(_The starveling is led away. King Hunger addresses the spectators in a frank and joyous manner._) Now, ladies and gentlemen, I propose recess for luncheon. Adjudication is a fatiguing affair, and we need to invigorate ourselves. (_Gallantly._) Especially our charming matrons and the young ladies. Please! (_Joyful exclamations._) --To dine! To dine! --'Tis about time! --Mamma dear, where are the bonbons? --Your little mind is only on bonbons! --Which--is tried? (_Waking up._) --Dinner is ready, Your Excellency. --Ah! Why didn't you wake me up before? (_Everything assumes at once a happy, amiable, homelike aspect. The judges pull off their wigs, exposing their bald heads, and gradually they lose themselves in the crowd, shake hands, and with feigned indifference they look askance, contemplating the dining. Portly waiters in rich liveries, with difficulty and bent under the weight of immense dishes, bring gigantic portions; whole mutton trunks, colossal hams, high, mountain-like roasts. Before the stout man, on a low stool, they place a whole roasted pig, which is brought in by three. Doubtful, he looks at it._) --Would you assist me, Professor? --With pleasure, Your Excellency. --And you, Honorable Judge? --Although I am not hungry--but with your leave-- --I may, perhaps, be suffered to--(_the Abbot modestly speaks, his mouth watering._) (_The four seat themselves about the pig and silently they carve it greedily with their knives. Occasionally the eyes of the Professor and of the Abbot meet, and with swollen cheeks, powerless to chew, they are smitten with reciprocal hatred and contempt. Then choking, they ardently champ on. Everywhere small groups eating. Death produces a dry cheese sandwich from his pocket and eats in solitude. A heavy conversation of full-crammed mouths. Munching._) London BY HEINRICH HEINE (German poet and essayist, one of the most musical and most unhappy of singers; 1797-1856) It is in the dusky twilight that Poverty with her mates, Vice and Crime, glide forth from their lairs. They shun daylight the more anxiously, the more cruelly their wretchedness contrasts with the pride of wealth which glitters everywhere; only Hunger sometimes drives them at noonday from their dens, and then they stand with silent, speaking eyes, staring beseechingly at the rich merchant who hurries along, busy and jingling gold, or at the lazy lord who, like a surfeited god, rides by on his high horse, casting now and then an aristocratically indifferent glance at the mob below, as though they were swarming ants, or, at all events, a mass of baser beings, whose joys and sorrows have nothing in common with his feelings....