The Adventures of Pinocchio (1904)/Chapter 5
Meanwhile the night came on, and Pinocchio, remembering that he had eaten nothing, felt a gnawing in his stomach that strongly resembled an appetite. But the appetite of boys increases very quickly, and so after a few minutes the appetite became hunger, and the hunger finally became like that of a wolf.
Poor Pinocchio ran suddenly to the fireplace, where there was a pot of boiling water into which he tried to look; but he found that it was only a painting. Imagine his surprise! His nose, which was already long, began to grow longer, nearly equal to four fingers. Then he ran around the room and rummaged through all the drawers and boxes and all the hiding places in search of a piece of bread,—only a little piece of dried bread, a crust, a bone for a dog, a little mush, a fish bone, a kernel of a cherry, in fact anything at all to eat; but he found absolutely nothing.
Meanwhile his hunger constantly increased. Poor Pinocchio had no other relief than that of yawning, and he made such wide gapes that the corners of his mouth touched his ears. After having yawned he felt as if his stomach would go away. Then weeping and despairing, he said: “The Talking Cricket was right. I have behaved badly in turning my back on my papa and running away. If my papa were only here now, I should not find myself dying of yawns. Oh! what a horrible sickness hunger is!”
Suddenly it appeared to him that he saw something on the top of a rubbish heap that very much resembled a hen’s egg. It required but a second to jump to the spot and there he really saw a nice big egg.
It is impossible to describe the joy of the marionette. It is necessary to be a marionette in order to understand it. Fearing that it might be a dream, he turned the egg around in his hands and touched it and kissed it, and kissing it said: “And now, how ought I to cook it? Shall I make an omelet? No, it is better to poach it; or would it not be more savory to scramble it? Or instead of cooking it, I might drink it raw. No, the nicest way is to cook it in a saucepan.”
No sooner said than done. He placed a saucepan above a heap of burning shavings. In the saucepan, instead of oil or butter, he put a little water. When the water began to smoke—tac!—he broke the shell of the egg and held it over the steaming saucepan. He was as in the act of pouring out the egg, when instead of the yolk there appeared a little chicken, very lively and polite. It made a beautiful bow and said: “Many thanks, Mr. Pinocchio, for saving me the trouble of breaking my shell. Good-by! Be good and give my respects to the family.”
Saying this, the little chick spread its wings and flew out of the open window and away so quickly that it was soon out of sight.
The poor marionette remained there stupefied, with his eyes fixed, with his mouth open, and with the eggshell in his hands. He soon came to himself, however, and began to weep, to scream, and to stamp his feet on the ground in desperation, and while weeping he said: “Oh, yes! the Talking Cricket was right. If I had not run away, and if my papa were only here, I should not find myself dying of hunger. Ah! what a horrible sickness hunger is!”
And because his stomach still grumbled more than ever, and because he did not know what else to do, he thought he would go out and run to the little neighboring town, in the hope of finding some charitable person who would help him and give him a piece of bread.