THE RETURN TO EUROPE
I had now become thoroughly accustomed to my _rôle_ of mendicant friar,
and the severe physical and mental exertions I had undergone should have
prepared and fitted me for a yet more serious journey of discovery. And
yet, strange to say, when I heard at Samarkand from my Kashgar
travelling companions that it would be no easy matter, nay, practically
impossible, for me to proceed to Khiva--because of the political
disturbances there--I was not altogether sorry. The frustration of my
plans was unpleasant, but I was not inconsolable. The fatigues I had
undergone had affected me to such an extent that the prospect of an
overland journey to Peking and back across the Kun-lun to India did not
strike me as quite so delightful as it had done before. To tread in the
footsteps of Marco Polo, and to return home illumined by the aureole
which surrounded the great Venetian; for me, a lame beggar, to have
accomplished the greatest overland journey of modern times--all this
had stimulated my ambition for a while, but a tired, weary body affects
the spirit also, ambition becomes languid and in default of this most
energising medium the desire for action also fails. After I had escaped
from my dangerous adventure with the Emir of Bokhara, and my
fellow-travellers had committed me to the care of a company of pilgrims
on their way to Mecca, I realised for the first time what a fortunate
escape I had had, and my thankfulness rose in proportion as I left
Samarkand behind and approached the south-west of Asia. I speak of
deliverance, but as a matter of fact on this return journey I laboured
under the same constant sense of suspicion, perhaps even in an increased
measure; and was exposed to all the miseries of the approaching rough
season and the perceptible coldness of my new travelling companions.
Now, indeed, I had to drink the last dregs of my cup of suffering; now I
experienced the bitterest and most painful moments of the whole of my
journey; for what I suffered from hunger, cold, and exhaustion between
Samarkand and Meshed surpasses all description, and would scarcely be
credited by European readers.
The population of the stretch of land between the Oxus and Herat forms,
as far as their culture is concerned, a kind of medium between the
Moslemic-fanatical Bokhariots and the partly or wholly nomadic, in some
things still primitive, tribes of Central Asia. These people are
harassed on the one side by the tyrannical arbitrariness of their
Government, and on the other by the lawlessness and rapacity of the
dwellers of the Steppes. Great and pressing poverty and distress of
every description have crushed all human feeling and faith out of them;
and when the pilgrims passing through now and then receive an obolus
from them this is not due to any pious motives, but entirely in
obedience to the ancient laws of hospitality. My beads, talismans,
benedictions, and similar baubles were of no use to me here. These
people had a look as if they wanted to be good, but could not, and I,
with not a penny in my pocket, was often nearly driven to distraction.
What were the times of starvation at Presburg, or the miseries of an
empty stomach in the wretched house of the Three Drums Street in
Budapest, compared to the sufferings and the forlornness on the way
south of the Oxus? The only pleasant memory left to me of those days is
the kindness I received from Rahmet Bi, a trusty chamberlain, and
afterwards Minister to the Emir of Bokhara, in Kerki on the Oxus, which
has since become Russian. This man, of whom more later on, seemed to
have guessed my incognito, and for some time could not make up his mind
whether to betray me or to follow the promptings of his kindly heart.
The latter triumphed; but to this day I do not know how or why. At any
rate he quieted the suspicions of the Governor of Kerki on my account,
and helped me safely over the frontiers. If I am not mistaken, the
poetic Muse had a hand in Rahmet Bi's friendliness towards me. He
sometimes wrote Persian verses, and was delighted when he could read
them to me and gain my approbation.
Among the warlike, rapacious, and wildly fanatic Afghans I have never
found a trace of any one like Rahmet Bi. He not only treated me with
marked friendliness during our sojourn in Kerki, where he had a mission
to the Ersari Turkomans, but he also gave me a letter of safe-conduct in
Persian for eventual use in Central Asia. As a curiosity I here insert
this document in the original with translation.--
_Text._
"Maalum bude bashed ki darendei khatt duagui djenabi aali Hadji
Molla Abdurreshid rumi ez berai Ziareti buzurgani Bokharai Sherif
we Samarkand firdus manend amede, buzurganra ziaret numude, djenabi
aalira dua kerde baz bewatani khod mirefte est. Ez djenab Emir ul
Muminin we Imam ul Muslimin nishan mubarek der dest dashte est.
Baed ki der rah we reste bahadji mezkur kesi mudakhele nenumude her
kudam muwafiki hal izaz we ikram hadji mezkuna bedja arend.
Nuwishte be shehr Safar 1280 (1863)."
_Translation._
"Be it known, that the holder of this letter, the high-born Hadji
Abdurreshid, from Turkey, has come hither with the intention of
making a pilgrimage to the graves of the saints in noble Bokhara
and in paradisiacal Samarkand. After accomplishing his pilgrimage
to the graves of the saints, and having paid homage to his Highness
the Emir, he returns to his home. He is in possession of a writing
(passport) from his Highness the Sovereign of all true believers
and the Imam of all Moslems (the Sultan); it is therefore seemly
that the said Hadji should not be inconvenienced by any one,
neither on the journey nor at any station, but that every one as he
is able should honour and respect him.
"Written in the month of Safar, in the year 1280."
Thus I was safe on Bokharan soil, and also on the journey through
Maimene up to the Persian frontiers. From there, however, and for the
rest of the way, I was constantly watched with Argus eyes, and had to
endure the most trying fatigues. During my stay at Herat, which lasted
for several weeks, I had to sleep in the shivering cold autumn nights on
the bare ground, and in the literal sense of the word begged my bread
from the fanatical Shiites or the niggardly Afghans, who frequently
instead of bread gave me invectives, and often struck me, the supposed
Frenghi, or threatened me with death. Even now I shudder when I think of
the vile food on which I had to feed and the angry looks these people
cast upon me, whom by command of the young Emir they dare not insult,
but whom they hated from the bottom of their hearts.
When I think upon the Ghazi attacks in North India, so frequent even in
our days, in which some fanatical Afghan calmly murders the harmless
Englishman he happens to come across, simply to gain paradise by killing
a Kafir, it seems a veritable marvel that I escaped with my life. Every
Afghan who came past my cell glared at me with angry eyes. To shoot me
would have passed as a virtue, but fortunately their anger did not vent
itself in deeds.
This secret wrathfulness manifested itself most strongly on the journey
from Herat to Meshhed, when the hard-hearted Afghans, wrapped in their
thick fur-coats, took a special delight in seeing me spend the night in
my light clothing without any covering, hungry, and with chattering
teeth. In spite of all my sufferings and privations I did not give way
however, but, regardless of hunger and cold, I always remained cheerful,
and I attribute this chiefly to my excitement at the successful
accomplishment of my adventure, for once on Persian soil I expected to
be safe from all danger.
The charm of this consciousness was so strong and effective that for
days together, both after my arrival at Meshhed and on the tedious
marches through Khorasan, I lived in a constant fever of excitement;
and the farther the horrible spectres of past dangers dwindled away in
the distance, _i.e._, the nearer I came to Teheran, where I should find
the first European colony, the louder throbbed my heart, and the more
vivid became the enchanting pictures of future renown on the rosy
horizon of my fancy. Whether this joyous excitement was proportionate to
the actual results of my adventurous enterprise, and whether the reward
was worth all the trouble, I never stopped to consider then. It was
enough for me that I was the first European to have advanced from the
south coast of the Caspian Sea through the Hyrcanian desert to Khiva,
from there through the sandy plains of the Khalata to Bokhara, and from
thence to Herat. I knew that the specimens of the East Turkish languages
and the manuscripts I had collected were unknown to the scientific world
of Europe, and would give me the character of an explorer and specialist
in Turkology, and finally I was not a little proud of the manner in
which I had travelled, always under the impression that my intimate
intercourse with the various tribes of inner Asia, so far but little or
imperfectly known, must yield an abundant harvest of ethnographical
knowledge. Indeed, had I been a professional philologist and linguist,
trade, industry, and politics, geography as well as ethnography, could
not have captivated my attention to the same extent, and I could not
have obtained all this practical knowledge of inner Asia, keenly
interested as I was in the destiny of these far-away nations. If it had
struck me that, owing to my very deficient education, much had been
neglected and passed by unnoticed, that, for instance, I had not a
notion of geology, and was absolutely useless on geographical grounds;
that I could not have rendered any assistance in these, even had I had
the knowledge, because I only carried a little bit of pencil hidden in
the lining of my coat, and consequently that my services to geography
and natural science in general were of the vaguest and most problematic
character--had I realised all this the temperature of my exultation
would have fallen considerably. But all such thoughts remained down at
the bottom of the ocean of my bliss; and so now, after an existence of
thirty-one years in this world, for the first time in my life the golden
fruit of realised success and the sweet reward after hard labour
beckoned to me from the distance, and filled me with ecstasy and
blissful anticipation. The long, weary stretch from Meshhed to Teheran I
accomplished in mid-winter; two horses were at my disposal, for the
Governor of Meshhed, Prince Hussam es Saltana, had furnished me with the
necessary means, and throughout all this journey my mind was full of joy
and anticipation. My Osbeg attendant, who from Khiva had accompanied me,
and through weal and woe had been faithful to me, was not a little
surprised at this metamorphosis in my behaviour. For hours together I
used to sing songs or airs from favourite operas, which the good lad
took for holy hymns of the Western Islam. He was highly pleased to see
the Dervish of the West in such a pious frame of mind, and often as I
warbled my operas he accompanied me in his nasal tone, fully under the
impression that they were Moslem songs of praise or pious hymns. Such a
duet has not often been heard, I believe. Thus it came about that during
the four weeks occupied by this ride from Meshhed to Teheran--a ride
which exhausts even the most hardened traveller--I was always full of
good-humour. Physically I was worn out, even to the extent of being
unrecognisable, but mentally uplifted and full of elasticity when I made
my entry into the Persian capital.
The kindly reception accorded me in Meshhed by Colonel Dolmage had shown
me that in Asia Europeans are not separated by any national wall of
partition, but, united in a common bond of Western fraternity, share
each other's weal and woe; and on my arrival in the Persian capital I
was still firmer convinced of this bond of unity. The news of my
fortunate escape from the hands of the Central Asiatic tyrants had been
received by all the European colony with equal pleasure. Young and old,
rich and poor, high diplomatists and modest craftsmen--all the Europeans
in Teheran, in fact--wanted to see and to welcome me; and few could
repress their sympathy when they saw the gay and lively young Hungarian
of former days so sadly changed and fallen off. From my letter to the
Turkish Embassy, written in the Turkoman Steppe, they had heard of my
safe arrival in this dangerous robbers' den. But after that no further
intelligence had been received. No wonder that in the Persian capital
the wildest rumours about my imprisonment, execution, and miserable end
were circulated and believed. Pilgrims from Middle Asia, who confused my
identity with that of some Italian silk merchants captured in Bokhara
before my arrival there, related the most horrible details of the
martyr's death I had undergone. Some had seen me hanging by my feet;
others declared that I had been thrown down from the tower of the
citadel; others again had been eye-witnesses when the executioner
quartered me and threw my limbs to the dogs to eat. As Bokhara was known
to be the hotbed of the most consummate barbarities and cruelties, these
tales were easily believed by the Europeans in Teheran, and now, on my
return, hale and hearty, but with the indisputable marks of excessive
sufferings upon me, every one's sympathy went out to me. All strove to
show me attention and to please me in some way or other. The various
Legations invited me to festive dinners. The English Envoy, Sir Charles
Alison, asked me to write an account of my travels, and gave me
official recommendations to Lord Palmerston, Lord Strangford, Sir Justin
Sheil, Sir H. Rawlinson, and other political and scientific notabilities
in London, which were of great service to me, and largely influenced my
further career. M. von Giers, then Russian Ambassador at Teheran, and
afterwards Imperial Chancellor, urged me to go to Petersburg, because he
thought that my Turkestan experiences would be most appreciated on the
Neva. At the Russian Legation they drew a picture of my future career in
the most brilliant colours, and when I pointed out that life in those
severely autocratic spheres would be incompatible with my nationality
and political opinions, these diplomatists came to the conclusion that I
was too naïve, and, in spite of the hard school I had gone through,
still remained an enthusiast.
Teheran, indeed, was the centre of important decisions for me. Had I
listened to the persuasions of the Russians, who knows what position I
might not be occupying at present in the administration of Turkestan? Of
course it was out of the question for me to turn my footsteps northward.
All the treasures and all the glory of the Czar's dominions would never
help me to conquer the feeling of dislike which from a child I had had
against the oppressor of my fatherland and all its national policy, the
personification of despotism and unbridled absolutism. With all the more
readiness I accepted the introductions given me by the English; for
this nation, with its glorious literature and liberal ideas, had long
since become dear to me; and as, moreover, in the East I had found them
the only worthy representatives of the West, it will seem quite natural
that in Teheran I had already made up my mind what course to pursue in
Europe, and made London the final aim of my journey to the West.
At Teheran I rested for about three months from the fatigues of my
Central Asiatic expedition. During that time, and while it was all yet
fresh in my mind, I completed and supplemented the pencil-notes secretly
taken on the journey and written on odd bits of paper in the Hungarian
tongue, but with Arabic characters to avoid detection. I even mapped out
an account of my travels, which I intended to publish in England. I
built the most delightful castles in the air, and revelled in the
glorious colouring of the pictures of my imagination, without, however,
having the slightest conception of how to create for myself a decided
career built upon solid foundations. It was enough for me that I had
become acquainted with districts and places in the Asiatic world which
no European before me had ever set eyes on, but how and where I was to
turn this knowledge to the best account never once entered my mind in
the excessive joy of my successful campaign. And I could not in any case
have come to any satisfactory conclusion on this head, for, in the first
place, I was not quite sure yet as to the best ways and means of
disposing of my knowledge; in the second, I was somewhat doubtful as to
my literary accomplishments; and in the third, I had not yet made up my
mind in which language to write.
In the tumult of my exultation the one certain, joyful prospect that
rose up before me was that my successful expedition would gain me
European fame and honour, and secure for me a position in life, but of
what nature this position was to be I knew not, and cared not. All I
wanted was to get to Europe now as soon as possible; first go home to
Hungary and report myself to the Academy at Pest, and then place the
account of my wanderings before the European public.
As soon as the fine weather set in I left the Persian capital to return
to Trebizond by the same way by which I had come, viz., Tebriz and
Erzerum. Full of anxiety, apprehension, and uncertainty as my journey
here had been, equally full of joy and delightful anticipation was my
journey back to the Black Sea. In quick day marches I passed the
different stations. The formerly toilsome journey was now mere child's
play to my body inured against fatigues. It was an exciting
pleasure-ride which the warm reception of my European friends in Tebriz
made into a veritable triumphal march. Warm welcomes, banquets,
laudations, and undisguised appreciation of my adventure were my
greeting. Swiss, French, Germans, English, and Italians--all were proud
that a lame European had actually been amongst the kidnapping Turkomans
and the wildly fanatical Central Asiatics; and glad that through his
discoveries this hitherto obscure portion of the Old World was brought
within the reach of Western lands. Besides the account of my journey
which I had sent from Teheran to the President of the Hungarian Academy,
the diplomatic representatives at Teheran officially acquainted their
various Governments with my doings, and sent off innumerable letters to
European newspapers. The fame of my successful expedition thus preceded
me, and when I came to Constantinople I was presented to the Austrian
Internuncio (Count Prokesh-Orten) and the Grand-Vizier (Ali Pasha), who
both seemed to know all about me. Their warm reception and the lively
interest they manifested in the concerns of the hitherto closed
districts of inner Asia showed me their appreciation of the work I had
done. After my late experiences, Constantinople, where I delayed only
for a few hours, seemed to me the flower of Western civilisation. I went
by one of Lloyd's steamers, _viâ_ Kustendji-Czernawoda on the Danube, to
Pest, where I arrived in the first half of May, 1864.
I shall not attempt to describe my feelings at sight of my beloved
fatherland. My pen would be unequal to interpret the emotions which I
experienced as I trod once again the soil of the land for which I had
undergone so much. It was to find out its early history that I had first
been induced to start on this dangerous expedition; for, as already
mentioned, the national beginnings of my native land had from my
earliest youth stirred within me a feeling of curiosity, to satisfy
which I had faced the dangers and privations now safely over. Arrived in
Pest, I left the boat at the Suspension Bridge and, accompanied by the
Tartar whom I had brought from Khiva as a living proof of my sojourn in
foreign parts, I sped towards the Hôtel de l'Europe. My joy knew no
bounds, and it never struck me that my home-coming was just as lonely
and unobserved as my departure had been some years ago. When in after
years I witnessed the receptions granted in London to Livingstone, Speke
and Grant, Palgrave, Burton, and, above all, to Stanley--receptions in
which the whole nation took part, of which the newspapers were full
weeks and months beforehand, a special train meeting the traveller, who
was feasted as if he were a national hero--and when I saw how even in
Vienna, where travellers as a rule are not the heroes of the day,
officers like Payer and Weyprecht were celebrated on their return from
the North Pole--it pained me to think upon my own gloomy, lonely
home-coming, and the lamentable indifference of my compatriots. Even in
the circle of the Academy, whose delegate I had been, my successfully
accomplished undertaking seemed to rouse no interest; for, when at the
next Monday's meeting, I entered the hall of the Academy only the noble,
highly-cultured secretary, Mr. Ladislaus Szalay, and my high-minded
patron, Baron Eötvös, warmly embraced me and expressed their pleasure at
my fortunate escape. They indeed did all they could to make up for the
neglect of the others. Hungary was just then passing through the sad
period of Austrian absolutism. The nation languished in the bonds of
this autocracy. There was no sign of public life or social vitality.
Every one's hopes and expectations were fixed on the restoration of the
national Government and the reconciliation with Austria; and although
Asia, from the historical point of view of the old Magyars, might be of
some interest, geographical and ethnographical researches and the
opening out of the hitherto almost unknown portion of the old world
could have no special attractions for Hungary just then. He who longs
for bread requires no dainties to tempt the palate, and a nation sorely
troubled about its political existence and its future can scarcely be
blamed if all efforts are in the first place directed towards the
regaining of its constitutional rights and national independence, and if
it pays more attention to culture and the improvement of science in
general than to geographical and ethnographical discoveries in distant
lands.
At the time of my home-coming Hungary had reached but the first stage of
internal administration. The Academy, the only national institution
which had escaped the Argus eye of absolutism, had rather a political
and national than a purely scientific character, and the society
desirous for the restitution of its constitutional rights naturally felt
more drawn towards the enlightened, more advanced nations of Western
lands than towards the obscure districts of the Oxus and their
inhabitants. Even in Germany, the home of strictly scientific pursuits,
my travels had attracted less attention than in England and Russia,
where both political and commercial interests directed the attention of
the Government towards these regions, and where a more intimate
knowledge of those hitherto inaccessible regions seemed urgently needed.
Therefore, to be perfectly fair and honest, and allowing for the
all-pervading interest in the political questions of the day, I had
perhaps very little or no cause at all to feel hurt at the coldness and
indifference shown to my travels, or to see in it an intentional
non-appreciation of my services. But in my despondency, and with the
still vivid memory of my reception by the European colonies in Persia
and Turkey, a more sober, dispassionate view seemed impossible, and I
broke down altogether. The first days of my stay in Pest were bitterly
disappointing. I said to myself: "Is this the reward for all I have gone
through, all I have suffered? is this the gratitude of a nation in quest
of whose origin I have risked my life? this the appreciation of the
Academy which I trust has been benefited by my researches?" Thus rudely
awakened out of the happy dreams which had been my companions on the
homeward journey, I felt bruised and hurt, and my vanity was wounded. To
see those beautiful pictures--which my fancy had conjured up, and which
had cheered and encouraged me under the greatest privations and in hours
of peril--thus mercilessly shivered and dispelled, was indeed one of the
most painful experiences of my life. For hours together I brooded over
this in my lonely room in the Hôtel de l'Europe. I would not and could
not believe that it was actually true, and the wound was all the more
sore and irritating as I found myself, after all these years of struggle
and exertion, in exactly the same position as before--that is, I was no
nearer the solution of the question how to secure a position for myself.
Some advised me to resume the official career I had abandoned in
Constantinople; others suggested that I should apply for a professorship
in Oriental languages at the Pest University, which would be the easier
to obtain since the position of lector had become vacant through the
death of Dr. Repiczky. The former of these suggestions was not at all to
my taste, for after my adventures, the East had but little attraction
for me. Even when on the spot and at the very source of Oriental
thought, and beholding the steady decay of the Asiatic world, I clung
the more passionately to the energetic life of the West. The
professorship seemed a little more attractive, as, before all things, I
longed for rest, and I hoped in that capacity to find leisure to work
out the linguistic and ethnographical results of my travels.
Unfortunately the procuring of a professorial chair in those days was
beset with grave difficulties for me. Hungary was ruled from Vienna, and
in that centre of administration I, being on intimate terms with the
Hungarian emigrants of the East, and never having felt much sympathy for
Austria, could hardly expect to find friends and promoters of my
interests.
So neither of these two suggestions seemed practicable; and as my
English friends in Teheran had advised me to publish the account of my
travels in London, and to this effect had liberally supplied me with
introductions to different ranks and classes of society in the British
metropolis, I soon made up my mind to go to England, and to appear
before the London Geographical Society, the best known forum of Asiatic
travel. Possibly another reason also induced me to decide upon this
plan. After a four weeks' rest the desire for travel was again upon me,
and the hopelessness and weariness of my existence made me long for
change and adventure. I decided to go, the sooner the better, and,
turning away from the field of Eastern vicissitudes, to plunge into the
full stream of Western life and action. Very well; but this also was
more easily said than done. Travel in the East requires but a knowledge
of the languages and the customs, while money is more often dangerous
than helpful; but in the West it is just the reverse; and as I had come
to Pest devoid of all means, I had a great deal of trouble in collecting
the necessary funds to defray my travelling expenses to London. The
bitterness of my feelings was not improved thereby. In vain I asked my
supposed friends for a small loan, in vain I promised fourfold
repayment, in vain I pointed out the advantages which my appearance in
the cultured West would confer upon the nation; deaf ears everywhere.
The coolness with which my various travelling experiences were received
raised doubts in many minds. Ignorance is the mother of suspicion, and
as many people thought my adventures fantastic and exaggerated no one
cared to advance me any money; and there I stood in my native land more
forlorn and helpless than in the wildest regions of Central Asia.
Thanks to the intervention of my noble patron, Baron Eötvös, Count Emil
Desewffy, President of the Academy, was at last persuaded to advance me
a few hundred florins from the Library Fund of the Society--a helping
hand indeed in my sore necessity, if only that hand in taking me by the
arm had not left behind black stains which for ever have disfigured this
deed of charity. The money was given me on condition that I should
deposit my Oriental manuscripts, the treasured results of my travels,
with the president, and praiseworthy as this precaution and zeal for
the property of the Academy on the part of the noble president may seem,
it had a most injurious and mortifying effect upon me. When I took my
bagful of manuscripts to the Count's house I could not help remarking,
"So you do not believe me; you take me for a vagabond without any
feeling of honour; you think that I take the money of the Academy and do
not mean to pay it back--I who have been slaving and suffering for the
good of the Academy as few have done before me, and who now as the fruit
of my researches want to see the Hungarian nation--hitherto almost
unknown on the world's literary stage--recognised as a fellow-labourer
in the great harvest field of European culture! I, the fanatical
enthusiast, have to give a guarantee for a paltry few florins!" No, it
was too much; I felt grievously hurt and my patriotism had been deeply
wounded. One may imagine that I was not in the most amiable frame of
mind as I left the city for which I had yearned so many years, and if
the hope of recognition in England had not buoyed me up, the black
spectre of disappointment would have been still blacker. And, I ask the
kind reader, was it strange that I began to think that all this
humiliation and mistrust, all this cruel misapprehension, and this
wilful ignoring of all my trouble and labour was due to my obscure
origin and the ill-fated star of my Jewish descent? This hypothesis may
possibly be a mistaken one, for I believe that true Magyar explorers of
Christian faith would have fared no better in the intellectual morass of
the Hungary of those days. But the painful suspicion was there, and
could not easily be banished.
With my modest viaticum, lent to me on security, I was soon on the way,
and on the journey from Pest to London I fortunately received many
tokens of a favourable turn in my affairs. In Vienna I gathered from the
notices about me in the daily papers that my journey had created a good
deal of interest. At home jealous, narrow-minded people, even from the
Academy circle, had published scornful remarks about me on the day after
my arrival, and amongst other things blamed me for appearing in the
Academy hall with my fez on, not considering that, being used to the
heavy turban, my head had to get gradually used to the lighter covering
of Europe. But the foreign papers were enthusiastic in their praise and
appreciation of my endeavours. In my progress Westward these good signs
gradually increased. At Cologne I was interviewed by the _Kölnische
Zeitung_; and in the railway carriage from Dover to London my travelling
companions were interested to hear of the purpose of my journey, and one
of these was a man whose identity has remained a mystery to me to this
day. He was a Mr. _Smith_ according to his card, and seemed so pleased
to make my acquaintance that on our arrival in the capital he took me to
the Hotel Victoria, engaged a splendid room for me, and that evening
and the next day entertained me with regal hospitality. Then he found a
private house for me, and, as I afterwards learned, paid the first
month's rent for me. After he had seen me comfortably settled this
kind-hearted man took leave of me. Who was this Mr. Smith? From that day
till now I have not been able to find out. I have never seen him again.
And indeed his was a deed of charity. But for him how should I have
managed in this English Babel, with my small means and absolute
ignorance of Western ways and customs.
When I had become somewhat familiar with the British metropolis I
presented my letters of introduction to Sir Roderick Murchison,
President of the Royal Geographical Society; Sir Henry Rawlinson, the
greatest authority on Central Asiatic affairs; Sir Henry A. Layard,
Under-Secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; Sir Justin Sheil,
former Ambassador at Teheran, and last, but not least, Lord Strangford,
the great authority on the Moslemic East. All gave me a hearty welcome,
and interrogated me upon the details of my travels and the condition of
things in Central Asia. Pleased as I was with the interest shown by
these experts, I was not a little surprised to find everywhere, instead
of the anticipated ice-crust of English etiquette a hearty and sincere
appreciation of my labours. I realised at once that here I was in my
element, and that I had hit upon the best market for the publication of
my travelling experiences. And how could it be otherwise? England, with
its widespread colonies, with its gigantic universal trade, and its
lively interest in anything that happens in the remotest corners of the
earth, England is, and remains, the only land of great, universal ideas.
Here the fostering of geographical and ethnographical knowledge is
closely connected with the commercial, political, and national concerns
of the people, and as with the wide view they take of things the
question of practical usefulness triumphs over petty national
jealousies, it is quite natural that the Britishers do not trouble
themselves about the origin and antecedents of their heroes; and in the
case of the Frenchman, German, or Hungarian who happens to have enriched
their knowledge of lands and peoples, gladly forget the title of
"foreigner," otherwise not particularly liked in England. I noticed all
this during the first few days of my stay in England, and necessarily
this prominent feature of the English national character came later on
even more strikingly and, in my case, advantageously to the foreground.
With the exception of one small, rather amusing episode, there was not
the slightest hitch in my reception. My strongly sunburnt face, but more
still my thorough knowledge of Persian and Turkish, which I spoke
without the slightest accent, made some people suspicious as to my
European, _i.e._, Hungarian descent. Some Orientalists would take me
for a disguised Asiatic, and for some time they withheld their
confidence, but when General Kmetty, a countryman of mine, then living
in London, who had known me in Constantinople, allayed their doubts
their appreciation was all the greater, and two weeks after my arrival
on the banks of the Thames I had quite a crowd of friends and
acquaintances, who spread my fame by word of mouth and pen, and
transformed the former Dervish suddenly into a celebrity and a lion of
London society.
This episode is not without its comical side, and shows how an inborn
talent for languages, or rather for talking, may deceive even the
cleverest expert in finding out people's nationalities. In Asia they
took me for a Turk, a Persian, or Central Asiatic, and very seldom for a
European. Here in Europe they thought I was a disguised Persian or
Osmanli, such is the curious sport of ethnical location!
I made my _début_ by a lecture at Burlington House, under the auspices
of the Royal Geographical Society, before a large and select audience.
Here I delivered my first speech in English, with a strong foreign
accent, as the _Times_ remarked next day, but still I spoke for an hour
and made myself understood. From that evening dates my title of
"Explorer," and with it came a considerable change in my material
condition. Instead of having to seek a publisher, I was literally
overrun by men of the craft and inundated with offers. Absolutely
inexperienced as I was in such matters, I took advice with my friends,
and Lord Strangford decided this momentous question for me, and very
kindly introduced me to John Murray, rightly called the "prince of
publishers." A short conversation with him settled the whole matter. The
contract was simply that after deducting the printing costs I was to
receive half of the nett proceeds, and when the first edition was sold I
should have the right to make other arrangements. These conditions
seemed bad enough, but as Lord Strangford said, it was not so much the
question now to make money by it as to get my book introduced into
society; and as Murray only published the intellectual products of the
fashionable world, my connection with him would be to my advantage in
other ways, that is, it would serve as an introduction to society. For
England, the land of strict formalities and outward appearances, this
view was perfectly correct. The publishing offices in Albemarle Street,
where Murray had his business place then, were known as the literary
forum of the _élite_. The Queen was at that time in negotiation with Mr.
Murray about the publication of the late Prince Consort's Memoirs, and
Lord Derby was publishing his translation of Homer with him. Any
dealings with this house raised the author at once to the position of a
gentleman, even if they did not provide him with the means to act as
such. When my arrangements with Murray were completed and he said, "You
can draw upon me," I seemed all at once changed from a beggar into a
Croesus. I accepted his offer and at once drew a cheque for £50,
followed later on by larger amounts, and this sudden transformation of
my financial position very nearly turned my brain. Fortunately my
friends explained to me just in time that this offer of the publisher's
was a mere act of courtesy, that I must not build any false hopes upon
it, that it would have its limits, and that I should not really know how
I stood until the first accounts were squared.
In my excess of joy I had given but little thought to this important
question. One must have been in the rushing stream of London high-life,
one must have gone through the everlasting feastings, the dinners,
luncheons, parties, balls, &c., which fall to the lot of a society lion
during the so-called "season," to understand how little time one has for
thinking, and how a constant intercourse with millionaires makes one
fancy one's self in possession of inexhaustible wealth. Day after day
the post brought piles of invitations to lunch, or dinner, races,
hunting-parties, visits to beautiful country-houses, and all imaginable
pleasures and recreations. Hardly a tenth part of the people who thus
offered me hospitality I knew personally. I was received everywhere as a
friend and old acquaintance, and overwhelmed with attentions of all
sorts. One recommended me to another, and the draconic law of fashion
made it everybody's imperative duty to entertain the stranger who was
about to publish in England the result of his perilous travels, and give
England the first benefit of them, and in this manner to show him the
gratitude of the nation.
I do not doubt that underlying all this there was a strong dose of
snobbishness, in which England excels, an aping of the great and the
wealthy and the highly cultured, for I am certain that many of my
entertainers had but very vague notions about Central Asia. Nevertheless
expressions of appreciation of my toils and labours, even if they were
speculations upon ulterior benefits on the part of my hosts, could not
leave me quite indifferent; in fact they took a most astonishing hold of
me. When I saw with what fervour Livingstone was received on his second
return from Africa, how anonymous patrons placed large sums at his
disposal, and how patiently his curious whims and tempers were put up
with; when I witnessed the part played in society by Burton, Speke,
Grant, Du Chaillu, and Kirk, and realised that these highly celebrated
"travellers" were not thus admired, distinguished, and rewarded for
their great learning, but rather for their manly character, their
personal courage and spirit of enterprise, I began to understand the
eminently practical bent of the British nation, and the problem was
explained how this little Albion had attained to so great power, so
great riches, and boasts possessions which encircle the entire globe.
Indeed the traveller in England enjoys much more notoriety than ever the
greatest scholar and artist does on the Continent. He has seen distant
lands and continents and knows where the best and the cheapest raw
materials are to be had, and where the industrial products of the Mother
Country can be sold most advantageously. He clears the way for the
missionary and the trader and, in their wake, for the red-coat; and just
as in past ages the thirst for discovery as manifested by a Drake, a
Raleigh, and a Cook materially contributed to the greatness of England,
so now it is expected that the explorer's zeal and love of adventure
will help to expand the country's political and commercial spheres of
interest.
A cursory glance at England's latest acquisitions in the most diverse
portions of the globe justifies this national point of view. At the time
of my visit to London I met Mr. Stewart, the bold explorer of the
Steppes of Australia, physically a perfect wreck on account of the great
fatigues he had sustained; but he was lionised tremendously. Australia
at that time counted scarcely a million inhabitants, and now the number
of Englishmen settled there has risen to four or five millions. The
number of explorers, missionaries, and colonists has steadily increased,
and this Colony, which is almost independent of the Mother Country, now
plays a very important part in the British Empire. The same may be
expected of Africa. From the beginning of the sixties the African
travels of Livingstone, and later on those of Du Chaillu, Burton, Speke,
Grant, Baker, &c., were looked upon as great national events, the
consequences of which would affect not only politics and commerce, but
also ordinary workmen and artisans. And now, after scarce half a
century, the British flag waves over the most diverse and by far the
best parts of the Dark Continent. Railways run across the borderlands;
in the Soudan, Uganda, Bulawayo and other lands, Western culture in
British garb is making its way; and during the late South African War
the whole nation, including its Colonies, manifested as much zeal and
patriotism for the establishment of British power in Africa as if it
concerned the defence of London or Birmingham. When we estimate at its
right value this profound national interest in the exploration of
foreign lands, we cannot be so very much surprised at England's
political greatness, nor at the degree of attention paid to travellers.
The English saying, "Trade follows the flag," can hardly be called
correct, for first of all comes the explorer, then the missionary, then
the merchant, and lastly comes the flag.
Of course my travels did not warrant any such expectations. The chief
point of interest of these lay in the information which I brought from
Khiva, Bokhara, and Herat, and more especially with regard to the secret
movements of Russia towards South Asia, so far unknown in England
because of the total isolation of Central Asia. In political circles
curiosity in this respect had reached a high pitch, for wild and
undefined rumours were afloat about the Northern Colossus advancing
towards the Yaxartes. My appearance was therefore of political
importance, and when I add to this the interest created by the manner in
which I had travelled--I mean my Dervish incognito, which amused the
sensation-loving English people just as my proficiency in different
European languages and Asiatic idioms provoked their curiosity--my
brilliant reception is to a certain extent explained. The rapid change
of scene during the early part of my sojourn in London quite stunned me;
I lived in a world altogether new and hitherto undreamed of. For many
days I had quite a struggle to adopt not merely European but English
manners and customs. The contrast between the free-and-easy life of
Asiatic lands--where in the way of food, clothes, and general behaviour,
only such restraint is required as one chooses to lay upon oneself--and
the rigid rules of society life to which in England one is expected to
conform, was often painful and disagreeable to me. One gets sometimes
into the most uncomfortable and ridiculous predicaments, and Livingstone
was right when he once said to me, "Oh, how happy was my life in Africa;
how beautiful is the freedom amidst naked barbarism as compared with
the tyrannical etiquette of our refined society!"
Thoughts of this kind came to me also sometimes; I even longed often for
the unfettered life and the ever-varying vicissitudes of my wanderings,
but these were merely the result of momentary depression. The contrast
between the highest and the lowest stage of civilisation had quite a
different effect upon me, for in my inmost mind I clung to the medium
stage of culture of my native land; the home where, in spite of the
mortifications inflicted upon me, I hoped one day to find a quieter
haven of refuge than in the noisy, restless centre of Western activity.
UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.