Centuries ago there lived…
“A king!” my little readers will say immediately
No, children, you are mistaken
Once upon a time there was a piece of wood
the wood was in the shop of an old carpenter
this old carpenter was named Master Antonio
Everybody, however, called him Master. Cherry
they called him Master. Cherry on account of his nose
his nose was always as red and polished as a ripe cherry
Master Cherry set eyes upon the piece of wood
his face beamed with delight when he saw the log
he rubbed his hands together with satisfaction
and the kind master softly spoke to himself
“This wood has come to me at the right moment”
“I have been planning to make a new table”
“it is perfect for the leg of a little table”
He immediately went out to find a sharp axe
he was going to remove the bark of the wood first
and then he was going to remove any rough surface
and he was just about to strike the wood with his axe
but just before he struck the wood he heard something
“Do not strike me so hard!” a small voice implored
He turned his terrified eyes all around the room
where could the little voice possibly have come from?
he looked everywhere, but he saw nobody!
He looked under the bench, but there was nobody
he looked into a cupboard that was always shut
but there was nobody inside the cupboard either
he looked into a basket where he kept sawdust
there was nobody in the basket of sawdust either
at last he even opened the door of the shop
and he glanced up and down the empty street
But there was no one to be seen in the street either
“Who, then, could it be?” he asked himself
at last he laughed and scratched his wig
“I see how it is,” he said to himself, amused
“evidently the little voice was all my imagination”
“Let us set to work again,” he concluded
he picked up his axe again and set to work
he struck a tremendous blow to the piece of wood
“Oh! oh! you have hurt me!” cried the little voice
it was exactly the same voice as it was before
This time Master. Cherry was petrified
His eyes popped out of his head with fright
his mouth remained open and his tongue hung out
his tongue almost came to the end of his chin
and he looked just like a face on a fountain
Master. Cherry first had to recover from his fright
the use of his speech returned to him
and he began to talk in a stutter;
“where on earth could that little voice have come from?”
“could it be that this piece of wood has learned to cry?”
“I cannot believe it,” he said to himself
“This piece of wood is nothing but a log for fuel”
“it is just like all the logs of wood I have”
“it would only just suffice to boil a saucepan of beans”
“Can anyone be hidden inside this piece of wood?”
“If anyone is inside, so much the worse for him”
“I will finish him at once,” he threatened the wood
he seized the poor piece of wood and beat it
he mercilessly hit it against the walls of the room
Then he stopped to see if he could hear the little voice
He waited two minutes, nothing. Five minutes, nothing
he waited another ten minutes, still nothing!
“I see how it is,” he then said to himself
he forced himself to laugh and pushed up his wig
“evidently the little voice was all my imagination!”
“Let us set to work again,” he decided, nervously
next he started to polish the bit of wood
but while polishing he heard the same little voice
this time the little voice was laughing uncontrollably
“Stop! you are tickling me all over!” it said
poor Master. Cherry fell down as if struck by lightning
sometime later he opened his eyes again
he found himself seated on the floor of his workshop
His face was very changed from before
and even the end of his nose had changed
his nose was not its usual bright crimson colour
his nose had become icy blue from the fright