The Tower of Dago

by Mór Jókai

For to him she was really so. Since his earliest years this woman had indeed filled a mother's place to him. His real mother had now other cares. This woman alone loved him. From her alone he had learnt that there should be any other feeling than anger and hate on earth.

Still greater, however, was his pleasure as he presented his guest.

"Look, mother!" he cried. "This is Paul—Paul von Ungern. Father told me to bring him to see you. He said we were to be good friends."

Tears were glistening in his eyes. For well he knew who this Paul von Ungern really was.

There was, in fact, one secret which Mashinka had never disclosed to Feodor during all these years. This same Paul, she well knew, had already entered the world when the great catastrophe overcame her master. It was, indeed, mainly this boy's birth which had caused the catastrophe. Two people whom a sinful passion had made to fall had their reasons for preventing Feodor from learning their guilt. The woman, having committed the first fault, was compelled to conceal it with fresh sins. The husband, therefore, had never learnt this secret.

In an hour of confidence, however, when the boy had fled to her in horror from the frightful teachings of his father, Mashinka had told young Alexander the truth. Under her breath she told him that he had mighty enemies in that world which had vanished from him in childhood: that they were his uncle and his uncle's son—a half-brother. It was because of them, she told him, that he was compelled to waste away his life in that dreary rocky fortress. But she also taught him that it was the duty of good men who wish to please God to forgive their enemies; and taught him, too, a simple prayer which a good man might pray for his enemies—a prayer that God might turn their hearts, that they might cease from persecuting him, and that they should become reconciled with him, free him from that life of captivity, and once more hold out to him the hand of friendship. She had taught him even to pray for the welfare of that brother who from his very birth had unwittingly been the boy's persecutor.

So, now that he was able to say to Mashinka, "Look, here is Paul von Ungern," it seemed to him as if these words said simultaneously, "My prayer has at length been answered. My enemy is reconciled, and has come to free me. And God is indeed good, and so is my father. Now I can love both God and my father—yes, and my enemy also."

Mashinka understood the boy's thoughts well. She threw her arms round both their necks and kissed them.

"Yes, yes," she said smiling, "you must indeed be good friends."

She then brought forth from her cupboard a host of dainties, and spread quite a little feast for them. While partaking of this Paul began to tell Alexander of the great world of adventure so well known to him, and of his frequent encounters with the pirates of the northern seas. Here it occurred to Alexander that the swordsmanship of pirates is distinguished by its peculiar cuts and thrusts, with the exercise of which he was but too familiar. He therefore brought out his weapons and gave Paul some lessons in these useful devices, so that he might be able to put them into practice if he should again find himself in any piratical fray.