As we were sitting at table, Culufinnel told me that I drank my wine too fast, and that one should never drink wine until well after a meal, or it would go to one’s head. Then he began lecturing me on the wisdom of temperance, and told me that temperance is a most essential virtue. He said that it is easier to be temperate than to be brave. I laughed, and said that it is easier to be brave when one is intemperate, but my brother did not find my jest very amusing, and refused to pour out more wine, even if it was rather weak and watery. He said that only one small serving is allotted to me, and this only rarely, for too much wine inflames the passions and troubles the reason, and it is unsoldierly. A good soldier drinks wine only in small measures, and he who would be wise and live a noble life practices sobriety and arises early. I asked my brother if the noble wise also have someone sneak up to them in the early mornings, and bang a shield over their heads to affright them out of bed, as I have experienced since being placed under his command.
He told me not to interrupt his instruction with foolish asides, but to listen carefully, and perhaps I would learn something for once. Then he went on to say that temperance is necessary for a ruler or any person of power, and it is most unseemly for rulers to lose control of their passions, for only tyrants and madmen put their own selfish, unrestrained wants before the common good, and such behavior is to be despised.
I asked him, then what of King Thranduil’s feasts, which go on all night long, and sometimes last for days, and all the barrels of wine that are guzzled within his halls? He is no tyrant, so he must be referring to our good King as a madman! I said this was treasonous talk, and I did not wish to be a part of the discussion any longer, and he should be very careful. Culufinnel looked mighty disgusted, and that muscle in his jaw twitched again as he ground his teeth together, but he said nothing. I sat back in my chair with a broad grin on my face: I had won, and swept away Culufinnel’s argument with my war of words. It was an unusual victory, as I functioned primarily as his listener during mealtime, and every other time besides.
But my celebration was short-lived. During the pause in conversation, Culufinnel’s sluggish wits were able to cobble together a retort. He said the King’s feasting is completely different, because by holding these revels, and serving strong wine and rich foods, the King pleases his court and all the noble guests invited to his table, and in this way reduces hostilities and eases the raw tempers of opposing factions. He is much beloved for it, and it is a very wise act that the King engages in. But as I know little of wisdom, my brother concluded, I could not comprehend such matters.
I gave him a pitying look and sighed, and said that perhaps his temper would be soothed and his hostility towards his younger brother reduced, if he drank a better quality of wine with each of his meals instead of vinegar, or if his stomach was full of something other than dry rations or tough boiled meat. I suggested he try some juicy boar steaks, or pheasant stuffed with butter and herbs, or maybe some roast lamb scented with cloves and fine spices: as I recall, this was his especial favorite dish at home. Culufinnel looked at his unappetizing plate, and the muscle in his jaw was jerking like the lid on a boiling pot. We ate the rest of our meal in silence, which quite suited me, because all this talk of temperance had given me indigestion.
