Vivian GreyDisraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield
ReligionIslamic
Vivian Grey
Disraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield
Bildungsromans; British -- Europe -- Fiction; Political fiction; Politicians -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
“Drown him in the new butt of Moselle,” recommended Rudesheimer. The
suggestion was immediately adopted. Every one rose: the little
Geisenheim already had hold of Vivian’s shoulder; and Grafenberg,
instigated by the cowardly but malicious Rudesheimer, was about to
seize him by the neck. Vivian took the dwarf and hurled him at the
chandelier, in whose brazen chains the little being got entangled, and
there remained. An unexpected cross-buttocker floored the incautious and
unscientific Grafenberg; and following up these advantages, Vivian laid
open the skull of his prime enemy, the retreating Margrave of
Rudesheimer, with the assistance of the horn of Oberon; which flew from
his hand to the other end of the room, from the force with which it
rebounded from the cranium of the enemy. All the rest were now on the
advance; but giving a vigorous and unexpected push to the table, the
Johannisberger and Asmanshausen were thrown over, and the nose of the
former got entangled with the awkward windings of the Fairy King’s horn.
Taking advantage of this move, Vivian rushed to the door. He escaped,
but had not time to secure the lock against the enemy, for the stout
Elector of Steinberg was too quick for him. He dashed down the stairs
with extraordinary agility; but just as he had gained the large
octagonal hall, the whole of his late boon companions, with the
exception of the dwarf of Geisenheim, who was left in the chandelier,
were visible in full chase. Escape was impossible, and so Vivian,
followed by the seven nobles, headed by their President, described with
all possible rapidity a circle round the hall. He gave himself up for
lost; but, luckily, for him, it never occurred to one of his pursuers to
do anything but follow their leader; and as, therefore, they never
dodged Vivian, and as, also, he was a much fleeter runner than the fat
President, whose pace, of course, regulated the progress of his
followers, the party might have gone on at this rate until all of them
had dropped from fatigue, had not the occurrence of a ludicrous incident
prevented this consummation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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