Allegrignac of Cognac, Count of Salençon, was twenty-five years of age, and six feet six high. He had an open countenance, a stout heart, an untiring tongue, limbs of steel, a stomach of leather, and a very slender patrimony. His hair was curly, his teeth were white. He was as proud as a Spaniard, as brave as a Frenchman, as simple-minded as a goose. He was possessed of a pleasant contralto voice, a cheerful spirit, and a grey horse called Serenade.
Picture to yourself a figure clad in complete steel, and with weapons of vast weight, like one of those armed and bandy-legged giants you see in a procession of trades, capable of lifting enormous weights, not to mention cattle, and any other unconsidered trifles he could lay hands on, and you have a portrait of the Baron of Mont-Rognon, Lord of Bourglastic, Tortebesse, and elsewhere. This huge mass of muscle existed only to eat and drink. He was a descendant of Esau on his father’s side, and of Gargantua on his mother’s. He once performed a gigantic feat—he killed six hundred Saracens who happened to get in his way as he was going to dinner. He had an elastic stomach, and a mouth armed with four rows of teeth.
Having described his stomach and his mouth,
I need not go on with the likeness, for all that remained were mere incidental appurtenances.
He arrived third at the place of meeting, leading by the halter a mule laden with provisions and bottles.
“What’s this?” said Allegrignac, laughingly.
“That!” said Mont-Rognon, offended at his bluntness. “That’s supper.”
“What’s the use of that?” said Porc-en-Truie.
Mont-Rognon the Monstrous.
Mont-Rognon in a hurry for his dinner