abode of civilization and culture, affording to one's heart's content
all the pleasures and refinements of European life. Of course, a
traveller from the West, on coming to the city for the first time, is
bitterly disappointed in seeing the squalid mud hovels and the narrow
and crooked streets through which he must make his way. But to one
coming from Bokhara the aspect of the city seems entirely changed. A
journey of only sixty days separates one city from the other; but in
point of fact, there is such a difference in the social condition of
Bokhara and Teheran, that centuries might have divided them from one
another. My first ride through the bazaar, after my arrival, made me
feel like a child again. Almost with the eagerness of my Tartar
companion, my delighted eyes were wandering over articles of luxury from
Europe, toys, stuffs and cloths which I saw exhibited there. The samples
of European taste and ingenuity then struck me with a sort of awe,
which, recalled now, seems to me very comical. It was a feeling,
however, of which it was difficult to get rid. When a man travels as I
did, and when he has as thoroughly and completely adapted himself to the
Tartar mode of life, it is no wonder if, in the end, he turns half a
Tartar himself. That doublefacedness in which a man lives, thoroughly
aware of his real nature in spite of his outward disguise, cannot be
maintained very long with impunity. The constant concealment of his real
sentiments, the absorbing work of his assimilating to the utmost
elements quite foreign, produce their slow and silent but sure effect,
in altering the man himself, in course of time, whether he wishes it or
no. In vain does the disguised traveller inwardly rebel against the
influences and impressions which are wearing away his real self. The
impressions of the past lose more and more their hold on him until they
fade away, leaving the traveller hopelessly struggling in the toils of
his own fiction, and the _rôle_ he had assumed soon becomes second
nature with him.
I formed no exception to the rule in this particular; the change in my
behaviour was the theme of many facetious remarks from my European
friends, and drew upon me more than once their good-natured sallies.
They made my salutations, my gesticulations, my gait, and above all my
mode of viewing things in general, an object of their mirth. Many went
so far as to insist upon my having been transformed into a Tartar, to my
very features; saying that even my eyes had assumed the oblique shape
peculiar to that race. This good-natured "chaff" afforded me great
amusement. It in no wise interfered with the extreme pleasure I felt in
being restored to European society. Nevertheless, besides the strange
sensation of enjoying the rare luxury of undisturb I repose for several
weeks, there were many things in the customs and habits of my European
friends to which reconciliation caused great difficulty. The
close-fitting European dress, especially, seemed to cramp me and to
hamper me in my movements. The shaved scalp was ill at ease under the
burden of the hair which I allowed to grow. The lively and sometimes
violent gestures which accompanied the friendly interchange of views, on
the part of the Europeans, looked to me like outbursts of passion, and I
often thought that they would be followed by the more energetic argument
of rude force. The stiff and measured carriage and walk, peculiar to
military people, which I observed in the French officers in the Persian
service, seemed to me odd, artificial and stilted. Not but that it
afforded me a secret pleasure to have occasion to admire the proud and
manly bearing of my fellow Europeans. It presented such a gratifying
contrast to the slovenly and slouching gait of the Central Asiatics,
amongst whom I had been lately living. It would serve no purpose to
point out to my readers, and to multiply, the numerous instances of the
strange perversion of views and tastes to which my late experiences
among strange Asiatic people had given rise. Those who, from personal
observations, are enabled to draw a parallel between life in the East
and West, will find no exaggeration in my saying that Teheran compared
to Bokhara seemed to be a sort of Paris to me.
The surprise and astonishment of the Persian public at the capital was
general when the successful issue of my perilous adventure became known.
Ketman (the art of dissimulation allowed by Islam) is a gift well known
and diligently cultivated by Orientals; but that a European should have
acquired such a degree of excellence in this peculiarly Eastern art as
to impose upon the natives themselves seemed to them incomprehensible.
Without doubt they would have grudged the successful termination of my
journey, had it not been that the joke I had played at the expense of
their arch enemies the Sunnite Turkomans tickled their fancy. The
steppes of Turkestan are many ways a _terra incognita_ to the
inhabitants of Teheran; and although they are situated near the confines
of Persia, the strangest and most fanciful ideas prevail amongst the
people in regard to them. I was the recipient of a thousand questions
from everybody on this subject. I was invited by several ministers to
visit them, and had even the distinction conferred upon me of being
presented to his Majesty, "the Centre of the World" or "Highly Exalted
Ruler of the Universe," as the Persians call him. I had to undergo the
wearisome ceremonial of the Persian court, before I was ushered into the
august presence of the Shah Nasr-ed-din, in the garden of the Palace,
and when there I received from him the condescending compliment of being
asked to tell the story of my adventures. I acquitted myself in this
with no little vivacity. The ministers who graced the interview with
their presence were quite dumbfounded with the easy coolness I exhibited
on that occasion, and as I was afterwards told, could scarcely recover
from their astonishment at my being able to endure without trembling the
looks of a sovereign whose least glance strikes terror into the heart of
the boldest mortal. The king himself seemed pleased with my performance,
for he afterwards testified to his satisfaction by sending me the Order
of the Lion and Sun, and what was more to the purpose, a valuable
Persian shawl. The insignia of the Order, consisting of a plain piece of
silver, I was permitted to retain, but the rapacity of the minister, so
characteristic of the court of Teheran, confiscated the shawl, worth at
least fifty ducats, for his own benefit. This conduct is by no means
astonishing: his Majesty the King lies and deceives his ministers, and
they, in their turn, repay his amiability towards them with usurious
interest. Inferior officials cheat the people, and the latter again
avail themselves of every opportunity to cheat the officials. Every one
in that country lies, cheats and swindles. Nor is such behaviour looked
upon as anything immoral or improper; on the contrary, the man who is
straightforward and honest in his dealings is sure to be spoken of
contemptuously as a fool or madman.
As an instance of this general moral obliquity, I will relate a neat
little story of what occurred while I was staying in Teheran. The king,
as is well known, is an inveterate sportsman and an excellent shot. He
passes about nine months in the year in hunting excursions, to the no
small annoyance of the officers of the court, who, on such occasions,
are compelled to leave the luxurious comforts of the harem, with its
dainty food and soft couches, for the rude life in a tent, the simple
fare of the country-people, and the long and fatiguing rides of the
chase. The king, on returning from the chase, is wont to send presents
of some of the game killed by him to the European ambassadors as a
special mark of his favour. This generosity, however, must be paid for
in the shape of a liberal _enaam_, or gratuity, to the servant who has
brought the roe, partridges and other game laid low by the royal hand.
The _Corps Diplomatique_ at first submitted patiently to this exaction,
but as these royal gifts became more and more frequent, the ministers
began to surmise that these repeated acts of distinction did not emanate
from the royal household, but were a mere fiction invented by the
servants to secure the expected large fees, and that the game brought
to them was purchased for the purpose. In order to obviate the
recurrence of similar frauds, the Minister of Foreign Affairs was to
certify, at the request of the ambassadors, to the _bonâ fide_ character
of the royal gifts. For a while this proved to be a preventative of the
annoyance; but for a short time only, for very soon the presents began
to pour in again with an alarming rapidity. Strict inquiries were now
instituted, and the astonishing fact was brought to light that his
Excellency the Minister connived at the fraud by issuing false
certificates, and that he shared in the profits of the disgraceful
transaction. The whole thing, when it transpired, was treated as an
excellent joke; and the king himself deigned to be highly amused at the
account of this singular method of taking in the Frengis.
As I did not intend leaving Teheran before spring, my stay there was
prolonged to two months. This time I passed very agreeably in the
society of the little European colony. Their joy at my return was
sincere, and this they demonstrated not only by cordial and warm
congratulations, but by a hundred little acts of politeness and goodwill
which rendered my stay with them exceedingly pleasant. The embassies did
not fail to acquaint their respective governments with my remarkable
adventures. As for myself I was quite astonished at the ado made about
my performances; nor could I very well comprehend the extraordinary
importance attached to my dervish trick, which presented itself to my
imagination, apart from the real dangers, rather in the ludicrous light
of a comedy brought to a prosperous end.
I was not a little proud as I left the Persian capital to find myself
provided with letters of recommendation to the principal statesmen of
England and France. I was especially touched by the interest shown by a
Hungarian countryman of mine, a Mr. Szantó, who plied the trade of a
tailor in Teheran. Born on the banks of the Theiss, he left his country
to escape conscription, preferring the life of an honest tradesman to
that of a soldier. His wanderings took him to Constantinople, and on
leaving that city he went through Asia Minor to Arabia, and thence
through South Persia to India. This singular man had made all these
journeys for the most part on foot. He was about to set out for the
capital of China when news reached him of the rising of his people in
1848, in order to achieve independence. Without a moment's hesitation he
determined to hasten back and enrol himself in the army of those who
were ready to fight and die for their country. But he had calculated
without taking into account the immense distance from Asia to Europe and
his slender means, which permitted him only the slow locomotion of a
pedestrian and conveyance in a sailing vessel. Thus, upon arriving in
Stambul he heard of the fatal day at Vilagos, the closing act of the
glorious revolutionary drama. In his disappointment he once more seized
the wanderer's staff, and, resuming his old trade, reached Teheran by
way of Tabreez. The good man spoke a most extraordinary language,
jumbling together all the different dialects he had partly picked up in
the countries through which he had passed. He did tolerably well at the
beginning of a conversation, starting fairly with Hungarian; but no
sooner had he become animated with his subject than a perfect farrago,
consisting of a conglomeration of Hungarian, German, French, with a
still more confusing mass of Turkish, Arabic, Persian and Hindustani
words, would ensue, putting the comprehension of his hearers to a sore
trial. His generous heart warmed towards me, his countryman, at whose
escape from so many dangers he was overjoyed; and in his simple way, to
demonstrate his sympathy, he insisted upon my accepting of him a pair of
pantaloons of his own handiwork, although his circumstances were rather
straitened. As I could not be induced to accept his gift, he persuaded
my Tartar to take it. The inhabitant of Central Asia laughed at what
seemed to him a ridiculous garment; but at last curiosity prevailed with
him so far as to induce him to put it on, and kind-hearted Szantó was
beside himself with delight and pride at having been the first tailor
who had put a Tartar into a pair of European trousers.
I must not omit to mention another European I met here, a M. de
Blocqueville, who may be justly called one of the most expensive of
photographers--at least to the Shah of Persia. In the service of the
latter, he had taken part in an expedition against the Turkomans, had
the misfortune of being taken prisoner, and was at last released upon
payment of the enormous ransom of ten thousand ducats. M. de
Blocqueville, a perfect French gentleman, had come to _la belle Perse_
in search of adventures. He did not wish to practise as a physician, the
orthodox career of a European in the East, but preferred to try his luck
with photography, which, being less known in Persia, promised greater
success. This amiable young man, as the sequel showed, was right in his
calculations, for the king immediately engaged him to be his Court
Photographer, and he was attached to the army in the capacity of painter
of battle pieces. The king was delighted at having secured an artist who
would immortalize on canvas the gallant feats of his heroic army, and
his lively imagination conjured up visions of grand pictures in which
every one of them would be portrayed as a very Rustem. Unfortunately,
fate had willed it otherwise; the twenty-five thousand Rustems were
attacked by five thousand Turkomans and shamefully defeated. A large
portion of the brave Persian army were taken prisoners, and slaves
became such a drug in the market that they could be bought back at the
reasonable price of from five to six ducats. M. de Blocqueville,
however, on account of his fair complexion and strange cut of features,
was suspected of being worth more to his masters, and more, therefore,
was asked for his release. Of course the Persians refused to accept
other terms, but every new refusal brought on an increase of the ransom,
until finally the exorbitant sum of ten thousand ducats had to be paid
by the court of Teheran for the freedom of a French subject. Nor would
this have been done but for an energetic hint conveyed by the Government
of France through their representative, Bellaunay, that if the Persians
had not ducats enough to ransom this French subject, they would lend him
French bayonets. The gentle warning had its effect, the money was paid,
and the young photographer restored to liberty. A year and a half had
been spent in these negotiations, and M. de Blocqueville, formerly an
officer in a regiment of the Guard, was exposed during all this time to
the galling experiences of slavery among the Turkomans. The bitter
contrast between the life of a gentleman in the _Champs Elysées_ and
that of a captive loaded with irons on neck and feet must have often
suggested itself to him as he shivered in rags beneath the insufficient
shelter of a Turkoman tent, with cutlets of horse-flesh the greatest
culinary delicacy within reach. He had gone through a great deal of
suffering, and he all but wept for joy when he safely returned from that
terrible country. To a greater degree than any one else he had leisure
to study the dreadful realities of life in Central Asia, and I found in
him a ready sympathizer with the hardships I had gone through, he being
able to appreciate their magnitude.
Now that we are on the subject of the Turkomans, I must not leave
unmentioned that several of them, who were at Astrabad on business,
hearing of my arrival in Teheran, called on me and asked my _fatiha_
(blessing). They assured me that my fatihas had worked wonders, and that
the people in the Gomushtepe were often wishing to have me there back
again. Although dressed in European clothes, these simple people
reverently bowed down before me while I gave each of them a blessing,
citing at the same time a few verses from the Koran. They left me
apparently much edified, and they were the last people to whom I gave a
fatiha, and that was the last occasion on which I performed spiritual
functions of the kind. My imagination caught fire at the idea of my
religious fame. I picture to myself the possibilities I might achieve
among these untutored Children of the Desert, if I had only the will and
the courage to dare. Such is usually the way in which Oriental heroes
commence their career. They shroud themselves in a mysterious magical
obscurity, and crowds follow blindly their lead, and determination alone
is wanted to make a man an autocrat whose slightest command is obeyed
with slavish and unreasoning submission.
With the very first breath of vernal air I bade farewell to the Persian
capital, the seat of Oriental civilization, and took the regular
post-road through Tabreez, Erzerum, and Trebizond to the Black Sea. As
on my journey from Meshed to Teheran I had been well supplied with all
things requisite for a traveller in the East, so now from Teheran to
Trebizond I lacked in nothing to render the journey comfortable. I was
provided with even better horses; I had more funds; and the treatment
along the road corresponded with my change of fortune. I reached the
Persian frontier in the highest spirits, and made merry all along the
road, encouraged by the finest imaginable spring weather.
Gazing from the Pontic mountain, from whose top the Black Sea is first
visible, as I arrived in the neighbourhood of Trebizond, I saw before me
the coast upon which I had turned my back with so many strange
misgivings two years ago this very month. The harbour, the flag of
_Lloyd_ fluttering in the breeze--there they were again, as if to salute
me on my return. What a wild rush of thoughts were conjured up by those
familiar sights, from which my parting had been so bitter!
To reach a harbour, where a ship rode at anchor ready to start, was the
same thing as to reach Europe. The comforts of a splendid and commodious
cabin on board the Lloyd steamer, the tokens of European life
multiplying round us in every imaginable form, may foster the illusion
that we are at home again, in spite of the several days' voyage
separating us from Europe. I passed two days only in Trebizond,
employing my time chiefly in disposing of the larger part of my
equipment for Eastern travel, for which I now had no further use,
retaining only a few articles as relics and keepsakes of my roamings. In
the middle of May I went on board the steamer which bore me back to the
scene of my future--Europe.
XXX.
HOMEWARDS.
If my way from Tabreez to Trebizond resembled an entry in triumph, my
journey homewards was the much more marked with signs of acknowledgment
by every European I met in Turkey of the great fatigues I had undergone
during my travels. On my arrival in Constantinople, I found the Turkish
capital not only many times more enchanting than before, comparing the
howling wilderness of Central Asia with the natural beauties of the
Bosphorus, but I saw in the Turks a totally civilized nation, who are in
great advance over their brethren in faith and in nationality who dwell
in the interior of Asia; nay, men whose physical features resemble much
more the genuine European than the representatives of the Iranian and
Turanian race. My first visit was to the Austrian Ambassador of that
time, to the learned diplomatist, the late Count Prokesch-Osten, who was
always kind to me during my sojourn in the Turkish metropolis, and who
received me now with real cordiality. For a moment he gazed upon me,
not being able to recognize a former acquaintance in his emaciated and
weather-worn visitor; and it was only after I had addressed him in
German, that he nearly burst into tears, saying, "For heaven's sake,
Vambéry, what have you done; what has become of you?" I gave him a short
account of my travels, and of my adventures; and the good old man, moved
to the inmost of his noble heart, tried to persuade me before all to
stay a few days in his house, in order to recover my strength, and to
pursue only after rest my way to Budapest. I declined politely, and
listened with great attention to the hints he gave me about the next
steps I had to take in Europe. "You do quite right to go straight
forward to London," said the Count; "England is the only country full of
interest for the geography and ethnography of Inner Asia. You will there
have a good reception; but you must not forget to style accordingly the
account of your travels. Keep yourself strictly to the narrative of your
adventures; be short and concise in the description; and particularly
abstain from writing a book mixed with far-fetched argumentations or
with philological and historical notes."
My next visit in Constantinople was to Aali Pasha, the Grand Vizier of
that time, to whom I intended to report on the political condition of
Persia and of Central Asia. On my way from Pera to Constantinople--I
mean to say to the offices of the Porte--I met with many of my previous
acquaintances without being recognized by any one. The same happened
with me on my passage through the corridor of that large building of the
Sublime Porte, and it was only in consequence of my having been
announced, that Aali Pasha was able to recognize in me the former Reshid
Effendi--my official name in Turkey--the man whom he supported in his
linguistic studies by lending him rare manuscripts out of his
collection. He received me with great friendliness, and insisted on my
staying in Constantinople, but, politely declining, I hurried back to
the port in order to be in due time for departure of the vessel of the
Austrian Lloyd Company bound for Kustendje. On arriving at the port near
Fyndykly, I had to fulfil a most unpleasant duty, namely, to dismiss my
faithful Tartar, who had accompanied me from Khiva to the shore of the
Bosphorus--to say a final good-bye to the sincere and honest young man,
who had shared with me all the fatigues and privations of my dangerous
journey homewards from the banks of the Oxus, who never showed the
slightest sign of discontent, and who really had become like a brother
to me. It was an unspeakably painful moment of my life! I handed over to
him nearly all my ready cash, keeping only enough to pay for my food
until I arrived at Pesth--for the passage was free. I gave him all my
dresses, my equipment, &c., made him a long speech as to his behaviour
during his further journey to Mecca and concerning his way backward to
Khiva; and I had just extended my arms to embrace him, when he burst out
in a torrent of tears and said, "Effendi! forgive me, but I cannot
separate from you. The sanctity of the holy places is certainly a much
beguiling object; to see the tomb of our Prophet is worth a whole life;
but I cannot leave you, I cannot go alone! I am ready to renounce all
the delights of this and of the future world; I am ready to part even
with my home, but I cannot separate from you." The reader may fancy my
great astonishment when I heard the _ci-devant_ young theological
student of Central Asia speaking these words; and I said to him, "My
dear friend, do you know that I am going to the country of unbelievers,
to Frengistan, where the climate, the water, the language, the manners
and customs of the different people will be utterly strange to you, and
where you will find yourself speedily at an extraordinary distance from
your own home, and will have to remain eventually, without any hope of
revisiting again in your life your paternal seat in Khiva? Consider well
what you are doing, for repentance will be too late, and I should not
like to be the cause of your misfortune!" The poor Tartar stood pale and
dejected for a few moments, the great struggle in his soul being
noticeable only by the fiery rolling of his eyes; he pressed his lips
spasmodically, and then burst out in the following words, "Believer or
unbeliever, I care not which, wherever you go I go with you. Good men
cannot go to bad places. I have implicit faith in your friendship, and I
trust in God that he will take care of us both." Standing thus in the
midst of my confusion, I heard the ringing of the bell at the vessel.
The time for further consideration and argumentation was gone. I took my
luggage and the Tartar on board the steamer, and no sooner had we
arrived than the anchors were weighed; and away we steamed through the
Bosphorus on the Black Sea to Kustendje.