- end_line
- 11203
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:09.931Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 11128
- text
- And charge all did.
The venison, wild boar’s meat, and buffalo-humps, were extraordinary;
the wine, of rare vintages, like bottled lightning; and the first
course, a brilliant affair, went off like a rocket.
But as yet, Babbalanja joined not in the revels. His mood was on him;
and apart he sat; silently eyeing the banquet; and ever and anon
muttering,—“Fogle-foggle, fugle-fi.—”
The first fury of the feast over, said King Media, pouring out from a
heavy flagon into his goblet, “Abrazza, these suppers are wondrous fine
things.”
“Ay, my dear lord, much better than dinners.”
“So they are, so they are. The dinner-hour is the summer of the day:
full of sunshine, I grant; but not like the mellow autumn of supper. A
dinner, you know, may go off rather stiffly; but invariably suppers are
jovial. At dinners, ’tis not till you take in sail, furl the cloth, bow
the lady-passengers out, and make all snug; ’tis not till then, that
one begins to ride out the gale with complacency. But at these
suppers—Good Oro! your cup is empty, my dear demi-god!—But at these
suppers, I say, all is snug and ship-shape before you begin; and when
you begin, you waive the beginning, and begin in the middle. And as for
the cloth,—but tell us, Braid-Beard, what that old king of Franko,
Ludwig the Fat, said of that matter. The cloth for suppers, you know.
It’s down in your chronicles.”
“My lord,”—wiping his beard,—“Old Ludwig was of opinion, that at
suppers the cloth was superfluous, unless on the back of some jolly
good friar. Said he, ‘For one, I prefer sitting right down to the
unrobed table.’”
“High and royal authority, that of Ludwig the Fat,” said Babbalanja,
“far higher than the authority of Ludwig the Great:—the one, only great
by courtesy; the other, fat beyond a peradventure. But they are equally
famous; and in their graves, both on a par. For after devouring many a
fair province, and grinding the poor of his realm, Ludwig the Great has
long since, himself, been devoured by very small worms, and ground into
very fine dust. And after stripping many a venison rib, Ludwig the Fat
has had his own polished and bleached in the Valley of Death; yea, and
his cranium chased with corrodings, like the carved flagon once held to
its jaws.”
“My lord! my lord!”—cried Abrazza to Media—“this ghastly devil of yours
grins worse than a skull. I feel the worms crawling over me!—By Oro we
must eject him!”
“No, no, my lord. Let him sit there, as of old the Death’s-head graced
the feasts of the Pharaohs—let him sit—let him sit—for Death but
imparts a flavor to Life—Go on: wag your tongue without fear,
Azzageddi!—But come, Braid-Beard! let’s hear more of the Ludwigs.”
“Well, then, your Highness, of all the eighteen royal Ludwigs of
Franko—”
“Who like so many ten-pins, all in a row,” interposed Babbalanja— “have
been bowled off the course by grim Death.”
“Heed him not,” said Media—“go on.”
“The Debonnaire, the Pious, the Stammerer, the Do-Nothing, the
Juvenile, the Quarreler:—of all these, I say, Ludwig the Fat was the
best table-man of them all. Such a full orbed paunch was his, that no
way could he devise of getting to his suppers, but by getting right
into them. Like the Zodiac his table was circular, and full in the
middle he sat, like a sun;—all his jolly stews and ragouts revolving
around him.”
“Yea,” said Babbalanja, “a very round sun was Ludwig the Fat. No wonder
he’s down in the chronicles; several ells about the waist, and King of
cups and Tokay. Truly, a famous king: three hundred-weight of lard,
with a diadem on top: lean brains and a fat doublet—a demijohn of a
demi-god!”
- title
- Chunk 2