'Would this be better, my lord?' says Chamberlain Fecklenburg, lighting a lamp.
'Ooh, yes, that's much better!' replies the prince happily as the room moves from pitch black to a warm and rosy glow.
'My lord, can I ask you why you were sitting in the dark?'
'Yes, chamberlain, you can'.
There are a few moments of silence.
There is a barely audiable sigh from Fecklenburg. 'And why, my lord, were you sitting in the dark?'
'So, Fecklenburg, that I do not have contemplate the ruin of my evening - an evening that I was very much looking forwards to'.
'And what entertainment was lined up, sire?'
Rupprecht points to a pair of oars that are lying on the floor.
'You ordered the staff to procure you a pair of oars for the evening?' asks the chamberlain with some interest. 'What, my lord, did you intend to do? This isn't ...' he looks around concernedly '... this isn't some sort of English entertainment is it?'
The prince snorts derisively. 'Look around Fecklenburg - can you see any steak and kidney puddings?'
'There was that incident, sire, with the fried potatoes and the peas that were mushed up ...'
'No Fecklenburg, there was just an English actress who should have tested the temperature better before asking me "would you like gravy on that?" No, chamberlain, my evening has been ruined by cloth-eared servants that don't pay attention to what I'm saying'.
'It wasn't a pair of oars that you wanted, my lord?'
'Of course not: I wanted something altogether ... fruitier'.
'That, sire, would explain the large pair of melons that I saw in the hallway. You asked for a pair of oars with enormous melons?'
'That isn't at all what I asked for'.
'I see, my lord', says Fecklenburg, nodding at last. 'Oh, I see. You seem to have obtained wood of an entirely different kind. Well perhaps, sire, you need to enunciate more clearly'.
'Why, chamberlain? I can't see the relevance here of religion. But now my evening is all ruined. What am I going to do now? Where am I going to put those?' he points at the wooden implements.
'Certain suggestions leap to mind, sire - but let us leave such matters.'
Fecklenburg continues. 'With your evening free, sire, would that not leave time to discuss the dreadful loss of the town of Schwettinbad?'
'Rupprecht considers this carefully. 'No'.
'But many of your citizens were slaughtered in the fight sire!'
'There's probably a bright side somewhere', says the prince resentfully. 'You can’t say "slaughter" without saying "laughter"'.
'My lord, the Vulgarians have made off with a great array of goods and chattels'.
'That's sad, obviously', says the prince giving his nose a thorough rummaging with his finger. 'But you know, on the bright side, it's not my stuff that they've taken'.
'But in a way, sire it is: you have always been an advocate sire, I believe, that what is yours is yours; and what is your subjects is also yours, should you tell them to give it to you. So in a way, the Vulgarians are stealing from you. And of course, the things that they've done to the local pigs ...'
'The local pigs!' says Rupprecht horrified. 'What things?'
'Vulgarian things, my lord'.
'Well that just won't do! We must recapture the town! How can it be done?'
'The Vulgarians have left a garrison and have now, by all accounts, begun to withdraw to Fenwickian territory'.
'Shouldn't we stop them, Fecklenburg? I mean, think of the pigs!'
'I could send a message post-haste to the nearest of our allied forces, sire. The Rotenburgers are within striking distance of the enemy!'
'Do it, Fecklenburg! Think big: think pig!'
