CHAPTER X

When Pinocchio entered the theater of the marionettes something happened that almost caused a revolution.

The reader must know that the curtain was up and the comedy had begun. On the stage Harlequin and Pulcinello were quarreling, and, as usual in stage performances of marionettes, there were many blows given with a stick. The audience were listening intently. They laughed out loud on hearing the quarrel of the two marionettes, who gesticulated and acted their threats as naturally as if they had been two real people.

Suddenly Harlequin stopped reciting. Turning toward the audience and pointing to some one in the rear, he began to shout in a dramatic tone: “Deities of the universe! do I dream or am I awake? Nevertheless that boy there is Pinocchio.”

“It is Pinocchio, truly!” said Pulcinello.

“It is indeed he!” screamed Rosa, who peeped from behind the scenes.

“It is Pinocchio! It is Pinocchio!” cried in a chorus all the marionettes, coming out and jumping on the stage.

“Pinocchio, come up here to me,” cried Harlequin. “Come and throw your arms around your wooden brothers.”

At this affecting invitation Pinocchio made a jump, and from the back part of the theater he went to the reserved portion; then with another jump from the reserved seats he mounted on the head of the orchestra leader, and from there he jumped upon the stage.

It is impossible to imagine the kisses, the embraces, the words of endearment, the wooden-headed sayings of true and sincere brotherhood that Pinocchio received in the midst of the actors and actresses of that dramatic company. It was a touching sight; but the public, seeing that the comedy was stopped, grew impatient and began to cry, “We want the play.”

It was all breath thrown away, for the marionettes, instead of continuing the dialogue, redoubled their cries; and taking Pinocchio on their shoulders, they carried him in triumph behind the wings on the stage.

Then came out the manager, a big man, who made people tremble just by looking at them. He had a beard, black as ink, which reached to his feet and tripped him when he walked. His mouth was as large as a furnace, his eyes looked like two lanterns of red glass, and in his hands he cracked a large whip made of serpents and tails of wolves tied together.

At the unexpected sight of the manager all the marionettes became mute. No one breathed. Why, you could have heard a fly walk! The poor marionettes, both actors and actresses, trembled like so many leaves.

“Why have you come here and made all this disorder in my theater?” he asked, looking at Pinocchio. His voice sounded like that of an ogre with a cold in his head.

“Believe me, most illustrious man, the fault is not mine!”

“Do not answer me! to-night we will settle our affairs.”

The marionettes went on with the comedy and the manager went to the kitchen where he was preparing for supper a sheep that was cooking on a spit. As he needed more wood to finish cooking it, he called Harlequin and Pulcinello, who had finished their performance, and said to them: “Bring me now the marionette that you will find tied to a nail. He appears to be made of good dry wood, and I am sure he will make a beautiful flame for a roast.”

Harlequin and Pulcinello at first hesitated, but a glance from their master’s eye scared them and they obeyed. Soon they returned to the kitchen carrying Pinocchio in their arms. Struggling like an eel out of water, he cried despairingly: “Oh, Papa, dear Papa, save me! I do not wish to die! No, I do not wish to die!”