In now approaching the modern novel in Hungary we are at once met, touched, almost overwhelmed by the dazzling light and lustre of one commanding genius of the Magyar novel, Maurus Jókai. His name is at present well-known all over the world, and his novels are eagerly read by Hungarians and non-Hungarians alike. The number of his works is very great, and although over fifty years have elapsed since the appearance of his first novel (in 1846), he is still enriching Hungarian and European literature with ever new works. Nearly everything has changed in Hungary during the last forty years; but the love and admiration for the genius of Jókai has never suffered diminution. In his checkered life there is not a blot, and in his long career there is not a single dark spot. Pure, manly, upright as a patriot, faithful and loving as a husband, loyal as a subject, kind as a patron, an indefatigable worker, and, highest of all, a true friend both to men, fatherland, and literature, he has given his nation not only great literary works to gladden and enlighten them, but also a sterling example of Magyar virtue and Magyar honour. It is, especially in Hungary, no common thing to meet with men of Jókai’s immense power and love of work. His journalistic articles alone would fill many a folio volume. His political activity in the Hungarian Parliament, in the Lower House of which he was up to January, 1897, when the king called him to the House of Magnates, was likewise very extensive. And in addition to that, he was constantly writing novels, turning out volume after volume, until the total exceeded two hundred and fifty. In fact, as has been already hinted at, from an historic point of view he has, by his unparalleled productiveness, done some harm less to himself than to other Hungarian novelists. He himself, although not equally at his best in every one of his novels, has in the course of fifty-one years of creative authorship scarcely lost anything of the distinctly individual greatness of his genius; and even the later and sometimes hurried productions of his pen are, to say the least, most excellent, because intensely interesting reading. On the other hand, his very popularity rendered it almost impossible for any other Magyar novelist to publish novels other than small sketches or essays. The reading public in Hungary is not numerous enough to demand lengthy novels from more than one favourite author. Jókai almost supplanted Jósika (see page 140) and all other writers of lengthy novels.