Italian listening exercise: The adventures of Pinocchio, chapter 1
Esercizio di ascolto di italiano: Le avventure di Pinocchio, capitolo 1
1) Listen to the The adventures of Pinocchio, chapter 1
Ascolta il primo capitolo delle Avventure di Pinocchio
2) Read the text in Italian
Leggi il testo in italiano
3) Compare with the English translation
Fai il confronto con la traduzione in inglese
trovò un pezzo di legno, che piangeva e rideva come un bambino.
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.
Girò gli occhi smarriti intorno alla stanza per vedere di dove mai poteva essere uscita quella vocina, e non vide nessuno!
Questa volta maestro Ciliegia restò di stucco, cogli occhi fuori del capo per la paura, colla bocca spalancata e colla lingua giú ciondoloni fino al mento, come un mascherone da fontana.
Appena riebbe l’uso della parola, cominciò a dire tremando e balbettando dallo spavento:
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!
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 giú, sentí la solita vocina che gli disse ridendo:
Il suo viso pareva trasfigurito, e perfino la punta del naso, di paonazza come era quasi sempre, gli era diventata turchina dalla gran paura.
How it happened that Mastro Cherry,
carpenter, found a piece of wood that wept and laughed like a child
will say immediately.
upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not an expensive piece
of wood. Far from it. Just a common block of firewood, one of those
thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter to make cold
rooms cozy and warm.
happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day this piece of wood
found itself in the shop of an old carpenter. His real name was
Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him Mastro Cherry, for the tip of
his nose was so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe
Mastro Cherry was filled with joy. Rubbing his hands together
happily, he mumbled half to himself:
time. I shall use it to make the leg of a table.”
peel off the bark and shape the wood. But as he was about to give it
the first blow, he stood still with arm uplifted, for he had heard a
wee, little voice say in a beseeching tone: “Please be careful!
Do not hit me so hard!”
Mastro Cherry’s face! His funny face became still funnier.
room to find out where that wee, little voice had come from and he
saw no one! He looked under the bench–no one! He peeped inside the
closet–no one! He searched among the shavings– no one! He opened
the door to look up and down the street–and still no one!
laughing and scratching his Wig. “It can easily be seen that I
only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words! Well, well–to
work once more.”
piece of wood.
the same far-away little voice.
popped out of his head, his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung
down on his chin.
senses, he said, trembling and stuttering from fright:
when there is no one around? Might it be that this piece of wood has
learned to weep and cry like a child? I can hardly believe it. Here
it is–a piece of common firewood, good only to burn in the stove,
the same as any other. Yet– might someone be hidden in it? If so,
the worse for him. I’ll fix him!”
with both hands and started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw
it to the floor, against the walls of the room, and even up to the
waited two minutes–nothing; five minutes–nothing; ten
“Oh, I see,” he said, trying bravely to laugh and
ruffling up his wig with his hand. “It can easily be seen I only
imagined I heard the tiny voice! Well, well–to work once more!”
The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he tried to sing a
gay song in order to gain courage.
He set aside the hatchet and picked up the plane to make the wood
smooth and even, but as he drew it to and fro, he heard the same tiny
voice. This time it giggled as it spoke:
“Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach.”
This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot. When he opened his
eyes, he found himself sitting on the floor.
His face had changed; fright had turned even the tip of his nose
from red to deepest purple.