Dr. Dumany's Wife 
 
The Project Gutenberg eBook, Dr. Dumany's Wife, by Mór Jókai, 
Translated by F. Steinitz 
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Title: Dr. Dumany's Wife 
Author: Mór Jókai 
 
Release Date: June 28, 2006 [eBook #18708] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 
DUMANY'S WIFE*** 
E-text prepared by Steven desJardins and Project Gutenberg 
Distributed Proofreaders 
 
Works of Maurus Jókai Hungarian Edition
DR. DUMANY'S WIFE 
Translated from the Hungarian by F. STEINITZ 
 
New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1891 
 
PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 
This, the latest story from the pen of Hungary's great man of letters, 
Maurus Jókai, was translated directly from the manuscript of the author 
by Mme. F. Steinitz, who resides in Buda-Pest, and was selected by 
him for that purpose. 
Maurus Jókai is now sixty-six years of age, having been born at 
Komaróm, in 1825. He was intended for the law, that having been his 
father's profession but at twelve years of age the desire to write seized 
him. Some of his stories fell into the hands of the lawyer in whose 
office he was studying, who read them, and was so struck by their 
originality and talent that he published them at once at his own expense. 
The public was as well pleased with the book as the lawyer had been 
with the manuscripts, and from that tender age to the present Jókai has 
devoted himself to writing, and is the author of several hundred 
successful volumes. At the age of twenty-three he laid down his pen 
long enough to get married, his bride being Rosa Laborfalvi, the then 
leading Hungarian actress. At the end of a year he joined the 
Revolutionists, and buckled on the sword of the patriot. He was taken 
prisoner and sentenced to be shot, when his bride appeared upon the 
scene with her pockets full of the money she had made by the sale of 
her jewels, and, bribing the guards, escaped with her husband into the 
birch woods, where they hid in caves and slept on leaves, all the time in 
danger of their lives, until they finally found their way to Buda-Pest 
and liberty. This city Jókai has made his home; in the winter he lives in 
the heart of the town, in the summer just far enough outside of it to 
have a house surrounded by grounds, where he can sit out of doors in 
the shade of his own trees. He is probably the best-known man in
Hungary to-day, for he is not only an author, but a financier, a 
statesman, and a journalist as well. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
PART I. 
I. THE DUMB CHILD II. THE DARK GOD III. THE ENGLISHMAN 
IV. THE NABOB V. A REPUBLICAN COUNTESS VI. DUMANY 
KORNEL VII. THE DEAD MAN'S VOTE VIII. MY UNCLE 
DIOGENES IX. A SLAVONIC KINGDOM X. "DEAD" XI. MY 
DEAR FRIEND SIEGFRIED XII. THE DEVIL'S HOOF XIII. THE 
VALKYRS 
 
PART II. 
I. THE SEA-DOVE II. "WHAT IS THE DEVIL LIKE?" III. THE 
FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER IV. THE HISTORY OF MY FRIEND V. 
HOW ROSES ARE INOCULATED VI. MR. PARASITE VII. A 
BRILLIANT GAME VIII. A BITING KISS IX. WHO IS THE 
VISITOR? X. AFTER THE WEDDING XI. MY SCHEME XII. 
SEEKING FOR DEATH XIII. MY DISCHARGE XIV. HOME! 
SWEET HOME XV. VOX POPULI XVI. DAME FORTUNE XVII. 
LIGHT AT LAST 
 
DR. DUMANY'S WIFE. 
 
Part I.
I. 
THE DUMB CHILD. 
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. 
The guard came in to look at my ticket, and, pitying my lonely 
condition, he opened a conversation. He told me that the son of an 
immensely wealthy American nabob, with an escort well-nigh princely, 
was travelling on the same train to Paris. He had with him an    
    
		
	
	
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