Wednesday's Good Reading: "Oltre qui fu, dove ’l mie amor mi tolse" by Michelangelo Buonarroti (in Italian)

 
  Oltre qui fu, dove ’l mie amor mi tolse,
suo mercè, il core e vie più là la vita;
qui co’ begli occhi mi promisse aita,
e co’ medesmi qui tor me la volse.
  Quinci oltre mi legò, quivi mi sciolse;
per me qui piansi, e con doglia infinita
da questo sasso vidi far partita
colui c’a me mi tolse e non mi volse.

Tuesday's Serial: “Lavengro” by George Borrow (in English) - XXXVI

Chapter 69

effects of corn—one night longer—the hoofs—a stumble—are you hurt?—what a difference—drowsy—maze of bushes—housekeeping—sticks and furze—the driftway—an account of stock

 

It was two or three hours past noon when I took my departure from the place of the last adventure, walking by the side of my little cart; the pony, invigorated by the corn, to which he was probably not much accustomed, proceeded right gallantly; so far from having to hasten him forward by the particular application which the tinker had pointed out to me, I had rather to repress his eagerness, being, though an excellent pedestrian, not unfrequently left behind. The country through which I passed was beautiful and interesting, but solitary; few habitations appeared. As it was quite a matter of indifference to me in what direction I went, the whole world being before me, I allowed the pony to decide upon the matter; it was not long before he left the high-road, being probably no friend to public places. I followed him I knew not whither, but, from subsequent observation, have reason to suppose that our course was in a north-west direction. At length night came upon us, and a cold wind sprang up, which was succeeded by a drizzling rain.

I had originally intended to pass the night in the cart, or to pitch my little tent on some convenient spot by the road's side; but, owing to the alteration in the weather, I thought that it would be advisable to take up my quarters in any hedge alehouse at which I might arrive. To tell the truth, I was not very sorry to have an excuse to pass the night once more beneath a roof. I had determined to live quite independent, but I had never before passed a night by myself abroad, and felt a little apprehensive at the idea; I hoped, however, on the morrow, to be a little more prepared for the step, so I determined for one night—only for one night longer—to sleep like a Christian; but human determinations are not always put into effect, such a thing as opportunity is frequently wanting, such was the case here. I went on for a considerable time, in expectation of coming to some rustic hostelry, but nothing of the kind presented itself to my eyes; the country in which I now was seemed almost uninhabited, not a house of any kind was to be seen—at least I saw none—though it is true houses might be near without my seeing them, owing to the darkness of the night, for neither moon nor star was abroad. I heard, occasionally, the bark of dogs; but the sound appeared to come from an immense distance. The rain still fell, and the ground beneath my feet was wet and miry; in short, it was a night in which even a tramper by profession would feel more comfortable in being housed than abroad. I followed in the rear of the cart, the pony still proceeding at a sturdy pace, till methought I heard other hoofs than those of my own nag; I listened for a moment, and distinctly heard the sounds of hoofs approaching at a great rate, and evidently from the quarter towards which I and my little caravan were moving. We were in a dark lane—so dark that it was impossible for me to see my own hand. Apprehensive that some accident might occur, I ran forward, and, seizing the pony by the bridle, drew him as near as I could to the hedge. On came the hoofs—trot, trot, trot; and evidently more than those of one horse; their speed as they advanced appeared to slacken—it was only, however, for a moment. I heard a voice cry, 'Push on,—this is a desperate robbing place,—never mind the dark'; and the hoofs came on quicker than before. 'Stop!' said I, at the top of my voice; 'stop! or—' Before I could finish what I was about to say there was a stumble, a heavy fall, a cry, and a groan, and putting out my foot I felt what I conjectured to be the head of a horse stretched upon the road. 'Lord have mercy upon us! what's the matter?' exclaimed a voice. 'Spare my life,' cried another voice, apparently from the ground; 'only spare my life, and take all I have.' 'Where are you, Master Wise?' cried the other voice. 'Help! here, Master Bat,' cried the voice from the ground; 'help me up or I shall be murdered.' 'Why, what's the matter?' said Bat. 'Some one has knocked me down, and is robbing me,' said the voice from the ground. 'Help! murder!' cried Bat; and, regardless of the entreaties of the man on the ground that he would stay and help him up, he urged his horse forward and galloped away as fast as he could. I remained for some time quiet, listening to various groans and exclamations uttered by the person on the ground; at length I said, 'Halloa! are you hurt?' 'Spare my life, and take all I have!' said the voice from the ground. 'Have they not done robbing you yet?' said I; 'when they have finished let me know, and I will come and help you.' 'Who is that?' said the voice; 'pray come and help me, and do me no mischief.' 'You were saying that some one was robbing you,' said I; 'don't think I shall come till he is gone away.' 'Then you ben't he?' said the voice. 'Aren't you robbed?' said I. 'Can't say I be,' said the voice; 'not yet at any rate; but who are you? I don't know you.' 'A traveller whom you and your partner were going to run over in this dark lane; you almost frightened me out of my senses.' 'Frightened!' said the voice, in a louder tone; 'frightened! oh!' and thereupon I heard somebody getting upon his legs. This accomplished, the individual proceeded to attend to his horse, and with a little difficulty raised him upon his legs also. 'Aren't you hurt?' said I. 'Hurt!' said the voice; 'not I; don't think it, whatever the horse may be. I tell you what, my fellow, I thought you were a robber, and now I find you are not; I have a good mind—' 'To do what?' 'To serve you out; aren't you ashamed—?' 'At what?' said I; 'not to have robbed you? Shall I set about it now?' 'Ha, ha!' said the man, dropping the bullying tone which he had assumed; 'you are joking—robbing! who talks of robbing? I wonder how my horse's knees are; not much hurt, I think—only mired.' The man, whoever he was, then got upon his horse; and, after moving him about a little, said, 'Good night, friend; where are you?' 'Here I am,' said I, 'just behind you.' 'You are, are you? Take that.' I know not what he did, but probably pricking his horse with the spur the animal kicked out violently; one of his heels struck me on the shoulder, but luckily missed my face; I fell back with the violence of the blow, whilst the fellow scampered off at a great rate. Stopping at some distance, he loaded me with abuse, and then, continuing his way at a rapid trot, I heard no more of him.

'What a difference!' said I, getting up; 'last night I was fêted in the hall of a rich genius, and to-night I am knocked down and mired in a dark lane by the heel of Master Wise's horse—I wonder who gave him that name? And yet he was wise enough to wreak his revenge upon me, and I was not wise enough to keep out of his way. Well, I am not much hurt, so it is of little consequence.'

I now bethought me that, as I had a carriage of my own, I might as well make use of it; I therefore got into the cart, and, taking the reins in my hand, gave an encouraging cry to the pony, whereupon the sturdy little animal started again at as brisk a pace as if he had not already come many a long mile. I lay half reclining in the cart, holding the reins lazily, and allowing the animal to go just where he pleased, often wondering where he would conduct me. At length I felt drowsy, and my head sank upon my breast; I soon aroused myself, but it was only to doze again; this occurred several times. Opening my eyes after a doze somewhat longer than the others, I found that the drizzling rain had ceased, a corner of the moon was apparent in the heavens, casting a faint light; I looked around for a moment or two, but my eyes and brain were heavy with slumber, and I could scarcely distinguish where we were. I had a kind of dim consciousness that we were traversing an uninclosed country—perhaps a heath; I thought, however, that I saw certain large black objects looming in the distance, which I had a confused idea might be woods or plantations; the pony still moved at his usual pace. I did not find the jolting of the cart at all disagreeable, on the contrary, it had quite a somniferous effect upon me. Again my eyes closed; I opened them once more, but with less perception in them than before, looked forward, and, muttering something about woodlands, I placed myself in an easier posture than I had hitherto done, and fairly fell asleep.

How long I continued in that state I am unable to say, but I believe for a considerable time; I was suddenly awakened by the ceasing of the jolting to which I had become accustomed, and of which I was perfectly sensible in my sleep. I started up and looked around me, the moon was still shining, and the face of the heaven was studded with stars; I found myself amidst a maze of bushes of various kinds, but principally hazel and holly, through which was a path or driftway with grass growing on either side, upon which the pony was already diligently browsing. I conjectured that this place had been one of the haunts of his former master, and, on dismounting and looking about, was strengthened in that opinion by finding a spot under an ash tree which, from its burnt and blackened appearance, seemed to have been frequently used as a fireplace. I will take up my quarters here, thought I; it is an excellent spot for me to commence my new profession in; I was quite right to trust myself to the guidance of the pony. Unharnessing the animal without delay, I permitted him to browse at free will on the grass, convinced that he would not wander far from a place to which he was so much attached; I then pitched the little tent close beside the ash tree to which I have alluded, and conveyed two or three articles into it, and instantly felt that I had commenced housekeeping for the first time in my life. Housekeeping, however, without a fire is a very sorry affair, something like the housekeeping of children in their toy houses; of this I was the more sensible from feeling very cold and shivering, owing to my late exposure to the rain, and sleeping in the night air. Collecting, therefore, all the dry sticks and furze I could find, I placed them upon the fireplace, adding certain chips and a billet which I found in the cart, it having apparently been the habit of Slingsby to carry with him a small store of fuel. Having then struck a spark in a tinder-box and lighted a match, I set fire to the combustible heap, and was not slow in raising a cheerful blaze; I then drew my cart near the fire, and, seating myself on one of the shafts, hung over the warmth with feelings of intense pleasure and satisfaction. Having continued in this posture for a considerable time, I turned my eyes to the heaven in the direction of a particular star; I, however, could not find the star, nor indeed many of the starry train, the greater number having fled, from which circumstance, and from the appearance of the sky, I concluded that morning was nigh. About this time I again began to feel drowsy; I therefore arose, and having prepared for myself a kind of couch in the tent, I flung myself upon it and went to sleep.

I will not say that I was awakened in the morning by the carolling of birds, as I perhaps might if I were writing a novel; I awoke because, to use vulgar language, I had slept my sleep out, not because the birds were carolling around me in numbers, as they had probably been for hours without my hearing them. I got up and left my tent; the morning was yet more bright than that of the preceding day. Impelled by curiosity, I walked about endeavouring to ascertain to what place chance, or rather the pony, had brought me; following the driftway for some time, amidst bushes and stunted trees, I came to a grove of dark pines, through which it appeared to lead; I tracked it a few hundred yards, but seeing nothing but trees, and the way being wet and sloughy, owing to the recent rain, I returned on my steps, and, pursuing the path in another direction, came to a sandy road leading over a common, doubtless the one I had traversed the preceding night. My curiosity satisfied, I returned to my little encampment, and on the way beheld a small footpath on the left winding through the bushes, which had before escaped my observation. Having reached my tent and cart, I breakfasted on some of the provisions which I had procured the day before, and then proceeded to take a regular account of the stock formerly possessed by Slingsby the tinker, but now become my own by right of lawful purchase.

Besides the pony, the cart, and the tent, I found I was possessed of a mattress stuffed with straw on which to lie, and a blanket to cover me, the last quite clean and nearly new; then there was a frying-pan and a kettle, the first for cooking any food which required cooking, and the second for heating any water which I might wish to heat. I likewise found an earthen teapot and two or three cups; of the first I should rather say I found the remains, it being broken in three parts, no doubt since it came into my possession, which would have precluded the possibility of my asking anybody to tea for the present, should anybody visit me, even supposing I had tea and sugar, which was not the case. I then overhauled what might more strictly be called the stock in trade; this consisted of various tools, an iron ladle, a chafing-pan and small bellows, sundry pans and kettles, the latter being of tin, with the exception of one which was of copper, all in a state of considerable dilapidation—if I may use the term; of these first Slingsby had spoken in particular, advising me to mend them as soon as possible, and to endeavour to sell them, in order that I might have the satisfaction of receiving some return upon the outlay which I had made. There was likewise a small quantity of block tin, sheet tin, and solder. 'This Slingsby,' said I, 'is certainly a very honest man, he has sold me more than my money's worth; I believe, however, there is something more in the cart.' Thereupon I rummaged the farther end of the cart, and, amidst a quantity of straw, I found a small anvil and bellows of that kind which are used in forges, and two hammers such as smiths use, one great, and the other small.

The sight of these last articles caused me no little surprise, as no word which had escaped from the mouth of Slingsby had given me reason to suppose that he had ever followed the occupation of a smith; yet, if he had not, how did he come by them? I sat down upon the shaft, and pondered the question deliberately in my mind; at length I concluded that he had come by them by one of those numerous casualties which occur upon the roads, of which I, being a young hand upon the roads, must have a very imperfect conception; honestly, of course—for I scouted the idea that Slingsby would have stolen this blacksmith's gear—for I had the highest opinion of his honesty, which opinion I still retain at the present day, which is upwards of twenty years from the time of which I am speaking, during the whole of which period I have neither seen the poor fellow nor received any intelligence of him.

 

 

Chapter 70

new profession—beautiful night—jupiter—sharp and shrill—rommany chi—all alone—three-and-sixpence—what is rommany?—be civil—parraco tute—slight start—grateful—the rustling

 

I passed the greater part of the day in endeavouring to teach myself the mysteries of my new profession. I cannot say that I was very successful, but the time passed agreeably, and was therefore not ill spent. Towards evening I flung my work aside, took some refreshment, and afterwards a walk.

This time I turned up the small footpath of which I have already spoken. It led in a zigzag manner through thickets of hazel, elder, and sweet-brier; after following its windings for somewhat better than a furlong, I heard a gentle sound of water, and presently came to a small rill, which ran directly across the path. I was rejoiced at the sight, for I had already experienced the want of water, which I yet knew must be nigh at hand, as I was in a place to all appearance occasionally frequented by wandering people, who I was aware never take up their quarters in places where water is difficult to be obtained. Forthwith I stretched myself on the ground, and took a long and delicious draught of the crystal stream, and then, seating myself in a bush, I continued for some time gazing on the water as it purled tinkling away in its channel through an opening in the hazels, and should have probably continued much longer had not the thought that I had left my property unprotected compelled me to rise and return to my encampment.

Night came on, and a beautiful night it was; up rose the moon, and innumerable stars decked the firmament of heaven. I sat on the shaft, my eyes turned upwards. I had found it: there it was twinkling millions of miles above me, mightiest star of the system to which we belong: of all stars the one which has most interest for me—the star Jupiter.

Why have I always taken an interest in thee, O Jupiter? I know nothing about thee, save what every child knows, that thou art a big star, whose only light is derived from moons. And is not that knowledge enough to make me feel an interest in thee? Ay, truly; I never look at thee without wondering what is going on in thee; what is life in Jupiter? That there is life in Jupiter who can doubt? There is life in our own little star, therefore there must be life in Jupiter, which is not a little star. But how different must life be in Jupiter from what it is in our own little star! Life here is life beneath the dear sun—life in Jupiter is life beneath moons—four moons—no single moon is able to illumine that vast bulk. All know what life is in our own little star; it is anything but a routine of happiness here, where the dear sun rises to us every day: then how sad and moping must life be in mighty Jupiter, on which no sun ever shines, and which is never lighted save by pale moonbeams! The thought that there is more sadness and melancholy in Jupiter than in this world of ours, where, alas! there is but too much, has always made me take a melancholy interest in that huge distant star.

Two or three days passed by in much the same manner as the first. During the morning I worked upon my kettles, and employed the remaining part of the day as I best could. The whole of this time I only saw two individuals, rustics, who passed by my encampment without vouchsafing me a glance; they probably considered themselves my superiors, as perhaps they were.

One very brilliant morning, as I sat at work in very good spirits, for by this time I had actually mended in a very creditable way, as I imagined, two kettles and a frying-pan, I heard a voice which seemed to proceed from the path leading to the rivulet; at first it sounded from a considerable distance, but drew nearer by degrees. I soon remarked that the tones were exceedingly sharp and shrill, with yet something of childhood in them. Once or twice I distinguished certain words in the song which the voice was singing; the words were—but no, I thought again I was probably mistaken—and then the voice ceased for a time; presently I heard it again, close to the entrance of the footpath; in another moment I heard it in the lane or glade in which stood my tent, where it abruptly stopped, but not before I had heard the very words which I at first thought I had distinguished.

I turned my head; at the entrance of the footpath, which might be about thirty yards from the place where I was sitting, I perceived the figure of a young girl; her face was turned towards me, and she appeared to be scanning me and my encampment; after a little time she looked in the other direction, only for a moment, however; probably observing nothing in that quarter, she again looked towards me, and almost immediately stepped forward; and, as she advanced, sang the song which I had heard in the wood, the first words of which were those which I have already alluded to.

 

'The Rommany chi

And the Rommany chal

Shall jaw tasaulor

To drab the bawlor,

And dook the gry

Of the farming rye.'

 

A very pretty song, thought I, falling again hard to work upon my kettle; a very pretty song, which bodes the farmers much good. Let them look to their cattle.

'All alone here, brother?' said a voice close by me, in sharp but not disagreeable tones.

I made no answer, but continued my work, click, click, with the gravity which became one of my profession. I allowed at least half a minute to elapse before I even lifted up my eyes.

A girl of about thirteen was standing before me; her features were very pretty, but with a peculiar expression; her complexion was a clear olive, and her jet black hair hung back upon her shoulders. She was rather scantily dressed, and her arms and feet were bare; round her neck, however, was a handsome string of corals, with ornaments of gold; in her hand she held a bulrush.

'All alone here, brother?' said the girl, as I looked up; 'all alone here, in the lane; where are your wife and children?'

'Why do you call me brother?' said I; 'I am no brother of yours. Do you take me for one of your people? I am no gypsy; not I, indeed!'

'Don't be afraid, brother, you are no Roman—Roman indeed, you are not handsome enough to be a Roman; not black enough, tinker though you be. If I called you brother, it was because I didn't know what else to call you. Marry, come up, brother, I should be sorry to have you for a brother.'

'Then you don't like me?'

'Neither like you nor dislike you, brother; what will you have for that kekaubi?'

'What's the use of talking to me in that un-Christian way; what do you mean, young gentlewoman?'

'Lord, brother, what a fool you are; every tinker knows what a kekaubi is. I was asking you what you would have for that kettle.'

'Three-and-sixpence, young gentlewoman; isn't it well mended?'

'Well mended! I could have done it better myself; three-and-sixpence! it's only fit to be played at football with.'

'I will take no less for it, young gentlewoman; it has caused me a world of trouble.'

'I never saw a worse mended kettle. I say, brother, your hair is white.'

''Tis nature; your hair is black; nature, nothing but nature.'

'I am young, brother; my hair is black—that's nature: you are young, brother; your hair is white—that's not nature.'

'I can't help it if it be not, but it is nature after all; did you never see grey hair on the young?'

'Never! I have heard it is true of a grey lad, and a bad one he was. Oh, so bad.'

'Sit down on the grass, and tell me all about it, sister; do, to oblige me, pretty sister.'

'Hey, brother, you don't speak as you did—you don't speak like a gorgio, you speak like one of us, you call me sister.'

'As you call me brother; I am not an uncivil person after all, sister.'

'I say, brother, tell me one thing, and look me in the face—there—do you speak Rommany?'

'Rommany! Rommany! what is Rommany?'

'What is Rommany? our language to be sure; tell me, brother, only one thing, you don't speak Rommany?'

'You say it.'

'I don't say it, I wish to know. Do you speak Rommany?'

'Do you mean thieves' slang—cant? no, I don't speak cant, I don't like it, I only know a few words; they call a sixpence a tanner, don't they?'

'I don't know,' said the girl, sitting down on the ground, 'I was almost thinking—well, never mind, you don't know Rommany. I say, brother, I think I should like to have the kekaubi.'

'I thought you said it was badly mended?'

'Yes, yes, brother, but—'

'I thought you said it was only fit to be played at football with?'

'Yes, yes, brother, but—'

'What will you give for it?'

'Brother, I am the poor person's child, I will give you sixpence for the kekaubi.'

'Poor person's child; how came you by that necklace?'

'Be civil, brother; am I to have the kekaubi?'

'Not for sixpence; isn't the kettle nicely mended?'

'I never saw a nicer mended kettle, brother; am I to have the kekaubi, brother?'

'You like me, then?'

'I don't dislike you—I dislike no one; there's only one, and him I don't dislike, him I hate.'

'Who is he?'

'I scarcely know, I never saw him, but 'tis no affair of yours, you don't speak Rommany; you will let me have the kekaubi, pretty brother?'

'You may have it, but not for sixpence; I'll give it to you.'

'Parraco tute, that is, I thank you, brother; the rikkeni kekaubi is now mine. O, rare! I thank you kindly, brother.'

Starting up, she flung the bulrush aside which she had hitherto held in her hand, and, seizing the kettle, she looked at it for a moment, and then began a kind of dance, flourishing the kettle over her head the while, and singing—

 

'The Rommany chi

And the Rommany chal

Shall jaw tasaulor

To drab the bawlor,

And dook the gry

Of the farming rye.

 

Good-bye, brother, I must be going.'

'Good-bye, sister; why do you sing that wicked song?'

'Wicked song, hey, brother! you don't understand the song!'

'Ha, ha! gypsy daughter,' said I, starting up and clapping my hands, 'I don't understand Rommany, don't I? You shall see; here's the answer to your gillie—

 

'The Rommany chi

And the Rommany chal,

Love Luripen

And dukkeripen,

And hokkeripen,

And every pen

But Lachipen

And tatchipen.'

 

The girl, who had given a slight start when I began, remained for some time after I had concluded the song standing motionless as a statue, with the kettle in her hand. At length she came towards me, and stared me full in the face. 'Grey, tall, and talks Rommany,' said she to herself. In her countenance there was an expression which I had not seen before—an expression which struck me as being composed of fear, curiosity, and the deepest hate. It was momentary, however, and was succeeded by one smiling, frank, and open. 'Ha, ha, brother,' said she, 'well, I like you all the better for talking Rommany; it is a sweet language, isn't it? especially as you sing it. How did you pick it up? But you picked it up upon the roads, no doubt? Ha, it was funny in you to pretend not to know it, and you so flush with it all the time; it was not kind in you, however, to frighten the poor person's child so by screaming out, but it was kind in you to give the rikkeni kekaubi to the child of the poor person. She will be grateful to you; she will bring you her little dog to show you, her pretty juggal; the poor person's child will come and see you again; you are not going away to-day, I hope, or to-morrow, pretty brother, grey-haired brother—you are not going away to-morrow, I hope?'

'Nor the next day,' said I, 'only to take a stroll to see if I can sell a kettle; good-bye, little sister, Rommany sister, dingy sister.'

'Good-bye, tall brother,' said the girl, as she departed, singing

 

'The Rommany chi,' etc.

 

'There's something about that girl that I don't understand,' said I to myself; 'something mysterious. However, it is nothing to me, she knows not who I am, and if she did, what then?'

Late that evening as I sat on the shaft of my cart in deep meditation, with my arms folded, I thought I heard a rustling in the bushes over against me. I turned my eyes in that direction, but saw nothing. 'Some bird,' said I; 'an owl, perhaps'; and once more I fell into meditation; my mind wandered from one thing to another—musing now on the structure of the Roman tongue—now on the rise and fall of the Persian power—and now on the powers vested in recorders at quarter-sessions. I was thinking what a fine thing it must be to be a recorder of the peace, when, lifting up my eyes, I saw right opposite, not a culprit at the bar, but, staring at me through a gap in the bush, a face wild and strange, half covered with grey hair; I only saw it a moment, the next it had disappeared.

Monday's Illustrated Word: " Exhibit Six" by unknown writer (in English)

 art by Bill DuBay - For Monsters Only #9 - Major Publications, September 1971.

 

 

Saturday's Good Reading: “The Fir-Tree and the Bramble” by Aesop (translated into English).

         A Fir-Tree said boastingly to the Bramble, "You are useful for nothing at all; while I am everywhere used for roofs and houses." The Bramble answered: 'You poor creature, if you would only call to mind the axes and saws which are about to hew you down, you would have reason to wish that you had grown up a Bramble, not a Fir-Tree."  

Better poverty without care, than riches with.

Friday's Sung Word: "Ciranda Cirandinha" (in Portuguese)

CIRANDA - a round dance of Portuguese origin found throughout Brazil in both children's and adult versions. The children's ciranda is a round game with sung verses. The adult version is a group dance performed in a circle around a small ensemble of musicians and a singer.  
CIRANDA, CIRANDINHA - is a children ciranda game where the children, hand in hand, walk clockwise while singing the song. Once finished, someone is invited to go to the center and recite a poem, usually a "quadra", traditional poem form of four verses of seven sylabs.

 

SONG:
Ciranda, cirandinha
Vamos todos cirandar
Vamos dar a meia volta
Volta e meia vamos dar"

O anel que tu me deste
Era vidro e se quebrou.
O amor que tu me tinhas
Era pouco e se acabou.

INVITATION:
Senhor(a) N.N.,
Entre dentro desta roda,
diga um verso bem bonito,
diga "adeus" e vá-se embora.

You can listen "Ciranda,Cirandinha" sung by the Orquestra e Coro Carroussell here.

Thuesday’s Serial: “ Le avventure di Pinocchio: Storia di un burattino” by Carlo Collodi (in Italian) - I

 

I. Come andò che Maestro Ciliegia, falegname trovò un pezzo di legno che piangeva e rideva come un bambino.

— C'era una volta....

— Un re! — diranno subito i miei piccoli lettori.

— No, ragazzi, avete sbagliato. C'era una volta un pezzo di legno.

Non era un legno di lusso, ma un semplice pezzo da catasta, di quelli che d'inverno si mettono nelle stufe e nei caminetti per accendere il fuoco e per riscaldare le stanze.

Non so come andasse, ma il fatto gli è che un bel giorno questo pezzo di legno capitò nella bottega di un vecchio falegname, il quale aveva nome mastr'Antonio, se non che tutti lo chiamavano maestro Ciliegia, per via della punta del suo naso, che era sempre lustra e paonazza, come una ciliegia matura.

.... sentì una vocina sottile sottile.

Appena maestro Ciliegia ebbe visto quel pezzo di legno, si rallegrò tutto; e dandosi una fregatina di mani per la contentezza, borbottò a mezza voce:

— Questo legno è capitato a tempo; voglio servirmene per fare una gamba di tavolino. —

Detto fatto, prese subito l'ascia arrotata per cominciare a levargli la scorza e a digrossarlo; ma quando fu lì per lasciare andare la prima asciata, rimase col braccio sospeso in aria, perchè sentì una vocina sottile sottile, che disse raccomandandosi:

— Non mi picchiar tanto forte! —

Figuratevi come rimase quel buon vecchio di maestro Ciliegia!

Girò gli occhi smarriti intorno alla stanza per vedere di dove mai poteva essere uscita quella vocina, e non vide nessuno! Guardò sotto il banco, e nessuno: guardò dentro un armadio che stava sempre chiuso, e nessuno; guardò nel corbello dei trucioli e della segatura, e nessuno; aprì l'uscio di bottega per dare un'occhiata anche sulla strada, e nessuno. O dunque?...

— Ho capito; — disse allora ridendo e grattandosi la parrucca — si vede che quella vocina me la son figurata io. Rimettiamoci a lavorare. —

E ripresa l'ascia in mano, tirò giù un solennissimo colpo sul pezzo di legno.

— Ohi! tu m'hai fatto male! — gridò rammaricandosi la solita vocina.

Questa volta maestro Ciliegia restò di stucco, cogli occhi fuori del capo per la paura, colla bocca spalancata e colla lingua giù ciondoloni fino al mento, come un mascherone da fontana.

Appena riebbe l'uso della parola, cominciò a dire tremando e balbettando dallo spavento:

— Ma di dove sarà uscita questa vocina che ha detto ohi?... Eppure qui non c'è anima viva. Che sia per caso questo pezzo di legno che abbia imparato a piangere e a lamentarsi come un bambino? Io non lo posso credere. Questo legno eccolo qui; è un pezzo di legno da caminetto, come tutti gli altri, e a buttarlo sul fuoco, c'è da far bollire una pentola di fagioli.... O dunque? Che ci sia nascosto dentro qualcuno? Se c'è nascosto qualcuno, tanto peggio per lui. Ora l'accomodo io! —

E così dicendo, agguantò con tutt'e due le mani quel povero pezzo di legno, e si pose a sbatacchiarlo senza carità contro le pareti della stanza.

Poi si messe in ascolto, per sentire se c'era qualche vocina che si lamentasse. Aspettò due minuti, e nulla; cinque minuti, e nulla; dieci minuti, e nulla!

— Ho capito — disse allora sforzandosi di ridere e arruffandosi la parrucca — si vede che quella vocina che ha detto ohi, me la son figurata io! Rimettiamoci a lavorare. —

E perchè gli era entrato addosso una gran paura, si provò a canterellare per farsi un po' di coraggio.

Intanto, posata da una parte l'ascia, prese in mano la pialla, per piallare e tirare a pulimento il pezzo di legno; ma nel mentre che lo piallava in su e in giù, sentì la solita vocina che gli disse ridendo:

— Smetti! tu mi fai il pizzicorino sul corpo! —

Questa volta il povero maestro Ciliegia cadde giù come fulminato. Quando riaprì gli occhi, si trovò seduto per terra.

Il suo viso pareva trasfigurito, e perfino la punta del naso, di paonazza come era quasi sempre, gli era diventata turchina dalla gran paura.

 

II. Maestro Ciliegia regala il pezzo di legno al suo amico Geppetto, il quale lo prende per fabbricarsi un burattino maraviglioso, che sappia ballare, tirar di scherma e fare i salti mortali.

In quel punto fu bussato alla porta.

— Passate pure, — disse il falegname, senza aver la forza di rizzarsi in piedi.

Un vecchietto tutto arzillo, il quale aveva nome Geppetto.

Allora entrò in bottega un vecchietto tutto arzillo, il quale aveva nome Geppetto; ma i ragazzi del vicinato, quando lo volevano far montare su tutte le furie, lo chiamavano col soprannome di Polendina, a motivo della sua parrucca gialla, che somigliava moltissimo alla polendina di granturco.

Geppetto era bizzosissimo. Guai a chiamarlo Polendina! Diventava subito una bestia, e non c'era più verso di tenerlo.

— Buon giorno, mastr'Antonio, — disse Geppetto. — Che cosa fate costì per terra?

— Insegno l'abbaco alle formicole.

— Buon pro vi faccia.

— Chi vi ha portato da me, compar Geppetto?

— Le gambe. Sappiate, mastr'Antonio, che son venuto da voi, per chiedervi un favore.

— Eccomi qui, pronto a servirvi, — replicò il falegname rizzandosi su i ginocchi.

— Stamani m'è piovuta nel cervello un'idea.

— Sentiamola.

— Ho pensato di fabbricarmi da me un bel burattino di legno: ma un burattino maraviglioso, che sappia ballare, tirar di scherma e fare i salti mortali. Con questo burattino voglio girare il mondo, per buscarmi un tozzo di pane e un bicchier di vino: che ve ne pare?

— Bravo Polendina! — gridò la solita vocina, che non si capiva di dove uscisse.

A sentirsi chiamar Polendina, compar Geppetto diventò rosso come un peperone dalla bizza, e voltandosi verso il falegname, gli disse imbestialito:

— Perchè mi offendete?

— Chi vi offende?

— Mi avete detto Polendina!

— Non sono stato io.

— Sta' un po' a vedere che sarò stato io! Io dico che siete stato voi.

— No!

— Sì!

— No!

— Sì! —

E riscaldandosi sempre più, vennero dalle parole ai fatti, e acciuffatisi fra di loro, si graffiarono, si morsero e si sbertucciarono.

Finito il combattimento, mastr'Antonio si trovò fra le mani la parrucca gialla di Geppetto, e Geppetto si accòrse di avere in bocca la parrucca brizzolata del falegname.

— Rendimi la mia parrucca! — gridò mastr'Antonio.

— E tu rendimi la mia, e rifacciamo la pace. —

I due vecchietti, dopo aver ripreso ognuno di loro la propria parrucca, si strinsero la mano e giurarono di rimanere buoni amici per tutta la vita.

— Dunque, compar Geppetto, — disse il falegname in segno di pace fatta — qual è il piacere che volete da me?

— Vorrei un po' di legno per fabbricare il mio burattino; me lo date? —

Mastr'Antonio, tutto contento, andò subito a prendere sul banco quel pezzo del legno che era stato cagione a lui di tante paure. Ma quando fu lì per consegnarlo all'amico, il pezzo di legno dette uno scossone, e sgusciandogli violentemente dalle mani, andò a battere con forza negli stinchi impresciuttiti del povero Geppetto.

— Ah! gli è con questo bel garbo, mastr'Antonio, che voi regalate la vostra roba? M'avete quasi azzoppito!...

— Vi giuro che non sono stato io!

— Allora sarò stato io!...

— La colpa è tutta di questo legno....

— Lo so che è del legno: ma siete voi che me l'avete tirato nelle gambe!

— Io non ve l'ho tirato!

— Bugiardo!

— Geppetto, non mi offendete: se no vi chiamo Polendina!...

— Asino!

— Polendina!

— Somaro!

— Polendina!

— Brutto scimmiotto!

— Polendina! —

A sentirsi chiamar Polendina per la terza volta, Geppetto perse il lume degli occhi, si avventò sul falegname e lì se ne dettero un sacco e una sporta.

A battaglia finita, mastr'Antonio si trovò due graffi di più sul naso, e quell'altro due bottoni di meno al giubbetto. Pareggiati in questo modo i loro conti, si strinsero la mano e giurarono di rimanere buoni amici per tutta la vita.

Intanto Geppetto prese con sè il suo bravo pezzo di legno, e ringraziato mastr'Antonio, se ne tornò zoppicando a casa.

 

III. Geppetto, tornato a casa, comincia subito a fabbricarsi il burattino e gli mette il nome di Pinocchio. Prime monellerie del burattino.

La casa di Geppetto era una stanzina terrena, che pigliava luce da un sottoscala. La mobilia non poteva esser più semplice: una seggiola cattiva, un letto poco buono e un tavolino tutto rovinato. Nella parete di fondo si vedeva un caminetto col fuoco acceso; ma il fuoco era dipinto, e accanto al fuoco c'era dipinta una pentola che bolliva allegramente e mandava fuori una nuvola di fumo, che pareva fumo davvero.

Appena entrato in casa, Geppetto prese subito gli arnesi e si pose a intagliare e a fabbricare il suo burattino.

— Che nome gli metterò? — disse fra sè e sè. — Lo voglio chiamar Pinocchio. Questo nome gli porterà fortuna. Ho conosciuto una famiglia intera di Pinocchi: Pinocchio il padre, Pinocchia la madre e Pinocchi i ragazzi, e tutti se la passavano bene. Il più ricco di loro chiedeva l'elemosina.

Quando ebbe trovato il nome al suo burattino, allora cominciò a lavorare a buono, e gli fece subito i capelli, poi la fronte, poi gli occhi.

Fatti gli occhi, figuratevi la sua maraviglia quando si accòrse che gli occhi si movevano e che lo guardavano fisso fisso.

Più lo ritagliava e lo scorciva, e più quel naso impertinente diventava lungo.

Geppetto vedendosi guardare da quei due occhi di legno, se n'ebbe quasi per male, e disse con accento risentito:

— Occhiacci di legno, perchè mi guardate? —

Nessuno rispose.

Allora, dopo gli occhi gli fece il naso; ma il naso, appena fatto, cominciò a crescere: e cresci, cresci, cresci, diventò in pochi minuti un nasone che non finiva mai.

Il povero Geppetto si affaticava a ritagliarlo; ma più lo ritagliava e lo scorciva, e più quel naso impertinente diventava lungo.

Dopo il naso gli fece la bocca.

La bocca non era ancora finita di fare, che cominciò subito a ridere e a canzonarlo.

— Smetti di ridere! — disse Geppetto impermalito; ma fu come dire al muro.

— Smetti di ridere, ti ripeto! — urlò con voce minacciosa.

Allora la bocca smesse di ridere, ma cacciò fuori tutta la lingua.

Geppetto, per non guastare i fatti suoi, finse di non avvedersene, e continuò a lavorare. Dopo la bocca gli fece il mento, poi il collo, poi le spalle, lo stomaco, le braccia e le mani.

Appena finite le mani, Geppetto sentì portarsi via la parrucca dal capo. Si voltò in su, e che cosa vide? Vide la sua parrucca gialla in mano del burattino.

— Pinocchio!... rendimi subito la mia parrucca! —

E Pinocchio, invece di rendergli la parrucca, se la messe in capo per sè, rimanendovi sotto mezzo affogato.

A quel garbo insolente e derisorio, Geppetto si fece tristo e melanconico, come non era stato mai in vita sua: e voltandosi verso Pinocchio, gli disse:

— Birba d'un figliuolo! Non sei ancora finito di fare, e già cominci a mancar di rispetto a tuo padre! Male, ragazzo mio, male! —

E Pinocchio, invece di rendergli la parrucca, se la messe in capo per sè....

E si rasciugò una lacrima.

Restavano sempre da fare le gambe e i piedi.

Quando Geppetto ebbe finito di fargli i piedi, sentì arrivarsi un calcio sulla punta del naso.

— Me lo merito — disse allora fra sè. — Dovevo pensarci prima! Ormai è tardi! —

Poi prese il burattino sotto le braccia e lo posò in terra, sul pavimento della stanza, per farlo camminare.

Pinocchio aveva le gambe aggranchite e non sapeva muoversi, e Geppetto lo conduceva per la mano per insegnargli a mettere un passo dietro l'altro.

— Piglialo! piglialo! — urlava Geppetto.

Quando le gambe gli si furono sgranchite, Pinocchio cominciò a camminare da sè e a correre per la stanza; finchè, infilata la porta di casa, saltò nella strada e si dètte a scappare.

E il povero Geppetto a corrergli dietro senza poterlo raggiungere, perchè quel birichino di Pinocchio andava a salti come una lepre, e battendo i suoi piedi di legno sul lastrico della strada, faceva un fracasso come venti paia di zoccoli da contadini.

— Piglialo! piglialo! — urlava Geppetto; ma la gente che era per la via, vedendo questo burattino di legno, che correva come un barbero, si fermava incantata a guardarlo, e rideva, rideva e rideva, da non poterselo figurare.

Alla fine, e per buona fortuna, capitò un carabiniere il quale, sentendo tutto quello schiamazzo, e credendo si trattasse di un puledro che avesse levata la mano al padrone, si piantò coraggiosamente a gambe larghe in mezzo alla strada, con l'animo risoluto di fermarlo e di impedire il caso di maggiori disgrazie.

Ma Pinocchio, quando si avvide da lontano del carabiniere, che barricava tutta la strada, s'ingegnò di passargli, per sorpresa, framezzo alle gambe, e invece fece fiasco.

Il carabiniere, senza punto smuoversi lo acciuffò pulitamente per il naso (era un nasone spropositato, che pareva fatto apposta per essere acchiappato dai carabinieri) e lo riconsegnò nelle proprie mani di Geppetto; il quale, a titolo di correzione, voleva dargli subito una buona tiratina d'orecchi. Ma figuratevi come rimase, quando nel cercargli gli orecchi non gli riuscì di poterli trovare: e sapete perchè? perchè, nella furia di scolpirlo, si era dimenticato di farglieli.

Lo acciuffò pulitamente per il naso....

Allora lo prese per la collottola, e, mentre lo riconduceva indietro, gli disse tentennando minacciosamente il capo:

— Andiamo subito a casa. Quando saremo a casa, non dubitare che faremo i nostri conti! —

Pinocchio, a questa antifona, si buttò per terra, e non volle più camminare. Intanto i curiosi e i bighelloni principiavano a fermarsi lì dintorno e a far capannello.

Chi ne diceva una, chi un'altra.

— Povero burattino! — dicevano alcuni — ha ragione a non voler tornare a casa! Chi lo sa come lo picchierebbe quell'omaccio di Geppetto!... —

E gli altri soggiungevano malignamente:

— Quel Geppetto pare un galantuomo! ma è un vero tiranno, coi ragazzi! Se gli lasciano quel povero burattino fra le mani, è capacissimo di farlo a pezzi! —

Insomma, tanto dissero e tanto fecero, che il carabiniere rimesse in libertà Pinocchio, e condusse in prigione quel pover'uomo di Geppetto. Il quale non avendo parole lì per lì per difendersi, piangeva come un vitellino, e nell'avviarsi verso il carcere, balbettava singhiozzando:

— Sciagurato figliuolo! E pensare che ho penato tanto a farlo un burattino per bene! Ma mi sta il dovere! Dovevo pensarci prima!... —

Quello che accadde dopo, è una storia così strana, da non potersi quasi credere, e ve la racconterò in quest'altri capitoli.