[ 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."
Said and done
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."
and taken an ax in his hand
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 a mask from fontana
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?
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.
and thrown on the fire
is to boil a pot of beans ...
Or so?
Yet-- might someone be hidden in it?
If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!"
Now I adjust it!
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
to purple as it was almost always
from red to deepest purple.
[Regia di Riccardo Rivarola]