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!
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.
It is impossible to describe the hugging and kissing that followed, the friendly pinches, the brotherly taps that Pinocchio received from the actors and actresses of that puppet company.
It was a very spectacular sight, but the audience, when they saw that the play had stopped, grew impatient and began shouting, ‘The play! We want the play! Go on with the play!’
However, their breath was wasted, for the puppets, instead of continuing the play, redoubled their noise and, placing Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him in triumph before the footlights.
Suddenly the Showman appeared. He was very tall, and so ugly that he frightened anyone who looked at him. His beard was like black ink, and it was so long that it reached the ground. Believe me, he stepped on it when he walked. His mouth was as big as an oven, his eyes were like two burning red lanterns, and he was constantly cracking a great whip made of serpents and foxes’ tails, twisted together.
When the Showman appeared so unexpectedly, everybody was speechless. No one breathed. You could have heard a fly in the air. Even the poor puppets, male and female, trembled like so many leaves.
‘Why have you come here to disturb my theatre?’ he asked Pinocchio, in a voice like that of a spook with a bad cold in his head.
‘Believe me, Your Honour, it was not my fault.’
‘Not another word! We shall settle our accounts tonight.’
As soon as the show was over, the Showman went into the kitchen, where the whole sheep, which he was preparing for his supper, was roasting on the slowly turning spit.
When he saw that there was not enough wood to finish roasting it, he called Harlequin and Punchinello and said, ‘Bring me in Pinocchio! You will find him hanging on a nail.
