief
wake me up with a revolver at my head.... I'd like to know what's the
fun of keeping a poor sentinel out in the cold where there's nothing
to watch, because I bet a soldo against a lira that the Austrians are
sleeping soundly to-night--I seem to hear them snoring like so many
suckling pigs.... No, I said I wouldn't go to sleep, and to keep my
word I won't go to sleep, but I can allow myself a nod, just a little
nod. There's no black on white, or white on black; it seems to me to
be getting more cloudy ... so that ... Scotimondo? But what is it? I
am no Napoleon ... he said it. But even Napoleon when he found a
sleeping sentinel took his gun and waited till he waked up. He would
do the same ... with the difference that I haven't any gun ... so that
... not so much noise ... Scotimon ...? but where is Scotmona ...
Scoti ... mon ... do..."

       *       *       *       *       *

Just at this moment the snow began to fall gently, so gently, and as
dry as flour just from the mill. The corporal, who was about to set
out on his usual tour of inspection, glanced at the sky, then growled,
as he rubbed his hands: "The Austrians won't come out in such weather.
It will be a foot thick in less than an hour. I'll go and sleep,
myself."

       *       *       *       *       *

  [Illustration]

Pinocchio woke up with a start. It was dawn!... He found himself
buried in the snow up to his chest. He looked about and could no
longer see the enemy's trench; he looked behind him and couldn't
recognize the Italian post. What under the heavens had happened? He
was on the point of becoming despondent and ready to give the alarm
when on the side of the enemy's position in the wide wedge-sloped
cleft, which looked like an exclamation point drawn with charcoal on
an immense white sheet, he thought he saw a curious movement like many
ants. He fixed his eyes on it, and while his heart beat so loudly that
he thought he would suffocate, he concentrated all his attention, all
his mind, on the point there below. He saw the jagged rock swarming
with Alpine troops, saw little clusters of men suspended over the
abyss, and ropes hanging in space slowly lifting up soldiers; and at
the sight of this miracle of daring and dexterity he naturally forgot
the fear of his wakening. Anxiously he followed the maneuvers of these
brave sons of Italy, saw them suddenly disappear.... Then a cry of
terror rose from the enemy's trench, a rattle of guns and almost at
the same moment two or three hundred Austrians were in flight and
flinging themselves on the slope, pursued by a steady fire. It was
time to give the alarm. Pinocchio wanted to let out one of his
extraordinary _ta-pums_, but just then a terrible explosion shook the
earth and clouded the sky.... A horrible yell, a cry from hundreds of
throats struck him to the marrow ... then there was silence.

Captain Teschisso, returning victorious from his expedition, found
Pinocchio there, and tenderly gave him first aid, but, seeing that he
didn't come to, he intrusted him to four soldiers, saying:

"Take him to the first ambulance, with Draghetta and the other
wounded, and tell the surgeon to care for him as my best friend. Poor
youngster, who will have to have another wooden leg! But we have
avenged him and given those dogs what they deserved. Heavens, what a
fight!"




CHAPTER X

_Many Deeds and Few Words_


My dear little friends, I won't stop to show you Pinocchio in the sad
surroundings of a hospital. I will tell you only that he stayed there
for more than two months, and that he left it with his two wooden
legs, new and well oiled, and that Fatina, by a curious coincidence,
was his careful and affectionate nurse, and that Ciampanella, playing
the part of a good friend, did not fail to make him frequent visits,
bringing with him certain samples of camp cookery which enraptured
Pinocchio. His surgeon was a most polite Piedmontese, always bowing
and salaaming, who announced to him with all formality the misfortune
which had again overtaken him and asked his permission two days in
advance to amputate his frozen leg.

"All right," exclaimed Pinocchio, "go ahead. I've got accustomed to
such trifles now. But you must do me a favor."

"Let me hear it."

"When you give me my new wooden leg I want it to be longer than usual
and that naturally you change the other one, too."

"Why?"

"Because I'd feel as if I were on stilts and it would amuse me to
death to take steps longer than any one else."

He was satisfied and left the hospital with such long legs that he was
almost as tall as Ciampanella, who took Pinocchio's arm in his as if
he were his sweetheart.

"Heh, youngster, but you have grown! And then they say that we
non-combatants never do anything! I haven't done anything, but if I
were the one I have in mind I would bestow on you the medal for
bravery because your legs have won it. I tell you, I, who know what I
am talking about."

"Even if they don't give me anything, I am satisfied all the same. All
I ask is for them to leave me here and not send me home."

"Come with me and I'll appoint you first adjutant of the mess kitchen,
and when I have taught you how and put the ladle in your hand _we
will live on the fat of the land_ and will make meat-balls with our
leavings for the general, and when we don't know what else to do we'll
write the _Manual of War Cookery_, which I won't risk now because I
haven't a writing hand, as the saying is."

"Listen, Ciampanella, I am as grateful as if you had offered to lend
me a hundred lire without interest, but just now I can't accept."

"Why?"

"Because it requires a special constitution to be a cook. I'd be all
right as far as eating the best morsels was concerned, but it would be
dangerous for me to stay near the stove. I am half wooden and run the
risk of catching on fire. I should have to decide to take out
insurance against fire. Moreover, let's consider. To-day I have other
views. Fatina here has given me a letter for my friend Bersaglierino,
who is at headquarters as the war correspondent of an important
newspaper. We'll see what he advises me to do."

They parted good friends after a solemn feast which almost made
Ciampanella roll under the table, like an ancient Roman at one of the
banquets of Lucullus or Nero.

  [Illustration]

Bersaglierino was truly delighted to see his dear little friend again
and kept him with him several days for company. From him he learned a
number of things he didn't know. One day he asked him:

"Tell me, Pinocchio, do you know the reason for this war in which you,
too, have played your small part and to which you have paid tribute of
part of yourself?"

"Do you imagine I don't know? It is _to make Italy bigger_."

"And that seems a just reason to you?"

"That's what every one says."

"All those who don't know what they are talking about. If every nation
had the right to let loose a war for the sole purpose of enlarging her
boundaries we'd have to take off our hats to the Germans who provoked
the present curse for their own purposes. We have other and nobler
ideals. We have brothers to liberate, peoples to free from a foreign
yoke. Certain lands which are ours because they were enriched by the
labors of our fathers, because our Italian tongue is spoken in them,
were until to-day exploited by the enemy, who sought in every way to
embitter the existence of our brothers, paying with contempt and
scorn, with persecution and oppression, their loyalty and love for the
mother-country. Italian unity, begun in the revolutionary movement of
1811, was not completed in 1870 with the taking of Rome. The jealousy
of other nations halted us on our way to emancipation. We were too
weak then to make our will felt; we were exhausted with fifty years of
continuous fighting and we had need of a little rest in order to
restore our energy. To-day we are strong enough to stand up for our
rights. Neither underhand dealings of wicked men nor betrayal by
partizans will prevent the victory of our arms. Italy will be
retempered in the war. Our destiny will be fulfilled.

"I see as in a dream our borders which have been overrun won back to
us, Trent bleeding with Italian blood, Goriza twice redeemed, Trieste
in the shadow of the tricolor. Istria awaits us impatiently; Parenzo
is preparing the way for us to Pola, which we shall take intact, with
the defenses the Austrians erected there against our own brothers.
Zara, Sebenico, and the coast of Dalmatia, which for so many centuries
displayed the glorious insignia of the Lion of St. Mark, are longing
impatiently for the moment which shall reunite them to the
mother-country, that for them and with them will grow ever greater.
War is a curse; this one which is being fought to-day all over the
civilized world is perhaps the most terrible which humanity has ever
known; yet it will not fail to bring great blessings. It has awakened
the consciences of peoples and revealed the virtues and the defects of
particular races. In the contest of the ancient Latin civilization
with the Teuton power the might of right has been re-established, the
right that has been trampled upon by force...."

And so on and so on, for when Bersaglierino began to argue there was
no way of stopping him, and Pinocchio stood there listening with his
mouth open like a peasant absorbed by the wonderful discourse of a
fakir at a fair. And who knows how long he would have stood there, but
Bersaglierino had so much to do and was obliged to leave him alone,
letting him stay in the rear where he could follow the progress of the
war without exposing himself too much, but where he could still be
doing important service for his country. He put him in the care of a
captain of the commissary department, a good friend of his who had the
unlucky idea of making him a baker in a camp bakery. He stayed there
only two days, astounded at the enormous quantity of bread which was
kneaded and baked all the time. All he did was to give a hand in
filling the baskets which were loaded on automobiles that carried the
bread to the front. The third day he made a figure of dough that
looked like the twin brother of the captain, put it in the oven and,
when it was baked, set it astraddle on the cup of coffee poured out
for that officer, then hid himself behind a curtain to take part in
the welcome which would certainly be given to his most valuable work
of art. But the commissary officer's orderly found him and wanted to
dust his trousers and pull his ears. He never succeeded in doing this.
Pinocchio helped him out of the house with kicks and then hurled him
into the flour-barrel. If they had not pulled him out in time he would
have suffocated.

The boy fled on the first automobile which left for the front, and for
several days whirled back and forth between the front and rear lines,
going forward on the supply automobiles and returning on the Red Cross
ambulances which brought the wounded to the first-aid posts. The
drivers were glad to take him on their machines because he kept them
all jolly with his pranks, and he, better than any one, was able to
get an idea of the gigantic and wonderful work which was being done
side by side with the army which was fighting for the defense of its
country. What profound respect for discipline, what order, what spirit
of self-sacrifice in those brave soldiers (almost all fathers of
families), continually exposed to bad weather, to the hardest
fatigues, to the most complete privations! Rain, snow, ice, tornadoes
of wind and of shot and shell, nothing succeeded in interrupting for a
single minute the interminably long chain of wagons and lorries that
carried food to the trenches, ammunition to the artillery, and cannon
to the fortified positions. The drivers, dead with sleep, soaked with
rain, shivering with cold, remained calmly at their wheels and at the
heads of their horses. When the great caravan stopped for a moment for
any reason these men, revived with new energy and by the force of
their will, started the huge mechanism on its way again.

For a little way Pinocchio thought he would become an
automobile-driver, but when they told him that he would have to have a
license and that, in order to get one, he would have to take a regular
examination, he didn't proceed farther. Examiners he looked upon as
even greater enemies than Franz Joe's hunters.

  [Illustration]

After pondering the subject a long time he decided to become a
military postman. At first he took pleasure in it all. When he
arrived it seemed as if heaven had come down to earth. He was received
like a king, with joyous cries and shouts, and he walked between two
rows of soldiers like a general. When he distributed the letters it
was as if he conferred a favor; when he handed out a money-order he
had an air of condescension as if he were doling the soldi from his
purse. When he had finished distributing the mail he would let them
pay him to read their letters. I can tell you it was not an easy
matter. Often he had hieroglyphics to decipher which would have given
trouble to a professor of paleontology. But Pinocchio had such a quick
mind that when he found he couldn't puzzle it out he invented a letter
and did it so well that he earned a soldo by it and the deep gratitude
of his clients. What disgusted him with the business was the postal
service, which suddenly became confoundedly bad, perhaps on account of
a change in the Ministry. Pinocchio saw his popularity vanish in an
instant, and the soldiers made him bear the brunt of their
dissatisfaction. One day he heard so many complaints that he grew
furious and flung away the bag he wore about his neck and cried out to
those who were disputing around him:

"You are a bunch of imbeciles. Why do you come to me with your
letters? Do you know what you ought to do? Go and get them, because I
won't take another step for the sake of your pretty faces."

His ears were boxed again and again and he replied with as many kicks,
but he didn't play postman any more. He was wondering to what new
service he could dedicate himself when a corporal baker gave him this
note:

     DEAR PINOCCHIO,--I am having the one who will hand you this
     write these lines so that he can tell you for me that I have
     a great longing to see you, because I am not well and I
     don't know what to do, and I sign myself your most
     affectionate

     CIAMPANELLA,

     _Chief Mess-cook in the service of the
     Commander-in-chief_.

Pinocchio was so affected by this letter that he set off at once in
search of his friend. He found him in full performance of his noble
functions, white, red, and flourishing as if he had come back the day
before from taking the cure at Montecatini.

"Well?" he said in astonishment, after they had embraced.

"Well, youngster, I am here and I am not here in this beastly world."

"But, truly ..."

"You wouldn't say that I am on the downward path, to make use of the
words of the chaplain, but Ciampanella is no longer himself. They have
given me only a few months more to live. I don't mind for myself, you
know. I think that I shall be as well off there as I have been
here.... But I am thinking of humanity."

"Nothing and a little less than nothing."

"No joking now, youngster. Without the _Manual of War Cookery_ written
by Ciampanella humanity can never be happy, because with it men will
eat and laugh, and when you laugh you spend willingly, and when you
spend willingly you eat well.... So that ..."

"Why don't you write it?"

"First of all, because I lack the knowledge of handwriting, which
you've got to do; that is why I sent for you, and then ... because I
am afraid that I won't have time enough to dictate it all, because the
surgeon-major who examined me said that I had a disease of the liver
from eating too much, and that it would be the liver that would bring
me to my grave if I didn't stop immediately living on the fat of the
land and drink quantities of water. Listen, youngster, I have always
had a great antipathy for liver, so much so that I never even put it
in patties called Strasburg and which in my _Manual_ I will rechristen
'Austro-German Trenches with Reinforcements of War Bread and Ambushed
in Jelly.' But that's not the point. As I tell you, I have always had
a great antipathy to liver, but also for water, so much so, I'll tell
you in confidence, that sometimes I don't even use it to wash my face
in.

"So listen. Since they have brought me to this crossroads--either
drink water and live or eat good things and let my liver take me to
the next world--I have decided on the latter. Before dying I wanted to
call you to my presence to tell you that as I have no one in the world
I have been thinking of leaving you everything I possess: ten ladles,
a carver, the change-purse, and the recipes for the _Manual_, for
which, when you publish it, they will give you at least the cross of a
knight, that when you put it on will make, you feel 'way and ahead of
those who look at you."

  [Illustration]

In short, Ciampanella said so much and did so much that he persuaded
Pinocchio to stay with him. And certainly the boy could not find a
better way of making himself useful to his country. The mess-cook was
at the orders of a division. Each day he satisfied the hunger of four
generals, six colonels, and a crowd of majors and captains of the
General Staff. All these were men who had need of good eating that
wouldn't cause indigestion. Pinocchio served ... as director of the
mess. When he saw some saucepan boiling over, a pot too full, he
quickly reduced them by tasting their contents generously. Sauces and
ragoûts were his passion. Every now and then you might have seen him
dipping half a loaf of bread into the casseroles. One day a captain
who was inspecting surprised him at this, and naturally he lit into
Ciampanella about it, who threatened to quit the kitchen if they
didn't leave him in peace.

"Do you understand, Mr. Captain? Do you imagine that standing over a
fire is a great pleasure? I am beginning to believe that it is better
to stay in the trenches and die _with a ball in the head_ than in the
rear when you come and ruin my comfort with your inspections. But do
you know what I'll do? I'll hide the ladles in a place I know of and
I'll take up a musket and you'll see what you'll see."

The captain had to slink off, speeded by the laughs of Pinocchio,
whose nose was smeared and greasy and his mouth dripping with tomato
sauce. Ciampanella, who was so lacking in respect to his superiors,
obeyed the boy as if he were a head taller than he. Pinocchio had
persuaded him to drink quarts of water and to take digestive tablets
after his meals, and every morning a spoonful of salts in a glass of
water as the surgeon-major had ordered. And he followed out this
prescription so carefully that he had noticed a wonderful improvement,
and he kept a big bottle full of medicine among his cans of pepper and
spices. This fact had several times started an idea in Pinocchio's
whimsical pate, and several times he had been on the point of
exchanging this medicine for the kitchen salt, but the thought of the
serious consequences which might result had kept him from doing it.
Moreover, Pinocchio was called more and more often to serve the
mess-table and spent less time in the kitchen. The famous captain of
the inspection had thought in this way to avenge himself upon that
most insolent of semi-puppets, but, to tell you the truth, he didn't
find it bad. Serving at table so many grand generals seemed to him
almost an honor, and he was proud of it. When he handed the dishes to
the highest officers he would make low bows; the captains he treated
almost with disdain. He always tried to serve his "particular" captain
the last, and when there was left in the dish scarcely enough to
scrape out another portion he would whisper in his ear:

"Heh, Captain, blessed are those that are last!"

The captain fumed, but waited for the moment when he could give him a
reprimand. He thought the time had come one morning when he found a
fly in the stew.

"Come here, you little beast."

"Yes, sir; at your orders, sir."

"Look!" and he stuck the plate of stew two inches from his nose.

"There is no doubt, Captain, that it is a fly, a very vulgar fly," and
sticking two fingers delicately into the sauce he pulled the insect
out ... "a fly indeed! But you may consider yourself lucky because in
the rations of your men there will be at least twenty of them. And
those who fight don't think much of it. You do the same, Captain ...
in war-time don't bother about such trifles."

A tank commander who was next to him laughed heartily. The captain, as
green as a newly formed tomato, kept quiet and ate the stew.

       *       *       *       *       *

That day there was a grand dinner for some French and British officers
who had come on a mission to the front. Ciampanella had cooked one of
his wonderful recipes. Pinocchio, who had stuck his nose and tongue
into all the pots and pans, swore that even the King's cook was not
equal to producing such a dinner. And he, too, wished to do himself
honor. He set the table in a grassy spot surrounded by high trees and
thick hedges. It wasn't possible to find a more picturesque spot,
shady and safe from curious eyes, from reporters, and--spies. It was a
little distance from the kitchen, but distances didn't bother
Pinocchio, whose legs, longer than ordinary ones, could take steps
like a giant's. He decorated the table with wild flowers and wove
between the branches of the trees the flags of Italy, France, England,
and America, tied together with the colors of Belgium, dressed himself
afresh, and prepared to display all his good manners.

All the high officers seated at the table made a wonderful sight. The
uniforms, starred with crosses and ribbons, shining with gold and
silver, were all the more sparkling against the green background of
the trees and the meadow.

Pinocchio had served the finest _consommé_ with the air of a head
waiter in an expensive restaurant. When he returned to serve a
magnificent capon in jelly shaped like a cannon surrounded by hearts
of green lettuce which appeared on the menu under the name "William's
Wishes, with Evasions of German Financiers," he was struck by a
strange sight. All the diners had fled from the table and were going
hurriedly behind the hedge, overcome with nausea. A terrible idea
flashed through Pinocchio's mind. He turned around and, his capon in
his hand, rushed to the kitchen.

"Ciampanella! Ciampanella!"

"What's the matter?"

"The medicine?"

"What's the medicine got to do with dinner?"

"What did you put in the soup?"

"Are you crazy, youngster? Be quiet and let the officers eat."

"Ciampanella, are you perfectly sure of yourself?"

"Why do you ask me if I am sure of myself?"

"Because ... the officers aren't eating."

"What are they doing?"

"Just come and see, because I don't understand about cooking."

They went running, but had scarcely passed the threshold when a bomb
from an enemy airplane burst a few feet from them. They were hit in
the chest by a column of air which turned them round, were hurled back
into the kitchen, and buried beneath a shower of masonry.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ciampanella remained buried there, to the great misfortune of
humanity, who, after all, had to do without his _Manual of War
Cookery_, but Pinocchio was dug out alive. He was carried hastily to
the nearest ambulance station and fell into the hands of a splendid
surgeon, who, after having set a slender fracture of the arm and of
the breastbone, swore to save him in spite of fate. He hurriedly
amputated an arm, and a fortnight later in the hospital of a near-by
city they extracted the broken ribs, for which they substituted two
silver plates.

When Fatina and the Bersaglierino hurried to his bed to help him and
cheer him they found themselves face to face with a poor creature who,
with his artificial legs, arm, and breast, seemed indeed ... a wooden
puppet.

But Pinocchio was still himself, humorous, lively, and mischievous.
When he noticed that Fatina was looking at him with her big blue eyes
full of tears and pity, he shrugged his shoulders and, scratching his
left ear vigorously, made a face and said:

"Pretty object, heh? But you must be patient. In order to become a
real boy I couldn't help but go back to ... the old one!"




CHAPTER XI

_And Now--Finished or Not Finished_


It was a beautiful morning, sparkling with sunshine and glory because
the tricolor was waving from the windows of every house and the people
in the streets had joy in their eyes and a smile on their lips. On the
terrace of a handsome mansion, a terrace of marble decorated with
exotic plants, at the end of which was a large stained-glass window, a
man of mature age and military bearing was stretched out in a
reclining-chair. He was smoking a large meerschaum pipe and blew out
such puffs of smoke that it seemed as if he were trying to obscure the
sun. By his side was a soldier awaiting orders, and near by was a
stand on which a magnificent green parrot stood, scratching his head
with his claw and rolling his big yellow eyes.

"Heh! What do you say to that, Duretti? Are we or are we not great?
To-day that we can say we have made Italy?"

     "Now you see
     Italy
     The general has made so free ..."

chattered the wretch of a parrot.

"Be quiet, Coccorito; if you keep on with that nonsense I won't give
you any sunflower seeds for a week. I'd like to know who trained him
to be so impertinent during my absence. If it were not ..."

General Win-the-War started to get up, but a sudden twinge of pain
made him cry out and keep still in his chair. After biting his lips
for five minutes he began again to suck the mouthpiece of his pipe,
and after smoking up the air for another five minutes he said:

"Heh! My dear Duretti, it is a great satisfaction to fight for the
greatness of one's country, and if it were not for that cursed
Austrian shot which broke my leg I should like ..."

But Coccorito wouldn't let him finish and began to sing in his
horrible voice:

     "Every day,
     Pé--pé--pé,
     When he grew great,
     The soldiers he ate,
       Ho, ho, ho!

     He broke his leg,
     Or so he said,
     'Tis gout, you know,
     Won't let him go ..."

  [Illustration]

The general groaned and threw with all the strength he had left his
big meerschaum pipe at the bird. Coccorito would have come to a sad
end if the god of parrots had not, as he always did, held his
protecting hand over his tuft. The pipe grazed his head and fell in
the street, while he, with a strong tug at his light brass chain, flew
off and perched himself on the window-sill of the floor above, where
he laughed loudly and cried:

     "Ha, ha, ha!
     The general to the front set out,
       Felt a blow and down he fell,
     Because he suffers from the gout.
       He says his leg he broke--well, well--
     For his King, for Italy
     He broke his leg--he, he, he, he!"

But Coccorito could now sing in peace and be as insolent as he liked
because the general was no longer paying any attention to him, for two
excellent reasons. First, because, in spite of his high rank, he was
not great enough to reach up to the second-floor window; second, and
more important, because at the moment that his pipe fell in the street
a carriage stopped in front of the house and out of it got a
gentleman, a lady, and ... a small box they were carrying, and it was
against this box that the strange projectile fell, making such a
clatter that the lady couldn't help uttering a few words of protest.
Win-the-War, who never allowed any one to outdo him in courtesy, found
it necessary to explain matters, and with the help of his orderly got
up from his chair and dragged himself to the railing of the terrace.

"Pardon me, I beg you.... You are right to protest, but my pipe ...
fell.... I threw it.... In short, it is all the fault of my parrot,
who upset me and the pipe. Coccorito, show them at least ... so that
the lady and gentleman may not believe ..."

"But don't imagine such a thing, General. Don't bother yourself ... it
is no matter."

     "Ha, ha, ha!
     The general to the front set out,
       Felt a blow and down he fell,
     Because he suffers from the gout.
       He says his leg he broke--well, well--
     For his King, for Italy
     He broke his leg--he, he, he, he!"

Coccorito began again.

"Oh, you wretch! Did you hear him?"

"Don't apologize, General. I beg your pardon. Does old Geppetto live
here?"

"Yes, sir, on the floor above. Ring the second bell."

"Thank you."

"Not at all."

Old Geppetto was getting ready to mend an old table the legs of which
were red with worm-holes and had in hand a piece of seasoned wood, a
splendid piece. He was going to cut it with a hatchet and he had
lifted up his hand holding the shining tool, when who knows what queer
thoughts made his arm fall heavily. Did he perhaps remember that other
famous piece of wood from which the sprightly little old man had
shaped the wonderful puppet which had brought him so much bother and
trouble? And what had become of him? Why had he sent no news of
himself since he had gone out into the world like a real boy? Perhaps
the poor little old man would have preferred to have him still at his
side, a puppet as he used to be, and of wood out of which he had made
him, than to be left thus alone in the last years of his life. He had
tried so often to make another Pinocchio, but he had never been able
to finish his work. His hands trembled; his eyes were no longer what
they used to be, and even the wood--certainly it was the truth about
the wood--wasn't what it used to be.

When he heard the bell ring he felt his heart beat, and he ran to open
the door, swaying from side to side like a drunken man.

"Who's there?"

"It's I, Geppetto. Don't you recognize me?"

"My Fatina!"

"Yes, indeed, your Fatina who has come to introduce her husband, the
Bersaglierino, to you, and to see how you are, and to bring you
somebody you are fond of, very fond of," she replied, as they entered.

He gave her a long, questioning glance from beneath his spectacles;
then he spied Pinocchio mischievously hiding behind Fatina and the
Bersaglierino.

"Oh, Fatina! Fatina! How did they bring my poor puppet to such a
state?" sobbed Geppetto as he looked at Pinocchio. "What under the sun
is all this machinery and these contraptions? I made him of wood, all
of wood, and so splendidly that no one was ever able to imitate him.
Why did you let them abuse him in this way? Wouldn't it have been
better if you had let him stay a _real boy_ than to bring him back to
me in this condition?"

And the dear little old man couldn't contain himself and gave vent to
his sorrow in loud weeping.

Fatina and the Bersaglierino could find no words to comfort him with
and looked at him compassionately, their own throats tightening. When
Papa Geppetto had grown a little calmer he took his puppet in his arms
and examined him carefully all over, shaking his head and drawing his
lips tightly as if he wished to keep his sobs from bursting out again.
He saw the artificial legs, the arm with its steel spring and the
tweezers for hands; he saw the large silver plate which supported the
breastbone--admired all this up-to-date mechanism, but was not in the
least satisfied. The poor little old man preferred his wooden puppet
_all of wood_ to the marrow ... and he no longer recognized _his_ old
Pinocchio.

"Oh, Fatina!" he said, sighing, "who brought him to such a state?"

"Our country, dear friend."

"Our country?" and for a moment he stood there, his eyes wide open
with surprise. "Our country, did you say, Fatina?" Then he was lost in
thought again.

  [Illustration]

While the old man was bending over Pinocchio, Fatina and
Bersaglierino quietly slipped out of the door. Papa Geppetto was again
alone with his beloved puppet in the same room where he had first
carved the little fellow out of pine wood.

Don't you remember how Pinocchio first broke up everything before he
ran away? How he knocked over the chest, rummaged the wardrobe, broke
the mirror, upset the little table, turned over the chairs, pulled the
pictures off the walls, and tore down the window-curtains? And don't
you remember how he left everything in a mess and ran out into the
street wrapped in a flowered chintz curtain?

Well, Pinocchio was home again, and Papa Geppetto had long ago
repaired the things Pinocchio had broken. Everything was in good order
except Pinocchio himself. That was what worried the old man. He did
not care much about the mirrors, wardrobes, or window-curtains, but he
_did_ care about his little puppet friend whom he loved.

It was getting dark and old Geppetto sat down in a large armchair and
held Pinocchio on his lap. As the shadows began to gather and the room
to get darker, Papa Geppetto began to nod and soon closed his eyes.
With his arms clasped around Pinocchio, he went to sleep.

If you could now step quietly into the room, you would see both of
them asleep. The old man's head was resting on Pinocchio's head, and
Pinocchio's on Geppetto's shoulder.

The little puppet was sleeping quietly, but the old man was not. He
seemed to be having a bad dream, judging from his sighs and groans.

"Oh, Pinocchio!" he said, aloud, in his sleep, "why did you run away
and go to the war? Just look at you! No legs, and one arm gone! I wish
you were my dear wooden puppet again."

Then the old man sighed, but kept on sleeping.

After about two hours Papa Geppetto awoke. It was now quite dark, but
not so dark that the old man could not see that some change had come
over Pinocchio. He looked down at the little sleeping puppet and what
do you think he saw? Not artificial legs and an arm. Oh no! Pinocchio
was just as he was when he was first made. Pinocchio was again the
little wooden puppet!

Papa Geppetto was so overcome with joy that he caught up Pinocchio in
his arms and hugged him so tight he nearly smothered the little
fellow. And Pinocchio threw his arms around the old man's neck and
kissed the top of his bald head.


THE END





End of Project Gutenberg's The Heart of Pinocchio, by Collodi Nipote