The Girl in Her Twenties & Other Stories: Jókai

By Mór Jókai

Móric Jókay de Ásva was born on the 18th February 1825 in Komárom, then in the Kingdom of Hungary but now part of Slovakia.

Due to his timid and delicate constitution he was educated at home until the age of 10 and then sent away to complete his studies at the Calvinist college at Pápa.

At 12 his father died, and he was pushed to honour him by replicating his career as a lawyer. He studied hard and completed the curriculum at Kecskemét and Pest. He won his first case as a newly graduated lawyer.

But he found a career in law to be dull and, encouraged by the positive reaction to his first play, he moved to Pest in 1845. There he published, first in a newspaper, and then as a novel ‘Hétköznapok’ (‘Working Days’). It was acclaimed as a masterpiece. To add to his promise he was appointed as the editor of Életképek, the leading Hungarian journal.

In 1848 he married the actress, Róza Laborfalvi. That same year Europe was awash with revolutions and Jókai, a moderate Liberal, enthusiastically supported the nationalist cause and its decision to depose the Habsburg dynasty. The attempt failed.

He was now classed as a political suspect and threw himself into his literary career, writing dozens of novels, many of them masterpieces, stories, essays and the like. In total he wrote several hundred volumes, many of them in the local Magyar language which helped arrest its declining relevance in society.

By 1867 the political temperature had cooled, and he entered parliament as well as becoming the editor a government journal he had founded. His skills were much admired and helped the government navigate through several difficult matters.

His wife died in 1886 but although grief-stricken he continued to work and to write.

In 1897 the king appointed him a member of the upper house. Two years later he caused a minor scandal by marrying the young 20-year-old actress, Bella Nagy. At the time he was 74.

Mór Jókai died in Budapest on the 5th May 1904. He was 79.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miniature Masterpieces
• Release date: Jul 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781803549859

Book preview

The Girl in Her Twenties & Other Stories by Mór Jókai

Móric Jókay de Ásva was born on the 18th February 1825 in Komárom, then in the Kingdom of Hungary but now part of Slovakia.

Due to his timid and delicate constitution he was educated at home until the age of 10 and then sent away to complete his studies at the Calvinist college at Pápa.

At 12 his father died, and he was pushed to honour him by replicating his career as a lawyer.  He studied hard and completed the curriculum at Kecskemét and Pest.  He won his first case as a newly graduated lawyer.

But he found a career in law to be dull and, encouraged by the positive reaction to his first play, he moved to Pest in 1845.  There he published, first in a newspaper, and then as a novel ‘Hétköznapok’ (‘Working Days’).  It was acclaimed as a masterpiece.  To add to his promise he was appointed as the editor of Életképek, the leading Hungarian journal.

In 1848 he married the actress, Róza Laborfalvi.  That same year Europe was awash with revolutions and Jókai, a moderate Liberal, enthusiastically supported the nationalist cause and its decision to depose the Habsburg dynasty.  The attempt failed.

He was now classed as a political suspect and threw himself into his literary career, writing dozens of novels, many of them masterpieces, stories, essays and the like.  In total he wrote several hundred volumes, many of them in the local Magyar language which helped arrest its declining relevance in society.

By 1867 the political temperature had cooled, and he entered parliament as well as becoming the editor a government journal he had founded.   His skills were much admired and helped the government navigate through several difficult matters. 

His wife died in 1886 but although grief-stricken he continued to work and to write.

In 1897 the king appointed him a member of the upper house.  Two years later he caused a minor scandal by marrying the young 20-year-old actress, Bella Nagy.  At the time he was 74.

Mór Jókai died in Budapest on the 5th May 1904.  He was 79.

Index of Contents

THE GIRL IN HER TWENTIES

A HUNDRED GIRLS IN A PILE

ROMANO CHICKADEES IN ROCK ART

BOSNIAN HUSSAR ADVENTURE

GOLDEN RULES

THE GIRL IN HER TWENTIES

Buy mine too, ma'am. I don't want three twenties, I'll give you two. Look here, have you ever seen such a beautiful child? How big! And he's only eight years old. All his teeth are out. They're for Zsuzsa. She's been baptised. She's been vaccinated, here's the smallpox spot on her shoulder. Look! You can wash yourself, comb your hair, braid your hair. Stop right there. You haven't got any children, have you? Take this home, it'll do you good. Or have you enough? Well, this will do for a little playmate. He can play all sorts of games. Take it home to your master.―He looked at me angrily. I know she's a maiden when her hair's not down. Hey, hey, young lady! The wretch. Mine is as sound as an acorn. I'll give it for two twenties. I ask it for the sake of Christ; don't be sorry for that one twenty.....

... I ask for the passion of Christ―So this isn't some Asian slave market. No. It's happening here on the Pest side of the Danube, at the poultry market, where mothers sell their babies in the company of hens, geese, turkeys and piglets.

But how can that be?

Well, it can only be that he got sick at the same time.

Who's he? the big he?

It's the nurse of all poor people, the Isis idol of modern mythology:―the potato.

The poor, humble potato, who does not walk in a golden calyx like the faggot, nor shine in red tresses from under the crown of palm-trees like the date-tree; but hides himself under the earth, and wears a dull coat like all those who have no other hope but the potato.

Well, once the potato took it into his head that he would get himself sick.

Like the great and noble lords of the wheat and the vine, who have had all things, for whose sake they take their leave to be sanctified, who are fit to be so unkind; but that even the peasant potato should be sick, it is unseemly!

And then it was seen what a great thing it is when the potato is sick! It is as if they had stolen from our Lord's Prayer this line, Give us this day our daily bread.

An entire region, an entire part of the country, had nothing to pray for for a year.

This was the bitter memory of 1846.

And then there are villages in that region where, even in the most blessed year, there is no bread on the table for all the people. Not because there are not enough potatoes; but because there are too many men.

The surplus then goes to a world where there are still empty tables. Not to beg, no, but to trade. These are our travellers in India. He has a horse and a staff. The horse is the galley, and the stick is the helm. You go on foot, the horse carries the goods. And so they travel through all the kingdoms of Europe from the Urals to the Pyrenees, others wander to Persia, and learn to bargain in the language of every country. They grow it at home, the women spin it, the old men weave it, the children bleach it, and the men take it to sell. Oh the beautiful lilac! It is not for a gentleman, for it is expensive. Oh, a gentleman needs a wool that will break in one year, to buy a new one in another; but if a peasant once has a light, he seeks one that will last, to last till death, even for his child. And that is such a fool. They that make it know their markets. You know where in Germany, in France, among the Polish and Russian people, there live rich villagers who love beautiful white sleeves with bulging sleeves, sewn with silk and gold thread! They will pay the price for their goods. They have an infallible knowledge of the people. Know they well which nations wear cotton, which wear no shirt at all? They are well avoided: they go only to the certain fair. And when they have sold all the wool, they buy up all they find there: the silk ribbon in France, the saffron in Turkey, the true pepper, and sell it on their return home. By the time they get back to their straw beds at home, they've got a follicle full of money. Sometimes it happens that the returnee meets the one coming from the opposite direction, who brings fresh gyolcs. For their way is like that of the wandering ants. Then they stop to talk to each other. If they can bargain, they'll slap each other's palms, and both shall leap. They exchange their goods, and one goes back to the Carpathians, the other to Alsace or Tehran; half their journey is won by both. So that some of them do not return home for ten years. But the wife is still only a young girl.―For when they were married before their departure, the bridegroom was sixteen years old, but the bride was only eight, so that the ten years' absence is not bitter for them.

This year, however, was in any case wasted.

The men set out with the last consignment of wood in the early spring, and left their wives, sisters, and elders to look diligently to the new;―but even that was a bad year. The downstairs was struck by some beetle, so that it was utterly ruined, and there was not even anything to work for that year. The guzsaly and the osztováta could rest.

And when there was nothing to eat or work at home, what could the wretched woman do? She covered the door and window of her house with earthenware, and picked up her dusty dogs, some on her back, some by the hand, and set off for the south, towards what is said to be the Kanahan.

Thus we saw them appear on the banks of the Danube in Pest; which was not then proudly called a quay, but only a poultry market; poor people saw that here most of the poor people were settled, here most of the gentry came to bargain with the poor people, and they settled here too. Even then there were newspapers, which made public the great misery that had driven a whole people from their homeland; Hungarian women then did not need much encouragement to practice charity, many small children immediately found a foster mother to take them home, and then the real mothers were given silver money out of compassion, and even bank money, of which five forints was the smallest, to live on while they got work. The pious people then got the mistaken idea that their child was now being bought. And they found it very natural. After all, if there is no free choice between turkey, lud, piglets in a row, it is very natural that they should pay the price for the children's half. Who is what, according to. If this cardboard-clad bourgeoise could give three twenties for one of them, for whom the child she had taken over must still be taught to walk, then for the other, who can be used as a peston, because he can sing, a silk-dressed dame could only give six.

It was cold, too, and a bitter winter: mothers and children were cold in their rags. They were hungry too. And the cabbage-tower was gone around the