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Baron Trump's Marvelous Underground Journey
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Описание:
Ingersoll Lockwood, Baron Trump's Marvelous Underground Journey
Автор:
vIRwO
Создан:
20 июня 2020 в 20:15 (текущая версия от 21 ноября 2021 в 21:51)
Публичный:
Да
Тип словаря:
Книга
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Информация:
Ingersoll Lockwood (1841-1918), born in Ossining, New York, was an American lawyer and fiction writer. His writings often mixed fantasy and science fiction, even at a time before the use of commonly adhered-to distinctions between these modes of the fantastic, in a way that anticipated L. Frank Baum’s Oz books. Lockwood’s sequence comprises The Travels and Adventures of Little Baron Trump and His Wonderful Dog Bulger (1890) and Baron Trump's Marvellous Underground Journey (1893), the latter being a fantastic voyage into the “hollow earth,” where the surreal domains of various peoples are found, including the Transparent Folk and the Rattlebrains. Lockwood also published 1900: Or, the Last President (1896), a political satire.

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1 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF
WILHELM HEINRICH SEBASTIAN VON TROOMP,
COMMONLY CALLED
LITTLE BARON TRUMP
As doubting Thomases seem to take particular pleasure in popping up on all occasions, Jack-in-the-Box-like, it may be well to head them off in this particular instance by proving that Baron Trump was a real baron, and not a mere baron of the mind.
2 The family was originally French Huguenot – De la Trompe – which, upon the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, took refuge in Holland, where its head assumed the name of Van der Troomp, just as many other of the French Protestants rendered their names into Dutch.
3 Some years later, upon the invitation of the Elector of Brandenburg, Niklas Van der Troomp became a subject of that prince, and purchased a large estate in the province of Pomerania, again changing his name, this time to Von Troomp.
The "Little Baron," so called from his diminutive stature, was born some time in the latter part of the seventeenth century.
4 He was the last of his race in the direct line, although cousins of his are today well-known Pomeranian gentry.
He began his travels at an incredibly early age, and filled his castle with such strange objects picked up here and there in the far away corners of the world, that the simple-minded peasantry came to look upon him as half bigwig and half magician - hence the growth of the many myths and fanciful stories concerning this indefatigable globe-trotter.
5 The date of his death cannot be fixed with any certainty; but this much may be said: Among the portraits of Pomeranian notables hanging in the Rathhaus at Stettin, there is one picturing a man of low stature, and with a head much too large for his body.
He is dressed in some outlandish costume, and holds in his left hand a grotesque image in ivory, most elaborately carved.
6 The broad face is full of intelligence, and the large gray eyes are lighted up with a good-natured but quizzical look that invariably attracts attention. The man's right hand rests upon the back of a dog sitting on a table and looking straight out with an air of dignity that shows that he knew he was sitting for his portrait.
7 If a visitor asks the guide who this man is, he always gets for answer: –
"Oh, that's the Little Baron!"
But little Baron who, that's the question?
Why may it not be the famous Wilhelm Heinrich Sebastian von Troomp, commonly called "Little Baron Trump," and his wonderful dog Bulger?.
8 Chapter 1
BULGER IS GREATLY ANNOYED BY THE FAMILIARITY OF THE VILLAGE DOGS AND THE PRESUMPTION OF THE HOUSE CATS. – HIS HEALTH SUFFERS THEREBY, AND HE IMPLORES ME TO SET OUT ON MY TRAVELS AGAIN. I READILY CONSENT, FOR I HAD BEEN READING OF THE WORLD WITHIN A WORLD IN A MUSTY OLD MS. WRITTEN BY THE LEARNED DON FUM. – PARTING INTERVIEWS WITH THE ELDER BARON AND THE GRACIOUS BARONESS MY MOTHER. – PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE.
9 Bulger was not himself at all, dear friends. There was a lack-lustre look in his eyes, and his tail responded with only a half-hearted wag when I spoke to him. I say half-hearted, for I always had a notion that the other end of Bulger's tail was fastened to his heart.
10 His appetite, too, had gone down with his spirits; and he rarely did anything more than sniff at the dainty food which I set before him, although I tried to tempt him with fried chickens' livers and toasted cocks' combs – two of his favorite dishes.
There was evidently something on his mind, and yet it never occurred to me what that something was; for to be honest about it, it was something which of all things I never should have dreamed of finding there.
 

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