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    The Tower of Dago
    The Tower of Dago
    The Tower of Dago
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    The Tower of Dago

    By Jókai Mór

    ()

    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 26, 2013
    The Tower of Dago

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      Book preview

      The Tower of Dago - Jókai Mór

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tower of Dago, by Mór Jókai

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: The Tower of Dago

      Author: Mór Jókai

      Release Date: May 26, 2010 [EBook #32538]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TOWER OF DAGO ***

      Produced by Steven desJardins and the Online Distributed

      Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was

      produced from scanned images of public domain material

      from the Google Print project.)

      The Tower of Dago

      He threw the lamp-light on her face (p. 89)

      The Tower of Dago

      By Maurus Jókai

      Illustrations by A. M. Bishop

      Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.

      At the Ballantyne Press

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER I

      The Tower

      As the steamer from Stralsund is approaching the Gulf of Finland, the passenger's attention is attracted by an object which projects high out of the sea. He will hear the seamen call it the Tower of Dago. An old and wealthy Englishman, he may be told, on one occasion felt impelled by curiosity to ask the captain what it would cost him to examine the ruin close at hand. The answer was clothed in language less polite than forcible: Merely the shrivelled skin and dried-up bones you carry about with you, sir!

      For hitherto the Tower of Dago has been spared an appearance in our art galleries only by the circumstance that it cannot well be got before the painter's easel. It is built upon the outermost point of a rocky promontory of the great island of Dago. The projecting headland lies obliquely across the northern current, and the sea makes a ceaseless seething whirlpool round the obstruction. The sea-bottom all around is strewn with most perilous reefs. Among their intricate labyrinths even the skiffs of the most adroit boatmen are in danger of being dashed in pieces.

      And yet, for a sight of the Tower of Dago one might well risk one's life, especially at a time when the raging storm is clothing it with all its picturesque grandeur.

      The extreme ledge of the promontory is a great block of reddish-brown rock. It rises precipitously out of the dark green waves, which incessantly storm it with their foam-crested dragon-heads. Some spring-tide monster will often lash itself aloft to the very summit, frightening the seagulls and eagles that love to range themselves along the verge of the rock.

      From this ledge rises a six-sided tower some hundred and fifty feet high. The lower part is built in Cyclopean fashion, of massive uncut blocks of rock. The upper portion is of red stones. These reach to the very summit of the tower, the battlements of which are to-day surmounted by the luxuriant green of juniper shrubs. 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.

      But in perfect calm the scene is changed. Veiled in translucent mists, the tower rises aloft in grand repose beneath the hot, unclouded summer sky. Towards the summit it shows a great semi-circular gap like a mighty mouth petrified in the act of making an imprecation—a mouth gaping wide as if to salute the sea, or hail yonder craft that glides along the horizon. At ebb-tide, too, the great rock's hidden companions, the sunken reefs, begin to show themselves all around. Among them, half sunk in the sand, are seen the shattered remains of masts, rusty anchors and guns, all overgrown with seaweed and shell-fish. Here and there the eye perceives a human skull still encased in a helmet, a skeleton still protected by a shirt of mail, and innumerable remnants of stranded ships with their inscriptions and marks still readable. At one spot is seen the bottom of a vessel, whose copper plates, now hidden, now disclosed, by the restless motion of the waves, are green with verdigris. And everywhere the great sea-spiders and monster crabs—lords of the abyss—crawl and gloat unceasingly among the wreckage. Then the spectator, shuddering at this terrible arrangement of still life, is forced to ask himself, "Who could have been so mad

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