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Mór Jókai könyvei a rukkolán


Mór Jókai - The ​Day of Wrath
Ehhez a könyvhöz nincs fülszöveg, de ettől függetlenül még rukkolható/happolható.

Mór Jókai - The ​Green Book
Ehhez a könyvhöz nincs fülszöveg, de ettől függetlenül még rukkolható/happolható.

Mór Jókai - Peter ​the Priest
There ​were six of them besides the Prior and Abbot. The seventh was away in the village, collecting the gifts of charity. "Benedicite," began the Prior. "Here is a message from our most gracious patroness." With that he laid upon the table a sealed letter in Latin, which the others passed from hand to hand. All understood it, but it was evident that not one of them liked the letter, for they turned up their noses, pursed their lips and knit their eyebrows. "One of us is bidden to the court of our most munificent patroness to educate her only son." "He is a little devil!" exclaimed the Abbot. "He talks and whistles in church," cried another. "He reviles the saints and the souls of the departed." "He torments animals." Each one had something to say; especially the last. "He is the accursed child of a mad mother." "She is the destruction of all men," continued the Abbot. "She sins against all the commandments." "She tramples under foot all the sacraments." "She is a raging fury and a sacrilegious witch." "She sent her husband to his grave with a deadly drink."

Mór Jókai - The ​Slaves of the Padishah
The ​S—— family was one of the richest in Wallachia, and consequently one of the most famous. The head of the family dictated to twelve boyars, collected hearth-money and tithes from four-and-fifty villages, lived nine months in the year at Stambul, held the Sultan's bridle when he mounted his steed in time of war, contributed two thousand lands-knechts to the host of the Pasha of Macedonia, and had permission to keep on his slippers when he entered the inner court of the Seraglio. In the year 1600 and something, George was the name of the first-born of the S—— family, but with him we shall not have very much concern. We shall do much better to follow the fortunes of the second born, Michael, whom his family had sent betimes to Bucharest to be brought up as a priest in the Seminary there. The youth had, however, a remarkably thick head, and, so far from making any great progress in the sciences, was becoming quite an ancient classman, when he suddenly married the daughter of a sub-deacon, and buried himself in a little village in Wallachia. There he spent a good many years of his life with scarce sufficient stipend to clothe him decently, and had he not tilled his soil with his own hands, he would have been hard put to it to find maize-cakes enough to live upon.

Mór Jókai - 'Midst ​the Wild Carpathians
Before ​us lies the valley of the Drave, one of those endless wildernesses where even the wild beast loses its way. Forests everywhere, maples and aspens a thousand years old, with their roots under water; magnificent morasses the surface of which is covered, not with reeds and water-lilies, but with gigantic trees, from the dependent branches of which the vivifying waters force fresh roots. Here the swan builds her nest; here too dwell the royal heron, the blind crow, the golden plover, and other man-shunning animals which are rarely if ever seen in more habitable regions.

Mór Jókai - The ​Golden Age in Transylvania
Ehhez a könyvhöz nincs fülszöveg, de ettől függetlenül még rukkolható/happolható.

Mór Jókai - The ​Poor Plutocrats
"Was ​it you who yawned so, Clementina?" Nobody answered. The questioner was an old gentleman in his eightieth year or so, dressed in a splendid flowered silk Kaftan, with a woollen night-cap on his head, warm cotton stockings on his feet, and diamond, turquoise, and ruby rings on his fingers. He was reclining on an atlas ottoman, his face was as wooden as a mummy's, a mere patch-work of wrinkles, he had a dry, thin, pointed nose, shaggy, autumnal-yellow eyebrows, and his large prominent black eyes protected by irritably sensitive eyelids, lent little charm to his peculiar cast of countenance. "Well! Will nobody answer? Who yawned so loudly behind my back just now?" he asked again, with an angry snort. "Will nobody answer?" Nobody answered, and yet there was a sufficient number of people in the room to have found an answer between them. In front of the hearth was sitting a young woman about thirty or thirty-five, with just such a strongly-pronounced pointed nose, with just such high raised eyebrows as the old gentleman's, only her face was still red (though the favour of Nature had not much to do with that perhaps) and her eyebrows were still black; but her thin lips were just as hermetically sealed as the old man's, when she was not speaking. This young woman was playing at Patience.

Mór Jókai - Told ​by the Death's Head
The ​hero of our romantic narrative, or better, narratives, was a constable. Not one of that useful class appointed, in our day, to direct the vehicles which pass over the two approaches to the suspension-bridge in Budapest; rather, he was the chief of a body whose task it is to provoke disturbance, who win all the more praise and glory the greater the havoc and destruction they create. In a word: he was a gunner. The chronicle of his exploits gives only his Christian name, which was "Hugo." In the year 1688, when the French beleaguered Coblentz, Hugo had charge of the battery in the outermost tower of Ehrenbreitstein fortress—the "Montalembert Tower." Coblentz and Ehrenbreitstein are opposite one another on the banks of the Rhine, as are Pesth and Ofen; and the Blocksberg looks down on us, as does the citadel of Ehrenbreitstein on Coblentz. The city, which is strongly fortified on all sides, had become accustomed to being beleaguered—now by the French, now by the Prussians; today by the Austrians, tomorrow by the Swedes. On the occasion of which I write, Coblentz was under a terrible fire from the French guns, which created great havoc in that portion of the city known as the "Old Town."

Mór Jókai - A ​Hungarian Nabob
It ​is nasty, dirty weather outside there on the puszta; the sky is cloudy, the earth muddy, the rain has been falling for two weeks incessantly, as if by special command. There are inundations and submersions everywhere; rushes are growing instead of wheat, the stork is ploughing, the duck is fishing all over the precious sea-like expanse. "This judgment weather began on St. Medardus' Day, and will last now for forty days longer, but if it does last, I know not where we are to find the Noah to save man and beast from a partial deluge."

Mór Jókai - The ​Yellow Rose
This ​happened when no train crossed the Hortobágy, when throughout the Alföld there was not a railway, and the water of the Hortobágy had not been regulated. The two-wheeled mill clattered gaily in the little river, and the otter lived happily among the reeds. At the first streak of dawn, a horseman came riding across the flat Zám puszta, which lies on the far side of the Hortobágy River (taking Debreczin as the centre of the world). Whence did he come? Whither was he going? Impossible to guess. The puszta has no pathway, grass grows over hoof-print and cart track. Up to the endless horizon there is nothing but grass, not a tree, a well pole, or a hut to break the majestic green plain. The horse went its way instinctively. Its rider dozing, nodded in the saddle, first on one side, then the other, but never let slip his foot from the stirrup.

Mór Jókai - The ​Baron's Sons
The ​post-prandial orator was in the midst of his toast, the champagne-foam ran over the edge of his glass and trickled down his fat fingers, his lungs were expanded and his vocal chords strained to the utmost in the delivery of the well-rounded period upon which he was launched, and the blood was rushing to his head in the generous enthusiasm of the moment. In that brilliant circle of guests every man held his hand in readiness on the slender stem of his glass and waited, all attention, for the toast to come to an end in a final dazzling display of oratorical pyrotechnics. The attendants hastened to fill the half-empty glasses, and the leader of the gypsy orchestra, which was stationed at the farther end of the hall, held his violin-bow in the air, ready to fall in at the right moment with a burst of melody that should drown the clinking of glasses at the close of the toast.

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Mór Jókai - Manasseh
Our ​story opens in an Italian railway station, in the spring of 1848. From a train that had just arrived, the passengers were hastening to secure their places in another that stood waiting for them. A guard had succeeded in crowding a party of two ladies and a gentleman into one of these itinerant prison-cells, which already contained seven occupants, before the newcomers perceived that they were being imposed upon. A vigorous protest followed. The elder of the two ladies, seizing the guard by the arm, addressed him in an angry tone, first in German, then in French. With the calm indifference of an automaton, the uniformed official pointed to a placard against the wall. Per dieci persone was the inscription it bore. Ten persons, it seemed, were expected to find places here. "But we have first-class tickets," protested the lady, producing a bit of yellow pasteboard in proof of her assertion.

Mór Jókai - Tales ​From Jókai
In ​the days when Kuczuk was the Pasha of Grosswardein, the good city of Debreczen had a very bad time of it. This whimsical Turk, whenever some little trifle had put him out of humour with the citizens of Debreczen, would threaten to ravage the town from end to end with fire and sword, cut the men to mincemeat, carry off all the women into captivity, pack up all the treasures of the town in sacks, and sow with salt the place where once it had stood. At first the prudent and pacific magistrates of Debreczen used to soothe the heavy displeasure of the whimsical Pasha with fair-spoken entreaties, good words, and precious gifts; but one day Master Stephen Dobozy was elected governor, and being a short-necked, fiery-tempered man, it so happened that when, for some cause or other, Kuczuk Pasha again began to murmur against them, and threatened the Debreczeners that this time he really would come to them, Dobozy sent back this message: "Let him come if he likes."

Mór Jókai - The ​Corsair King
Ehhez a könyvhöz nincs fülszöveg, de ettől függetlenül még rukkolható/happolható.

Mór Jókai - The ​Nameless Castle
To ​a man who has earned such titles as "The Shakespeare of Hungary" and "The Glory of Hungarian Literature"; who published in fifty years three hundred and fifty novels, dramas, and miscellaneous works, not to mention innumerable articles for the press that owes its freedom chiefly to him, it seems incredible that there was ever a time of indecision as to what career he was best fitted to follow. The idle life of the nobility into which Maurus Jókay was born in 1825 had no attractions for a strongly intellectual boy, fired with zeal and energy that carried him easily to the head of each class in school and college; nor did he feel any attraction for the prosaic practice of law, his father's profession, to which Austria's despotism drove many a nobleman in those wretched days for Hungary. It was Pétofi, the poet, who was his dearest friend during the student-life at Pápa; idealism ever attracted him, and, by natural gravitation toward the finest minds, he chose the friendship of young men who quickly rose into eminence during the days of revolution and invasion that tried men's souls.

Mór Jókai - Debts ​of Honor
At ​that time I was but ten years old, my brother Lorand sixteen; our dear mother was still young, and father, I well remember, no more than thirty-six. Our grandmother, on my father's side, was also of our party, and at that time was some sixty years of age; she had lovely thick hair, of the pure whiteness of snow. In my childhood I had often thought how dearly the angels must love those who keep their hair so beautiful and white; and used to have the childish belief that one's hair grows white from abundance of joy. It is true, we never had any sorrow; it seemed as if our whole family had contracted some secret bond of unity, whereby each member thereof bound himself to cause as much joy and as little sorrow as possible to the others.

Mór Jókai - Dr. ​Dumany's Wife
It ​was about the close of the year 1876 when, on my road to Paris, I boarded the St. Gothard railway-train. Travellers coming from Italy had already taken possession of the sleeping-car compartments, and I owed it solely to the virtue of an extraordinarily large tip that I was at last able to stretch my weary limbs upon the little sofa of a half-coupé. It was not a very comfortable resting-place, inasmuch as this carriage was the very last in an immensely long train, and one must be indeed fond of rocking to enjoy the incessant shaking, jostling, and rattling in this portion of the train. But still it was much preferable to the crowded carriages, peopled with old women carrying babies, giggling maidens, snoring or smoking men, and hilarious children; so I made the best of it, and prepared for a doze.

Mór Jókai - Black ​Diamonds
We ​are in the depths of an underground cavern. It is bad enough to be underground, but here we are all enveloped in black as well: the ceiling is black, so are the walls; they are made of blocks of coal. The floor is one great black looking-glass. It is a sort of pond, polished as steel. Over this polished surface glistens the reflection of a solitary light, the light of a safety-lamp shining through a wire net. A man guides himself over the pond in a narrow boat. By the doubtful light of the lamp he sees high pillars, which rise out of the depths below and reach to the very roof of the cavern—pillars slender, like the columns of a Moorish palace. These pillars are half white and half black; up to a certain point only are they coal black, beyond that they are light in color. What are these pillars? They are the stems of pines and palm-trees. These gigantic stems are quite at home in the layers over the coal-mine, but how have they descended here? They belong to another world—the world of light and air. The coal layers overhead sometimes take fire of themselves, and the fire, being intense, has loosened the hold of these giants and sent them below.

Mór Jókai - Eyes ​Like the Sea
Never ​in my life have I seen such wonderful eyes! One might construct a whole astronomy out of them. Every changeful mood was there reflected; so I have called them "Eyes like the Sea." When first I met pretty Bessy, we were both children. She was twelve years old, I was a hobbledehoy of sixteen. We were learning dancing together. A Frenchman had taken up his quarters in our town, an itinerant dancing-master, who set the whole place in a whirl. His name was Monsieur Galifard. He had an extraordinarily large head, a bronzed complexion, eyebrows running into each other, and short legs; and on the very tip of his large aquiline nose was a big wart. Yet, for all that, he was really charming. Whenever he danced or spoke, he instantly became irresistible. All our womankind came thither on his account; all of them I say, from nine years old and upwards to an age that was quite incalculable. I recall the worthy man with the liveliest gratitude. I have to thank him for the waltz and the quadrille, as well as for the art of picking up a fallen fan without turning my back upon the lady. Bessy was the master's greatest trouble. She would never keep time; she would never take to the elegant "pli," and he could never wean her from her wild and frolicsome ways. Woe to the dancer who became her partner!

Mór Jókai - Halil ​the Pedlar
On ​September 28th, 1730, a rebellion burst forth in Stambul against Sultan Achmed III., whose cowardly hesitation to take the field against the advancing hosts of the victorious Persians had revolted both the army and the people. The rebellion began in the camp of the Janissaries, and the ringleader was one Halil Patrona, a poor Albanian sailor-man, who after plying for a time the trade of a petty huckster had been compelled, by crime or accident, to seek a refuge among the mercenary soldiery of the Empire. The rebellion was unexpectedly, amazingly successful. The Sultan, after vainly sacrificing his chief councillors to the fury of the mob, was himself dethroned by Halil, and Mahmud I. appointed Sultan in his stead. For the next six weeks the ex-costermonger held the destiny of the Ottoman Empire in his hands till, on November 25th, he and his chief associates were treacherously assassinated in full Divan by the secret command, and actually in the presence of, the very monarch whom he had drawn from obscurity to set upon the throne.

Mór Jókai - Ein ​ungarischer Nabob
Diesen ​frühen,aber sehr bedeutenden Roman des grohenErzahlers Jókai(1825-1904) hera uszugeben ist besonders aktuell , da das erwachte Interesse and der romantischen ,phantasievollen,anGeschehnisssen reichen Literratur in der ganzen Welt gewachsen ist.

Mór Jókai - Kanlı ​Lâle
Yazarın ​konusunu Türk Tarihinden alan romanlarından biri olan Beyaz Gül'de (Kanlı Lale) III. Ahmed (1703-1730) döneminde Patrona Halil'in, Sultanın odalıklarından Beyaz Gül'e olan aşkı, O'nunla evlenmesi, yükselişi ve düşüşü anlatılmaktadır. Yazar, Türk idaresindeki Macaristan'ı ve Türklüğü yakından ilgilendiren, Erdel'in Altın Çağı, Macaristan'da Türklük Alemi, Yeniçerilerin Son Günleri gibi eserler kaleme almış, meşhur bir Macar romancısıdır.

Mór Jókai - The ​Man with the Golden Touch
Ehhez a könyvhöz nincs fülszöveg, de ettől függetlenül még rukkolható/happolható.

Mór Jókai - Die ​letzten tage der Janitscharen
Der ​aus Historie und Phantasie gewobene Hochspannungsroman von Mór Jókai (1825-1904), dem Mesitererzähler der ungarichen Romantik, ist wie die vielen anderen seiner Werke noch zu seinen Lebzeiten in alle Weltsprachen übersetzt worden; deutsch werden sie immer wieder neu übersetzt und verlegt. Der Schauplatz des 1854 geschriebenen Romans ist der Orient, die Zet um 1820, als Ali Pascha von Jannina, ein albanischer Emporkömmling, seine Hand nach dem Sultansthron ausstreckt. Erst bekämpft er die griechischen Freiheitskämpfer, dann verbündet er sich mit ihnen, so macht er es auch mit den Janitscharen, die Staat im Staatte sind; er schiebt die Menschen wie Schachfiguren hin und her, bis sich dann alle - der Sultan, seine Söhne, seine Lieblingsfrau - gegen ihn verschwören. Mit dem Sieg über Ali feiert der Sultan zugleich auch den Sieg über die aufständischen Janitscharen. Allerdings zerbricht er mit diesem doppelten blutigen Sieg die stärksten Waffen, die er zum Schutz seines Reiches so nötig hätte. Außer Alis überragender Figur haben besonders drei Frauengestalten einprägsame Konturen: Emine, Ali Paschas treulose und bis in den Tod treue Lieblingsfrau; Artemis, die heldenhafte Anführerin der griechischen Freiheitskämpfer, und Milieva, die mit ihrer mädchenhaften Anmut und heldischen Opferbereitschaft an des Sultans Seite unser Herz gewinnt. Eines haben alle drei gemeinsam: die Leichtigkeit, mit der ihre bezaubernde Fraulichkeit in männlichen Heldenmut übergeht. Damit passen sie sich der Welt des Orients, aber auch dem Stil der Romantik an.

Mór Jókai - Ein ​Goldmensch
In ​den fast 100 Jahren seit seinem ersten Erscheinen (1873) ist "Ein Goldmensch" ungarisch und in Übersetzungen zahllose Male neuverlegt worden. Mit gutem Recht erscheint auch diese deutsche Ausgabe: Die Geschichte des Kaufmanns Timár, in dessen Hand alles zu Gold wird, dem alles gelingt, außer der eigenen Ehe, und der schließlich Reichtum und Ruhm aufgibt, um auf einer verborgenen Donauinsel an der Seite einer liebenden Frau in naturnahmen , idyllischem Leben des Glück zu finden, enthält alles, was ein moderner kritisch-realistischer und psychologier Roman bieten kann. Aber was den Goldmenschen und Jókai überhaupt unvergänglich macht, ist nicht das, sondern die Erzählerfreude, die an überraschenden Wendungen reiche Handlung, in die der realistische Inhalt eingekleidet ist; es sind die vielen markenten Figuren, die unvergleichlichen Naturbilder - Requisiten der besten Romantik -, die den heutigen Menschen in eine nicht unwirkliche, aber doch so ferne Welt wohlig zu entrücken vermögen.

Mór Jókai - Die ​beiden Trenck
Mór ​Jókai (1825-1904) ist der in der ganzen Welt bekannteste und beliebteste Meister der ungarischen Prosa. Seine an abenteuerlichen Wendungen reichen historischen und gesellschaftskritischen Romane, die den Gegensatz zwischen gut und böse in phantasievollen Bildern darstellen, seine unerschöpfliche Fabulierlust, sein Einfallsreichtum, seine oftmals exotisch anmutende Romantik und seine durch eine gute Portion Humor wieder ausgeglichenen wilden Extreme sind seit anderthalb Jahrhunderten für jung und alt, für all seine Bewunderer eine lehrreiche Lektüre. Der Roman "Die beiden Trenck" erzählt das Leben zweier Abenteurer aus der Mitte des 18. Jahrhunderts. Die beiden Helden, der preußische Friedrich von der Trenck und der österreichisch-ungarische Franz von der Trenck, sind Vettern und charakterlich doch grundverschieden. Ihr Leben aber gleicht sich, ist ausgefüllt von Krieg, Liebe, Gefangenschaft und Flucht, ein einziges von Wirklichkeit und Geschichte geschriebenes Abenteuer, in dem neben den beiden Hauptgestalten die Großen der Zeit, Kaiser, Könige, Feldherren, und schöne Frauen auftreten, der Glanz von Wien, Berlin und Charlottenburg leuchtet und die Flammen des österreichischen Erbfolgekrieges auflodern.

Mór Jókai - Pußtafrühling
Ehhez a könyvhöz nincs fülszöveg, de ettől függetlenül még rukkolható/happolható.

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