The Pinocchio Megapack: 4 Classic Puppet Tales

by Carlo Collodi

  And he wiped away a tear.

  The legs and feet still had to be made. As soon as they were done, Geppetto felt a sharp kick on the tip of his nose.

  “I deserve it!” he said to himself. “I should have thought of this before I made him. Now it’s too late!”

  He took hold of the Marionette under the arms and put him on the floor to teach him to walk.

  Pinocchio’s legs were so stiff that he could not move them, and Geppetto held his hand and showed him how to put out one foot after the other.

  When his legs were limbered up, Pinocchio started walking by himself and ran all around the room. He came to the open door, and with one leap he was out into the street. Away he flew!

  Poor Geppetto ran after him but was unable to catch him, for Pinocchio ran in leaps and bounds, his two wooden feet, as they beat on the stones of the street, making as much noise as twenty peasants in wooden shoes.

  “Catch him! Catch him!” Geppetto kept shouting. But the people in the street, seeing a wooden Marionette running like the wind, stood still to stare and to laugh until they cried.

  At last, by sheer luck, a Carabineer[1] happened along, who, hearing all that noise, thought that it might be a runaway colt, and stood bravely in the middle of the street, with legs wide apart, firmly resolved to stop it and prevent any trouble.

  Pinocchio saw the Carabineer from afar and tried his best to escape between the legs of the big fellow, but without success.

  The Carabineer grabbed him by the nose (it was an extremely long one and seemed made on purpose for that very thing) and returned him to Mastro Geppetto.

  The little old man wanted to pull Pinocchio’s ears. Think how he felt when, upon searching for them, he discovered that he had forgotten to make them!

  All he could do was to seize Pinocchio by the back of the neck and take him home. As he was doing so, he shook him two or three times and said to him angrily:

  “We’re going home now. When we get home, then we’ll settle this matter!”

  Pinocchio, on hearing this, threw himself on the ground and refused to take another step. One person after another gathered around the two.

  Some said one thing, some another.

  “Poor Marionette,” called out a man. “I am not surprised he doesn’t want to go home. Geppetto, no doubt, will beat him unmercifully, he is so mean and cruel!”

  “Geppetto looks like a good man,” added another, “but with boys he’s a real tyrant. If we leave that poor Marionette in his hands he may tear him to pieces!”

  They said so much that, finally, the Carabineer ended matters by setting Pinocchio at liberty and dragging Geppetto to prison. The poor old fellow did not know how to defend himself, but wept and wailed like a child and said between his sobs:

  “Ungrateful boy! To think I tried so hard to make you a well-behaved Marionette! I deserve it, however! I should have given the matter more thought.”

  What happened after this is an almost unbelievable story, but you may read it, dear children, in the chapters that follow.

  [1] A military policeman

  CHAPTER 4

  The story of Pinocchio and the Talking Cricket, in which one sees that bad children do not like to be corrected by those who know more than they do.

  Very little time did it take to get poor old Geppetto to prison. In the meantime that rascal, Pinocchio, free now from the clutches of the Carabineer, was running wildly across fields and meadows, taking one short cut after another toward home. In his wild flight, he leaped over brambles and bushes, and across brooks and ponds, as if he were a goat or a hare chased by hounds.

  On reaching home, he found the house door half open. He slipped into the room, locked the door, and threw himself on the floor, happy at his escape.

  But his happiness lasted only a short time, for just then he heard someone saying:

  “Cri-cri-cri!”

  “Who is calling me?” asked Pinocchio, greatly frightened.

  “I am!”

  Pinocchio turned and saw a large cricket crawling slowly up the wall.

  “Tell me, Cricket, who are you?”

  “I am the Talking Cricket and I have been living in this room for more than one hundred years.”

  “Today, however, this room is mine,” said the Marionette, “and if you wish to do me a favor, get out now, and don’t turn around even once.”

  “I refuse to leave this spot,” answered the Cricket, “until I have told you a great truth.”

  “Tell it, then, and hurry.”

  “Woe to boys who refuse to obey their parents and run away from home! They will never be happy in this world, and when they are older they will be very sorry for it.”

  “Sing on, Cricket mine, as you please. What I know is, that tomorrow, at dawn, I leave this place forever. If I stay here the same thing will happen to me which happens to all other boys and girls. They are sent to school, and whether they want to or not, they must study. As for me, let me tell you, I hate to study! It’s much more fun, I think, to chase after butterflies, climb trees, and steal birds’ nests.”

  “Poor little silly! Don’t you know that if you go on like that, you will grow into a perfect donkey and that you’ll be the laughingstock of everyone?”

  “Keep still, you ugly Cricket!” cried Pinocchio.

  But the Cricket, who was a wise old philosopher, instead of being offended at Pinocchio’s impudence, continued in the same tone:

  “If you do not like going to school, why don’t you at least learn a trade, so that you can earn an honest living?”

  “Shall I tell you something?” asked Pinocchio, who was beginning to lose patience. “Of all the trades in the world, there is only one that really suits me.”

  “And what can that be?”

  “That of eating, drinking, sleeping, playing, and wandering around from morning till night.”

  “Let me tell you, for your own good, Pinocchio,” said the Talking Cricket in his calm voice, “that those who follow that trade always end up in the hospital or in prison.”

  “Careful, ugly Cricket! If you make me angry, you’ll be sorry!”

  “Poor Pinocchio, I am sorry for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are a Marionette and, what is much worse, you have a wooden head.”

  At these last words, Pinocchio jumped up in a fury, took a hammer from the bench, and threw it with all his strength at the Talking Cricket.

  Perhaps he did not think he would strike it. But, sad to relate, my dear children, he did hit the Cricket, straight on its head.

  With a last weak “cri-cri-cri” the poor Cricket fell from the wall, dead!

  CHAPTER 5

  Pinocchio is hungry and looks for an egg to cook himself an omelet; but, to his surprise, the omelet flies out of the window.

  If the Cricket’s death scared Pinocchio at all, it was only for a very few moments. For, as night came on, a queer, empty feeling at the pit of his stomach reminded the Marionette that he had eaten nothing as yet.

  A boy’s appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments the queer, empty feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until soon he was as ravenous as a bear.

  Poor Pinocchio ran to the fireplace where the pot was boiling and stretched out his hand to take the cover off, but to his amazement the pot was only painted! Think how he felt! His long nose became at least two inches longer.

  He ran about the room, dug in all the boxes and drawers, and even looked under the bed in search of a piece of bread, hard though it might be, or a cookie, or perhaps a bit of fish. A bone left by a dog would have tasted good to him! But he found nothing.

  And meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. The only relief poor Pinocchio had was to yawn; and
he certainly did yawn, such a big yawn that his mouth stretched out to the tips of his ears. Soon he became dizzy and faint. He wept and wailed to himself: “The Talking Cricket was right. It was wrong of me to disobey Father and to run away from home. If he were here now, I wouldn’t be so hungry! Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!”

  Suddenly, he saw, among the sweepings in a corner, something round and white that looked very much like a hen’s egg. In a jiffy he pounced upon it. It was an egg.

  The Marionette’s joy knew no bounds. It is impossible to describe it, you must picture it to yourself. Certain that he was dreaming, he turned the egg over and over in his hands, fondled it, kissed it, and talked to it:

  “And now, how shall I cook you? Shall I make an omelet? No, it is better to fry you in a pan! Or shall I drink you? No, the best way is to fry you in the pan. You will taste better.”

  No sooner said than done. He placed a little pan over a foot warmer full of hot coals. In the pan, instead of oil or butter, he poured a little water. As soon as the water started to boil—tac!—he broke the eggshell. But in place of the white and the yolk of the egg, a little yellow Chick, fluffy and gay and smiling, escaped from it. Bowing politely to Pinocchio, he said to him:

  “Many, many thanks, indeed, Mr. Pinocchio, for having saved me the trouble of breaking my shell! Good-by and good luck to you and remember me to the family!”

  With these words he spread out his wings and, darting to the open window, he flew away into space till he was out of sight.

  The poor Marionette stood as if turned to stone, with wide eyes, open mouth, and the empty halves of the egg-shell in his hands. When he came to himself, he began to cry and shriek at the top of his lungs, stamping his feet on the ground and wailing all the while:

  “The Talking Cricket was right! If I had not run away from home and if Father were here now, I should not be dying of hunger. Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!”

  And as his stomach kept grumbling more than ever and he had nothing to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the near-by village, in the hope of finding some charitable person who might give him a bit of bread.

  CHAPTER 6

  Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on a foot warmer, and awakens the next day with his feet all burned off.

  Pinocchio hated the dark street, but he was so hungry that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning now and again shot across the sky, turning it into a sea of fire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense clouds of dust, while the trees shook and moaned in a weird way.

  Pinocchio was greatly afraid of thunder and lightning, but the hunger he felt was far greater than his fear. In a dozen leaps and bounds, he came to the village, tired out, puffing like a whale, and with tongue hanging.

  The whole village was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, the doors, the windows. In the streets, not even a dog could be seen. It seemed the Village of the Dead.

  Pinocchio, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: “Someone will surely answer that!”

  He was right. An old man in a nightcap opened the window and looked out. He called down angrily:

  “What do you want at this hour of night?”

  “Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I am hungry.”

  “Wait a minute and I’ll come right back,” answered the old fellow, thinking he had to deal with one of those boys who love to roam around at night ringing people’s bells while they are peacefully asleep.

  After a minute or two, the same voice cried:

  “Get under the window and hold out your hat!”

  Pinocchio had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, and over his whole body.

  He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from weariness and hunger.

  As he no longer had any strength left with which to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet on the stove to dry them.

  There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ashes.

  Pinocchio snored away happily as if his feet were not his own. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door.

  “Who is it?” he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

  “It is I,” answered a voice.

  It was the voice of Geppetto.

  CHAPTER 7

  Geppetto returns home and gives his own breakfast to the Marionette

  The poor Marionette, who was still half asleep, had not yet found out that his two feet were burned and gone. As soon as he heard his Father’s voice, he jumped up from his seat to open the door, but, as he did so, he staggered and fell headlong to the floor.

  In falling, he made as much noise as a sack of wood falling from the fifth story of a house.

  “Open the door for me!” Geppetto shouted from the street.

  “Father, dear Father, I can’t,” answered the Marionette in despair, crying and rolling on the floor.

  “Why can’t you?”

  “Because someone has eaten my feet.”

  “And who has eaten them?”

  “The cat,” answered Pinocchio, seeing that little animal busily playing with some shavings in the corner of the room.

  “Open! I say,” repeated Geppetto, “or I’ll give you a sound whipping when I get in.”

  “Father, believe me, I can’t stand up. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall have to walk on my knees all my life.”

  Geppetto, thinking that all these tears and cries were only other pranks of the Marionette, climbed up the side of the house and went in through the window.

  At first he was very angry, but on seeing Pinocchio stretched out on the floor and really without feet, he felt very sad and sorrowful. Picking him up from the floor, he fondled and caressed him, talking to him while the tears ran down his cheeks:

  “My little Pinocchio, my dear little Pinocchio! How did you burn your feet?”

  “I don’t know, Father, but believe me, the night has been a terrible one and I shall remember it as long as I live. The thunder was so noisy and the lightning so bright—and I was hungry. And then the Talking Cricket said to me, ‘You deserve it; you were bad;’ and I said to him, ‘Careful, Cricket;’ and he said to me, ‘You are a Marionette and you have a wooden head;’ and I threw the hammer at him and killed him. It was his own fault, for I didn’t want to kill him. And I put the pan on the coals, but the Chick flew away and said, ‘I’ll see you again! Remember me to the family.’ And my hunger grew, and I went out, and the old man with a nightcap looked out of the window and threw water on me, and I came home and put my feet on the stove to dry them because I was still hungry, and I fell asleep and now my feet are gone but my hunger isn’t! Oh!—Oh!—Oh!” And poor Pinocchio began to scream and cry so loudly that he could be heard for miles around.

  Geppetto, who had understood nothing of all that jumbled talk, except that the Marionette was hungry, felt sorry for him, and pulling three pears out of his pocket, offered them to him, saying:

  “These three pears were for my breakfast, but I give them to you gladly. Eat them and stop weeping.”

  “If you want me to eat them, please peel them for me.”

  “Peel them?” asked Geppetto, very much surprised. “I should never have thought, dear boy of mine, that you were so dainty and fussy about your food. Bad, very bad! In this world, even as children, we must accustom ourselves to eat of everything, for we never know what life may hold in store for us!”

  “You may be right,” answered Pinocchio, “but I will not eat the pears if they are not peeled. I don’t like them
.”

  And good old Geppetto took out a knife, peeled the three pears, and put the skins in a row on the table.

  Pinocchio ate one pear in a twinkling and started to throw the core away, but Geppetto held his arm.

  “Oh, no, don’t throw it away! Everything in this world may be of some use!”

  “But the core I will not eat!” cried Pinocchio in an angry tone.

  “Who knows?” repeated Geppetto calmly.

  And later the three cores were placed on the table next to the skins.

  Pinocchio had eaten the three pears, or rather devoured them. Then he yawned deeply, and wailed:

  “I’m still hungry.”

  “But I have no more to give you.”

  “Really, nothing—nothing?”

  “I have only these three cores and these skins.”

  “Very well, then,” said Pinocchio, “if there is nothing else I’ll eat them.”

  At first he made a wry face, but, one after another, the skins and the cores disappeared.

  “Ah! Now I feel fine!” he said after eating the last one.

  “You see,” observed Geppetto, “that I was right when I told you that one must not be too fussy and too dainty about food. My dear, we never know what life may have in store for us!”

  CHAPTER 8

  Geppetto makes Pinocchio a new pair of feet, and sells his coat to buy him an A-B-C book.

  The Marionette, as soon as his hunger was appeased, started to grumble and cry that he wanted a new pair of feet.

  But Mastro Geppetto, in order to punish him for his mischief, let him alone the whole morning. After dinner he said to him:

  “Why should I make your feet over again? To see you run away from home once more?”

  “I promise you,” answered the Marionette, sobbing, “that from now on I’ll be good—”

  “Boys always promise that when they want something,” said Geppetto.