Pinocchio’s power grew greater and greater. The courage shown by him in the hand-to-hand fight with the hippopotamus had made a great impression on the ministers.
The grand council, for instance, had assembled the high court of justice, which was to try a large number of important cases. The very next morning the wise and brave Pinocchio was urged to pass judgment upon the cases to be presented that day.
Pinocchio thought of playing the usual trick upon his ministers by placing Marameho in his seat; but this was an important affair, and must be attended to in person.
“Dignitaries! chamberlains! ministers! royal judges! guards! To the court!”
The persons called came forward and knelt down to kiss the earth before his majesty; then, rising, they all moved on to the court of justice.
Beneath a canopy of ostrich feathers, held aloft by a stately African, walked Pinocchio the First, Emperor and King of all the African kings. He was wrapped in a large green and red cloak covered with precious stones,—that is to say, with bits of broken glass of all colors, and shining pebbles collected with great labor from the rich mines of the country.
The court was to sit in the open air. This greatly pleased Pinocchio, for the day was very beautiful. When his majesty arrived all the great crowd of people knelt and buried their heads in their hands. They did not rise till the judges were comfortably seated on the bare ground.
At a signal from the emperor the first case was called. There appeared two men, each with his head completely covered by a large bag which had in it holes for eyes and mouth. The men bowed again and again to his highness and to the court, scraping their noses along the ground. At last they stood stiff and erect like posts.
The grand chamberlain made a sign to Pinocchio, and his majesty, turning to one of the men, asked, “What brings you before the emperor’s court?”
The person addressed twisted his whole body and sprinkled sand over his head. Finally he said, “There was once—”
“A king!” thought Pinocchio, “Is he going to tell a story? I, for one, should be pleased. African stories must be amusing.”
“There was once an old man—a kind old man—blacker than I am, who had many sons, and I was one of them. For this reason, the old man, being my father—”
“He was his son. He reasons well,” thought the marionette, but he did not move an eyelash, pretending to be all attention.
“For this reason, the old man, my father, sent me to tend his flocks. One night I arrived at the brink of the river to water the flock. There I discovered that a sheep was missing. I was heartbroken over this, and, not wishing to return home without my little sheep, I searched everywhere, but in vain. The sheep could not be found. I sat down and began to weep. Behind me was a thick cane field. Upon a rock within the field was that man, with a sheep between his knees. I rushed to the spot and shouted out to him, ‘Why have you stolen my sheep?’ He appeared not to hear me. ‘Why have you stolen my sheep?’ It was like talking to a stone. Blinded by anger, I drew nearer. When he saw me approach he arose and ran away. I hastened to my sheep and raised it from the ground, and then I saw—it horrifies me to tell it—that what I held in my hand was only the sheep’s coat. The robber had eaten the rest. My sheep! My poor little sheep! I shall never see it again!”
Pinocchio was greatly touched by this pitiful tale. He had just opened his mouth to pronounce a terrible sentence upon the thief, who was standing motionless as a statue, when the minister whispered to him to listen to the other side of the story. With an angry look Pinocchio ordered the accused man to speak.
He started as if he had been roused from deep thought, gazed around, and then said in a grave, slow voice, “The sun shines—”
“What kind of speech is he going to make?” thought Pinocchio. “Is it necessary for him to say that the sun shines?”
And as the rogue went on to speak of starry skies, blue waters, and things of that sort, the marionette lost his patience and shouted, “But did you or did you not eat the sheep?”
“Your majesty,” replied the man, “certainly I ate the sheep! Ask, however, who, on the day before, ate three fingers from my left hand!”
“Your majesty, I was hungry—” groaned the shepherd. “I was very hungry.”
Pinocchio shuddered. “What kind of people are these? What sort of place have I fallen into? Fortunately for me I am made of wood.”
Meanwhile the two had lowered their heads, waiting for their sentence. Pinocchio was too much shocked to say a word.
The grand chamberlain came to his aid and whispered something in his ear.
“Speak!” replied the marionette, “I bid you speak, for whatever you do is well done.”
The minister was pleased at the faith his majesty had in him. He turned his dark face toward the two offenders and said, “One sheep and three fingers! You shall both be hanged.”
Pinocchio, half-dazed, watched the minister.
Case followed case, and at the end of each one Pinocchio said to the minister, “Act. I bid you act. What you do is always well done.”
The minister knew so well how to act that on this one day there were sentences amounting to five hundred years of imprisonment, and two hundred years at hard labor, while a thousand prisoners were to be lashed, and one hundred were condemned to die.
Justice had been done. The emperor Pinocchio was led back to the royal palace amid the shouts of the people. He was declared to be the mildest, the wisest, and the most just of all kings, past, present, and future.
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