up by trần phú công

CHAPTER 1

How it happened that Mastro Cherry, carpenter, found a piece of wood 

that wept and laughed like a child.

Centuries ago there lived--

"A king!" my little readers will say immediately.

No, children, you are mistaken. Once 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.

I do not know how this really 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 cherry.

As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry was filled with joy. 

Rubbing his hands together happily, he mumbled half to himself:

"This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it to make the leg of a 

table."

He grasped the hatchet quickly to 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!"

What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry's face! His funny face 

became still funnier.

He turned frightened eyes about the 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!

"Oh, I see!" he then said, 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."

He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.

"Oh, oh! You hurt!" cried the same far-away little voice.

Mastro Cherry grew dumb, his eyes popped out of his head, his mouth 

opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.

As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said, trembling and 

stuttering from fright:

"Where did that voice come from, 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 these words, he grabbed the log 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 ceiling.

He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry. He waited two 

minutes--nothing; five minutes--nothing; ten minutes--nothing.

"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.

CHAPTER 2

Mastro Cherry gives the piece of wood to his friend Geppetto, who 

takes it to make himself a Marionette that will dance, fence, and turn 

somersaults.

In that very instant, a loud knock sounded on the door. "Come in," said 

the carpenter, not having an atom of strength left with which to stand 

up.

At the words, the door opened and a dapper little old man came in. 

His name was Geppetto, but to the boys of the neighborhood he was 

Polendina,* on account of the wig he always wore which was just the 

color of yellow corn.

* Cornmeal mush

Geppetto had a very bad temper. Woe to the one who called him Polendina! 

He became as wild as a beast and no one could soothe him.

"Good day, Mastro Antonio," said Geppetto. "What are you doing on the 

floor?"

"I am teaching the ants their A B C's."

"Good luck to you!"

"What brought you here, friend Geppetto?"

"My legs. And it may flatter you to know, Mastro Antonio, that I have 

come to you to beg for a favor."

"Here I am, at your service," answered the carpenter, raising himself on 

to his knees.

"This morning a fine idea came to me."

"Let's hear it."

"I thought of making myself a beautiful wooden Marionette. It must be 

wonderful, one that will be able to dance, fence, and turn somersaults. 

With it I intend to go around the world, to earn my crust of bread and 

cup of wine. What do you think of it?"

"Bravo, Polendina!" cried the same tiny voice which came from no one 

knew where.

On hearing himself called Polendina, Mastro Geppetto turned the color of 

a red pepper and, facing the carpenter, said to him angrily:

"Why do you insult me?"

"Who is insulting you?"

"You called me Polendina."

"I did not."

"I suppose you think _I_ did! Yet I KNOW it was you."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

And growing angrier each moment, they went from words to blows, and 

finally began to scratch and bite and slap each other.

When the fight was over, Mastro Antonio had Geppetto's yellow wig in his 

hands and Geppetto found the carpenter's curly wig in his mouth.

"Give me back my wig!" shouted Mastro Antonio in a surly voice.

"You return mine and we'll be friends."

The two little old men, each with his own wig back on his own head, 

shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives.

"Well then, Mastro Geppetto," said the carpenter, to show he bore him no 

ill will, "what is it you want?"

"I want a piece of wood to make a Marionette. Will you give it to me?"

Mastro Antonio, very glad indeed, went immediately to his bench to get 

the piece of wood which had frightened him so much. But as he was about 

to give it to his friend, with a violent jerk it slipped out of his 

hands and hit against poor Geppetto's thin legs.

"Ah! Is this the gentle way, Mastro Antonio, in which you make your 

gifts? You have made me almost lame!"

"I swear to you I did not do it!"

"It was _I_, of course!"

"It's the fault of this piece of wood."

"You're right; but remember you were the one to throw it at my legs."

"I did not throw it!"

"Liar!"

"Geppetto, do not insult me or I shall call you Polendina."

"Idiot."

"Polendina!"

"Donkey!"

"Polendina!"

"Ugly monkey!"

"Polendina!"

On hearing himself called Polendina for the third time, Geppetto lost 

his head with rage and threw himself upon the carpenter. Then and there 

they gave each other a sound thrashing.

After this fight, Mastro Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, 

and Geppetto had two buttons missing from his coat. Thus having settled 

their accounts, they shook hands and swore to be good friends for the 

rest of their lives.

Then Geppetto took the fine piece of wood, thanked Mastro Antonio, and 

limped away toward home.

CHAPTER 3

As soon as he gets home, Geppetto fashions the Marionette and calls it 

Pinocchio. The first pranks of the Marionette.

Little as Geppetto's house was, it was neat and comfortable. It was a 

small room on the ground floor, with a tiny window under the stairway. 

The furniture could not have been much simpler: a very old chair, a 

rickety old bed, and a tumble-down table. A fireplace full of burning 

logs was painted on the wall opposite the door. Over the fire, there 

was painted a pot full of something which kept boiling happily away and 

sending up clouds of what looked like real steam.

As soon as he reached home, Geppetto took his tools and began to cut and 

shape the wood into a Marionette.

"What shall I call him?" he said to himself. "I think I'll call him 

PINOCCHIO. This name will make his fortune. I knew a whole family of 

Pinocchi once--Pinocchio the father, Pinocchia the mother, and Pinocchi 

the children--and they were all lucky. The richest of them begged for 

his living."

After choosing the name for his Marionette, Geppetto set seriously to 

work to make the hair, the forehead, the eyes. Fancy his surprise 

when he noticed that these eyes moved and then stared fixedly at him. 

Geppetto, seeing this, felt insulted and said in a grieved tone:

"Ugly wooden eyes, why do you stare so?"

There was no answer.

After the eyes, Geppetto made the nose, which began to stretch as soon 

as finished. It stretched and stretched and stretched till it became so 

long, it seemed endless.

Poor Geppetto kept cutting it and cutting it, but the more he cut, the 

longer grew that impertinent nose. In despair he let it alone.

Next he made the mouth.

No sooner was it finished than it began to laugh and poke fun at him.

"Stop laughing!" said Geppetto angrily; but he might as well have spoken 

to the wall.

"Stop laughing, I say!" he roared in a voice of thunder.

The mouth stopped laughing, but it stuck out a long tongue.

Not wishing to start an argument, Geppetto made believe he saw nothing 

and went on with his work. After the mouth, he made the chin, then the 

neck, the shoulders, the stomach, the arms, and the hands.

As he was about to put the last touches on the finger tips, Geppetto 

felt his wig being pulled off. He glanced up and what did he see? His 

yellow wig was in the Marionette's hand. "Pinocchio, give me my wig!"

But instead of giving it back, Pinocchio put it on his own head, which 

was half swallowed up in it.

At that unexpected trick, Geppetto became very sad and downcast, more so 

than he had ever been before.

"Pinocchio, you wicked boy!" he cried out. "You are not yet finished, 

and you start out by being impudent to your poor old father. Very bad, 

my son, very bad!"

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* 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.

* A military policeman

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.

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