Manasseh: A Romance of Transylvania

Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
Cover of the book Manasseh: A Romance of Transylvania by Mor Jokai, Library of Alexandria
View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart
Author: Mor Jokai ISBN: 9781465628282
Publisher: Library of Alexandria Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint: Language: English
Author: Mor Jokai
ISBN: 9781465628282
Publisher: Library of Alexandria
Publication: March 8, 2015
Imprint:
Language: English

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. The guard glanced at it with as little interest as he would have bestowed on a scarab from the tomb of the Pharaohs. Shrugging his shoulders, he merely indicated, with a wave of his hand, places where the three passengers might, perhaps, find seats,—one in this corner, a second yonder, and, if its owner would kindly transfer a greasy bundle to his lap, a third over there. This arrangement, however, was not at all to the liking of either the ladies or their escort. The latter was altogether disinclined to accept a seat between two fat cattle-dealers, being of no meagre dimensions himself. "We'll see about this!" he exclaimed, and left the compartment in quest of the station-master. That dignitary was promenading the platform in military uniform, his hands behind his back. The complainant began to explain the situation to him and to demand that consideration to which his first-class ticket entitled him. But the illustrissimo merely opened his eyes and surveyed the gentleman in silence, much as a cuttlefish might have done if similarly addressed.

View on Amazon View on AbeBooks View on Kobo View on B.Depository View on eBay View on Walmart

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. The guard glanced at it with as little interest as he would have bestowed on a scarab from the tomb of the Pharaohs. Shrugging his shoulders, he merely indicated, with a wave of his hand, places where the three passengers might, perhaps, find seats,—one in this corner, a second yonder, and, if its owner would kindly transfer a greasy bundle to his lap, a third over there. This arrangement, however, was not at all to the liking of either the ladies or their escort. The latter was altogether disinclined to accept a seat between two fat cattle-dealers, being of no meagre dimensions himself. "We'll see about this!" he exclaimed, and left the compartment in quest of the station-master. That dignitary was promenading the platform in military uniform, his hands behind his back. The complainant began to explain the situation to him and to demand that consideration to which his first-class ticket entitled him. But the illustrissimo merely opened his eyes and surveyed the gentleman in silence, much as a cuttlefish might have done if similarly addressed.

More books from Library of Alexandria

Cover of the book Caesar Borgia: A Study of the Renaissance by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Beethoven: A Memoir by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Curious Epitaphs by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book The Unity of Civilization by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Robert Orange: Being a Continuation of the History of Robert Orange by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Velazquez by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland With Tunes, Singing-Rhymes and Methods of Playing etc. (Complete) by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Royal Palaces and Parks of France by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Celtic Literature by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Selected Plays of August Strindberg by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book William Jay and the Constitutional Movement for the Abolition of Slavery by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book The Cross in Ritual, Architecture and Art by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Birds and Man by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Sixty Folk-Tales by Mor Jokai
Cover of the book Zigzag Journeys in the Camel Country: Arabia in Picture and Story by Mor Jokai
We use our own "cookies" and third party cookies to improve services and to see statistical information. By using this website, you agree to our Privacy Policy