_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.