[Illustration: Portrait, signed "Faithfully yours, A. Vambéry"]
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY
HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
WITH INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER
DEDICATED TO
THE BOYS OF ENGLAND
Portrait and Seventeen Illustrations
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1889
FIFTH AND POPULAR EDITION.
=ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY=: His Life and Adventures. Written by
Himself. With Portrait and 14 Illustrations. Square
Imperial 16mo, cloth extra, 6s.
"A most fascinating work, full of interesting and
curious experiences."--_Contemporary Review._
"It is partly an autobiographic sketch of character,
partly an account of a singularly daring and successful
adventure in the exploration of a practically unknown
country. In both aspects it deserves to be spoken of as
a work of great interest and of considerable
merit."--_Saturday Review._
"We can follow M. Vambéry's footsteps in Asia with
pride and pleasure; we welcome every word he has to
tell us about the ethnography and the languages of the
East."--_Academy._
"The character and temperament of the writer come out
well in his quaint and vigorous style.... The
expressions, too, in English, of modes of thought and
reflections cast in a different mould from our own
gives additional piquancy to the composition, and,
indeed, almost seems to bring out unexpected capacities
in the language."--_Athenæum._
"Has all the fascination of a lively romance. It is the
confession of an uncommon man; an intensely clever,
extraordinarily energetic egotist, well-informed,
persuaded that he is in the right and impatient of
contradiction."--_Daily Telegraph._
"The work is written in a most captivating manner, and
illustrates the qualities that should be possessed by
the explorer."--_Novoe Vremya, Moscow._
"We are glad to see a popular edition of a book which,
however it be regarded, must be pronounced unique. The
writer, the adventures, and the style are all
extraordinary--the last not the least of the three. It
is flowing and natural--a far better style than is
written by the majority of English travellers."--_St.
James's Gazette._
*** _Over Eighty other English and Foreign periodicals
have reviewed this work._
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, 26, PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
PREFATORY NOTE xiii
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER xv
I.
EARLY YEARS.
Tutor and Waiter--Vacation Rambles--Literary
Studies--Linguistic Studies 1
II.
THE FIRST JOURNEY.
At Galacz--A Storm at Sea--Penniless in Pera--A Teacher of
Languages--Teaching a Turk--Hussein Daim Pasha--Ahmed
Effendi 15
III.
LIFE IN STAMBUL.
My First Book--Seeking for an Ancient Dialect--My Friends'
Opinion of my Journey--"Reshid Effendi" 34
IV.
FROM TREBIZOND TO ERZERUM.
At Trebizond--On the road to Erzerum 42
V.
FROM ERZERUM TO THE PERSIAN FRONTIER.
The Frontier of Kurdistan--Attacked by Robbers--Tales of
Robbers--An Old Friend 47
VI.
FROM THE PERSIAN BORDER TO TEBRIZ.
On Persian Soil--The Bazaar at Khoy--The Seids 56
VII.
IN TEBRIZ
Study of the Shi-ite Sect--Holy Water--An Old
Acquaintance--A Royal Investiture--An Overworked Embassy 64
VIII.
IN ZENDJAN.
A Persian Medico--A Persian Miracle-Play--Tragedy
Appreciated 77
IX.
FROM KAZVIN TO TEHERAN.
The Atoning Procession 85
X.
IN TEHERAN.
Talking to Turks of Home--Social Contrasts in Asia 89
XI.
THE SALT DESERT OF DESHTI-KUVIR.
Choosing a Companion--Morning Prayer--The Desert of
Devils--The Caravan of the Dead 94
XII.
KUM AND KASHAN.
The City of Virgins--The Tomb of Fatima--Kashan--Murder in
the Desert 104
XIII.
FROM ISFAHAN TO THE SUPPOSED TOMB OF CYRUS.
The Pope of Isfahan--Movable Towers--Tales for
Travellers--Gazelles in the Desert--Fars 113
XIV.
PERSEPOLIS.
Solomon's Throne--A Morning Reverie--Vandalism in
Persia--Embracing the Pilgrims 125
XV.
SHIRAZ.
Fertility of Shiraz--A Linguist's Joke--Persian
Cruelty--Saadi--Europeans Feasting in Persia--An Earthquake
in Shiraz--Desolation 136
XVI.
PREPARATIONS FOR MY JOURNEY TO CENTRAL ASIA.
Chivalrous Dervishes--Scruples--Journey with
Tartars--Committed to His Purpose 150
XVII.
FROM TEHERAN TO THE LAND OF THE TURKOMANS.
Description of the Caravan--Incognito Unveiled--Thieving
Jackals--Unrequited Love--The Slave Trade 161
XVIII.
GOMUSHTEPE.
Receiving the Pilgrims--How to become a Dervish--Learning in
the Wilds--Slavery--A Betrothal Feast--A Robber Chief 174
XIX.
FROM GOMUSHTEPE TO THE BORDER OF THE DESERT.
Threatened by the Wild Boar--An Anxious Moment 187
XX.
IN THE DESERT.
Suspicion Aroused--A Pious Brother--Karendag
Mountains--Little Balkan Mountain--Charm of the
Desert--Thirst!--Hot Weather 192
XXI.
IN KHIVA.
An Army of Asses--Rest and Dread--Making a Friend--The
Khan--A Lion in Khiva--Fierce Barbarism 213
XXII.
FROM KHIVA TO BOKHARA.
Intoxicated Dervishes--A Khivan Fair--Flying from
Tekkes--Thirst and Despair--Among Slaves 233
XXIII.
IN BOKHARA.
Life in Bokhara--More Suspicions--Theology in Bokhara--The
Slave Trade--The Road to Samarkand 244
XXIV.
IN SAMARKAND.
Tombs of the Saints--Ambition and Prudence--A Royal
Cross-Examiner 254
XXV.
FROM SAMARKAND TO HERAT.
Taken for a Runaway Slave--A Scorpion Bite--Saved by
Prayers--Redemption of Slaves--Exorbitant Tolls 263
XXVI.
IN HERAT AND BEYOND IT.
A City in Ruins--Yakub Khan--Freezing Weather 275
XXVII.
IN MESHED.
A Meshed Crowd--An Unceremonious Visitor--A Welcome--A
Meshed Monument--Persecution of Jews--The Tomb of Firdusi 283
XXVIII.
FROM MESHED TO TEHERAN.
An Old Friend--Saddle _v._ Cushions--A Curious
Phenomenon--Alone in the Desert--An Englishman--A Snug
Berth--Confounding the Disturbers--Reputation without
Foundation 297
XXIX.
FROM TEHERAN TO TREBIZOND.
The Discomforts of Civilization--Presented to the
Shah--Persian Official Corruption--A Character--An Expensive
Photographer 314
XXX.
HOMEWARDS.
Constantinople--London 325
XXXI.
IN ENGLAND.
Sir Henry Rawlinson--Sir Roderick Murchison--Lord
Strangford--A Lion in London--At Burlington House--The
Sorrows of Authorship 330
XXXII.
IN PARIS.
Napoleon III.--French Suspicions 343
XXXIII.
IN HUNGARY.
In Hungary 349
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR Frontispiece
PRESSBURG 3
PESTH--THE STARTING PLACE 11
GALACZ 17
THE BOSPHORUS 23
MOUNT ARARAT 57
CITY OF TEBRIZ 65
TRAVELLING IN PERSIA 97
TAKH-TA-RA-WAN 127
MAKING FRIENDS WITH THE TARTARS 151
A DERVISH FEAST 163
A LIGHT FOR THE COMPASS 197
THE KARENDAG HILLS 201
A WELL IN THE DESERT 209
AN ASININE ARMY 215
AUDIENCE WITH THE KHAN OF KHIVA 223
ROAD IN CENTRAL ASIA 229
SAMARKAND 255
PREFATORY NOTE TO FIRST EDITION.
The following pages contain a strictly personal narrative of my Travels
and Adventures in Asia and in Europe. They make no pretence whatever to
be a geographical and ethnological description of the actual Central
Asia. Upon these points recent works have greatly added to the knowledge
we possessed twenty years ago, when I performed my dangerous pilgrimage
from Budapest to Samarkand. A _résumé_ of the various publications of
Russian, English, French and German travellers in this region would have
formed a separate book, but these have nothing to do with the variegated
adventures of my own career, of which I here propose to give the first
complete picture to the English reader.
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY.
BUDAPEST.
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER
TO THE BOYS OF ENGLAND.
In presenting this narrative of my adventures in Europe and in Asia to
the juvenile reader in England, I must add a few remarks which have not
been embodied in the autobiographical reminiscences of this book. I
must, in the first place, state that the desire to see foreign countries
awoke in me at the tender age of six years. Playing with my younger
comrades on the green before our village, I tried, with a crutch under
my left arm--for I was lame--to run races with more lissome lads.
Remaining usually far behind my rivals, and being jeered at by my
comrades for my failures, I would go crying to my dear mother and
bitterly complain of the shame which had befallen me. She used with all
maternal tenderness to console me, saying, "Never mind that, my dear. If
you grow older and stronger, you will beat them all by force of
perseverance. I am sure you will yet be far in advance of them all."
With firm reliance on the words of my good mother, I did not henceforth
care very much for the scoffing of my playmates; I looked forward with
great impatience to the time when I should be _in advance of them all_.
With similar encouragements I was spurred on to my elementary studies,
and, seeing that by dint of exertion I became one of the most
industrious of students, I was fully prepared for the same success in
physical competitions. But, alas! here I was to a certain extent
disappointed, for my quick motion was generally hindered by the crutch,
which I still used at the age of ten, not so much from necessity as from
having become too accustomed to it to walk without it, but which I
intended to lay aside as soon as possible. It was one day, whilst
visiting the tomb of my father in the cemetery, that I made up my mind
to walk without that troublesome instrument under my arm. Having thrown
away the crutch, I walked, or I should rather say, I jumped, upon one
leg a few paces, in order to try locomotion without a wooden support. It
was a hard, nay, an exhaustive work; and, as the village was nearly a
quarter of an hour's journey from the cemetery, I began to despair, and
jumped back to fetch again the despised support. Having taken it in hand
and being ready to start again for home, I suddenly felt an
extraordinary agitation awakening in my breast; a desire for immediate
ease was fighting fiercely with determined resolution, and it was only
upon my remembrance of the good advice of my mother that the latter got
the upper hand. In order to avoid any future temptation, I broke the
crutch asunder, and using one half of it as a walking stick, I returned
home, of course with great fatigue and nearly bathed in perspiration.
I relate this incident in order to prove to the young reader that a
resolute will is able to accomplish even seemingly impossible things,
and that, through persisting in our decisions, we nearly always reach
the goal of our desires. With the motto, "Forwards and never backwards!"
I, a lame man, destitute of all name, was able to see distant countries
in Asia, and to visit such places and peoples as I was anxious to know
from the time that I first read of them. For we Hungarians are, as you
must know, Asiatics by descent; our ancestors came thousands of years
ago from the East to the banks of the Danube, and it is very natural
that with us a voyage to Asia is connected with a good deal of national
piety.
To Englishmen travels in Asia have another kind of attraction. To one,
that continent is the cradle of our holy religion, the ancient seat of
civilization; to another, it is a region for adventure, or the far
country where he may satisfy his curiosity by witnessing habits and
customs so different from his own. To the vast majority of Englishmen
Asia is a field for commercial and industrial enterprise, where a noble
and grateful task awaits the European, and where a holy duty may be
fulfilled.
Now I can assure my young friends in England that Asia is worth seeing
and studying. There are many, many features in the character and the
social life of the Asiatic which deserve our admiration, although there
are also others which will rouse our compassion and instigate us more
greatly to love our own country and to cling the more closely to our own
religion and institutions. What will strike us most is the difference of
opinion and of view we meet at every step in the interior life of the
Asiatic. It is not only his physical appearance, his dress and language,
his food and habitation, but also his manner of thinking, nay, his mode
of walking sitting and lying, which will seem strange to our eyes, and
offer to us a spectacle such as we are unaccustomed to in our European
world. Of fine scenes, of queer looking towns, of wonderful buildings
and old monuments I will not speak at all, but I will repeat what I said
before: "A journey to Asia is quite worth the trouble involved in it."
It would be indeed unfair should I conceal from you the fact that
travelling in the interior of Asia does not at all belong to the class
of enterprises called pleasure trips or vacation tours; for it involves
a good deal of trouble and fatigue, of privation and suffering. A man
brought up under better circumstances and accustomed to lead a
comfortable life must be prepared to nourish his body on the most
incredible food, to front all inclemencies of weather, and, what is most
difficult, to renounce his notions of cleanliness. Of course a European
is only gradually trained for such an extraordinary life of hardships;
it is only by getting gradually from bad to worse that we are able to
withstand the most trying situations; and if, reading the following
pages, you should be astonished at what I went through and what I had to
suffer, please to note that in spite of the great poverty in which I
spent my childhood my task would not have come to a successful end if my
progress from Hungary to Central Asia had not taken place gradually and
after a temporary sojourn in the countries I had to pass on my way.
Well, the preparation was certainly lengthy and wearisome, but in spite
of that preparatory school the whole undertaking was extremely
hazardous, and my sufferings were really such as could hardly be
described. The account, which you will read in the following pages and
all that I have written, contains scarcely the half of the adventures I
went through in Europe and in Asia, and ought to be taken only for the
outlines of a career I intend to sketch, but will not publish in my
lifetime.
I do not need to add that I do not repent at all of having spent the
best portion of my life in visiting different Asiatic countries, and of
having been an eye-witness of many strange and highly interesting
customs and habits of men. The joy and in most satisfaction which I felt
whilst looking on the scenes for which my earliest juvenile fancy
longed, that same joy I derive now from the recollection of those bygone
adventures, and I feel really happy in unfolding the delightful and
variegated picture of my former life. Should my young readers in England
find an enjoyment in these pages, and should I have succeeded in
imparting to them any knowledge of the distant Asiatic world, I shall
feel certainly the more happy; for, according to the Oriental, to
receive is only a single pleasure, but to give is a twofold one.
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY.
BUDAPEST.
I.
EARLY YEARS.
When my father died in 1832 I was but a few months old. My mother was
poor, very poor indeed. By marrying again, however, she fondly hoped she
might be enabled to give her helpless and fatherless orphans a better
bringing up. But in this expectation she was sadly mistaken. Our
stepfather, although a very excellent man, did but very little towards
relieving the pressing needs of our small household. In due time, too,
our family circle got fresh additions; the number of the little ones who
stood in need of food and clothing was increasing. The consequence was
that our parents, in their solicitude for the welfare of the smaller
children, turned the older ones adrift to seek the best way they could
their own livelihood as soon as they were supposed to have attained an
age ripe enough to take care of themselves.
My turn came when twelve years old. My mother then thought I had reached
a period of my life when I ought to look after myself. Although I had
been afflicted since my birth with a lameness from which I began to
suffer when three years old, and which compelled me to carry a crutch
under my left arm up to the time my mother declared me to be of mature
age, I was yet, on the whole, a tolerably hearty and healthy boy. The
simple fare, often barely sufficient to still the cravings of hunger,
the exceedingly scanty clothing allowed to me, and my want of
familiarity with even the meanest comforts of life had, already, at this
early stage of my life, hardened my body, and inured it to the most
adverse climatic conditions.
I had then been attending school for about three years; and as my
teachers were lavish in their praises of my extraordinary memory,
enabling me to learn by heart, with great ease, almost anything, even
passages in Latin which I did not understand at all, I thought of going
on with the pursuit of my studies, in order to become a physician or
lawyer,--the two professions which, at that time, were considered in the
rural parts of Hungary as the goal of the most exalted ambition of an
educated man.
My mother, too, had some such future in view for me, but inexorable
poverty stood in the way of all such ambitious schemings. I had to stoop
lower, much lower indeed. I was apprenticed to a ladies' dressmaker.
When I had got so far as to be able to stitch two pieces of muslin
together, a feeling overcame me that Dame Fortune had something better
in store for me than stitching away all my life long. I soon left the
shop of the ladies' dress artist, and was engaged by the inn-keeper of
the village to be the private teacher of his only son. I was to initiate
him into the mystery of reading, writing and arithmetic. But my duties
did not end there; I had to perform, besides, such unusual offices as
the cleaning of the boots of the family on Saturday evenings, and
occasionally waiting on thirsty guests, and handing them a glass of wine
or whiskey.
[Illustration: PRESSBURG.]
There was, undoubtedly, some slight incongruity between my tender age
and the position of a teacher, nor was it easy for one who stood in sore
need of instruction himself to impart it to another,--and, indeed, the
master of the house did not fail to remind me of this anomaly by a
treatment anything but in keeping with the dignity of my position as the
mentor of his son.
But I received even worse treatment at the hands of the young master--my
pupil. The lad was two years my senior, and on one occasion, when
carried away with my pedagogic zeal I had given him a severe reprimand
for his rude doings, he, nothing loth, fell on me and would have given
me a sound thrashing but for the timely appearance of his mother.
My tutorship proved thus a school of hardship for me; but I bravely
persevered until I could carry away with me from the Island of Schütt,
where I had spent the first years of my childhood, the large sum of
eight florins, which represented my net earnings. With this sum I
hastened to St. George, in the vicinity of Pressburg, in order to begin
there my studies at the gymnasium.
The money I had brought with me was just sufficient to purchase me the
necessary books, and kind and charitable people helped me on in many
other ways. Seven different families each gave me one day in the week a
free meal, adding to it a big slice of bread for breakfast and another
for luncheon. I also got the cast-off clothes of the wealthier
schoolboys. By dint of application, and owing, perhaps, to the quick and
easy comprehension which was natural to me, I succeeded in passing my
examination at the first Latin class, as the second at the head of the
class. My whole heart was in my studies; I was soon able to speak Latin
with tolerable fluency; my professors remarked me and showed me some
favour, which greatly assisted me in my struggles.
I passed, also, at St. George my examination in the second Latin class,
successfully. My fondness for roving gave me no rest. I began to long
for a change and was particularly desirous of going to Pressburg, where
there were schools of a higher grade. I therefore left St. George,
although I had my livelihood almost assured there, and the year 1846 saw
me, at the age of fourteen, within the walls of the ancient City of
Coronation.
There began anew my struggling and striving and desperate exertions to
support myself. It became clear to me from the very first that, as
buildings became taller and crowds larger, the difficulty of making
acquaintances was increasing and the interest of others in my fortunes
was diminishing. I remained here, for three years, now in the capacity
of a servant, and then teaching she-cooks, chambermaids, and other
individuals thirsting for knowledge. Every stone of the pavement of that
beautiful little town on the blue Danube, could it but speak, might tell
some sad tale of misery which I endured there. But youth is able to bear
anything and everything!
I continued my studies, undaunted by want and privations, and was
steadily advancing towards the object I had proposed to myself; at the
end of the first term of school I was reckoned amongst the best
scholars. In recalling these sad days, I never cease to wonder at the
never-failing cheerfulness and the high spirits which were my constant
companions throughout and helped me through all the adversities of life.
My sturdy health aided me in the good fight and did not allow my
good-humour to desert me.
In spite of my frugal fare, consisting of bread and water only, I could
boast of the healthiest of complexions, and was the life and soul of all
fun and mischief in the schoolroom as well as at play. Every time our
school term drew to its end, I was sure to be among the first to seize
my travelling-stick, and launch at random out into the world, limping
but always on foot, without a penny in my pocket. In this manner I had
already visited Vienna, Prague, and other cities and towns in the
Austrian monarchy. Often, when tired as I was marching along the road, I
would indulge in a good-humoured parley with the driver of a waggon or
carriage that happened to pass me, and get, in return for my pains, a
lift in his vehicle for a short distance. At night I usually put up at
the houses of the reverend clergy of the place, where my Latin
conversation was sure to earn for me some regards and a few kreutzers
for my travelling expenses; and by a few happy neatly turned
compliments, bestowed upon their housekeepers, I generally succeeded in
having my travelling-bag filled with provisions for the next day. Truly,
politeness and a cheerful disposition are precious coins current in
every country; they stand at a high premium with the young and the old,
with men and women; and he who has them at his disposal may very well
call himself rich, although his purse be empty.
These rambles were a preparatory school for my wanderings as a dervish
in after years, and it was always with a heavy heart that I put my
walking-stick into a corner at the end of the vacation. Whether or not
it was because I suffered from want and had to struggle hard to eke out
a livelihood in town, one thing is certain, I disliked living in cities
from my earliest childhood. Upon entering the narrow street with its
rows of tall houses, and watching the diminishing sky over my head, my
youthful spirits sank within me, and only the hope of standing at the
end of the school term again a free man under God's bright heaven
communing freely with Nature rendered my stay in town bearable.
In 1847, besides continuing my regular studies at school, I began to
devote myself to private studies; for it must be owned that the
gymnasiums were rather badly managed in Hungary at that time. In
addition to reading the greatest variety of literary productions, on
travels, which I all-eagerly devoured, I was learning French. Besides my
native language, Hungarian, I had acquired German early in life. At
about nearly the same time I had mastered Sclavonian, and as my studies
at school had rendered me familiar with Latin and Greek, I found myself,
not quite sixteen years old, conversant with so many principal languages
that acquiring the idioms kindred to them had become a comparatively
easy task for me.
I always took special delight in memorizing. Children have very vague
ideas about natural gifts, and when I was able to increase the number of
words which I could master in one day from ten to sixty and even to a
hundred, my exultation knew no bounds. I must frankly own, however, that
I had not at that time the faintest conception as to what the result of
these successful exertions, which so flattered my vanity, might be.
Thus it happened that from the private study of French I gradually
passed over to the study of the remaining branches of the Latin family.
I did the same thing with the Germanic languages, and, beginning with
English, I soon eagerly extended my studies to Danish and Swedish. I
pursued the same method with the Sclavonic dialects, and as I never
omitted, in the zeal of learning, to read out loud and to hold
conversations with myself in the languages I was learning, I had
acquired, in a surprisingly short time, a certain kind of proficiency in
all these languages which my youthful conceit made me imagine was
perfection itself; and I am afraid I had rather an exalted opinion of
myself at that time.
Vanity injures the character of a man in most cases, but it proves at
times a very wholesome incentive to exertion. In this instance the
conceit which was the result of my undisciplined imagination made me
abandon the path of public studies I had entered upon, and induced me to
continue my studies by myself. The friendly reader will ask what was the
object of this self-education. Indeed I myself did not then know.
"_Nulla dies sine linea_" ("No day without a line") was the maxim ever
present in my mind, and even when I was devoting from eight to ten hours
daily to teaching, I contrived to make such good use of the remaining
time as considerably to improve in my own studies.
The pleasures of general literature had now taken the place of the dry
and monotonous memorizing of different languages of former years. I drew
to my heart's content from the rich and varied fountain of the mental
products of nearly all the European nations. The bards of Albion, the
troubadours of Servia, the minstrels of Spain and the inspired poets of
Italy; Lomonosoff, Pushkin, Tegnér, Andersen, Ochlenschlaeger, nearly
all the muses of the present age and of the past ages beguiled my hours
of leisure. I always read out loud, and frequently noted down in writing
on the margin of the pages I read my feelings whenever any passage
happened to strike my imagination.
Owing to this habit of loud reading and the violent gestures with which
I would often accompany it, the plain people who were about me often
thought me wrong in the mind; and upon one occasion this conviction had
so grown upon them that I actually lost my position as a teacher, on
that account. But what cared I for the small criticisms of these people,
so long as my mind was peopled with Tasso's struggle before Jerusalem,
Cid's valiant deeds, and Byron's heroes and heroines? Yet, I must
confess, no scenes had such a charm for me as those acting in the land
of the rising sun, Asia--which then seemed to me so very far away--with
her gorgeously brilliant robe, richly covered with pearls and gems,
constantly floating before my eyes. How could it be otherwise with one
who, in his youth, had read "The Arabian Nights," and who, as in my
case, was by birth and education half an Asiatic himself.
I knew Asia as the land of the most fantastic adventures, as the home of
the most fabulous successes; and, having led an adventurous life at an
age when I was a child still, and being already in pursuit of some great
good fortune, my first yearnings after distant lands pointed already to
Asia.
In order to be enabled soon to gratify this longing, I thought it
necessary to make myself, in the first place, familiar with the
languages of Asia; and I began at once with the Turkish language. The
Ural-Altaic dialect gave me less trouble than it would have given most
Occidental people owing to its affinity with the Magyar language. I
found it all the more difficult to master its strange characters without
a teacher or any direction. For whole days I went on drawing the letters
with a stick on the sand, until I became, at length, familiar with the
value of the diacritical points, that is, the distinguishing marks
indispensable to a correct pronunciation of the letters and words. In
this way I steadily improved. I was in want of a dictionary, but I could
not afford to pay the high price asked for it, a "Bianchi" costing then
nearly forty florins; and as I was compelled to trace the meaning of the
single words through the labyrinth of the Turkish text by the aid of a
so-called literal translation, "Wickerhauser's Chrestomathy," it did
happen to me that after I had got through with the study of a bulky
volume, I found out that I had been doing it all in a wrong way, and was
obliged to do it all over again. Such bitter disappointments occurred to
me more than once in the course of my autodidactic career; but what
labour or task will ever restrain the ardour of youth or damp its
enthusiasm?
[Illustration: PESTH--THE STARTING PLACE.]
I had now reached my twentieth year, and I was richly rewarded for all
the pains I had taken when I was able for the first time to read and
understand, without the aid of a dictionary, a short Turkish poem. It
was not, indeed, the contents of the Oriental muse, quite inaccessible
as yet for me, which kindled my enthusiasm, but rather the fruits, the
sweet fruits of my labours, which afforded me such abundant
satisfaction, and acted as an incentive spurring me to press forward
into the field of Oriental science. All my musings, endeavours, thoughts
and feelings tended towards the Land of the East, which was beckoning to
me in its halo of splendour. My spirit had been haunting ever so long
its fairy fields, and, sooner or later, my body was sure to follow it.
For one who had still to struggle for his daily bread, in his European
home, it required considerable boldness to think of a journey to the
East, a land many hundred miles away. I will not deny that even the
boldest flights of youthful enthusiasm, and the all-powerful desire of
getting to know strange countries and customs, had to halt at the
stumbling-block raised by poverty, and that luring fancy kept dazzling
my eyes for many a day before I seriously set to work to carry out my
cherished scheme. But a firm resolve with me is almost always like the
avalanche which is being precipitated from the lofty summits of the
Alps--beginning with but an insignificant ball of snow set in motion by
a favourable breeze, but soon swelling into a tremendous mass which
carries before it every impediment, crushing and driving before it with
irresistible force everything standing in its way. Such was the impulse
which I received through the patronage of Baron Joseph Eötvös, known in
Europe as a writer of high merit. This generous countryman of mine was
not a man of wealth, but his influence procured me a free passage to the
Black Sea. He gave me also a modest obolus and some old clothes. My
knapsack, bursting with books, was soon buckled on, and I embarked in a
steamer for Galacz, from which place I was to go to Constantinople, the
immediate object of my journey.
II.
THE FIRST JOURNEY.
Who can describe the feelings of a young man, barely twenty-two years
old, who up to this day had been buffeted about by fortune, finding
himself all of a sudden hastening towards the goal of his most cherished
wishes, with (say) fifteen Austrian florins in his pocket, and about to
enter upon a life full of uncertainty, in a distant region, amongst a
strange people, who were rude and savage, and were beginning only then
to seek a closer acquaintanceship with the nations of the West? My soul
was agitated alternately by feelings of fear and hope, of curiosity and
pain. Nobody accompanied me to the landing-place to see me off, nobody
was there waiting for me, no warm presence of a friendly hand nor a
mother's loving kiss cheered me on in the journey on which I was to
start.
I had, thus, reason enough to feel somewhat depressed; nor could I
entirely shake off this feeling; but I had no sooner come on deck, and
begun to mix with the people, forming the national kaleidoscope one is
always sure to meet on a voyage along the Lower Danube, and got an
opportunity of conversing in Servian, Italian, Turkish and other
languages of which I had had hitherto only a theoretical knowledge, than
every vestige of my former downheartedness gradually vanished. I was now
in my element. Add to this that I soon became the object of general
admiration owing to the fluency of my conversation in different
languages; the crowd being always sure to stand in a sort of awe of
every polyglot. They formed a ring around me, trying to guess at my
nationality, and received rather sceptically my statement that I had
never been abroad.
I was, of course, very much amused at the gaping crowd, but I managed to
derive some more solid advantages from the manifestation of the good
opinion which my fellow travellers entertained for me; for, when the
dinner-bell was rung, and I preferred to remain behind on the deck with
a perturbed expression of countenance, some enthusiastic disciple of
Mercury was sure to get hold of the so-called youthful prodigy and pay
him his meal.
In the absence of such well-disposed stomachic patrons, I would lounge
about in the neighbourhood of the kitchen of the ship, the masters of
which are for the most part Italians. A few stanzas from Petrarca or
Tasso sufficed to attract the attention of the _cuoco_ (cook). A
conversation in pure Tuscan soon followed, and the upshot was a
well-filled plate of maccaroni or risotto, capped by a piece of boiled
or roasted meat. "Mille grazie, signore" (a thousand thanks, sir), meant
that I would come in the evening, to claim a continuation of the favour
shown me. The good Italian would shove his barrett of linen on one side,
give a short laugh, and proved by his answer, "Come whenever you
like," that the seed of my linguistic experiments had not fallen on a
barren soil.
[Illustration: GALACZ.]
My constant good-humour and happy disposition were of great help to me
in all my straits, and, assisted by my tongue, were the means of
procuring for me many a thing upon occasions when the attempts of others
would have proved fruitless. In this manner I reached Galacz, a dirty,
miserable place at this day even, but at that time much more so. During
my voyage on the Lower Danube, the shore on the right-hand side, with
its Turkish towns and Turkish population, entirely absorbed my
attention. To me every turbaned traveller, adorned with a long beard,
upon entering the ship became a novel and interesting page meant for my
particular study, and, at the same time, a never failing object of
pleasurable excitement.
When the sun was setting, and the truly faithful sat, or rather knelt
down for prayer in the abject attitude peculiar to them on those
occasions, I followed with my eyes every one of their movements with the
most feverish and breathless attention; watching intensely the very
motion of their lips, as they were uttering Arabic words, unintelligible
even to them; and not until after they were done did I again breathe
freely.
The interest which I so plainly showed could not escape the notice of
the fanatic Moslem. We then lived in the era of the Hungarian refugees.
Some hundreds of my countrymen made believe that they had been converted
to Islam. A popular belief had got abroad that the whole Magyar people
would acknowledge Mohammed as their prophet, and whenever a Mohammedan
came across a Madjarli, the fire of the missionary was blazing fiercely
in his heart.
Such an interest, or a kindred one, must have entered into the
friendship shown to me during my voyage to Galacz by some Turks from
Widdin, Rustchuk and Silistria. In this supposition of mine I may
possibly be mistaken, and it is quite as likely that their sympathies
were excited by the deep national feeling, which then manifested itself
everywhere in the Ottoman empire, in favour of the Magyars, who had been
defeated by the Russians. This state of affairs, at all events, was of
excellent service to me, not only during this passage, but during my
entire stay in Turkey.
I was drawn by curiosity towards the half-Asiatic Turks, my fellow
travellers, and these very men were the first to introduce me into the
Oriental world. I need not say that, after having been with them for a
day or two, I improved in my Turkish, to such an extent, that at Galacz
I was already able to serve a countryman of mine as an interpreter.
The Oriental, and, I may say, the Mohammedan element was decidedly
preponderating amongst the passengers, in whose company I went from
Galacz to Constantinople. The reader will not be surprised to learn that
I was booked for the cheapest place on the ship, namely, the deck, and
that, even for that place, I often paid only half fare. I placed my
meagre knapsack near the luggage of the Turks, who were sitting apart
from the others, and most of whom were on their pilgrimage to Mecca; I
was impatiently looking out to catch a glimpse of the long-hoped-for
sea, which I had never seen before.
He who has got his first impressions of the sea, through the reading of
Byron's aquatic scenes, Camoen's "Lusiade," or Tegnér's "Legend of
Frithjof," will be overcome by feelings of no common order in finding
himself, for the first time in his life, on the boundless watery
expanse, especially of the Euxine--gliding along its bosom and being
rocked by its waves.
At an hour's distance from the mouths of the Sulina, I gazed, in a
reverie, at the awful grandeur of the sea, not in the least disturbed by
the deep guttural sounds and savage groans which came from the sea-sick
people around me.
Father Poseidon had done no manner of harm to my health. I had rather
reason to complain of an unusually keen appetite; the excessive
chilliness of the evenings, too--we were then in the month of
April--cooled my blood more than I thought it desirable. I began to
shake with the cold, in spite of a surplus carpet, placed at my disposal
for a covering by the kind care of a Turk; and after having feasted my
eyes on the bright, star-covered sky for a considerable time, I fell, at
length, asleep.
I was suddenly and rudely roused from my dreams towards midnight by
peals of thunder and flashes of lightning, accompanied by a violent
shower. I had been all day long wishing for a storm; I own my wish was
gratified at night in such a thorough manner as fully to satisfy my
romantic disposition.
How my heart throbbed upon seeing the ship dance up and down the
towering, mountain-like waves, like a nimble gazelle! The creaking of
beams, the howling of the wind, with which the shouts of despair from
the passengers were mingling, the everlasting appeals to Allah, which
resounded everywhere, could not destroy the halo of poetry with which I
surrounded a scene, otherwise commonplace enough. Only after getting
soaking wet with the chilly rain did I shift my place.
I got up and tried to keep myself warm by taking a walk, but the chaos
of legs stretched out, of travelling-bags, bundles, firearms and turbans
which were littering the ground rendered the walk well-nigh
impracticable. I longingly looked at the open space close by the deck,
reserved for the promenading of first-class passengers, where I
observed, in the darkness of the night a man hurrying to and fro. I had
at first thoughts of entering into a conversation with him; but, my
courage to do so failing me, I hit upon another expedient to attract his
attention. I commenced declaiming, in the midst of the violent storm,
one of the epic poems I knew by heart. My choice fell on Voltaire's
Henriade--
"Je chante ce héros qui régna sur la France
Et par droit de conquête et par droit de naissance!"[1]
[Footnote 1: I sing of the hero who reigned in France,
by right of conquest and by right of birth.]
And having roared out, with a good will, into the darkness of the night,
several verses, I had the satisfaction of seeing the much-envied
first-class passenger stop, near a crowd of Turks, in a listening
attitude; and after a while he joined me and began a conversation with
me.
With Voltaire, acting as master of ceremonies, questions about rank and
nationality seemed to be out of place. I discovered next morning that
the figure, wrapped in the shadows of night, belonged to a gentleman, a
Belgian by birth, a diplomat by his calling, who was going to
Constantinople in the capacity of a Secretary of Legation. If the
gentleman felt some surprise at the rage of declamation prompting a
person wet to the skin to recite verses at night, his astonishment
increased considerably upon seeing me next morning in broad daylight
shabbily attired. He, nevertheless, seemed to have formed no mean
opinion of me; he asked me to come and see him in Pera, and promised me
his protection to the extent of his power.
We were favoured by the fairest weather from Varna to Constantinople,
and nothing more charming could be imagined than this our voyage. The
sailing through the most delightful sea road of the world, vulgarly
called the Bosphorus, is apt to affect the dullest spirit, and
roused--it is needless to say--the utmost enthusiasm in me. But upon
looking about me, and seeing before me the dense forest of masts and
flags in the Golden Horn, I fancied I was placed, as it were, in the
very centre of the world; and as my fellow passengers were dropping
away, one by one, all hurrying in different directions to the shore, a
feeling of my forlornness burst upon me. My spirits were damped and I
felt anxious and ill at ease.
[Illustration: THE BOSPHORUS.]
Of the fifteen florins I had brought with me from Pesth, I had left just
enough to pay my fare on the boat which took me to the shore. I now set
my foot on Turkish ground, if not with a light heart, certainly with a
very light purse, and sauntered pretty recklessly up the narrow street
leading to the heights of Pera.
With a spirit less adventurous and at a more sensible age than mine, I
should have asked myself: "Where will you sleep to-night, what will you
eat--and, altogether, what will you begin to do?" But I never put these
questions to myself--I was blind in my enthusiasm. I was quietly
stopping to look at some signs, covered with Turkish inscriptions, and
was busy deciphering them, when a stranger, a Hungarian, whose curiosity
had been roused by the long ribbon which floated from my Hungarian hat,
stepped up to me. He inquired in Italian about my nationality and my
place of destination, and upon learning that I was a Hungarian he, as a
countryman and a political refugee, of course, immediately addressed me
in Hungarian, much to the delight of both of us.
Mr. Püspöki had been an honest mechanic in his own country; he was
earning a living in Turkey by being, in turn, an officer of the line, a
sutler during the Crimean war, an accounting clerk on board of a ship,
and, finally, when I met him, a cook. He was occupying a small,
poverty-stricken room, on the ground floor, in the dirty quarter of the
town which lies in the rear of the walls of the palace of the English
Embassy; its modest furniture consisting solely of a mattress, running
along the wall, which he shared with me, like a brother.
I shall never forget my first night on this couch. My hospitable
countryman had been fast asleep for some time, whilst I, unable to close
my eyes, was still pondering over the strange beginning of life in
Turkey. I became, all of a sudden, aware that now one, and again the
other, of my boots were moving about, by themselves.
"Friend," I said, first in a whisper, and gradually raising my voice, "I
think they are carrying away my boots."
He only muttered something unintelligible in reply. I repeated my
remark, and the good man finally exclaimed with some ill-humour:
"Do sleep! It is nothing but rats playing."
A very amusing game, indeed, I thought, provided they do not chew up my
boots; and I turned to sleep again.
I spent about three days in that miserable hole. I soon extended my
acquaintance with my countrymen, and obtained, through them, permission
to live in one of the rooms occupied by the "Magyar Club," which was at
that time already nearly deserted. At this place I met with fewer
frolicsome animals, but the skipping animals were all the more numerous;
and one evening, when, suffering from the chilliness of the night, I
ventured to ask the secretary of the club to give me something to cover
myself with, that worthy gentleman took the tricolour off the flagstaff,
and handed it to me, apostrophizing me in the following touching
manner:
"Friend! this flag has fired the hearts of many in their heroic flights,
it was itself once full of fire; wrap yourself up in it, dream of
glorious battlefields, and maybe it will keep you warm too."
And, oddly enough, I wrapped the old rag around me, shivered yet for a
little while, and then fell into a sound sleep.
Several days had passed in this manner. Day by day the circle of my
acquaintances was increasing, and all of them were particularly struck
with the varied knowledge I exhibited in the matter of languages, and my
being able to speak fluently and read easily the language of the
country, without having lived in Turkey, was to them a subject of
special wonder.
To give instruction in the languages used in the country, with a view to
earning my daily bread, suggested itself as the most natural thing.
Written advertisements of my desire were distributed, and the first
lesson I was to give was, oddly enough, in Danish.
Mr. Hübsch, a noble-minded gentleman of culture, whom I shall always
remember with pleasure, had been for some time back in search of a
Danish master, and was really glad to meet me; indeed, he made such
rapid progress as to be able, in the course of a few months, to read,
under my direction, Andersen's "Spilleman" and "Berlingske Tidninger."
Beginning with this odd lesson, I soon obtained other engagements as a
teacher, which I should never have hoped to obtain. The all-promising
advertisements did not fail to produce their effects; and one day, when
I happened to be at the book-shop of Mr. S., a young Turk, whose large
retinue showed him to be a man of means, came in and inquired after the
Madjarli, whose name he had seen in the shop-window--and whom he wished
to engage as a "Khodja," or teacher of the French language.
The young Bey was, as I had afterwards occasion to learn, a "Miraskhor,"
that is, a person who has just come into possession of a rich
inheritance, and is trying to acquire the external attributes suitable
to his wealth. In Turkey, at that time, these attributes were as
follows: (1) a suit of the finest broadcloth, after the latest cut and
fashion; (2) tight patent leather shoes; (3) a small, jaunty fez,
rakishly worn on one side of the head, and, as a matter of course,
gloves, too; (4) an easy, graceful step, accompanied by a fashionable
carriage of the arms and hands; and (5) French conversation. European
tradesmen had provided him with the first four ingredients for the
make-up of a Turkish gentleman, and I was to furnish him with the fifth.
I was, accordingly, engaged on the spot as his teacher, the remuneration
stipulated for being ten piastres for one hour's lesson daily, besides
my expenses of going to his house and returning, as our dandy was living
at some distance in Skutari.
This lesson procured me the opportunity of gaining admission for the
first time into a genuine Turkish house. I arrived every day punctually
at the appointed hour, but generally found my pupil, who had just roused
himself from his slumbers, still suffering from the effects of last
night's debauch, and scarcely able to lift his heavy eyelids; nor did I
discover in him the slightest disposition to acquire the language of the
Gauls. It took him an entire month to master the alphabet.
I usually found my pupil in the company of a venerable mollah, who
fairly shuddered whenever the sounds of a language of the Giaours
reached his ears, for the father of my pupil was a notoriously pious
Mussulman, and the walls of the room in which we sat had only re-echoed
until now the canting recitals of the Koran, the sacred hymns, and other
prayers.
I often heard the mollah muttering in his beard, "This is the way in
which the spirit of infidelity is being smuggled into our houses."