THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY:
His Life and Adventures.
Imperial 16mo, cloth, 6s. Boys' Edition, crown 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt
edges, 5s.
THE STORY OF HUNGARY.
Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. (THE STORY OF THE NATIONS
SERIES.)
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
[Illustration: VAMBÉRY AFTER HIS RETURN FROM CENTRAL ASIA.
_Photographed in Teheran, 1863._
_Frontispiece to Vol._ II.]
THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
THE MEMOIRS OF ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY
PROFESSOR OF ORIENTAL LANGUAGES
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF BUDAPEST
VOLUME II
[Illustration: Logo]
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE . 1904
(_All rights reserved._)
Contents
CHAPTER VII.
PAGE
FROM LONDON TO BUDAPEST 237
CHAPTER VIII.
MY POLITICAL CAREER AND POSITION IN ENGLAND 283
CHAPTER IX.
THE TRIUMPH OF MY LABOURS 317
CHAPTER X.
AT THE ENGLISH COURT 329
CHAPTER XI.
MY INTERCOURSE WITH SULTAN ABDUL HAMID 343
CHAPTER XII.
MY INTERCOURSE WITH NASREDDIN SHAH AND HIS
SUCCESSOR 391
CHAPTER XIII.
THE STRUGGLE'S END, AND YET NO END 411
APPENDICES 459
Illustrations
PROFESSOR VAMBÉRY AFTER HIS RETURN FROM
CENTRAL ASIA _Frontispiece_
PROFESSOR VAMBÉRY AND HIS TARTAR, 1864 _Facing page_ 393
From London to Budapest
CHAPTER VII
FROM LONDON TO BUDAPEST
I have often been asked how it was that, after the bitter disappointment
I had experienced in my native land on my return from Asia, and after
the brilliant reception accorded to me in England, I yet preferred to
settle down permanently in Hungary.
People have been surprised that I should choose a quiet literary career,
whereas my many years of intimate intercourse with various Eastern
nations might have been turned to so much better account, and a
practical, active career would have been so much more in keeping with my
character. All these questions were asked of me at the time in London,
but filled as I then became with a sense of oppression and a great
longing for home I could not give a satisfactory answer to these
queries. Now that the cloud has lifted, and my vision is clear, now that
sober reflection has taken the place of former rapture and exultation,
the causes which influenced my decision are perfectly clear. I see now
that I could not have acted differently; that the step I took was
partly the result of my personal inclination and views of life, and
partly influenced by the circumstances of my birth and bringing up, and
the notions then generally prevailing in Hungary; nor have I cause or
ground to regret my decision.
In the first place I have to confess that in England, notwithstanding
the noisy, brilliant receptions I had, and all the attention paid to me,
no one ever made me any actual proposal with a view to my future
benefit, and no one seemed at all disposed to turn to account my
practical experiences in the service of the State or of private
enterprise. The Memorandum about the condition of things in Central
Asia, written at the time in Teheran at the request of the British
Ambassador there, had duly found its way to Lord Palmerston, the Prime
Minister. The gray statesman received me most kindly; I was often a
guest at his private house, or dined with him at Mr. Tomlin's, of
Carlton House Terrace, or at Sir Roderick Murchison's, of 16, Belgrave
Square. At his initiative I was invited to other distinguished houses,
for the merry old gentleman was much entertained by my lively
conversation and my anecdotes from Asia, which I used to relate after
dinner when the ladies had retired. My stories about the white ass of
the English Embassy at Teheran, of diplomatic repute, and similar
amusing details of court life in Persia and the Khanates of Central
Asia, tickled the fancy of the most serious, sober-minded of these high
lords, and went the round in the fashionable West End circles. But for
all that they saw in me merely the "lively foreigner," the versatile
traveller, and if here and there some interest was shown in my future,
it amounted to asking what were my latest travelling plans, and when I
thought of setting out in search of fresh discoveries. As if I had not
been on the go for two-and-twenty years, ever since I was ten years old!
as if I had not battled and struggled and suffered enough! And now that
for the first time in my life I had lighted on a green bough and hoped
to have accomplished something, was I again straightway to plunge into
the vague ocean of destiny? "No, no," I reflected; "I am now thirty-two
years old, without for one moment having enjoyed the pleasures of a
quiet, peaceful life, and without possessing enough to permit myself the
luxury of resting on my own bed, or of working comfortably at my own
table." This uncertain, unsatisfactory state of things must come to an
end sometime; and so the desire for rest and peace necessarily overruled
any inclination for great and ambitious plans, and nipped in the bud all
projects which possibly might have made my career more brilliant, but
certainly not happier than it afterwards turned out.
The kind reader of these pages who is familiar with the struggles and
troubles of my childhood, who has followed me in thought on the thorny
path of early youth, and knows something of my experiences as
self-taught scholar and tutor, will perhaps accuse me of dejection, and
blame me for want of perseverance and steadiness of purpose. Possibly I
have disregarded the golden saying of my mother, "One must make one's
bed half the night, the better to rest the other half." I did give way
to dejection, but my resolve, however blameworthy it may be, should be
looked upon as the natural consequence of a struggle for existence which
began all too early and lasted sadly too long. Man is not made of iron,
too great a tension must be followed by a relaxation, and since the
first fair half of my life began to near its ending, my former iron will
also began to lose some of its force. The wings of my ambition were too
weak to soar after exalted ideals, and I contented myself with the
prospect of a modest professorship at the University of my native land
and the meagre livelihood this would give me.
In England, where a man in his early thirties is, so to speak, still in
the first stage of his life, and energy is only just beginning to swell
the sails of his bark, my longing for rest was often misunderstood and
disapproved of. In London I met a gentleman of sixty who wanted to learn
Persian and start a career in India; and I was going to stop my
practical career at the age of thirty-two! The difference seems
enormous, but in the foggy North man's constitution is much tougher and
harder than in the South. My physical condition, my previous sufferings
and privations, may to some extent account for my despondency; I had to
give in, although my object was only half gained.
Emotions of this kind overpowered me even in the whirl and rush of the
first months of my stay in London. Before long I had seen through the
deceptive glamour of all the brilliancy around me; and as I very soon
realised that my personal acquaintance with high society and the most
influential and powerful persons would hardly help me to a position in
England, I endeavoured at least to use the present situation as a step
towards a position at home, in the hope that the recognition I had
obtained in England would be of service to me in my native land, where
the appreciation of foreign lands is always a good recommendation. First
of all I set to work upon my book of travels, an occupation which took
me scarcely three months to accomplish, and which, written with the
experiences all yet fresh in my mind, resolved itself chiefly into a dry
and unadorned enumeration of adventures and facts. The introduction of
historical and philological notes would have been impossible in any
case, as my Oriental MSS. were detained in Pest as security on the money
loan, and also because in England everything that does not actually bear
upon political, economical, or commercial interests is looked upon as
superfluous ballast. When the first proof-sheets appeared of my
_Travels in Central Asia_ many of my friends regretted the brevity and
conciseness of the composition, but the style was generally approved of,
and after its publication the various criticisms and discussions of the
work eulogised me to such an extent, that my easily roused vanity would
soon have got the better of me, had I not been aware of the fact that
all this praise was to a great extent an expression of the hospitality
which England as a nation feels it its duty to pay to literary
foreigners. This, my literary firstfruits, necessarily contributed a
good deal to increase my popularity, and enlarged the circle of my
acquaintance in high society to which I had been semi-officially
introduced by my Asiatic friends. My fame now spread to all scientific,
industrial, and commercial circles all over England. I had no time to
breathe. The post brought me double as many invitations as before; I was
literally besieged by autograph hunters and photographers; and it is no
exaggeration to say that for months together I had invitations for every
meal of the day, and that my engagements were arranged for, days and
weeks beforehand.
Wearisome and expensive as this enjoyment of popularity was--for in my
outward appearance and bearing I could not neglect any of the prescribed
forms which mark the "distinguished foreigner"--my position afforded me
the opportunity of studying London society, and through it the aims and
objects of the highest representatives of Western culture, in a manner
which might otherwise not have come within my reach. When in my youth I
journeyed Westward I never went beyond the frontiers of Austria, and it
was always only in literary pursuits that I came in contact with Western
lands: hence I never saw any but the theoretical side of things. And now
I was transplanted from the depths of Asia, _i.e._, from the extreme end
of old-world culture and gross barbarism into the extreme of Western
civilisation and modern culture; and overpowering as was the impression
of all that I saw and experienced, equally interesting to me was the
comparison of the two stages of human progress.
What surprised me more than anything was the wealth, the comfort, and
the luxury of the English country houses, compared to which the rich
colouring of Oriental splendour--existing as a matter of fact mostly in
legends and fairy tales--cuts but a poor figure. As for me, who all my
life had only seen the smile of fortune from a distance, I was struck
with admiration. Most difficult of all I found it to get used to the
elaborate meals and the table pomp of the English aristocracy. I could
not help thinking of the time of my Dervishship, when my meals consisted
sometimes of begged morsels and sometimes of _pilaw_ which I cooked
myself. Now I had to eat through an endless series of courses, and drink
the queerest mixtures. During this period of my lionship it was
strangest of all to think of the miseries of my childish days and the
time when I was a mendicant student. It was the realisation of the fairy
tale of the beggar and the prince; and with reference to this I shall
never forget one night which I spent at the magnificent country house of
the Duke of A., not far from Richmond. I was guest there together with
Lord Clarendon, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and other English
notabilities. After dinner the company adjourned to the luxuriously
furnished smoke-room, and from there shortly before midnight every guest
was conducted to his respective bedroom by a lacquey preceding him with
two huge silver chandeliers. When the powdered footman dressed in red
silk velvet had ushered me into the splendidly furnished bedroom,
provided with every possible comfort and luxury, and began to take steps
to assist me in undressing, I looked at the man quite dumbfounded and
said with a friendly smile, "Thank you, I can manage alone." The footman
departed. I feasted my eyes upon all the grandeur around me. It was like
a cabinet full of precious curiosities and overflowing with silver
articles and wonderful arrangements of all sorts. When I turned back the
brocaded coverlet and lay down on the undulating bed, my fancy carried
me back twenty years, and I thought of my night quarters in the Three
Drums Street at Pest with the widow Schönfeld, where I had hired a bed
in company with a tailor's apprentice, he taking the head and I the
foot of the bed. Musing upon the strange alternations of man's lot, and
the difference between my condition then and now, I could not go to
sleep, but tossed about half the night on my silken couch. It was after
all merely a childish reflection, for, though now in splendour, I was
but a guest. But it is difficult to divest oneself of the impression of
the moment, and as often as I found myself in a similar position the
comparison between the mendicant student suffering want and the petted
lion of English society has brought me to a contemplative mood.
More even than by the wealth and prosperity I was struck by the spirit
of freedom which, notwithstanding the strictly aristocratic etiquette of
society, must surprise the South-Eastern European, and more still any
one who from the inner Asiatic world finds himself suddenly transplanted
to the banks of the Thames. Formerly, in my native land it was always
with unconscious awe and admiration that I looked up to a prince, a
count, or a baron, and afterwards in Asia I had to approach a Pasha,
Khan, or Sirdar with submissive mien, sometimes even with homage. And
now I was surprised to notice how little attention was paid to dukes,
lords, and baronets in the clubs and other public places in England.
When for the first time I went into the reading-room of the Athenæum
Club, and with my hat on stood reading the _Times_ opposite to Lord
Palmerston and at the same desk with him, I could hardly contain myself
for surprise, and my eyes rested more often on the strong features of
"Mister Pam" than on the columns of the city paper. Later on I was
introduced in the Cosmopolitan Club to the Prince of Wales, then
twenty-three years old. This club did not open till after midnight. When
I saw the future ruler of Albion sitting there at his ease, without the
other members taking the slightest notice of him, I fairly gasped at the
apparent indifference shown to the Queen's son. I could but approach the
young Prince with the utmost reverence and awe; and it was entirely
owing to the great affability and kindness of heart of this son of the
Queen that I plucked up courage to sit down and hold half an hour's
conversation with him. Since that time this specially English
characteristic of individual freedom and independence has often struck
me forcibly, and could not fail to strike any one accustomed to the
cringing spirit of Asia and the servility of Eastern Europe. Truly a
curious mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous, of really noble and
frivolous impressions, marked these first months of my sojourn in
England. Feelings of admiration and contempt, of delight and scorn
alternated within me; and when I ask myself now what it was that I
disliked about England, and drove me to unfavourable criticism, I would
mention in the first place the rigid society manners, utterly foreign to
me, which I found it hard to conform to and consequently detested. The
straitjacket of etiquette and society manners oppresses the English
themselves more than they care to acknowledge; how, then, must it affect
the Continental and the wanderer fresh from the Steppes of Asia? The
second reason which made the idea of a longer stay in London quite
impossible for me was the dislike, nay, the absolute horror I had of the
incessant hurrying, rushing, bustling crowds in the thoroughfares; the
desperate efforts to gain honour and riches, and the niggardly grudging
of every minute of time. Standing at the corner of Lombard Street or
Cheapside, or mixing with the crowds madly hurrying along Ludgate Hill,
I felt like a man suddenly transported to pandemonium. To see how these
masses push and press past one another, how the omnibus drivers swing
round the corners, regardless of danger to human life, for the mere
chance of gaining a few coppers more, and to realise how this same
struggle for existence goes on in all stages of society, in all phases
of life, relentless, merciless, was enough to make me think with longing
of the indolent life of Eastern lands; and, without admitting the
Nirvana theory, all this fuss and flurry seemed out of place and far too
materialistic. My nature altogether revolted against it.
Of course this view was quite erroneous. For what has made England great
was, and is, this very same prominent individuality, this restless
striving and struggling, this utter absence of all fear, hesitation, and
sentimentality where the realisation of a preconceived idea is
concerned. But unfortunately at that time I was still under the ban of
Asiaticism; and although the slowness, indolence, and blind fanaticism
of the Asiatics had annoyed me, equally disagreeable to me was the
exactly opposite tendency here manifested. I wanted to find the "golden
middle way," and unconsciously I was drawn towards my own home, where on
the borderland between these two worlds I hoped to find what I sought.
And now, after the lapse of so many years, recalling to mind some
personal reminiscences of London society, I seem to recognise in the
political, scientific, and artistic world of those days so many traits
of a truly humane and noble nature, mixed with the most bizarre and
eccentric features which have been overlooked by observers.
The gigantic edifice of the British Empire was then still in progress of
building, the scaffolding was not yet removed, some portions still
awaited their completion; and as the beautiful structure could not yet
be viewed in its entirety, and an impression of the whole could,
therefore, not be realised, there was in the nation but little of that
superabundant self-consciousness for which modern times are noted. They
listened to me with pleasure when I spoke of England's mighty influence
over the Moslem East, they heard with undisguised gratification when I
commended England's civilising superiority over that of Russia, but yet
they did not seem to trust their own eyes, and to many my words were
mere polite speeches with which the petted foreigner reciprocated their
hospitality. The interest shown by a foreigner in a foreign land must
always seem somewhat strange, and my appreciative criticisms of England
may have appeared suspicious to many of my readers. Only later
statements by such men as Baron Hübner in his _Travels in India_, or
Garcin de Tassy's learned disquisitions on the influence of English
culture on Hindustan, have lent more weight to my writings.
Of all the leading statesmen of the time I felt most attracted towards
Lord Palmerston. I recognised in him a downright Britisher, with a
French polish and German thoroughness; a politician who, with his
gigantic memory, could command to its smallest details the enormous
Department of Foreign Affairs, and who knew all about the lands and the
people of Turkey, Persia, and India. He seemed to carry in his head the
greater portion of the diplomatic correspondence between the East and
the West; and what particularly took my fancy were the jocular remarks
which he used to weave into his conversation, together with _bon-mots_
and more serious matters. In the after-dinner chats at the house of Mr.
Tomlin, not far from the Athenæum Club, or at 16, Belgrave Square with
Sir Roderick Murchison, where I was an often invited guest, he used to
be particularly eloquent. When he began to arrange the little knot of
his wide, white cravat, and hemmed a little, one could always be sure
that some witty remark was on its way, and during the absence of the
ladies subjects were touched upon which otherwise were but seldom
discussed in the prudish English society of the day. I had to come
forward with harem stories and anecdotes of different lands, and the
racier they were the more heartily the noble lord laughed. The Prime
Minister was at that time already considerably advanced in years. The
most delicate questions of the day were freely discussed, and I must
confess that it pleased me very much when they did not look upon me as
an outsider, but fully took me into their confidence. Lord Granville,
afterwards Minister of Foreign Affairs, treated me also with great
kindness. He was a little more reserved, certainly, but an intrinsically
good man, and it always pleased him when I was at table with him to hear
me converse with the different foreign ambassadors in their native
tongue. His sister, Mrs. James, an influential lady in high life,
provided me with invitations from various quarters, and it was she who
urged me to settle in London. Similar encouragements I also received
from Sir Justin Sheil, at one time British Ambassador in Persia, and his
wife, most distinguished, excellent, people, who instructed me in the
ways of fashionable life, and taught me how to dress and how to comport
myself at table, in the drawing-room and in the street. Blunders against
the orthodoxy of English customs were resented by many; and once a lady
who had seen me on the top of an omnibus, from where the busy
street-life of London can best be observed, said to me in full earnest,
"Sir, take care not to be seen there again, otherwise you can no longer
appear as a gentleman in society." Admittance into society is everything
in England. One is severely judged by the cut and colour of one's
clothes. Society ladies demand that hat, umbrella, and walking-stick
come from the very best shop, and most important is the club to which
one belongs, and of course also the circle of one's acquaintances. When
I was able to give as my address, "Athenæum Club, Pall Mall," the
barometer of my importance rose considerably.
One can easily understand that all these trifles were little to my
taste. I had always been fond of simplicity and natural manners. All
these formalities and superficialities were hateful to me, but at that
time I had to yield to necessity and make the best of a bad job; nay,
even be grateful to my instructors for their well-meant advice in these
matters.
Honestly speaking, I have found among these people some very
noble-minded friends who, from purely humane motives, interested
themselves in me, and whose kind treatment I shall not forget as long as
I live. Amongst these I would especially mention Lord Strangford,
already referred to, a man of brilliant scientific talents, and
possessing a quite extraordinary knowledge of geography, history, and
the languages of the Moslem East. He had lived for many years on the
banks of the Bosphorus as Secretary to the Embassy, and was not only
thoroughly acquainted with Osmanli, Persian, and Hindustani, but also
with the Chagataic language, then absolutely unknown in Europe. He could
recite long passages from the poems of Newai. He was as much at home in
the works of Sadi, Firdusi, and Baki as in Milton and Shakespeare, and
well informed as regards the ethnography and politics of the Balkan
peoples, and the various tribes of Central Asia and India. Lord
Strangford, indeed, was to me a living wonder, and when he shook his
long-bearded, bony head in speaking of Asia and criticising the politics
of Lord Palmerston, I should have liked to note down every word he said,
for he was a veritable mine of Oriental knowledge. It is very strange
that this man was not used as English Ambassador at one of the Oriental
courts, and it has often been laid to Lord Palmerston's charge that he,
the illustrious Premier, was not well disposed towards his Irish
countryman, who sometimes expressed his resentment of the slight in the
columns of the _Pall Mall Gazette_, the _Saturday_, or the _Quarterly
Review_. As far as I am concerned Lord Strangford was always a most kind
and considerate patron, one of the best and most unselfish friends I
had in England, and his early death was a great grief to me. He died of
brain fever, and, as Lady Strangford afterwards wrote to me, holding in
his hand the volume of my Chagataic Grammar which I had dedicated to
him.
Next to the noble Lord Strangford I would mention the great
mathematician, Mr. Spottiswoode, who often asked me to his house; also
Sir Alexander Gordon, in Mayfair, whose sister, knowing something of
Egypt, took a special interest in my travels. I was also a welcome guest
at Lord Houghton's, both in town at Brook Street and in the country at
Ferrybridge, Yorkshire. The lunch parties at his town residence were
often of a peculiarly interesting nature. The master of the house, a
lover of sharp contrasts, used to gather round his table the fanatical
admirer of Mohammedanism, Lord Stanley of Alderley, and the equally
fanatical Protestant Bishop of Oxford, Dr. Wilberforce known as "Soapy
Sam." Most lively disputes took place at times in defence of the
teachings of Christ and Mohammed, in which the disputants did not deal
over-gently with one another, and their forcible attacks upon each
other's convictions sometimes caused the most ridiculous scenes. Still
finer were the meetings at Ferrybridge, Lord Houghton's country seat.
During one visit there I made the acquaintance of such celebrities as
Lord Lytton, afterwards Viceroy of India; the poet Algernon Swinburne,
who used to read to us passages of his yet unpublished poem, _Atalanta
in Calydon_, over which the slender youth went into ecstasies; and last,
but not least, of Burton, just returned from a mission in the North-West
of Africa. Burton--later Sir Richard Burton--was to spend his honeymoon
under the hospitable roof of the genial Lord Houghton. The company,
amongst which Madame Mohl, the wife of the celebrated Orientalist, Jules
Mohl, specially attracted my attention, had met here in honour of
Burton, the great traveller, and as he was the last to arrive, Lord
Houghton planned the following joke: I was to leave the drawing-room
before Burton appeared with his young wife, hide behind one of the
doors, and at a given sign recite the first _Sura_ of the Koran with
correct Moslem modulation. I did as arranged. Burton went through every
phase of surprise, and jumping up from his seat exclaimed, "That is
Vambéry!" although he had never seen or heard me before. In after years
I entertained the most friendly relations with this remarkable man, whom
I hold to be, incontestably, the greatest traveller of the nineteenth
century, for he had the most intimate knowledge of all Moslemic Asia; he
was a clever Arabic scholar, had explored portions of Africa together
with Speke, and gone through the most awful adventures at the court of
Dahomey; he had explored the unknown regions of North and South America,
and also made himself a literary name by his translations of the
_Lusiade_ and _The Thousand and One Nights_; in a word, this strangely
gifted man, who was never fully appreciated in his own country, and
through his peculiarities laid himself open to much misunderstanding,
was from the very first an object of the greatest admiration for me. His
contemporary and fellow-worker, Gifford Palgrave, I also reckoned among
my friends. He was a classical Englishman, first belonging to the
Anglican and afterwards to the Roman Catholic Church. For some time he
was in the service of the Society of Jesus, as teacher in the mission
school at Beyrût; and as he was quite at home in the Arabic language, he
under-took a journey into the then unknown country of Nedjd, the chief
resort of the Wahâbis, about whom his book of travels contains many
interesting new data. Being a classical orator, he used to fascinate his
audience with his choice language, and what Spurgeon has been in the
pulpit and Gladstone in Parliament, that was Palgrave in the hall of the
Geographical Society. I liked the man fairly well, only a peculiar
twinkle of the eye constantly reminded me of his former Jesuitism. In
David Livingstone, the great African explorer, I found a congenial
fellow-labourer, whose words of appreciation, "What a pity you did not
make Africa the scene of your activity!" sounded pleasant in my ears.
Other travellers, such as Speke, Grant, Kirk and others, I was also
proud to reckon among my friends; and in the field of literature I
would mention in the first place Charles Dickens, whose acquaintance I
made at the Athenæum Club, and who often asked me to have dinner at the
same table with him. Dickens was not particularly talkative, but he was
very much interested in my adventures, and when once I declined his
invitation for the following evening with the apology that I had to dine
at Wimbledon with my publisher, John Murray, he remarked, "So you are
going to venture into the 'Brain Castle,' for of course you know," he
continued, "that Murray's house is not built of brick but of human
brains." Among politicians, artists, actors, financiers, generals--in
fact in all classes and ranks of society--I had friends and
acquaintances. I had no cause to complain of loneliness or neglect; any
one else would no doubt have been supremely happy in my place, and would
have made better use also of the general complaisance. But I was as yet
absolutely new to this Western world; I was as it were still wrapped in
the folds of Asiatic thought, and, in spite of my enthusiasm for modern
culture, I had great difficulty in making myself familiar with the
principal conditions of this phase of life, with its everlasting rushing
and hurrying, the unremitting efforts to get higher up, and the cold
discretion of the combatants. In fact, my first visit to England made me
feel gloomy and discouraged.
This depression was yet enhanced by the disappointment in regard to the
material results of my book, and the rude awakening out of my dreams of
comparative prosperity. To judge from the enthusiastic reception of my
work both in Europe and America, and after all the laudatory criticisms
of the Press, I expected to get from the sale of the first edition a sum
at least sufficient to ensure my independence. The newspapers talked of
quite colossal sums which my publisher had paid or would pay me, and I
was consequently not a little crestfallen when at the end of the year I
received the first account, according to which I had made a net profit
of £500, a sum of which I had spent nearly a third in London. The modest
remainder, in the eyes of the former Dervish a small fortune, was as
nothing to the European accustomed to London high-life, and not by a
long way sufficient for the writer, anxious to make a home for himself.
The vision of all my fair anticipations and bold expectations vanished
as a mist before my eyes, and after having tasted of the golden fruit of
the Hesperides, was I to go back to my scantily furnished table, nay,
perhaps be reduced again to poverty and the struggle for daily bread?
After twenty years of hard fighting I was back again where I was at the
beginning of my career, with this difference, that I had gained a name
and reputation, a capital, however, which would not yield its interest
till much later.
I am therefore not at all surprised that in my desperate frame of mind
I clutched at a straw, and looked upon a professorship at Pest and the
doctor's chair of Oriental languages as the bark of salvation upon the
still turbulent ocean of my life. True, my cold reception at home had
somewhat sobered me, and made the realisation of even this modest
ambition not quite so easy of attainment, but my longing for my native
land and for a quiet corner admitted of no hesitation, no doubt. With
incredible light-heartedness I disengaged myself from the embrace of the
noisy, empty homage of the great city on the Thames and sped to Pest to
present myself to my compatriots after my triumphal campaign in England
and crowned with the laurels of appreciation of the cultured West. As
may be supposed, my reception was somewhat warmer but not much more
splendid than on my return from Asia. Small nations in the early stages
of their cultural development often follow the lead of greater,
mightier, and more advanced lands in their distribution of blame or
praise. The homely proverb, "Young folks do as old folks did," can also
be applied to whole communities, and, especially where it concerns the
appreciation and acknowledgment of matters rather beyond the
intellectual and national limits of the people, such copying or rather
echoing of the superior criticism is quite permissible and excusable. On
my return from England my compatriots received me with marked
attention, but Hungary was still an Austrian province, and in order to
attain the coveted professorship I had to go to Vienna and solicit the
favour of an audience with the Emperor. The Emperor Francis Joseph, a
noble-minded monarch and exceptionally kind-hearted--who was not
unjustly called the first gentleman of the realm--received me most
graciously, asked some particulars about my travels, and at once granted
me my request, adding, "You have suffered much and deserve this post."
He made only one objection, viz., that even in Vienna there are but few
who devote themselves to the study of Oriental languages, and that in
Hungary I should find scarcely any hearers. On my reply, "If I can get
no one to listen to me I can learn myself," the Emperor smiled and
graciously dismissed me.
I shall always feel indebted to this noble monarch, although, on the
other hand, from the very first I have had much to bear from the
Austrian Bureaucracy and the fustiness of the mediæval spirit which
ruled the higher circles of Austrian society; perhaps more correctly
from their innate ignorance and stupidity. The Lord-High-Steward, Prince
A., whom I had to see before the audience, regardless of the
recommendations I brought from the Austrian Ambassador in London,
received me with a coldness and pride as if I had come to apply for a
position as lackey, and while royal personages of the West, and later
on also Napoleon, had shaken hands with me and asked me to sit down,
this Austrian aristocrat kept me standing for ten minutes, spoke roughly
to me, and dismissed me with the impression that a man of letters is
treated with more consideration in Khiva and among the Turkomans than in
the Austrian capital.
And this, alas! hurt me all the more, as the social conditions at home
in my native land were no better. Here also the wall of partition, class
distinctions and religious differences rose like a black, impenetrable
screen adorned with loathsome figures before my eyes, and the monster of
blind prejudice blocked my way. The enormous distance between the
appreciation of literary endeavours in the West and in the East grew in
proportion as I left the banks of the Thames and neared my native land;
for although the public in Hungary warmly welcomed their countryman,
re-echoing the shouts of applause from England and France, nay, even
looked upon him with national pride, I could not fail to notice on the
part of the heads of society and the leading circles a cold and
intentional neglect, which hurt me.
The fact that this Hungarian, who had been so much fêted abroad, was of
obscure origin, without family relations, and, moreover, of Jewish
extraction, spoiled the interest for many, and they forcibly suppressed
any feelings of appreciation they may have had. The Catholic Church,
that hotbed of intolerance and blind prejudice, was the first in attack.
It upbraided me for figuring as a Protestant and not as a Catholic, as
if I, the freethinker, took any interest in sectarian matters!
I was the first non-Catholic professor appointed according to Imperial
Cabinet orders to occupy a chair of the philosophical faculty at the
Pest University. Thus not to give offence to this University--unjustly
called a Catholic institution--by appointing a so-called Protestant,
_i.e._, a heretic, the title of professor was withheld from me, and for
three years I had to content myself with the title of lector and the
modest honorarium of 1,000 florins a year--a remuneration equal to that
of any respectable nurse in England when besides her monthly wages we
take into account her full keep! Truly, from a material point of view,
my laborious and perilous travels had not profited me much!
To justify this humiliation certain circles at home took special care to
depreciate me at every possible opportunity. Wise and learned men, for
instance, professed to have come to the conclusion that my travels in
the Far East, and the dangers and fatigues I had professed to have gone
through, were a physical impossibility on account of my lame leg. "The
Jew lies; he is a swindler, a boaster, like all his fellow-believers."
Such were the comments, not merely in words, but actually printed in
black and white; and when I introduced myself officially to the Rector
of the University, afterwards Catholic bishop of a diocese, I was
greeted with the following gracious words, "Do you suppose we are not
fully informed as to the treacherousness of your character? We are well
aware that your knowledge of Oriental languages is but very faulty and
that your fitness to fill the chair is very doubtful. But we do not wish
to act against His Majesty's commands, and to this coercion only do you
owe your appointment." Such was the gracious reception I had, and such
were the encouraging words addressed to me after the learned
Orientalists of Paris and London had loaded me with praise and honour,
and after I had accomplished, in the service of my people, a journey
which, as regards its perilousness, privations, and sufferings, can
certainly not be called a pleasure trip.
As it is only natural that small communities on the lower steps of
civilisation are either too lazy or too incapable to think, and are
guided in their opinion by the views of the higher and leading ranks of
society, I am not surprised that in certain circles of Hungary for years
together I was looked upon with suspicion, and that my book of travels,
which in the meantime had been translated for several Eastern and
Western nations into their mother-tongue, was simply discredited at
home. Similar causes have elsewhere, under similar conditions, produced
similar effects. When the nickname of "Marco Millioni" could be given
to the celebrated Venetian who traded all over Asia, why should I mind
their treatment of me in Hungary, where, apart from national
archæological considerations, nobody evinced any great interest in the
distant East? Among the millions of my countrymen there was perhaps no
more than one who had ever heard the names of Bokhara and Khiva, and
under the extremely primitive cultural conditions of those days
geographical explorations were not likely to excite very great interest.
The nation, languishing in the bonds of absolutism, and longing for the
restoration of Constitutional rights, was only interested in politics;
and, since the few scientists, who in their inmost minds were convinced
of the importance of my undertaking, had become prejudiced by the
reception I had received abroad and were now filled with envy, my
position was truly desperate, and for years I had to bear the sad
consequences of ill-will. When the first Turkish Consul for Hungary
appeared in Budapest he was asked on all sides whether it was really
true that I knew Turkish, and when he replied that I spoke and wrote
Turkish like a born Osmanli, everybody was greatly surprised. One of my
kind friends and patrons said to me in reply to my remark that I should
talk Persian with Rawlinson, "You can make us believe this kind of
thing, but be careful not to take in other people." A few weeks later
Rawlinson took me for a born Persian, but at home they said it was
unheard of for a Hungarian scientist to be able to speak Persian. So
deplorably low was the standard of Hungarian learning in those days!
Under these conditions the reader may well be surprised, and I must
confess that I am surprised myself now, that my deeply-wounded ambition
did not revolt against these saddest of all experiences, but that I
meekly bore these constant insults and calumnies. This extraordinary
humility in the character of a man who in every fibre of his body was
animated by ambition and a desire for fame, as I was in those days, has
long been an enigma to me. I have accused myself of lack of courage and
determination, and I should blush for shame at the memory of this
weakness if it were not for the extenuating circumstance that I was
utterly exhausted and wearied with my twenty years' struggle for
existence, and that my strong craving for a quiet haven of rest was a
further extenuation. What did I care that my supposed merits were not
appreciated at home, since in the far advanced West the worth of my
labours had been so amply recognised? Why should I trouble myself about
the adverse criticism of my rivals and ill-wishers since I had at last
found a quiet corner, and in possession of my two modestly furnished
rooms could comfort myself with the thought that I had now at last found
a home, and with the scanty but certain income of some eighty florins
per month I could sit down in peace to enjoy the long wished-for
pursuit of quiet, undisturbed literary labour? When I had completed the
furnishing of my humble little home, and, sitting down on the
velvet-covered sofa, surveyed the little domain, which now for the first
time I could call my own, I experienced a childish delight in examining
all the little details which I had provided for my comfort. Thirty-three
years long I had spent in this earthly vale of misery, a thousand ills,
both physical and mental, to endure, before it was granted me to
experience the blissful consciousness, henceforth no longer to be tossed
about, the sport of fortune, no longer to be exposed to gnawing
uncertainty, but quietly and cheerfully to pursue the object of my life,
and by working out my experiences to benefit the world at large. To
other mortals, more highly favoured by birth, my genuine satisfaction
and delight may appear incomprehensible and ridiculous: one may object
that I longed for rest too soon, and that the small results were
scarcely worthy of all the hard labour. But he whom Fate has cast about
for years on the stormy ocean hails with delight even the smallest and
scantiest plot of solid land, and he who has never known riches or
abundance enjoys his piece of dry but certain bread as much as the
richest dish.
Such were the feelings which animated me when I settled down in
surroundings altogether apart from my studies, my desires and views of
life, and such also were the feelings which made me proof against all
the attacks and slights of a criticism animated more by ignorance than
intentional ill-will. I simply revelled in the enjoyment of these first
weeks and months of my new career. The healthy hunger for work acted
like a precious tonic, the old indestructible cheerfulness returned, and
when after my daily labour of eight or ten hours I went for a walk in
the country I fancied myself the happiest man on earth. On account of
the marked difference of treatment I had received in England and in
Hungary, and in order not to subject myself to unnecessary slights, I
had at home avoided all social intercourse as far as I possibly could.
Thus on the one hand I had all the more leisure for my work, and on the
other hand, through my large correspondence with foreign countries, I
was led to remove the centre of gravity of my literary operations and
the chief aim and object of my pursuits to foreign lands. At first this
necessity troubled me; but the remark of my noble patron, Baron Eötvös,
that Hungary never could be the field of my literary labours, and that I
should benefit my native land far more by putting the products of my pen
upon the world's market in foreign languages soon comforted me. I wrote
mostly in German and English, and enlarged my mind in various branches
of practical and theoretical knowledge of Asiatic peoples and countries.
Two years had scarcely passed before my pen was the most in request on
subjects of the geographical, ethnographical, philological, scientific,
and political literature of Central Asia--in fact, of the whole Moslemic
East. During this period I saw the realisation of the boldest ideas of
my early days, and only now began to reap the benefit of my studies. I
read the different European and Asiatic languages without the help of a
dictionary, and as in most of them I had had practical experience, I
could understand them the more easily, and also write in them. Gradually
I had got together a small library of special books, and on account of
the lively correspondence I kept up with my fellow-literati and friends
of Oriental study, I was enabled to work with energy far from the centre
of my studies as linguist, ethnographer, and editor. Now and then the
want of intellectual stimulus and personal intercourse with my
fellow-labourers made itself felt. I longed particularly for an
interchange of ideas with authorities on the East, as in Pest itself I
could only meet with a few orthodox scholars of Ural-Altaic comparative
philology; but in the zeal and enthusiasm for one's undertaking one
easily dispenses with encouragement, and with the device, "_Nulla dies
sine linea_," which I always conscientiously followed, I must ultimately
reach the goal and overcome all obstacles.
With industry and perseverance, energy and untiring zeal, I could
conquer anything except the stupidity of human nature galled by envy.
The more I worked to keep up my literary repute and the repute I had
gained as traveller, the more furiously raged my opponents, and the more
they endeavoured to discredit me, and to accuse me of all imaginable
mistakes and misrepresentations. Once when I complained about this to
Baron Eötvös, this noble and high-minded man rightly remarked, "The
regions of your travels and studies are unknown in this land, and you
cannot expect society to acknowledge its ignorance and incapacity to
understand. It is far easier and more comfortable to condemn one whom it
does not understand as a liar and a deceiver." Now this was exactly my
position; all the same it grieved me to meet with so much opposition on
every side. Not in any period of my life, when some public
acknowledgment on the part of the Academy or of the newly-established
Hungarian Government would have been such a help to one of my almost
childish sensitiveness, had I ever received the slightest token of
appreciation of my labours. Twelve years after my return from Central
Asia I was elected ordinary member of the Academy, and then only after
several quite insignificant men had preceded me, and I simply could not
be passed over any longer. Others of higher birth, but without any
literary pretensions, were made honorary members or even placed on the
directing staff. As regards the State's want of appreciation of my work,
although I may now look upon it as of no significance, it made me feel
very sore at the time, especially during the Coronation festivities
when Hungarian literati and artists were picked out and I was utterly
ignored. At other times they were glad enough to distinguish me as the
only Magyar who had brought Hungarian knowledge on to the world's stage,
and had been instrumental in making the name of the Hungarian Academy
known to the Western world. I could give many other proofs of this
intentional neglect and ignoring of my claims, but why should I weary
the reader any longer with revelations of wounded vanity? The conviction
that I had become a stranger in my own land impressed itself more and
more upon me; the false position in which I was placed must necessarily
become more and more conspicuous. No wonder, then, that I grew
indifferent towards the place which formerly had been the object of all
my desires, and I now began to long for England, the foreign land where
I was better understood and more appreciated, and where I had found more
interest in my studies and more encouragement of my efforts.
Nothing, therefore, was more natural than that in these circumstances I
should undertake a journey abroad, to cheer and comfort myself by
personal contact with congenial society. These motives drew me towards
Germany, France, and particularly England. In Germany I made the
acquaintance of distinguished Orientalists whose theoretical knowledge
excited my admiration as much as their practical incapacity and
awkwardness surprised me. They were kind, modest, worthy men, who, since
I was outside their particular set, met me very pleasantly, but they
looked very doubtful when I seemed not to be acquainted with their
theories or betrayed an insufficient knowledge of their treatises,
notes, and glossaries. They listened to me, but I saw at once that they
looked upon me as a dilettante, outside the pale of learning. This
opinion of my literary accomplishments was not altogether unjust, for I
was and remained always a practical Orientalist, and these theorists
might have remembered that a mere bookman could not possibly have
travelled through so many Islamic lands as Dervish and faced all dangers
and vicissitudes in close intercourse with the people.
In France I fared somewhat better. Here the political situation had
revealed the necessity of practical knowledge of Asiatic conditions, and
side by side with the theoretical guardians of Oriental science there
had at all times been a considerable number of practical authorities on
Asia, who now received me very warmly. Of the personages with whom I
became acquainted in Paris I will mention in the first place Napoleon
III., who admitted me to an audience more because it was the fashion
than to satisfy his scientific curiosity. When I entered the Tuileries
in company with Prince Metternich, then Austrian Ambassador at Paris,
and caught sight of the Emperor before the Pavillon de l'Horloge as he
was taking leave of Queen Christina of Spain, the vision of this
thick-set man, with his flabby features and pale, faded eyes, made a
miserable impression upon me. And still more lamentable was the result
of my half-hour's interview with him. He appeared to have been preparing
himself for my visit, for on his writing-table, covered with papers and
documents, I saw spread out the map which accompanied the English
edition of my _Travels_, and, after the usual ceremonies, he told me to
sit down by him and began to converse about Hungary. When I remarked
that I had undertaken these travels into the interior of Asia at the
request of the Academy, the Emperor replied he had heard a good deal in
praise of Hungary, and after receiving some information as to the
intellectual efforts of Hungary, he led the conversation on to Central
Asia. At first he attempted to give the conversation a more scientific
character, and, with reference to his _Jules César_, which had just
appeared, he began to talk about the ethnical origin of the Parthians.
Gradually he dropped into a consideration of the political condition of
Central Asia, and put to me the question whether in the Memorandum I had
presented to Lord Palmerston I had touched upon the politico-economic
relations between Central Asia and India, and wherein lay the danger for
England. My explanations did not seem to suit his preconceived notions,
for he tried to refute my views as regards the danger to English
interests by pointing out the strong position England held in India, so
gloriously maintained in the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857, while Russia was only
just beginning to make conquests in Central Asia. When I replied that
Russia's object was not so much to conquer India, but rather to cripple
the English military forces, in order to tie the hands of one of the
chief opponents of Russia's designs upon Constantinople, the Emperor was
driven into a corner and said: "Such an eventuality is a long way off
yet, and as to this point in the Oriental question, there are yet other
factors to be considered." Leaving the discussion of politics, which did
not seem to please the Emperor, he suddenly turned the conversation
again upon my travels, and began to compliment me on my adventures and
the linguistic proficiency which had so helped me to success. He said,
"You have evidently a great talent for acting, and the fact that you,
with your physical weakness (hinting at my lameness), have been able to
go through so many fatigues, is altogether astonishing."
I had occasion later on to meet the Emperor in the salon of the Princess
Mathilde, but I must honestly say that I could not discern a trace of
that greatness of which for years I had heard so much. He could be
affable and pleasant; between taciturnity and gravity he simulated the
deep thinker, but his pale eyes and artificial speech soon betrayed the
adventurer who had been elevated to his exalted position by the
inheritance of a great name and the wantonness of the nation. His
minister, Count Drouyn de Lhuys, was somewhat more inquisitive and
better informed; but the most interesting personality of my Parisian
acquaintance was decidedly the great Guizot, to whom I was introduced in
the Rue de Bac at the salon of Madame Mohl. The old gentleman, then in
his 78th year, was full of sparkling humour, and his memory was quite
marvellous. He seemed to be most amused to hear me hold a lively
conversation in various European and Asiatic languages, and he made a
point of bringing me in contact with several more nationalities with the
object of confusing me. Monsieur Guizot took a warm interest in me; at
his suggestion I was invited to the various salons, but all these
civilities could not chain me to the Parisian world. In the leading
themes, belle lettres, music, and plastic art, I was an ignoramus and
had not a word to say; the superfine manners of society worried me, for
I missed here the lively interest in things Asiatic which in the London
circles, in spite of the no less strict etiquette, was constantly
evinced. Men such as Barthélemy de St. Hilaire, Garcin de Tassy, Pavet
de Courteille, and other experts, had a strong fascination for me, but
generally speaking France left me cold, for I missed even the great
cosmopolitan ideas, the lively interest in the movements of mankind in
the far-away corners of the globe, and I realised that national vanity
would not so easily admit a stranger to its platform.
On the other side of the Channel it was quite different, and in course
of time the oftener I came to England the more I felt at home there, and
the closer became the ties of friendship in various classes of society.
When in London I was often invited to the provincial towns to give
public lectures on some one or other subject of Inner-Asiatic
conditions, and thus became acquainted with the principal centres of
industry. My lectures were mostly limited to the description of those
Central Asiatic lands where I had resided for some considerable time,
and dealt with commerce, industry, natural products, and other such
practical points. In many places, as, for instance, in Birmingham, I was
asked to bring my costume bought in Central Asia, to give the
manufacturers an insight into the colour, material, and fashion of the
national costume, and, as I learned afterwards, similar goods of English
manufacture have since been imported into Bokhara by the way of
Afghanistan. In other places again, I had to speak of my travelling
adventures in connection with geographical and ethnographical interests,
and even in the smallest towns I always found an attentive and
interested audience. I also used to touch upon the political side of my
travelling experiences, and the more I railed against Russia the louder
was the applause. Sometimes there were comical episodes during my
lectures. After I had finished, the public always addressed various
questions to me, and once the learned entomologist, Mr. D., asked
whether I could not oblige him with some Central Asiatic lice, as he had
made a special study of these insects, and was on the point of
publishing a large book on the subject. On my reply that in Central Asia
I had been in quite too close contact with these creatures, but that
now, thank Heaven, there was a great distance between us, the scientist
asked whether, perhaps, my Tartar could oblige him with a few specimens.
He explained that he had various kinds, Chinese, Siamese, and other
lice, but he had not been able to procure any from Central Asia. Again,
I had to reply in the negative, but the enthusiastic entomologist would
not yet give in. "Could not," he suggested, "a European louse (a
Hungarian one in this case) be brought into contact with my Tartar? it
would be interesting to note what transformation would take place."
Needless to say, I did not perform this charitable duty to science, but
this little episode with Mr. D., who soon afterwards published a work in
two thick volumes upon _pedicula_, has often amused me. My lectures in
England have always had an exhilarating effect upon me. Commencing in
1868, I visited in this manner, with short intervals, many different
towns of the United Kingdom. Bath, Birmingham, Leeds, Sheffield,
Bradford, Leamington, Norwich, Kendal, York, Wakefield, Edinburgh,
Belfast, Halifax, Glasgow, Dundee, Aberdeen, Newcastle-on-Tyne,
Brighton, Cardiff, and other places, were visited once, twice, and even
oftener. Everywhere I enjoyed the hospitality of the most distinguished
and richest inhabitants of the place, and thus I got an insight into the
social, religious, ethical, and political standing as well as the
prevailing ideas and notions of the British people which increased my
admiration and enthusiasm for this remarkable nation. After two years of
uninterrupted sojourn in Hungary I always felt the need for what the
French call, "me retremper dans l'esprit européen," and to strengthen my
nerves and refresh my ideas by a trip to England. Just as on my journey
home from the East I felt that step by step I was advancing in Western
ways of living and thinking, in Western manners and customs, until they
reached their culminating point in England, so also when returning home
from thence I felt that each step was bringing me nearer to Eastern
notions of life, and to the errors, abuses, and superstitions of the Old
World. Year after year I made the same disappointing observation. It
always struck me in the same unpleasant manner; and if in spite of all
this I did not follow the promptings of my heart to make my permanent
home in the centre of Western thought and culture, so much more
congenial to my own conceptions of life, the fault lies not with me, but
with various external causes. In the first place the immediate contact
with these factors of Western culture, the incessant buzzing and
whirring of the machinery, had a stunning and exhausting effect upon me.
I realised that this restlessness, this everlasting mad rushing and
wrestling was unavoidable and indispensable to the attainment of the
object in view, but I preferred to watch the grotesque spectacle from a
distance, and to renew my strength by occasional visits to the field of
action. In the second place, notwithstanding all the many contradictions
and oppositions in which I constantly found myself with my countrymen on
account of my different views and notions of life, I clung far too
strongly to the soil of my native land to separate myself from it
altogether, and finally break with so many homely manners and customs
yet dear to me. And in the third place I was a Hungarian and had
presented myself to the world as the explorer of the early history and
language of my people. As such, an expatriation might reasonably have
shed a doubtful light upon my character as man and writer. My fate
compelled me to remain at home, to persevere, and to make myself as
comfortable as I could in the uncongenial surroundings. A hard struggle,
an everlasting self-denial, a constant incognito seemed to be my
appointed lot both in Europe and in Asia. Here, as there, my
surroundings were foreign and uncongenial to me, and while for many
years I accommodated myself to the necessity, and silently bore all
manner of mental injuries, I had always the consolation of work; for in
literary occupation I forgot everything else and was supremely happy.
I have often been asked why I did not from a patriotic point of view
join the national political endeavours, and take part in the movement of
1867? From a utilitarian point of view, and considering my eminently
practical views of life, my entering the Hungarian Parliament seemed to
commend itself; but serious considerations held me back. In the first
place I had no taste for this career. I had never studied Hungarian law,
and my knowledge of the political and economical conditions of the land
were far too slight for me to occupy a position as practical Hungarian
politician worthy of my ambition. And secondly, if these difficulties
could have been overcome, there were yet many other obstacles in the
way, which made a successful career such as I desired, practically
impossible. In Hungary, and elsewhere on the European Continent, birth
and origin play an important part in public life. The saying, "_Boni
viri vinique non quæritur origo_," is and always will be only a figure
of speech; and although, perhaps, the strong spirit of liberalism which
marked the commencement of Hungary's constitutional era might have
favoured my ambition--which I doubt, as so far not a single citizen of
Jewish extraction has succeeded in becoming a leading statesman--it was
not very likely that the highest circles of Vienna society would brook
a breach of their old conservative notions. I was bound to reckon with
this circumstance, and as my ambition could tolerate no half measures
and limitations, I preferred to keep altogether aloof from the political
arena of Hungary.
My Political Career and Position in England