_How Pinocchio Sent a Solemn Protest to Francis Joseph to Rectify an
Official Bulletin_
May had come with her blossoms, but up there a sharp wind was blowing
so that it seemed still February. Pinocchio, half naked as he was,
shivered like a leaf, and every now and then let out a sneeze which
sounded like a bursting shell. At every sneeze Mollica gave him a
kick, Corporal Fanfara a box on the ear, and Drummer Stecca a pinch.
The only one who didn't abuse him was Bersaglierino, the blond young
soldier, more melancholy than his companions, whom he had first
accosted in the station when they were setting out. I have told you
that Pinocchio trembled with cold, and I will tell you that it was
almost a good thing for him to do so; otherwise they would have seen
him tremble with fear. If this had happened, his teasing companions
would have driven him to despair. Pinocchio was to be pitied. He was
at the front, the frontier several miles behind them, and any minute
might bring Austrian bullets whistling through the air. The general
had spared the youngster from being shot in the back, but he had given
orders to put him in the very front line during the advance and to
keep him well guarded. In one case the guns of the enemy would do
justice to the suspected spy; in the other, Pinocchio would clear
himself by his conduct and at the same time would lose his desire for
a close view of the enemy.
Private Mollica was furious with him.
"Che-chew! che-chew! che-chew!"
"Plague take you!" Another kick. "Keep still, you little beast! If you
let the enemy spot us I'll stick this bayonet in your backbone."
"I can't stand it any longer. I am frozen--che-chew!"
"Stop it!" Another box on the ear. "You are all right. You wanted to
be a volunteer; now you see how much fun it is."
"I?"
"Yes, you.... You were the cause of the fine talking-to my general
gave me, and you made me lose my place as an orderly where I had a
chance to make extra soldi. If you hadn't gone and told him that you
had helped me to carry his things and if you hadn't slipped under the
seat of that same officer to listen to what he said, I shouldn't have
been punished by being sent to the front."
"Are you afraid, then, Mollica?"
"I afraid? But don't you know that if I catch sight of an Austrian
I'll eat him?"
"Like the food you took from the general," that rascal of a Pinocchio
dared to remark.
There was a chorus of laughs that stopped as if by magic at the sound
of a certain roar in the distance and of something whistling through
the air and very near.
"There they are!"
"We're in it."
"Where?"
"Where are they?"
Who paid any attention now to Pinocchio? All of them had drawn close
to one another and had rushed to the edge of the road, their guns
pointed, to examine the distant landscape. The mountain was very
steep there and covered with thick vegetation. Down at the bottom,
toward the plain, there seemed to be an unexpected rise ... after the
steep descent a green stretch through which a river ran like a silver
ribbon. Still farther, was a chain of low mountains, almost like a
cloud on the edge of the peaceful horizon.
There was the roar of some more shots and the whistling of the shells,
and a branch of a tree was splintered and fell.
Pinocchio, alone in the middle of the road, felt a creeping up and
down his spine and experienced a trembling in his legs that shook like
a palsied man's. The second time he heard a shell whistle he felt that
he must find a hole in which to hide himself. He looked about him and
caught sight near by of an enormous larch-tree which pointed directly
toward the heavens. I don't know how to explain it, but the sight of
it took away from Pinocchio the desire to hide himself under the
ground and made him wish to climb toward the stars. He gave a spring
and shinned up the big trunk in a flash. I bet you a plugged soldo
against a lira that you would have done the same....
[Illustration: "I SEE THE SUET-EATERS"]
"I see them! I see them!"
"Who?"
"Whom do you see?"
"Where are they? Where are you that we can't see you?"
"I am up here."
"Bravo! And whom do you see?" Bersaglierino asked.
"I see the suet-eaters."
"Where are they?"
"Down there where there is a kind of slope there is a town hidden
among the trees ... up here you can see a roof and the spire of a
bell-tower ... you can see people on the roof ... you can see
something glisten ... now they are firing."
This time there were several reports, but they seemed to be aiming in
another direction, because there was not the usual whistle in the air.
"Whom are they 'strafing'?" Corporal Fanfara asked himself.
"I'll 'strafe' that scoundrel Pinocchio. If you don't come down alive
I will bring you down dead with a bullet in the seat of your
trousers."
"But listen! Look down there and see whom they're giving it to," cried
the enraged Bersaglierino, pointing out a marching column which was
hurrying below them.
"Our infantry!"
"Yes, indeed. They will beat us to it. It's a shame."
"Our company ought to start off at a double-quick."
"It must be a half-mile away."
"But the bersaglieri must get there first ... even if there are only
the four of us."
"Sure thing."
"Do you hear?"
"Forward, Savoy!"
And, heads lowered and bayonets fixed, they rushed down the slope.
* * * * *
"Ho! boys! Ho! Mol-li-ca! Cor-po-ral!... Oh! They are going off
without me! What a mean thing to do! They leave me here at the top of
this tree and run off.... But if they think they can play me such a
trick they are mistaken.... I am hungry as a wolf, and if I don't get
them to feed me, whom can I join? Run, run.... We'll see who gets
there first!"
He climbed down the tree, grumbling as he went, tightened the belt of
his trousers, drank in several deep breaths of air, and then tore off
like an express train behind time.
I will tell you at once, not to keep you in suspense, that the
bersaglieri got there the first, the infantry second, and Pinocchio
... a good third. I call it a "good third" merely as a way of
expressing it, because when he arrived at the village our soldiers had
already passed through it and had advanced some distance beyond,
following the Austrians, who had taken to their heels and who were
suffering a sharp fire at short range.
The village was so small that it didn't even deserve the name of one.
There were ten houses in all besides the church with the bell-tower,
and a long shed over which waved the white flag with the red cross.
There was a deathlike silence everywhere. On the little square before
the church some bodies of Austrian soldiers were lying; among them was
that of an officer so ugly that he seemed to have died of fright, but
there was a red spot on his back. Pinocchio was terrified at the sight
of him, but he had such a longing for his sword, his automatic pistol,
his handsome belt, his light-blue cape, and his cap that he persuaded
himself it was perfectly silly to be afraid of a dead Austrian,
particularly when they weren't afraid of live ones. Without too much
reflection, he buckled on the dead man's belt, armed himself with the
pistol, wrapped himself in the blue cape, and pressed the cap down on
his head. He was good to look at, I can assure you.
[Illustration]
The Hapsburg army had never had an officer who could be compared with
this puppet who had now become a real boy. Pinocchio was prancing up
and down in his new disguise, his sword clanking against the pavement,
just like any little lieutenant, when he heard a horrible roar high up
overhead, then, a moment later, an explosion which shook the ground!
When he lifted up his head to see what had happened he thought he
caught sight of some one walking about on the church's bell-tower. He
saw a rag tied to a pole waving and, as if in reply to a signal,
brumm! another shot that fell closer. Pinocchio, who was suspicious,
went into the vestry and, pistol in hand, rushed up the steep little
wooden stairs. He got to the top without even making the old
worm-eaten stairs squeak. In the space where the bells hung a man in
civilian's clothes had his back turned toward him. He was looking off
from the balcony, and kept on waving the red cloth. You could see the
vast expanse of the plain, and among the green a strange, intermittent
flash ... then a puff ... then you heard a roar, followed by a crash,
like a moving train rapidly approaching, then a tremendous explosion.
The shells never fell as far as the town, but burst all around it,
sending up columns of earth and smoke. And off there Pinocchio could
see the bersaglieri, the soldiers of his country. The traitor with his
signals was directing fire on the Italian troops.
Tell me truly, what would you have done if you had been in Pinocchio's
place? Would you have fired at the traitor? Yes or no. Well, Pinocchio
did the same--cocked his pistol, shut his eyes, pulled the trigger,
and pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum, seven shots went off. He had expected
only one, and was so frightened that he pitched his weapon away and
took to his heels, down the steps, without thought of the wretch, who,
for his part, did no more signaling, I assure you!
When he had got down to the square Pinocchio rushed across it, and was
about to run in the direction where he had seen his bersaglieri
fighting, when, passing by the shed where the Red Cross flag waved, he
thought he heard the sound of several voices in a lively discussion.
He stopped suddenly and very, very quietly approached a big window
closed merely by a wire netting. Inside he saw on one side of the
large room two rows of beds, in the middle a group of rough-looking
soldiers, with waxed mustaches, completely armed, who were busy
plotting together. Just at that moment they separated to go to bed.
They took off their weapons, hid them under the sheets, and slipped
themselves into bed, drawing the covers up to their noses.
[Illustration: HE SAW A RAG TIED TO A POLE WAVING]
"_Wunderschön!_" ("Fine.")
"When Italian pigs come we make a colossal festival," grunted a Croat
and laughed boisterously. "We sick get well, and Italians all croak."
"I'll croak you," muttered Pinocchio, who in a twinkle had understood
the deviltry the wretches were planning. He made himself as small as
he could, so that the cape dragged on the ground like a petticoat,
slunk along the walls of the shed, then rushed off at full speed
toward the fields. He was just passing the last house of the village
when he found himself unexpectedly surrounded by a score of Austrian
soldiers in a half-tipsy condition, so that they took him for their
superior officer. He thought himself lost.
"Lieutenant, don't go farther. 'Talians still near and make croak all
Croats."
"Croat? I a Croat!"
"'Talians make croak Slovaks, too."
"Oh! Mamma!"
"_Ja, ja!_"
"_Ja, ja!_"
Pinocchio had a flash of intuition; he hid his hand under his cape,
unsheathed the sword, and, assuming so martial a manner that then and
there he could have been taken for a handsome brother of William, he
yelled and swore some doggerel which the dolts might think was
Hungarian, Dalmatian, or Rumanian, spun 'round and continued on his
way to the Italian position. The Austrians followed him, bayonets
fixed, convinced that the spirit of Tegetoff had come to life and was
leading them to victory. But instead, when they had gone a hundred
yards they were showered with bullets and had to fling themselves on
the ground in order to escape immediate extermination. Pinocchio saw
that he was being shot at more than the others, and didn't know why.
All around him the torn-up earth was strewn with plumes.
"I should like to know why they are after me especially, who am not
even firing, while they are sparing these monkeys who have followed me
and are shooting like mad. Oh! Perhaps it is on account of the uniform
of that miserable officer. If that is the case, my dear ones, enough
of your sport. 'Oho! I am an Italian. Stop firing, for Heaven's sake,
so that I can tell you something important. Oho! Enough, I say!'"
And standing up straight, he hurled the cape and the cap away from
him, and with no thought of danger, made for the spot from which came
the Italian fire.
Then came the end of the scene. The Croats behind him jumped to their
feet like so many jacks-in-the-box, threw their arms about and waved
their hands in the air.... From a hedge not far off, a company of
bersaglieri came running up and surrounded them, yelling, "Surrender!"
"If one of them moves, stick him like a toad," commanded a lieutenant.
"Don't worry, sir, I'll spit him for your roasting."
"Secure their officer."
"Heh, boys! don't joke ... lower your bayonets. I'm no Austrian
officer. I am Pinocchio. Mollica, don't you recognize me?"
"You beastly little creature, what game are you playing? But I'll run
you through, all the same."
"What's up now?"
"Lieutenant, Mollica wants to make believe that I am an Austrian
lieutenant, because I was the cause of his losing his place as
orderly with General Win-the-War, but I am Pinocchio. Do you know me?
I am glad. Order these twenty apes, which I have brought all the way
here, to be bound, and then if you give me thirty men I will guarantee
to catch some others that I have put to bed in the big barracks under
the protection of the Red Cross, who pretended they were ill, but who
had hidden their guns under the covers to 'croak Italian hogs.'"
"Where are they?"
"I'll tell you now ... then I'll show you up on the tower what a
pretty thing I found--a traitor who was making signals to some one far
off, and then, boom! there came one of those shells that burst. I
meant to let him have one little bullet, but the pistol fired so many
at him that I threw everything away...."
"But come on! Come on! Show me the way!"
"Right away, but on one condition--that when I have guided you, you
will give me something to eat, because I am so hungry that I could eat
that miserable Mollica."
[Illustration: "YOU BEASTLY LITTLE CREATURE, WHAT GAME ARE YOU
PLAYING?"]
"Come on, boy, to the village. Double quick!"
* * * * *
Who would have imagined that his regiment had been fighting
continuously for ten hours, leaving some dead on the field and sending
not a few wounded to the ambulance? There on the square of the village
won by Italy, beneath the shadow of the red, white, and green flag
that waved from the summit of the little tower, the brave boys gave
vent to unrestrained joy. It was time for rations. In the camp
kitchens big pots were steaming, but the soldiers did not crowd around
them as usual to fill their canteens. The bersaglieri's attention was
held by a sight which put them in good humor, and good humor in war is
a rare thing. Pinocchio was eating! He had swallowed three platefuls
of soup in five minutes, and as he continued to grunt that he was
hungry, they had given him a canteen full to the top and slipped into
it a piece of meat that would have been sufficient to satisfy the
hunger of four city employees.
"Look out for bones!"
"Are you going to eat them all?"
"If he stays with us he'll break the Government."
"Look out, boys, he'll end by bursting."
"Don't you split open with all the Austrians you have eaten, for pork
is more indigestible than asses' meat."
"Heh! don't find fault with the food."
"And what kind of meat do you call this?"
"The best beef."
"Lie! I am familiar with animals ... you give beef to the officers;
donkey-meat to the soldiers."
"Look out, you Pinocchio, you'll get into trouble with that tongue of
yours."
"Then let me eat in peace. You are all staring at me as if I were a
Zulu chewing a hen with her feathers on. My tongue can't be dainty
both talking and eating."
"Let's murder him."
And then there was a loud burst of laughter from all. Pinocchio was
shoveling food into his mouth with both his hands, so that his face
was red as a cock's comb and he could scarcely breathe.
They were already as fond of him as if he were their son. His
achievements had won for him a certain respect even from the officers
whom he amused with his monkeyshines. It had been decided to adopt
Pinocchio as the "son of the regiment" and to keep him at the front as
a mascot. He was to live with the troops and to wear the uniform of a
Boy Scout. The soldiers with common accord had put off his costume to
an opportune moment. Do you want to know the reason? The brave boys
were afraid to stick Pinocchio into puttees with so many spiral bands
because his little thin legs would have frightened people. For the
time being they had him put on a pair of short trousers which dragged
behind him on the ground, a little cape like a bersagliere's, and a
fez with a light-blue tassel so long that it touched his heels. This
tassel was Pinocchio's delight, who, in order to look at it, always
walked along with his head over his shoulder, and so would keep
bumping into first one thing and then another. One day the mischievous
Mollica made him run into one of the quarter-master-corps mules, and
Pinocchio saluted and asked its pardon. But when he ran into officers,
sergeants, corporals, and soldiers, instead of saluting he swore at
them all.
It is three days later. General Win-the-War's troops have not
advanced. Our bersaglieri are still in camp near ----. It is a
sultry, thundering afternoon. Many of the soldiers are sleeping. The
Bersaglierino is playing cards with Mollica. Corporal Fanfara is
shaving. Stecca is practising on his cornet, trying a variation on a
well-known tune. Pinocchio, in the back of the tent, is snoring so
loudly that Mollica every now and then hurls a handful of earth at his
nose to make him lower his note.
Suddenly the boredom is broken, every one jumps up and runs out to a
certain point and crowds around an automobile that has just arrived.
Pinocchio wakes up with a start, finds his mouth full of grit, his
nose dirty, and hears all the noise about him--has a terrible fright,
lets out a yell, and rushes out of the tent. But he is scarcely
outside before he feels himself caught up by his legs and whirled
around on the ground. He gets up again and is face to face with
Bersaglierino, who has not left his post and who laughs loudly at
Pinocchio's plight.
"What has happened?"
"The mail has come."
"And you're making all this racket for that? I thought it was the
Austrians."
"You little coward, you!"
"That's enough, Bersaglierino, if you say that to me again I'll give
you such a kick that will change your shape. But why don't you, too,
go to see if you have any letters?"
[Illustration]
"Who do you think would write me? I am as alone in the world as a dog,
just like you, it seems."
"Yes, that's so," replied Pinocchio, swallowing hard, because he had
suddenly felt his throat tighten at the thought of Papa Geppetto, from
whom he had had no news for many a long day.
"It is a red-letter day for the others. Mollica will have a letter
from his father, Fanfara news from his two babies, Stecca kisses from
his wife.... I might be killed to-morrow by a bullet in the stomach
and they would let me rot in a ditch and that would be the end."
Mollica came back, his arms full of newspapers. His father, a
news-dealer in Naples, sent him a copy of every unsold publication,
knowing that anything may come in useful in war-times, even old news.
"Heh! Bersaglierino! You want us to play the postman and yet you don't
take any trouble to get your scented letter."
"You are joking?"
"No, it's no joke. Here is one really for you, and I congratulate you
because if you are engaged she must be at least a countess."
The Bersaglierino took the letter his comrade held out to him and read
the address over several times. There was no doubt; it was his name
that was written on the scented envelope the color of a blush rose. He
turned pale and stood for a moment undecided, then he tore it open and
read:
DEAR BERSAGLIERINO,--I saw how sad and alone you were at the
moment of your departure, so I felt it was my duty as a
patriotic Italian girl to write to you. Go and fight for our
country; do your duty bravely, and remember that in thought
I follow and will follow you every minute. If you return
valorously I will meet you and tell you how happy I am; if
you fall wounded I will go to your hospital bed to soothe
your suffering; if you die for your country my flowers shall
lie on your grave and your name will always be written in my
heart. Long live Italy!
Your war-godmother,
FATINA.
"Long live Italy!" Bersaglierino shouted like mad. He caught up his
hat with its cock plumes and tossed it in the air with all his force,
seized Pinocchio who was standing by him, and lifted him up in both
his arms, pulled his cap off his head, and then twirled it round on
his pate, scratching the poor boy's nose.
"What's got into you? Are you crazy?"
"Am I crazy? I am happy! I am not alone any more, do you understand? I
am no longer an unlucky fellow like you with no one belonging to him.
But I am fonder of you than ever. Give me a kiss ..." and he pressed
such a hearty kiss on his nose that his comrades laughed. But
Pinocchio longed to cry. The heart in his body beat a violent
tick-tock, tick-tock.
"Have you read what Franz Joe's newspapers say?--'Italian soldiers are
brigands who do not respect civilians or the wounded in the
hospitals.' That means you, dear Pinocchio, because you shot the
traitor on the tower. You can be sure that if the suet-eaters win they
will make you pay for the crime."
"Me?"
"Yes, indeed, you! You don't intend to say that I killed him, do you?
And you, thank God, are not an enlisted Italian soldier, therefore
..."
"I understand."
The camp was quiet once again; indeed, I might say that tender
memories had softened its youthful exuberance. The voices from home
were keeping the soldiers silent. It was as if every letter their eyes
fell on was speaking to them quietly and they were blessed in
listening, their faces shining with happiness. Corporal Fanfara held a
sheet of paper on which there was nothing but some strange scrawls. He
gazed at it with delight, and while two big tears ran down his cheeks
he murmured in his Venetian dialect, "My darling little rascals!"
These scrawls of theirs were more welcome to him than the letter from
his wife which told of privations, anxiety, and troubles. Private
Mollica was acting like a detective, searching through the newspaper
pages for his father's dirty finger-marks; and as there was little
trouble in finding them he kept repeating every moment, "This was made
by my dear old man." Then he kissed the marks so often that his whole
mouth was black with printer's ink.
Shortly after every one was writing, some bent over their
writing-tablets, some on the back of a good-natured comrade, some
stretched out on the ground, some on the edge of a bench, on the
staves of a barrel, on a tree-trunk, with pencils, fountain-pens, on
post-cards, envelopes, letter-paper spilled out miraculously from
portfolios, bags, and canteens. Every one was writing. The
Bersaglierino seemed to be composing a poem. He gesticulated, whacked
himself on the ear, beat time with his pen that squirted ink in every
direction, and every now and then declaimed under his breath certain
phrases that were so moving that they made even him weep.
Pinocchio was as silent and gloomy as the hood of a dirty kitchen
stove. Squatting at the entrance to the tent, he kept glancing at his
companions, and every now and then he would scratch his head so
vigorously that he might have been currycombing a donkey. When
Pinocchio scratched his head in that way ... Well, now you know that
matters were serious, but I tell you they were so serious that he had
the courage to interrupt the Bersaglierino in his literary studies.
"Excuse me, but will you do me a favor?"
"What do you want? Keep quiet ... leave me alone ... you make me lose
my thread of thought ..."
"So you write with thread, do you? Are you aware that they don't use
this any more?"
"Stop your nonsense. Leave me alone, puppet."
"Do me a favor and then ..."
"What is it? Spit it out!"
"Lend me a pencil and a piece of paper."
"You want to write, too?"
"Yes."
"Then you, too, have some one in the world who interests you?"
"Yes ... perhaps."
"A godmother like mine?"
"Hum! No indeed."
"You are serious about wanting to write?"
"Yes."
"Here's paper and pencil, then. Do you know how to write?"
"Once I knew how."
"All right. Then let me see it."
"Gladly."
Pinocchio rested his elbows on his knees, chin on his clasped hands,
and, biting his pencil, lost himself in profound meditation.
* * * * *
"Excuse me, Bersaglierino."
"Ho! Finished already?"
"No ... that is ... yes, I have finished beginning, but ... I don't
know what you put before the beginning."
"Write, 'Dear So-and-so,' or 'My darling, etc., etc.'"
"But you see I can't put either 'dear' or 'my darling.'"
"So you are writing to a creditor?"
"Something like that."
"Heavens! Put his first name, his last name, swear at him, and that's
enough."
* * * * *
"Excuse me, Bersaglierino..."
"Oh, are you still there?"
"Yes.... I haven't been able to start the beginning because ..."
"Do you or do you not know how to write?"
"Like a lawyer."
"Then?"
"I don't know what his last name is."
"Whose?"
"Franz Joe's."
"Writing to him? You want to write to him? To that miserable
Hapsburg?"
The news spread like lightning through the camp. The soldiers passed
it from mouth to mouth, laughing like mad: Pinocchio was writing to
Emperor Franz Joseph! This was interesting. They must know what the
letter said. It would certainly be something to amuse them. So walking
quietly, as if they were all eager to take him in the very act, they
approached the tent where Pinocchio was composing his missive, not
without difficulty. He had not been writing for several minutes and
the words seemed so long to put down on paper. He had to keep thinking
of the spelling, and the verbs bothered him terribly. When he raised
his head to draw a breath of relief before re-reading what he had
managed to write, he found himself surrounded by all the regiment.
"Oh, you are well brought up, aren't you? Who taught you to stick your
noses into other people's business?"
"To whom have you written?"
[Illustration]
"To the one I wanted to."
"Let's see the scribbling."
"Look in your mirror and you will see worse lines on your own face."
"We want to read the letter."
"But if you are a pack of illiterates ..."
"Listen, either you will let me see it or I will take you by one ear
and the letter with the other hand, and I'll carry you both off to the
censor, who will haul you before a court martial that will condemn you
to be shot in the back."
"Oh, do you really want to see it, Mollica?"
"You heard what I said."
"On one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you will take charge of it and see that it gets to its address."
"All right. Hand it here, you puppy. Listen to what he writes:
"MR. FRANZ HAPSBURG,
In his house in Austria,
"You wrote in the papers that the Italian soldiers are
rascals because they kill civilians and wounded Ostrians. I
want you to know that you are mistaken, because as you know
the traitor was killed by a pistol that shot off Ostrian
bullets by itself while it was in my hands who am not in the
army. That's how our soldiers found the traitor already
dead, the traitor who made signals from the church tower, so
that the shells fell on the ruins. As for the wounded in the
horspital I can asshure you that they were better off than
me and you, and that they had guns between their leggs under
the sheets. He who tells lies goes to hell and you will
certainly go there, but just now I'd like to send you there
myself who don't give a hang for you.
"PINOCCHIO."
I can't describe to you what took place after the letter had been
read.
They gave the poor youngster such a feast that they had to put him to
bed in a hammock. Before Private Mollica went to sleep he kept
repeating: "I have promised to take your letter to Franz Joseph....
You see if I don't send it through all the ranks till it reaches his
own hands. On Mollica's honor!... I have promised to take your letter
to Franz Joseph!"