Mór Jókai

Mór Jókai

Summary

Portrait of Mór Jókai Mór Jókai The Tower of Dago

But Zeno too had vanished. He was no longer where he had left him.
Feodor stretched his body far out of the open window and shrieked his brother's name. There was no response but the dull dashing of the waves against the rocks below.
When he raised his eyes again and looked towards the war-ship an icy chill ran through his heart. The windows of the vessel were all lighted up, and the crew were lining the bulwarks.
"Betrayed!—utterly betrayed!" he cried in despair as he cursed and abjured the Devil and all his works. "Nay, there is no Devil!—there is nothing!—nothing!"
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mór Jókai Mór Jókai The Tower of Dago

One might well have grounds, he imagined, for shutting oneself off from the world along with a woman whose face no one might look upon except a child no older than the tower itself.
And yet, had he but known it, the woman might have been safely seen by any one on earth except Zeno von Ungern alone. Had he seen her, he must at once have recognised the nurse of his brother's child—the girl he had so often seen when visiting Feodor's castle. The features of women, too, do not alter like those of men.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mór Jókai Mór Jókai The Tower of Dago

And when the setting sun, bursting through a cloud, casts his rays upon the dead giant rising there in his solitude, while round about the low ashen clouds seem almost to touch his head; when the sea roars beneath and breaks in foam against his feet; when the reflected sunlight streams back, like the rays of a lighthouse, from some window the panes of which are haply still unshattered—then the glowing colossus seems a very Polyphemus, who with his one eye dares to defy the gods and wage eternal feud with men. That is the Tower of Dago.
Source: Gutenberg

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