...Когда же, от огорчения, печень его увеличится...
And thou, most beautiful of all - thou evening star of entremets - thou that delightest in truffles, and gloriest in a dark cloud of sauces - exquisite foie-gras! - Have I forgotten thee? Do I not, on the contrary, see thee - smell thee - taste thee -and almost die with rapture of thy possession? What, though the goose, of which thou art a part, has, indeed, been roasted alive by a slow fire, in order to increase thy divine proportions - yet has not our Almanach - the Almanach des Gourmands - truly declared that the goose rejoiced amid all her tortures - because of the glory that awaited her? Did she not, in prophetic vision, behold her enlarged and ennobled foie dilate into pates and steam into sautees - the companion of truffles - the glory of dishes - the delight - the treasure - the transport of gourmands! O, exalted among birds - apotheosised goose, did not thy heart exult even when thy liver parched and swelled within thee, from that most agonizing death; and didst thou not, like the Indian at the stake, triumph in the very torments which alone could render thee illustrious?
Edward Bulwer Lytton, Pelham, Ch. XXII.
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