a stewing pan over a brazier of red charcoal. Instead of oil or butter, he put some water in it and when the water began to boil – tac! he broke the eggshell and held it over the pan that the contents might drop into it.
But instead of the yolk and white of an egg, a little chicken flew out and, making a polite curtsy, said gaily, ‘A thousand thanks, Master Pinocchio, for having spared me the trouble of breaking the shell! Take care of yourself, and give my love to the folks at home. I hope to see you again.’
With that, the chicken spread its wings and, flying through the open window, was soon lost to sight.
The poor puppet stood there as if bewitched, with his eyes fixed, his mouth open, and the broken eggshell in his hands. When he recovered a little from his first bewilderment, he began to cry, and scream, and stamp on the floor in despair; and as he sobbed he said, ‘Indeed, the talking cricket was right. If I hadn’t run away from home, and if my father were here, I should not now be dying of hunger. Oh, hunger is a dreadful illness!’
His stomach was complaining more than ever and, as he did not know how to quieten it, he decided to go out again into the village, in the hope of meeting some charitable person who would give him some bread.
Pinocchio falls asleep with his feet on the brazier, and, when he wakes up in the morning, finds them burnt off
It was a windy, cold night. The thunder was fierce, and the lightning as violent as though the sky was on fire. A bitter wind whistled angrily, raising clouds of dust and making the trees tremble and groan.
Pinocchio was frightened of thunder, but he was still more hungry than frightened; so he opened the door, and ran as fast as he could to the village, which he soon reached, panting, with his tongue hanging out like a hunting dog’s.
But all was dark and quiet. The shops were closed, the doors and windows shut, and there was not even a dog in the street. It seemed a village of the dead.
However Pinocchio, driven by hunger and despair, gave a very long peal at the doorbell of one of the houses, saying to himself, ‘This will bring somebody out.’
And indeed, a little old man with a nightcap on his head came to the window, and shouted angrily, ‘What do you want at this hour?’
‘Will you be so kind as to give me some bread?’
‘Wait! I’ll be back at once!’ said the old man, believing that he had to do with one of those street urchins who amuse themselves at night by ringing doorbells, and rousing good people who are sleeping peacefully.
In half a minute the window was opened, and the same voice called Pinocchio, ‘Stand under the window, and hold out your hand!’
Pinocchio held out his hands, and a great kettle of water poured down on him, drenching him from head to foot, as if he had been a pot of dry geraniums.
He went home wet as a rag and exhausted with fatigue and hunger. He had no strength to stand, and so he sat down, and put his wet, muddy feet on the brazier full of burning coal.
Then he fell asleep, and while he was asleep his feet, which were wooden, caught fire, and slowly burned away to cinders.
Pinocchio slept and snored, as though his feet belonged to someone else. At last, at daybreak, he was awakened by someone rapping on the door.
‘Who is it?’ he called, yawning, and rubbing his eyes.
‘It is I!’ answered a voice.
And it was the voice of Geppetto.
Geppetto comes home, and gives Pinocchio the breakfast that the poor man had brought for himself
Poor Pinocchio’s eyes were still half closed, and he had not noticed that his feet were burnt off. Thus, when he heard his father’s voice, he tumbled down from his stool to run and open the door; but, after staggering a couple of times, he fell his full length on the floor, making a noise as of a whole bag of wooden ladles falling from the fifth storey.
‘Open the door!’ cried Geppetto from the street.
‘I can’t, Daddy,’ answered the marionette, crying, and rolling over and over on the floor.
‘Why not?’
‘Because somebody has eaten my feet!’
‘And who has eaten them?’
‘The cat,’ said Pinocchio, seeing the cat who was just then playing with some shavings with his forepaws.
‘Open the door, I tell you!’ Geppetto cried again. ‘If you don’t, I’ll give you the cat-o’-nine-tails when I get in!’
‘Believe me, I can’t stand up. Oh, poor me! Poor me! I shall have to walk on my knees for the rest of my life!’
Geppetto, thinking that all this complaint was just another of Pinocchio’s tricks, decided to end it for good. He climbed up the wall, and got in at the window.
At first he was angry, and scolded him; but, when he saw his own Pinocchio lying on the floor, and really without feet, his anger vanished.
He took him in his arms, kissed and caressed him, spoke many affectionate words and, with tears on his cheeks, he said, sobbing, ‘My dear little Pinocchio, how did you burn your feet?’
‘I don’t know, Daddy. But believe me, it has been a horrid night. I shall never forget it as long as I live. It thundered and lightninged, and I was very hungry, and the talking cricket said, “It serves you right; you have been wicked and you deserve it!” And I said, “Be careful, cricket!” And he said, “You are a puppet, and you have a wooden head!” And I threw the hammer at him, and he died; but it was his fault, for I didn’t want to kill him. And the proof of that is that I put the pan on the brazier, but the chicken flew away and said, “Good-bye, I shall see you again. Give my love to the folks!” And I got more and more hungry; and for that reason the little old man with the nightcap opened the window, and said, “Stand under the window and hold up your hat!” And I got a kettleful of water on my head. It isn’t a disgrace to ask for a bit of bread, is it? I ran back home as quick as I could; and because I was so very hungry, I put my feet on the brazier to dry them. And then you came home, and I felt that my feet were burnt off, and I’m still so hungry, but I have no more feet! Boo-hoo-hoo!’ And poor Pinocchio began to cry and scream so loudly that he could have been heard five miles away.
Geppetto had only understood one thing of all this jumble of words – that Pinocchio was dying of hunger.
He took three pears out of his pocket, and said, giving them to him, ‘These three pears were for my breakfast, but I willingly give them to you. Eat them, and may they do you good!’
‘If you want me to eat them, kindly peel them for me.’
‘Peel them
