MY POLITICAL CAREER AND POSITION IN ENGLAND
Many people have wondered how the various professions of Orientalist,
ethnographer, philologist, and political writer could all be united in
one and the same person, and that I applied myself to all these literary
pursuits has often been made a matter of reproach. Personally, I cannot
see either virtue or advantage in this odd mixture of study, but I have
gone on with it for years, and I will now shortly mention the reasons
which induced me thereto. I have already related how, during my first
stay in Constantinople, I became a Press correspondent, and how, through
constant intercourse with the political world, I entered the list of
writing politicians. My interest in political affairs has never flagged;
indeed, it rose and became more active when, on account of my personal
experiences in Persia and Central Asia, I became, so to speak, the
authority for all such information concerning them as related to the
political questions of the day, and of which even initiated politicians
were ignorant. The traveller who keeps his eyes open necessarily takes a
practical view of all that goes on in social, political, and
intellectual life, and it is perfectly impossible that the wanderer,
entirely dependent upon his own resources for years together, and mixing
with all classes and ranks of society, should cultivate merely
theoretical pursuits. To me the various languages were not merely an
object, but also a means, and when one has become practically so
familiar with foreign idioms in letter and in speech that one feels
almost like a native, one must always retain a lively interest in their
respective lands and nations, one shares their weal and woe, and will
always feel at home among them. Of course, it is quite another thing for
the theoretical traveller, whose object is of a purely philological or
archæological nature. To him land and people are secondary matters, and
when he has procured the desired theoretical information, and left the
scene of operation, he forgets it all the sooner, since he has always
remained a stranger to his surroundings, and has always been treated as
such.
This could never be the case with me. I had so familiarised myself with
Osmanli, Persian, and East Turkish that I was everywhere taken for a
native. In those three languages my pen has always been busy up to an
advanced age, and I believe there is hardly another European who has
kept up such varied correspondence with Orientalists in distant lands.
When, on my return from Asia, I took part in the discussion of the
political questions of the day, and, as eye-witness of current events,
was questioned by the leading statesmen of the day, I could not with the
best will in the world have escaped entering upon a political career.
Lord Palmerston gave me the first incentive by requesting me, through
Sir Roderick Murchison, then President of the London Geographical
Society, to draw up a memorandum. I did as I was asked, and handed in my
report about the position of Russia on the Yaxartes, and the state of
political affairs in Central Asia, with the necessary digressions into
the regions of Persian and Turkish politics. All this was easy enough to
me, for at the Porte I had been an eye-witness of the political
movements. I had already been actively employed as political
correspondent, and both in Teheran and in Constantinople I had
constantly been in contact with the diplomatic circles. During the many
interviews which Lord Palmerston granted me, he always took all my
remarks jokingly, and never appeared the serious diplomatist. He told me
that I looked at things through the spectacles of anti-Russian patriotic
Magyarism, that Hungarians and Poles were hot-brained, and that the
Thames would discharge a good deal more water before the Cossacks
watered their horses at the Oxus. When, a few months after my arrival
in London, the news came of the taking of Tashkend by Chernayeff, and
soon after the celebrated Note of Gorchakoff was presented at Downing
Street, the jocular character of the English Premier toned down
somewhat. In influential political circles I was questioned more
frequently about the defensive strength of the Emir of Bokhara, about
the high-roads, and the public opinion of the Central Asiatics. But even
then Lord Palmerston, always cheerful in spite of his advanced age,
would not allow his real motives to transpire. He feigned an Olympic
quietness or an icy indifference, and the only sign of interest he
showed me was his encouragement to continue writing my letters to the
_Times_, and to enlighten the English public concerning the land and the
people of Central Asia.
But the press and the public in England behaved quite differently. The
great majority, of course, was optimistic. The terror of the Afghan
Campaign in 1842 still filled all hearts with dismay, and after the
unsuccessful termination of the Crimean War they easily drifted into the
Ostrich policy, said that the advance of Russia towards the frontiers of
India was a chimera, and laughed at my firm and consistent assertions
that there was danger threatening from the side of Russia. If I were now
to publish all the newspaper articles, essays, and parliamentary
speeches which appeared at the time to contradict my views, and to
pacify the public in England and India, it would display indeed a sad
picture of self-deception and a wilful lulling to sleep in fancied
security. On my side were only a few staunch Conservatives, since this
party, decidedly anti-Russian, had stood out for an energetic policy;
but personally I took no notice either of the indifference of the masses
or of the scorn and mockery of the optimists. The more they laughed at
my ideas the more fervently and zealously did I defend them. I spared
neither time nor trouble to bring forward the most striking proofs. I
kept up my relations with Central Asia and Persia by constant
correspondence. I read the Russian papers industriously, and so I had
always an important weapon of defence at hand. The columns of the
_Times_ and the fashionable monthly and weekly periodicals were open to
me, and I had little difficulty in displaying such activity in writing
as would impress even my political opponents, and finally break down the
indifference of the great reading public. Many looked upon me as a
Magyar thirsting for revenge on Russia, others again were pleased to
find in me, a foreigner, a zealous defender of British State interests;
and this caused the more surprise, as such concern for foreign State
interests is always a rarity, and in England, much envied and little
beloved on the Continent, had never been heard of before. Had I been
seeking to obtain a public appointment in England, and had I settled
there, no doubt my efforts would have appeared in quite another light,
and the attention and subsequent acclamation I received would doubtless
have been pitched in a lower key. But since, in my humble function of
professor, I abode in Hungary, and as a foreigner continued in a foreign
land, without ostentation or hope of material preferment, to carry on
the defence of British interests on the Continent of Europe, and even
persevered in influencing public opinion in England itself, I succeeded
in banishing all suspicion of self-interest, and finally in disarming
even the bitterest political opponents. Amongst the few who particularly
disliked my political energy was Mr. Gladstone, the zealous advocate of
an Anglo-Russian alliance in Church and politics. And yet I have been
told that he had remarked to a friend, "Professor Vambéry's agitation
seemed at first suspicious to me, but since I have heard that he is a
poor man I believe in his fanaticism." The insular separatist, the proud
Englander, had in the end to submit to a foreigner mixing himself up
with his national concerns, giving his unbidden opinion about Great
Britain's foreign policy, and finally, by dint of perseverance,
influencing public opinion in England.
Of course all this was not the work of a few weeks or months, but of a
whole series of years. Between 1865 and 1885 I published a quantity of
letters, articles, and essays on political and politico-economic affairs
in Central Asia, Persia, and Turkey in English, German, French,
Hungarian, and American periodicals, which, if collected, would make
several volumes. In England it was chiefly in the _Times_, and sometimes
in other daily papers, as also in periodicals such as the _Nineteenth
Century_, the _Fortnightly Review_, the _National Review_, _Army and
Navy Gazette_, the _New Review_, the _Journal of the Society of Arts_,
the _Asiatic Quarterly Review_, the _Leisure Hour_, and _Good Words_. In
Germany I wrote in the _Münchener_ (formerly _Augsburger_) _Allgemeine
Zeitung_, _Unsere Zeit_, _Die Deutsche Rundschau_, _Die Deutsche Revue_,
_Welthandel_, and in a few other daily and monthly papers, long since
discontinued. In Austro-Hungary I often wrote in the _Pester Lloyd_, but
only seldom in the _Neue Freie Presse_ and in the _Monatschrift für den
Orient_, while in France I contributed to the _Revue des deux Mondes_,
and in America to the _Forum_ and the _North American Review_. Only when
the Central Asiatic question became acute--as, for instance, on the
occasion of the taking of Samarkand in 1868, the campaign against Khiva
in 1873, the conquest of Khokand in 1876, and the Pendjdeh affair--was
my pen in actual request. For the rest I had to force myself upon the
public, and not only on the Continent, but in England also, I often had
difficulty in getting a hearing. As long as the Russians had not so far
consolidated their power that it was dangerous for foreign travellers to
be admitted in the conquered districts I was able to maintain myself as
chief and only authority on Central Asiatic affairs. Later I had
gradually to relinquish this privilege. The number of writers versed in
Central Asiatic concerns constantly increased, but my knowledge of the
Oriental and Russian languages, and also my prolonged and intimate
acquaintance with the theme, always gave me a certain amount of
advantage over my literary competitors. From time to time, when the
Central Asiatic question came to the foreground, I entered the arena
with larger, more substantial essays. Thus, for instance, my _Power of
Russia in Asia_, which appeared in German and Hungarian, depicted the
gradual progress of the Russian conquests in Asia. As foundation for my
article I used MacNeil's _The Progress and Present Position of Russia in
the East_, which appeared at the time of the Crimean War. This I
elaborated with new facts and data. Like my predecessor, I preached then
(1871) to deaf ears. People troubled themselves very little about
Russia's Asiatic politics. They called me a blinded Russophobe, and
now--since the Northern Colossus has thrown his polyp-like arm over the
half of Asia, and is looked upon as the peace-breaker of the Western
world--when I remember the scornful laughter of the great politicians, I
cannot help thinking what a pity it was that timely precautions were not
taken to ward off the coming danger, and that people did not realise
that the power gained in Asia might one day stand Russia in good stead
in its dealings with Europe.
The second independent book about political matters which I brought out
was entitled, _Central Asia and the Anglo-Russian Frontier Question_,
published in English and German. It was, correctly speaking, a
collection of my different political articles published in various
periodicals. This book, coming out at the time of the Khiva campaign,
when people showed a much keener interest in what took place in the
inner Asiatic world, found a good sale, and although not of much
material advantage to me, gave me a good deal of moral encouragement.
Of great effect was my article about _The Coming Struggle for India_,
published in 1885, at the time when the question of the rivalry between
the two Colossi in Asia had reached a seething-point, and after the
affair at Pendjdeh nearly involved England and Russia in a war. This
booklet, which I wrote in twenty days, and issued simultaneously in
English, French, German, Swedish, and Guzerati (East Indian language),
caused a great sensation far beyond its intrinsic worth. It proved also
a lucrative speculation.
_The Coming Struggle for India_, which was the English title of the
book, brought me quite a stream of commendatory grateful letters from
England, America, and Australia; I was eulogised as a prophet, and held
up as an English patriot whose merits would never be forgotten nor too
highly thought of in Albion. On this occasion I also received some less
flattering communications from English Socialists and Anarchists, who in
the first place reproached me with interfering in the affairs of their
country, and in the second place endeavoured to prove how unjust and
inhuman it was for England to waste life and money on the civilising and
conquest of foreign nations, while at home hundreds of thousands of
their compatriots were perishing of poverty and distress. The colonial
policy enriches the aristocrats who revel in luxury, while the labourer,
oppressed by the capitalist, is left to starve. Thus complained one of
my unbidden correspondents.
The middle classes and the aristocracy of England thought differently,
however. Regardless of all scornful and derisive remarks I had now for
twenty years pursued my political campaign with unremitting zeal, and
had always had the interest of England at heart. Many, therefore, looked
upon me as a true friend, and although I was stamped by some as a
fanatic, an Anglomaniac, or even a fool, the majority saw in me a writer
who honestly deserved the respect and recognition of the country; a man
who in spite of his foreign extraction should be honoured as a promoter
of Great Britain's might and power. Cold, proud, and reserved as the
Britisher generally appears before strangers, I must confess that at my
public appearances both in London and in the provinces I have always
been received with the utmost cordiality and warmth.
Many were struck with the pro-English spirit of my writings, and I have
frequently been asked how it was that I, far from the scene of action,
was often more quickly and better informed about current events than the
English Government which had Embassies and secret agencies at its
disposal. The reason is clear enough. In the first place I had personal
experiences at my disposal, and, supported by my correspondents in the
Far East, many of my views have thus in course of time been justified by
events. Secondly, I had paid far greater attention to the communications
of the Russian press than the politicians in England, where the Russian
language was not much known yet. I was surprised myself to find that my
political activity was even discussed in the English Parliament and led
to interpellations. On the 22nd of May, 1870, Mr. Eastwick asked the
Government: "Whether there was any truth in the rumours, mentioned in
Mr. Vambéry's letter published in the _Times_ on the 18th of this month,
that Herat had been taken by Yakub Khan?" Lord Enfield, then Secretary
of State, denied my statement; nevertheless I was right, for Herat was
actually in the hands of the rebel son of Shir Ali Khan. On the 3rd of
June, 1875, Mr. Hanbury asked the Minister of Foreign Affairs, "Whether
his (the minister's) attention had been called to a letter of Mr.
Vambéry's in the _Times_ of the 2nd of June relating to a new Russian
expedition to hitherto unknown districts of the Upper Oxus; whether the
purpose of the expedition had been communicated to the English
Government, and whether, as stated by Mr. Vambéry, the diplomatist, Mr.
Weinberg, was a member of the expedition, and whether it was of a
political as well as of a scientific character?" To this Mr. Bourke,
then Secretary of State, replied in Parliament: "That he had read Mr.
Vambéry's letter with great interest, but that Government had not yet
received any information regarding the matter therein mentioned." Again
I was on the right side and had the priority in point of information;
thus naturally the weight of my writings continually increased.
Without desiring or seeking it I was acknowledged in England as the
Asiatic politician and the staunch friend of the realm. Year after year
I received invitations to give lectures about the present and the future
condition of England in Asia, and when, tired of writing, I longed for a
little change and recreation, I travelled to England, where in various
towns--London, Manchester, Birmingham, Bradford, Sheffield, Leeds,
Edinburgh, Glasgow, &c.--I gave lectures for a modest honorarium. On
these occasions I drew the attention of the public to their commercial
and political interests in the Orient, and urged them to exercise their
civilising influence over Asia. Foreigners who for years together
concern themselves about the weal or woe of a land not their own belong
certainly to the rarities, and consequently I was received everywhere in
England with open arms and made much of by all classes of society.
This was very patent during the critical time in the spring of 1885, and
the ovations I received in London and other towns of the United Kingdom
I shall never forget. On the 2nd of May I gave a lecture in the great
hall of Exeter Hall about the importance of Herat. On my arrival I found
the house full to overflowing with a very select audience. Lord
Houghton, who presided at this meeting, thanked me in the name of the
nation, and the next day almost all the newspapers had leading articles
about the services I had rendered, and the resoluteness with which I
always met the woeful optimism and blunders of leading politicians led
astray by party spirit.
A few days later I spoke under the auspices of the Constitutional Union,
before an aristocratic Conservative gathering in Willis's Rooms, on the
subject, "England and Russia in Afghanistan, or who shall be lord and
master in Asia?" The heads of English aristocracy were present, and when
on the platform behind me I recognised a duke, many lords, marshals,
generals, ex-ministers, and several famous politicians and writers of
Great Britain I was really overcome.
My thoughts wandered back into the past. I remembered the chill autumn
night, which I, a beggar, spent under the seat on the promenade at
Presburg. I thought of the scorn, the contempt, and the misery to which
I had been exposed as the little Jew boy and the hungry student, and
comparing the miserable past with the brilliant present, I could not
help marvelling at the strange dispensations of fate. Modesty forbids me
to speak of the manner in which Lord Hamilton, Lord Napier of Magdala,
Lord Cranbrook, and others expressed themselves both before and after my
lecture about my person and my work, but I repeat it, my modesty is not
the feigned, hateful modesty of the craft. Suffice it to say that I had
the satisfaction of warning the proud English aristocracy against the
sinful optimism of the Liberals then in power. If this episode stands
out as the crowning point of my political labours it also shows the
magnanimity and noble-mindedness of the Englishman (so often condemned
for his insular pride) where it concerns the impartial acknowledgment of
merit and the interests of his fatherland!
In the zeal with which I had taken up the political questions of England
all these points did not present themselves to me till afterwards. There
was one incident with regard to this matter which deserves mention.
When, after the conclusion of the last Afghan War, 1880, the Liberal
party came into power, they did all they could to upset the politics of
their opponents, and decided to give back to the Afghans the important
frontier station, Kandahar. I then addressed an open letter to Lord
Lytton, at that time Viceroy of India, in which I warned him against
this step, and pointed out the danger which would ensue. This letter was
reproduced by the whole Press, and a few days after I read in the German
papers the following despatch:
"LONDON, _22nd February_.
"An important meeting being held to-day in favour of the continuance of
the occupation of Kandahar, a letter of Vambéry's to Lytton has come
very opportunely. It is therein stated that to give up Kandahar would do
irreparable damage to England's prestige in Asia, for the Asiatics could
look upon it only as a sign of weakness. Vambéry further asserts that
the occupation of Kandahar under safe conditions would decidedly not
show a deficit, but, on the contrary, be profitable to India, for the
Kandaharis are the best traders of all Central Asia. Finally, Vambéry
points out that the Russians, even without the occupation of Merv, would
within a few years stand before the gates of Kandahar."
Lord Lytton himself wrote to me as follows about this matter.--
"KNEBWORTH PARK,
"STEVENAGE, HERTS,
"_February 22, 1885_.
"DEAR PROFESSOR VAMBÉRY,--"I am very much obliged to you for your
interesting and valuable letter about Kandahar, and you have increased
my obligation by your permission to publish it, of which I have availed
myself. I little thought, when I had the honour of making your
acquaintance many years ago at Lord Houghton's [_see_ p. 255], that I
should live to need and receive your valued aid in endeavouring to save
England's Empire in the East from the only form of death against which
not even the gods themselves can guard their favourites--death by
suicide. I fear, however, that its present guardians, who have Moses and
the prophets, are not likely to be converted--even by one of the dead.
At least, the only form of conversion to which they seem disposed, is
one which threatens to reverse the boast of Themistocles by converting a
great Power into a little one.
"Believe me, dear Professor Vambéry,
"Very sincerely yours,
"LYTTON."
In non-English Europe great statesmen seldom or never condescend to
write in such terms to mere journalists! And where such encouragements,
characteristic of a free nation, are bestowed on the ambitious writer,
they urge him on with still greater enthusiasm. And, further, what must
be the feelings of the writer who knows all about England's glorious
doings in Asia, and from his earliest youth has dreamed of political
freedom; who, hampered hitherto by the mediæval prejudices still
prevalent in Austria, finds himself all at once able to move and act
without restraint, and has not to be ashamed of his low birth? One may
say what one likes against the English (and they have no doubt some very
glaring faults), but this one thing must be allowed--before all things
they are men, and only after that are they British. In the enlightened
nineteenth century they have made more progress than any, and a part
such as that played by Disraeli and others would be perfectly impossible
not only in Germany and Austro-Hungary--still more or less imbued with
the spirit of mediævalism--but even in liberty-boasting France. And I
further ask who could possibly remain indifferent while keenly watching
the _rôle_ played on the world's stage by this small group of islands,
how it rules over several hundred millions of people of all colours,
tongues, and religions, and educates them up to better things!
This extraordinary and almost phenomenal energy must surely excite the
admiration of any thinking man interested in the history of humanity.
When even Rome in the zenith of its glory impresses us with the
magnitude of its power, how could the actions and operations of Albion,
so infinitely greater, mightier and more impressive, leave us
indifferent? These and similar ideas from the very first attracted me
towards England; I felt interested in all her doings, and when it came
to the question of the Anglo-Russian rivalry in Asia, I naturally
always took the side of England. Besides, could I, or dare I, have acted
differently considering the outrageous interference of Russia in the
Hungarian struggle for independence in 1848, and also mindful of the
fact that the government of the Czar, that frightful instrument of
tyranny, that pool of all imaginable slander and abuse, that disgrace to
humanity, must on no account be strengthened and supported in its thirst
for conquest? In proportion as the dominion of the Czar grows in Asia,
so do his means increase for checking the liberty of Europe, and the
easier will it be for Russia to perform acts of benevolence and
friendship towards those of our sovereigns who long for absolutism.
England's greatness can never damage, but rather profit us; as the
worthy torch-bearer of nineteenth-century culture no liberal-minded man
will follow her successful operations in Asia with envious eyes.
And so my literary activity was a thorn in the eyes of the cunning
Muscovites, and the ways and means they used to counteract it are not
without interest. One day in Pest I received a visit from a well-known
Russian statesman, who introduced himself to me with the following
remark, "When the great Greek General fled to Persia, he presented
himself before Cyrus the greatest enemy of the Greeks. I have come to
Hungary to pay my respects to you." Of course I received him as
pleasantly as possible, and when the wily diplomatist looked round my
poor abode he remarked with a smile, "You work a great deal, and yet you
do not appear to be very well off. _You would probably be in better
circumstances if you did not work so much._" I replied, also with a
smile, that I had accustomed myself to a Dervish life in Asia, that it
suited me admirably both morally and physically, and that with reference
to the intellectual result, I felt no desire or need to make any change.
"Just so," remarked the Muscovite, looking me straight in the face, and
soon turned the conversation on to other subjects. Various other
attempts were made to turn me aside from the path I pursued and to
discredit me in the eyes of England and of the Continent. But their
trouble was all in vain, for the bitter hostility of a despotic
Government and their venomous darts must remain without effect against
the expressed approval of a free nation and the approbation of the whole
liberal West.
In the spring of 1885, during my stay in London, I received invitations
to various other towns. A war between England and Russia was then
pending in consequence of the Pendjdeh affair. The number of letters and
telegrams I daily received became so numerous, that I could only master
them with the assistance of a private secretary, who had offered his
services gratis, from purely patriotic motives. I accepted invitations
only to some of the principal provincial towns, as the labour of
travelling every day to be honoured every evening with a public
reception in a different place, give a lecture and attend a banquet, was
too tiring and proved too much for my physical strength. As the most
memorable evenings of this tour I would mention my _début_ at
Newcastle-on-Tyne and at Brighton. In the first-named great industrial
town of the North of England, I gave my lecture, or rather my discourse,
in the large theatre. The house was filled to the top, one could have
walked over the heads, and the galleries were full to overflowing.
Tailor's apprentice, servant, tutor, Effendi, Dervish, I have been
pretty well everything in my life, but a stage hero I was now to be for
the first time, and although not seized with the fever of the
footlights, the masses before me and their enthusiastic reception had an
unusual effect upon me. I spoke for an hour and a half, often
interrupted for several minutes at a time by loud applause, and when,
referring to the danger which threatened the Indian Empire, I called out
to my audience, "The spirits of the heroes fallen in the struggle for
India, who have enabled this small island to found one of the greatest
Asiatic Empires, who have made you mighty and rich, their spirits ask
you now, Will you allow the fruits of our labour to perish, and the most
precious pearl of the British crown to fall into the enemy's hand?" the
frantic, "No! No!" from all parts of the house almost moved me to
tears, and I saw with astonishment what a pitch of excitement these
people of the foggy North can be led up to. A similar scene awaited me
at Brighton, where my speech had also a wonderful effect upon my
hearers. At the close of the lecture many, as usual, pressed forward on
to the platform to shake hands. Among others an elegantly dressed,
elderly lady came up to me, took both my hands and said in a choking
voice: "Oh, my dear, precious England, you have indeed done it good
service. Sir, it is a glorious, golden land; continue to promote its
welfare; God in heaven will reward you." The poor woman trembled as she
said this, and as long as I live I shall never forget the look of
agitation depicted on her face.
I must not omit to mention some of the very characteristic proofs of
friendship I received on this lecturing tour from private individuals
hitherto absolutely unknown to me. At several railway stations the door
of my compartment suddenly opened and dainty luncheon baskets
plentifully filled were pushed in with inscriptions such as: "From an
admirer," or, "from a grateful Englishman." The most remarkable of all
these tokens of appreciation was the hospitality shown me by Mr. Russell
Shaw in London. He offered it me by letter in Budapest, and on my
arrival in London I was met at the station by a footman, who handed me a
letter, in which Mr. Shaw put his carriage at my disposal. The footman
looked after my luggage, we drove to the West End, stopped at No. 26,
Sackville Street, and I was led to the richly furnished apartments made
ready for my reception. Here I found everything that could make me
comfortable; the finest cigars, liqueurs, a beautiful writing-table,
stamps, &c.; everything was put at my disposal, and I had scarcely
finished my toilet when the cook came to ask what were my favourite
dishes, and what time I wished to lunch and to dine. Not until afternoon
did my host appear, after he had begged permission to introduce himself.
Of course I received Mr. Shaw in the most friendly manner in his own
house. He left me after having asked me to invite as many guests as I
liked, and freely to dispose of his kitchen, cellar, and carriage. For
three weeks I remained in this hospitable house. Mr. Shaw hardly ever
showed himself, and only on the day of my departure he paid me another
visit, asked if I had been comfortable and satisfied about everything,
and, wishing me a prosperous journey, he left me. I have never seen him
again. He was unquestionably a true type of English amiability!
Is it surprising, then, that these and other spontaneous expressions of
appreciation made my political labours appear to me in quite a different
light from what I had ever thought or expected? I realised, of course,
that it was not only my political writings which made me of so much
weight, but that it was founded on my purely scientific labours, which,
although unknown to the public at large, had won me credit with the
influential and governing circles of England. Political writings, after
all, can only be appreciated as an excursion from the regions of more
serious literature; and just as newspaper writing in itself is naturally
not highly rated, so strictly and exclusively theoretical writing bears
rather too often the character of sterility. True, not every science can
be animated and popularised by practical application, but when the study
has to be kept alive by active intercourse with far distant nations,
politics, as the connecting link between theory and practice, become an
absolute necessity, and the lighter literary occupation is as
unavoidable as it is energising and beneficial in its effect upon the
mind.
After I had spent a few hours with comparative grammars and
text-editions, or had been occupied with purely ethnographical studies,
I always felt a desire to write a newspaper article, and to refresh
myself from the monotony of word-sifting in the field of political
speculation. The best time of the day, that is to say, the morning
hours, I spent exclusively in serious study, and at the age between
thirty and fifty I could also devote a few hours in the evening to
graver study. In the forenoon, between ten and twelve, and in the
afternoon, between two and five, I used to apply myself to politics and
journalism, with the help of a secretary. Through practice and custom I
had now got so far that I could dictate two or even three leading
articles or other matters in different languages at the same time. When
I approached the fifties, however, such _tours de force_ gave me
headaches and congestion, and I had to abandon them; but long after I
had passed the fifties I continued to dictate extempore--in fact, I
generally wrote and worked from memory even in my scientific studies.
Except the notes I wrote down during my Dervish tour in Arabic letters
and in the Hungarian language, I have never had a notebook, and
consequently never collected notes for future writings. Of course as was
the material, so was the work produced, and it would be arrant
self-deceit to try to conceal the blunders and defects under which so
many of my literary productions laboured because of my mode of working.
No, vanity has not altogether blinded me. Uncommon and curious as my
schooling had been, equally curious was my subsequent literary
productivity, and if there be anything to make me reflect with
satisfaction upon those twenty years of literary activity, it is my
untiring zeal and the strict adherence to my device "_Nulla dies sine
linea_," in which I spent the beautiful summer of my life. Nothing of
any kind or description either in my private or public life has ever
made me break this rule, and no pleasures of any kind could ever replace
for me the sweet hours of study or deter me from my once formed
resolution.
I had the good fortune never to have sought or known what is vulgarly
called entertainment, recreation, or diversion. As in the years of my
trying apprenticeship I had to spend eight or ten hours a day in
teaching, and devoted six hours to my private studies, so, thanks to my
perfectly healthy constitution, I have been able till close upon the
sixties to work at first for ten and later on for six hours daily, apart
from the time spent in reading the newspapers and scientific
periodicals. During the whole of my life I have only very rarely visited
the theatre, and concerts were not in my line either, as I had no
knowledge of the higher art of music. Social evenings, where I might
have refreshed myself in conversation with my fellow-labourers, and have
profited by an interchange of ideas, would have been very welcome to me,
but in my native land, where society had only political aspirations and
ideals at heart, there was no one who cared for the practical science of
the East, no one interested in the actual condition of Asia, and with
the few scholars, mostly philologists, who in the evenings used to
frequent the ale-houses, I could not associate, because spirituous
drinks and excess of any kind have always been obnoxious to me. A
home--a "sweet home"--in the English sense of the word, has never fallen
to my lot, even on ever so modest a scale, for my wife, a homely,
kind-hearted, and excellent woman, was ill for many years, and if it had
not been for the beautiful boy with whom she presented me, I should
never have known what domestic happiness was. My study and my library
were the stronghold of my worldly bliss, the fortress from which I
looked upon three continents, and by a lively correspondence with
various lands in Europe, Asia, and America, could maintain my personal
and scientific relationships. Mentally I lived continually in the most
diverse lands and tongues, and through my correspondence with Turks,
Persians, Ozbegs, Kirgizes, Germans, French, English, and Americans, I
could remain conversant with the different idioms, and also continually
be initiated in the smallest details of the political, commercial, and
religious relationships of those distant lands. My post was, as it were,
the link of union between the distant regions in which I had lived, and
where I always loved to dwell in fancy.
I attribute it more to this than to my inborn linguistic talent, that
after more than a quarter of a century I was able to speak correctly and
fluently the various Asiatic and European languages. Hungarian, German,
Slovak (Slav), Serbian, Turkish, Tartar, Persian, French, Italian, and
English were all equally familiar to me, and the greater or lesser
perfection of accent and of syntactic forms depended chiefly upon the
longer or shorter practice I had had in speaking with natives. I cannot
say the same for the writing in these languages. Here the Latin proverb,
"_Quot linguas calles, tot homines vales_," did not hold good, for
although I could write in several languages, I cannot say that I could
write any one language ready for the Press, _i.e._, without any
mistakes. In former days I used to write Hungarian a good deal and
fairly well. But afterwards I wrote mostly in German and English, and
all that I have published since 1864 has been written in one or other of
these two languages. In order to obtain more fluency of expression,
_i.e._, to feel more at home in a foreign tongue, I used at one time to
read for half an hour or more a day in the particular language. Thus I
became familiar with the manner of speaking, or rather the peculiarities
of expression in that tongue, and when I had thus learned to think
fluently in English, German, or Turkish, I also managed to obtain a
certain amount of fluency in writing. I fear there can be no question
with me of a mother-tongue, and the argument that the language in which
one involuntarily thinks is one's real mother-tongue I cannot agree
with, were it only for this one reason, that long practice and custom
enabled me to think in any language with which I had been familiarised
for some length of time. From my earliest youth I had read a good deal
of German. I had studied in that language; and afterwards in Hungary of
all foreign languages I came most in contact with German, and it seemed
to come most easy to me. But afterwards I wrote English quite as
easily--that is to say, after I had spent a few weeks in England, and
although I never got so far as to be taken for a native, as was the
case with Turkish, French, German, and Persian, I had the satisfaction
of reading in the criticisms at the time that the absence of the foreign
accent in my conversation and my idiomatic style were remarkable.
From these observations about the linguistic conditions and changes
during the fairly long term of my literary activity I will now pass on
to a subject which has given rise to various conjectures in the circle
of my acquaintance, and will not be without interest to the general
reader. I refer to the material benefits derived from my literary
labours, which, on account of their many-sidedness, and the
international character of my pen, have been considerably overrated. I
have already mentioned how much I made by my first book of travels
published by Murray, and expressed at the time the bitter disappointment
I experienced, how different was what I had hoped for and what I got.
Subsequent English publications fared not much better; none of them
brought me in more than £200 sterling, most of them barely half that
sum. In Germany the honorarium paid for literary work was still poorer
and closer, and 500 thaler (£75) was the highest sum ever paid me for
any of my popular writings. I purposely say "popular," because for
purely scientific works I received nothing, and my two volumes of
Chagataic and Uiguric studies and my "Sheibaniade" alone have cost me
some thousand florins, not reckoning the expenses incurred with my
_Ursprung der Magyaren_ and _Türkenvolk_, for which I never received a
penny.
Journalism was a good deal more profitable, especially in England, where
some periodicals paid twenty or thirty guineas per sheet. I came to the
conclusion that one hour of English article-writing pays better than six
hours of German literary work, with this difference, however, that
German periodicals lend themselves to the most theoretical, widely
speculative subjects, while the English Reviews, in their eagerness for
_matter of fact_, accept only practically written articles of immediate
interest. German Review literature seems only lately to have realised
that it is possible to write essays about serious matters without
wearying the reader with a heavy style and endless notes, and one
frequently meets now in the German periodicals with attractively written
articles about the political and commercial relations of distant
countries and people.
This was not the case when I began my literary career. German
Orientalists, unquestionably the most learned and solid in the world,
have always occupied themselves preferably with the past of the Asiatic
civilised world, with textual criticisms of well-known classical works
and grammatical niceties in the Semitic and Aryan tongues, while the
practical knowledge of the East, until quite lately, for want of
national political interest, was not at all encouraged. England, on the
other hand, on account of her Indian Empire, and her many commercial
ties all over the Asiatic continent, has for long enough evinced a
lively interest in the manners and customs of the Orientals, and since
English writers have dealt largely with these, the general public has
been interested mostly in this branch of Oriental literature. Of course
the former traveller, once retired into his library, cannot so easily
come forward with new practical suggestions. It is but seldom that he
can offer a new contribution, and in spite of the excellent honorarium,
the productions of his pen become gradually less, and do not give him a
secured existence as is the case, for instance, with literary writers,
or scholars who can write in an interesting and popular style upon some
subject which is of all-engrossing interest in everyday life.
Taking everything into consideration, I must look upon my many years of
literary labour only from the moral standpoint, and as such my reward
has been rich and abundant. A collection of criticisms and discussions,
which, quite accidentally, came into my possession, contains very nearly
two hundred articles in German, French, English, Italian, Hungarian,
Turkish, Russian, and Modern Greek, which make laudatory mention of my
literary work. The number of criticisms of which I have never heard may
possibly run into many hundreds more; witness the many letters I have
received from all parts of the world, and which on the whole have
rather burdened than edified me. In spite of gross mistakes and many
shortcomings, my literary labour has secured me a position far beyond my
boldest expectations, and would justify the saying, "_Et voluisse sat
est_." Work has kept me in good health, it has made me happy and
therefore rich, and work is consequently to my mind the greatest
benefactor and the greatest blessing in the world.
The Triumph of my Labours