Pinocchio

CHAPTER 4

The story of Pinocchio and the talking cricket in which we see that naughty children do not like to be corrected by those who are wiser than they are

Well, I must tell you children, that while poor Geppetto was led to prison through no fault of his own, that rascal Pinocchio, left alone, ran home across the fields as quickly as possible. In his hurry he jumped over high banks, thorn hedges, and ditches full of water, like a kid, or a young hare running away from the hunters.

When he arrived home, he found the door ajar. Pushing it open he went in, and locked it securely after him. Then he threw himself down on the ground with a great sigh of relief.

But the relief did not last long, for he heard someone in the room saying ‘Cri-cri-cri!’

‘Who is calling me?’ said Pinocchio, frightened.

‘It is I.’

Pinocchio turned and saw a big cricket creeping up the wall. ‘Tell me, cricket, who are you?’

‘I am the talking cricket, and I have lived in this room a hundred years or more.’

‘But now this is my room, and you will oblige me by going away at once, without even turning round.’

‘I shall not leave,’ replied the cricket, ‘until I have told you a great truth.’

‘Well then, tell me, and be quick about it!’

‘Woe to those boys who revolt against their parents, and run away from home. They will never do any good in this world, and sooner or later they will repent bitterly.’

‘Sing away, cricket, just as long as you please! But as for me, tomorrow at sunrise I am going to leave; for if I stay here the same will happen to me as happens to other boys: I shall be sent to school, and one way or other, by love or by force, I shall be made to study.’

‘You poor fool! Don’t you know that, if you spend your time like that, you will grow up to be a great donkey, and everyone will make fun of you?’

‘Be quiet, you good for nothing, croaking cricket!’ shouted Pinocchio.

But the cricket, who was patient, and a philosopher too, instead of being offended by such impudence, continued in the same tone, ‘But if you don’t like to go to school, why don’t you learn a trade, so that you may at least earn your bread honestly?’

‘Do you want me to tell you something?’ answered Pinocchio, beginning to lose his patience. ‘Of all the trades in the world, there is only one which really attracts me.’

‘And what might that be?’

‘To eat, drink, sleep, and amuse myself, and to lead a vagabond life from morning to night.’

‘Let me tell you,’ said the talking cricket, as calm as ever, ‘that those who follow that trade finish, nearly always, in a hospital or in prison.’

‘Be careful, you cricket of ill omen! If you make me angry, woe betide you!’

‘Poor Pinocchio! I am really sorry for you!’

‘Why are you sorry for me?’

‘Because you are a puppet, and – what is worse – you have a wooden head.’

At these last words Pinocchio lost his temper and, seizing a mallet from the bench, threw it at the cricket.

Perhaps he did not mean to hit him, but unfortunately the mallet struck him right on the head. The poor cricket had scarcely time to cry ‘Cri-cri-cri’, and there he was, stretched out stiff, and flattened against the wall.

CHAPTER 5

Pinocchio is hungry, and he looks for an egg to make himself an omelette; but just as he breaks it in the pan the omelette flies through the window

It was growing dark, and Pinocchio remembered that he had eaten nothing all day. There was a painful feeling in his stomach that closely resembled appetite.

With boys appetite grows fast. In fact, after a few minutes his appetite became hunger, and in no time he was as hungry as a wolf. His hunger was unbearable.

Poor Pinocchio hurried to the fireplace where a kettle was boiling and put out his hand to lift the lid and see what was in it; but the kettle was only painted on the wall. Imagine his disappointment! His nose, which was already too long, grew three inches longer.

He ran about the room, searched in every cupboard and in every possible place for a little bread – even dry bread. He would have been grateful for a crust, or a bone left by a dog, for a fishbone or a cherry stone – in short, for anything he could chew. But he found nothing, just nothing, absolutely nothing.

He kept growing hungrier every moment, yet he could do nothing but yawn. He yawned so tremendously that his mouth reached his ears; and after he yawned he spattered, and he felt as if he hadn’t any stomach left.

At last, in despair, he began to cry, saying, ‘The talking cricket was right. I did wrong to revolt against my father and run away from home. If my father were here now, I shouldn’t be dying of yawning. Oh, hunger is a dreadful illness!’

Suddenly, in a rubbish heap, he noticed something white and round that looked like an egg. In less than no time he grabbed it. It was really an egg.

To describe his joy would be impossible; you can only imagine it. He feared he might be dreaming. He turned the egg from one hand to the other, and patted it and kissed it as he said, ‘Now, how shall I cook it? Shall I make an omelette? No, it would be better to poach it. But perhaps it would be more tasty if I fried it in a pan. Or shall I just boil it in the shell? No, the quickest way would be to poach it. I am just dying to eat it.’

Without further ado, he set a stewing pan over a brazier of red charcoal. Instead of oil or butter, he put some water in it and when the water began to boil – tac! he broke the eggshell and held it over the pan that the contents might drop into it.

But instead of the yolk and white of an egg, a little chicken flew out and, making a polite curtsy, said gaily, ‘A thousand thanks, Master Pinocchio, for having spared me the trouble of breaking the shell! Take care of yourself, and give my love to the folks at home. I hope to see you again.’

With that, the chicken spread its wings and, flying through the open window, was soon lost to sight.

The poor puppet stood there as if bewitched, with his eyes fixed, his mouth open, and the broken eggshell in his hands. When he recovered a little from his first bewilderment, he began to cry, and scream, and stamp on the floor in despair; and as he sobbed he said, ‘Indeed, the talking cricket was right. If I hadn’t run away from home, and if my father were here, I should not now be dying of hunger. Oh, hunger is a dreadful illness!’

His stomach was complaining more than ever and, as he did not know how to quieten it, he decided to go out again into the village, in the hope of meeting some charitable person who would give him some bread.

CHAPTER 6

Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on the brazier, and, when he wakes up in the morning, finds them burnt off

It was a windy, cold night. The thunder was fierce, and the lightning as violent as though the sky was on fire. A bitter wind whistled angrily, raising clouds of dust and making the trees tremble and groan.

Pinocchio was frightened of thunder, but he was still more hungry than frightened; so he opened the door, and ran as fast as he could to the village, which he soon reached, panting, with his tongue hanging out like a hunting dog’s.

But all was dark and quiet. The shops were closed, the doors and windows shut, and there was not even a dog in the street. It seemed a village of the dead.

However Pinocchio, driven by hunger and despair, gave a very long peal at the doorbell of one of the houses, saying to himself, ‘This will bring somebody out.’

And indeed, a little old man with a nightcap on his head came to the window, and shouted angrily, ‘What do you want at this hour?’

‘Will you be so kind as to give me some bread?’

‘Wait! I’ll be back at once!’ said the old man, believing that he had to do with one of those street urchins who amuse themselves at night by ringing doorbells, and rousing good people who are sleeping peacefully.

In half a minute the window was opened, and the same voice called Pinocchio, ‘Stand under the window, and hold out your hand!’

Pinocchio held out his hands, and a great kettle of water poured down on him, drenching him from head to foot, as if he had been a pot of dry geraniums.

He went home wet as a rag and exhausted with fatigue and hunger. He had no strength to stand, and so he sat down, and put his wet, muddy feet on the brazier full of burning coal.

Then he fell asleep, and while he was asleep his feet, which were wooden, caught fire, and slowly burned away to cinders.

Pinocchio slept and snored, as though his feet belonged to someone else. At last, at daybreak, he was awakened by someone rapping on the door.

‘Who is it?’ he called, yawning, and rubbing his eyes.

‘It is I!’ answered a voice.

And it was the voice of Geppetto.

CHAPTER 7

Geppetto comes home, and gives Pinocchio the breakfast that the poor man had brought for himself

Poor Pinocchio’s eyes were still half closed, and he had not noticed that his feet were burnt off. Thus, when he heard his father’s voice, he tumbled down from his stool to run and open the door; but, after staggering a couple of times, he fell his full length on the floor, making a noise as of a whole bag of wooden ladles falling from the fifth storey.

‘Open the door!’ cried Geppetto from the street.

‘I can’t, Daddy,’ answered the marionette, crying, and rolling over and over on the floor.

‘Why not?’

‘Because somebody has eaten my feet!’

‘And who has eaten them?’

‘The cat,’ said Pinocchio, seeing the cat who was just then playing with some shavings with his forepaws.

‘Open the door, I tell you!’ Geppetto cried again. ‘If you don’t, I’ll give you the cat-o’-nine-tails when I get in!’

‘Believe me, I can’t stand up. Oh, poor me! Poor me! I shall have to walk on my knees for the rest of my life!’

Geppetto, thinking that all this complaint was just another of Pinocchio’s tricks, decided to end it for good. He climbed up the wall, and got in at the window.

At first he was angry, and scolded him; but, when he saw his own Pinocchio lying on the floor, and really without feet, his anger vanished.

He took him in his arms, kissed and caressed him, spoke many affectionate words and, with tears on his cheeks, he said, sobbing, ‘My dear little Pinocchio, how did you burn your feet?’

‘I don’t know, Daddy. But believe me, it has been a horrid night. I shall never forget it as long as I live. It thundered and lightninged, and I was very hungry, and the talking cricket said, “It serves you right; you have been wicked and you deserve it!” And I said, “Be careful, cricket!” And he said, “You are a puppet, and you have a wooden head!” And I threw the hammer at him, and he died; but it was his fault, for I didn’t want to kill him. And the proof of that is that I put the pan on the brazier, but the chicken flew away and said, “Good-bye, I shall see you again. Give my love to the folks!” And I got more and more hungry; and for that reason the little old man with the nightcap opened the window, and said, “Stand under the window and hold up your hat!” And I got a kettleful of water on my head. It isn’t a disgrace to ask for a bit of bread, is it? I ran back home as quick as I could; and because I was so very hungry, I put my feet on the brazier to dry them. And then you came home, and I felt that my feet were burnt off, and I’m still so hungry, but I have no more feet! Boo-hoo-hoo!’ And poor Pinocchio began to cry and scream so loudly that he could have been heard five miles away.

Geppetto had only understood one thing of all this jumble of words – that Pinocchio was dying of hunger.

He took three pears out of his pocket, and said, giving them to him, ‘These three pears were for my breakfast, but I willingly give them to you. Eat them, and may they do you good!’

‘If you want me to eat them, kindly peel them for me.’

‘Peel them for you?’ cried Geppetto, astonished. ‘I would never have thought, my lad, that you were so refined and fastidious. That’s too bad! We should get used, from childhood, to eating everything, and liking it; for one never knows what might happen in this curious world.’

‘That’s all very well,’ retorted Pinocchio, ‘but I’ll never eat fruit that isn’t peeled. I can’t stand skins.’

So that patient, kind Geppetto took a knife and peeled the three pears, putting all the peelings on the corner of the table.

When Pinocchio had eaten the first pear in two mouthfuls, he was about to throw away the core, but Geppetto stopped him.

‘Don’t throw it away! There might be some use for it.’

‘Can you imagine I shall ever eat the core?’ cried Pinocchio, turning on him in a rage.

‘Who knows! This is a curious world,’ replied Geppetto, calmly.

So the three cores, instead of being thrown out of the window, were placed on the corner of the table together with the parings.

When he had eaten, or rather devoured the three pears, Pinocchio yawned, and then began to whimper, ‘I’m still hungry.’

‘But, my son, I have nothing more to give you.’

‘Nothing? Nothing at all?’

‘Only the peelings and cores you left.’

‘All right!’ said Pinocchio. ‘If there’s really nothing else, I might eat some peelings.’

And he began promptly. At first he made faces; but, one after another, he quickly ate all the peelings; and after them the cores. And when he had eaten everything, he clapped his stomach and said cheerfully, ‘Now I feel better!’

‘You see,’ said Geppetto, ‘I was right when I said you should not be so refined and fastidious about your food. My dear boy, we never know what might happen to us. This is a curious world.’

CHAPTER 8

Geppetto makes Pinocchio new feet, and sells his own coat to buy him a primer

As soon as the marionette had satisfied his hunger, he began to cry and grumble because he wanted new feet.

But Geppetto, in order to punish him for all his naughtiness, let him cry and complain for half a day. Then he said, ‘Why should I make you new feet? So that you may escape from home again?’

‘I promise,’ said the marionette, sobbing, ‘that from now on I’ll be good.’

‘All children, when they want something, tell the same story,’ replied Geppetto.

‘I promise to go to school, and study, and do my best as a good boy should –’

‘All children, when they want something, say the same thing.’

‘But I’m not like other children! I’m better than all of them, and I always tell the truth. I promise you, daddy, that I shall learn a trade, and be the staff and comfort of your old age.’

Geppetto tried to look very severe; but his eyes were full of tears, and his heart was full of sadness when he saw his poor Pinocchio in such a dreadful state. He did not say another word, but, taking his tools and two little pieces of seasoned wood, he set to work as hard as he could.

In less than an hour the feet were ready – two well-shaped, nimble swift little feet that might have been carved by a great artist.

Then Geppetto said to Pinocchio, ‘Shut your eyes and go to sleep.’

Pinocchio shut his eyes, and pretended to be asleep. And while he did so Geppetto, with some glue melted in an eggshell, fastened the feet in place; and he did it so neatly that no one could even see where they were joined together. As soon as Pinocchio discovered he had his feet again, he jumped down from the table where he was lying and began to gambol and dance around the room, nearly mad with joy.

‘Now, to prove to you how grateful I am,’ said Pinocchio to his father, ‘I want to go to school at once.’

‘What a good boy!’

‘But if I’m going to school, I must have some clothes.’

Geppetto, who was poor and had not a farthing in his pocket, made Pinocchio a suit out of flowered paper, a pair of shoes out of bark from a tree, and a cap out of bread.

Pinocchio ran to look at himself in a basin of water; and he was so pleased with himself that he said, as he strutted about, ‘I look exactly like a gentleman!’

‘Yes, indeed,’ answered Geppetto, ‘but remember, it is not fine clothes that make a gentleman, but clean clothes.’

‘By the way, speaking of school,’ added Pinocchio, ‘there’s still something I must have – the most necessary of all.’

‘And that is …?’

‘I have no primer.’

‘That’s right. But how shall I get one?’

‘That’s easy! Go to the bookseller and buy one.’

‘And the money?’

‘I haven’t any.’

‘Neither have I,’ added the good old man, sadly.

Pinocchio, although he was usually very cheerful, became sad, too; for poverty, when it is real poverty, destroys all joy, even in children.

‘Wait,’ Geppetto cried suddenly and, jumping up, he put on his old coat, full of holes and patches, and ran out of the shop.

In a little while he was back again, with a primer in his hand for Pinocchio. But the poor man was in his shirt-sleeves, and it was snowing outside.

‘Where is your coat, Daddy?’

‘I have sold it.’

‘Why did you sell it?’

‘Because it made me too warm.’

Pinocchio understood this answer instantly; and he was so overcome by the feelings of his good heart, that he threw his arms around Geppetto’s neck and kissed him again and again.

CHAPTER 9

Pinocchio sells his primer that he may go and see the marionettes

When it stopped snowing, Pinocchio started for school with his fine new primer under his arm. On the way, he never stopped imagining all sorts of fine plans, and he built a thousand castles in the air, each one more beautiful than the other.

He began by saying to himself, ‘At school today I shall learn to read in no time; tomorrow I shall learn to write, and the day after tomorrow I shall learn all the figures. Then I shall be clever enough to earn lots of money; and with the very first money I get I shall buy my father the nicest, new, cloth coat. But why cloth? It shall be made of gold and silver, with diamond buttons. That poor man really deserves it; for, that I should be a learned man, he sold his coat to buy me a book – in this cold weather, too! Only fathers can make such sacrifices.’

While he was saying this more and more excitedly, he thought he heard music in the distance that sounded like fife and drum: fi-fi-fi … zum, zum, zum, zum.

He stopped and listened. The sounds came from the end of the street that crossed the one which led to school, at the end of the little village near the sea.

‘What can the music be? What a pity I have to go to school! Otherwise …’ He hesitated, deciding whether to go to school or listen to the fifes.

‘Today I shall listen to the fifes, and tomorrow I shall go to school,’ this naughty boy said finally, shrugging his shoulders.

No sooner said than done. He ran, and the farther he ran the more distinctly he heard the tune of the fifes and the beating of the big drum: fi-fi-fi, fi-fi-fi … zum, zum, zum.

At last he came to a little square full of people who were gathered around a great building of boards and cloth, painted in all colours of the rainbow.

‘What is that big building?’ Pinocchio asked a boy who seemed to live there.

‘Read the poster – it is all written there – and then you’ll know.’

‘I’d gladly read it, but I don’t know how to read today.’

‘Bravo, nincompoop! I’ll read it for you. Know, then, that on that big poster, in fiery red letters, is written: GREAT PUPPET show.’

‘Is it long since the play began?’

‘It’s just beginning now.’

‘How much does it cost to go in?’

‘Twopence.’

Pinocchio was in such a fever of curiosity that he lost his self-control and without any shame, he said to the little boy, ‘Will you lend me twopence until tomorrow?’

‘I’d simply love to,’ said the boy, laughing at him, ‘but I can’t today.’

‘I shall sell you my jacket for twopence,’ said the puppet.

‘What could I do with a jacket of flowered paper? If it should rain and got wet, I couldn’t take it off.’

‘Will you buy my shoes?’

‘They’re only good for lighting a fire.’

‘What will you give me for my cap?’

‘That would be a fine bargain! A cap made of bread! The mice might eat it right off my head!’

Pinocchio was sitting on horns. He was almost ready to make one more offer, but he had not the courage. He hesitated, but at last he said, ‘Will you buy this new primer for twopence?’

‘I am only a boy, and I do not buy anything from other boys,’ said the other, having more sense than the puppet.

‘I’ll give you twopence for the primer,’ cried an old-clothes dealer who had overheard the conversation.

The book was sold at once. And to think that poor Geppetto stayed at home shivering in his shirt-sleeves, because he had to sell his coat to buy that primer for his son!

CHAPTER 10

The puppets recognize Pinocchio as one of them, and are pleased to see him, but Fire-eater, the Showman, appears in the midst of their joy, and Pinocchio almost comes to a bad end

When Pinocchio entered the puppet show, he nearly caused a revolution. You must know that the curtain was up, and they had just started the play.

Harlequin and Punchinello were on the stage, quarrelling as usual, threatening every moment to come to blows.

The audience paid the closest attention, and were laughing until they were sore to see those two puppets quarrelling and gesticulating and calling each other names, just as if they were truly two reasoning beings, two real persons.

But all at once Harlequin stopped and, turning to the public, pointed to the pit of the theatre, and shouted dramatically:

‘Heavens above! Am I awake, or am I dreaming? That must be Pinocchio there!’

‘Yes, it’s indeed Pinocchio!’ cried Punchinello.

‘It is indeed!’ exclaimed Miss Rosy, peeping from the back of the stage.

‘Here’s Pinocchio! Here’s Pinocchio!’ shouted all the puppets in chorus, running to the stage from every wing. ‘Here’s Pinocchio! Here’s our brother Pinocchio! Hurrah for Pinocchio!’

‘Come up here to me, Pinocchio!’ cried Harlequin. ‘Come and throw yourself into the arms of your wooden brothers!’

At this affectionate invitation, Pinocchio made one jump from the back of the pit to the front seats. Another jump, and he landed on the head of the orchestra leader; and from there he jumped to the stage.