Part 23

If my way from Tabreez to Trebizond resembled an entry in triumph, my journey homewards was the much more marked with signs of acknowledgment by every European I met in Turkey of the great fatigues I had undergone during my travels. On my arrival in Constantinople, I found the Turkish capital not only many times more enchanting than before, comparing the howling wilderness of Central Asia with the natural beauties of the Bosphorus, but I saw in the Turks a totally civilized nation, who are in great advance over their brethren in faith and in nationality who dwell in the interior of Asia; nay, men whose physical features resemble much more the genuine European than the representatives of the Iranian and Turanian race. My first visit was to the Austrian Ambassador of that time, to the learned diplomatist, the late Count Prokesch-Osten, who was always kind to me during my sojourn in the Turkish metropolis, and who received me now with real cordiality. For a moment he gazed upon me, not being able to recognize a former acquaintance in his emaciated and weather-worn visitor; and it was only after I had addressed him in German, that he nearly burst into tears, saying, "For heaven's sake, Vambéry, what have you done; what has become of you?" I gave him a short account of my travels, and of my adventures; and the good old man, moved to the inmost of his noble heart, tried to persuade me before all to stay a few days in his house, in order to recover my strength, and to pursue only after rest my way to Budapest. I declined politely, and listened with great attention to the hints he gave me about the next steps I had to take in Europe. "You do quite right to go straight forward to London," said the Count; "England is the only country full of interest for the geography and ethnography of Inner Asia. You will there have a good reception; but you must not forget to style accordingly the account of your travels. Keep yourself strictly to the narrative of your adventures; be short and concise in the description; and particularly abstain from writing a book mixed with far-fetched argumentations or with philological and historical notes."

My next visit in Constantinople was to Aali Pasha, the Grand Vizier of that time, to whom I intended to report on the political condition of Persia and of Central Asia. On my way from Pera to Constantinople--I mean to say to the offices of the Porte--I met with many of my previous acquaintances without being recognized by any one. The same happened with me on my passage through the corridor of that large building of the Sublime Porte, and it was only in consequence of my having been announced, that Aali Pasha was able to recognize in me the former Reshid Effendi--my official name in Turkey--the man whom he supported in his linguistic studies by lending him rare manuscripts out of his collection. He received me with great friendliness, and insisted on my staying in Constantinople, but, politely declining, I hurried back to the port in order to be in due time for departure of the vessel of the Austrian Lloyd Company bound for Kustendje. On arriving at the port near Fyndykly, I had to fulfil a most unpleasant duty, namely, to dismiss my faithful Tartar, who had accompanied me from Khiva to the shore of the Bosphorus--to say a final good-bye to the sincere and honest young man, who had shared with me all the fatigues and privations of my dangerous journey homewards from the banks of the Oxus, who never showed the slightest sign of discontent, and who really had become like a brother to me. It was an unspeakably painful moment of my life! I handed over to him nearly all my ready cash, keeping only enough to pay for my food until I arrived at Pesth--for the passage was free. I gave him all my dresses, my equipment, &c., made him a long speech as to his behaviour during his further journey to Mecca and concerning his way backward to Khiva; and I had just extended my arms to embrace him, when he burst out in a torrent of tears and said, "Effendi! forgive me, but I cannot separate from you. The sanctity of the holy places is certainly a much beguiling object; to see the tomb of our Prophet is worth a whole life; but I cannot leave you, I cannot go alone! I am ready to renounce all the delights of this and of the future world; I am ready to part even with my home, but I cannot separate from you." The reader may fancy my great astonishment when I heard the _ci-devant_ young theological student of Central Asia speaking these words; and I said to him, "My dear friend, do you know that I am going to the country of unbelievers, to Frengistan, where the climate, the water, the language, the manners and customs of the different people will be utterly strange to you, and where you will find yourself speedily at an extraordinary distance from your own home, and will have to remain eventually, without any hope of revisiting again in your life your paternal seat in Khiva? Consider well what you are doing, for repentance will be too late, and I should not like to be the cause of your misfortune!" The poor Tartar stood pale and dejected for a few moments, the great struggle in his soul being noticeable only by the fiery rolling of his eyes; he pressed his lips spasmodically, and then burst out in the following words, "Believer or unbeliever, I care not which, wherever you go I go with you. Good men cannot go to bad places. I have implicit faith in your friendship, and I trust in God that he will take care of us both." Standing thus in the midst of my confusion, I heard the ringing of the bell at the vessel. The time for further consideration and argumentation was gone. I took my luggage and the Tartar on board the steamer, and no sooner had we arrived than the anchors were weighed; and away we steamed through the Bosphorus on the Black Sea to Kustendje.

My journey up the Danube to Pesth in the month of May, 1864, was full of delight and interest. By every step which brought me nearer to the frontier of Hungary, I met new friends and fresh admirers, for the news of my successful travels in Central Asia had already spread throughout Europe, and had in particular roused the attention of my countrymen, with whom the dim lore of their Asiatic descent is not all unknown, and who were now most anxious to get fresh information from the seat of their ancestors, the cradle of the Magyar race. On my arrival in Pesth, I was met first by Baron Joseph Eötvös, the Vice-President of our Academy, my noble-hearted patron, who had assisted me in my juvenile struggles, who had encouraged me to my travels, and who was now full of joy in seeing me safe, although he was much worn-out by fatigues at home. Baron Eötvös, the greatest literary genius of Hungary of the present century, the author of the brilliant philosophical work "The Reigning Ideas of the Nineteenth Century," did not at all conceal from me the difficulties I should yet have to contend with. "Go at once to London," he said, "and being provided, as you are, with letters of introduction to the leading personalities, you are almost sure of a warm reception, and of a real acknowledgment of your merits." Well, this plan had matured in me since my leaving Teheran, where the late Sir Charles Alison, and particularly Mr. Thompson, the present British Minister at the Persian Court, had likewise given to me similar suggestions. I therefore took the firm decision to go to England as soon as possible--I mean to say as soon as I got the necessary means for the journey. This equipment proved, however, not an easy task. Marks of recognition in the papers, invitations to dinner-parties, &c., were not wanting on my arrival at Pesth; but the funds for my journey to London were not so easily got, and I was obliged to leave my Tartar behind in the care of a friend and to proceed alone to England. It was certainly a great pity not to be able to bring Mollah Ishak--this was the name of the Tartar--to the banks of the Thames, for he would have made a capital figure at Burlington House, before the Royal Geographical Society; but I had to accommodate myself to imperious necessity, and taking with me only my notes and a few Oriental manuscripts, I left Hungary towards the end of May, and proceeded without stopping to England.

XXXI.

IN ENGLAND.

Only a couple of weeks having elapsed since I emerged from the depths of Asia to the very centre of Europe, and since I exchanged the life of a travelling dervish for that of a strictly Europeanized man of letters, it may easily be conceived what extraordinary effects this sudden transformation wrought upon me. I shall try to describe some of the prominent features of this change, although I hardly believe that my feeble pen is equal to the task. It was before all the idea of having renounced the life of a wanderer, and of being henceforward unable to change by abode daily, which gave me great trouble. The firm and stable house and its furniture seemed to me like fetters, and filled me with disgust after a few days' stay. Then came the aversion I felt to the European dress, particularly to the necktie and stiff linen, which were quite an ordeal to me, accustomed as for years I had been to the wide and comfortable Asiatic garb, which gives not the slightest restraint whilst its wearer is either sitting or walking. Not even the food, and still less the manner of eating, had any attraction for me, who for years and years had used his fingers as knife and fork, and who had now to observe the European table etiquette with all its rigour. And what should I say about all the multifarious differences between the manners and habits of Europe and those of Asia? I really felt like a child, or like some semi-barbarous inhabitant of Asia or Africa on his first introduction into European society, and I really do not know whether I should laugh at my awkwardness in that time, or whether I should admire the forbearance shown to me by English society during the first weeks of my appearance in London.

With these and similar feelings I spent my first days in the English metropolis. My first care was to hand over the letters of introduction I got in Teheran to those distinguished _savants_ and politicians who were connected with Central Asia, and who had a pre-eminent interest in the results of my travels. My first visit was to _Sir Henry Rawlinson_, who was then, and is even now, the greatest living authority on all scientific and political questions associated with Central Asia. He received me in a most affable manner in his house in Berkeley Street, Berkeley Square, where he was living at that time; and although I was able to lead an English conversation, still for the sake of better fluency I preferred Persian, of which Sir Henry, late ambassador of Great Britain in Persia, was a perfect master, and which he really handled with exquisite refinement. The topic of our conversation was of course Bokhara, Khiva, Herat, and Turkestan, places of which the learned decipherer of the cuneiform inscriptions of Behistan had an astounding store of information. My details about the capture of Herat by Dost Mohammed Khan, about the campaign of the Emir of Bokhara against Kokhand in favour of Khudayar Khan, and particularly the rumours I heard about the approach of the Russian detachment under Tchernayeff, were the topics in which he seemed most interested. It was a kind of cross-examination which I had to go through; and after a conversation of nearly an hour's length, I took leave with the full conviction that my first _début_ was not an unsuccessful one. The next call I made was upon _Sir Roderick Murchison_, the President of the Royal Geographical Society at that time, whose house, at 16, Belgrave Square, gave me for the first time an idea of the comfort and luxury surrounding an English literary man of distinction. I need scarcely say that Sir Roderick, whose amiability is world-wide known, received me, not like a foreigner introduced to him by his friend, but like a fellow-traveller--as became the good-hearted patron of all those whose efforts were directed towards the furthering of geographical knowledge. He did not care much about the languages, the manners, and the habits of Asiatic people, but rather about orographical and hydrographical facts; and he actually showed some disappointment on hearing from me that I neither brought cartographical sketches nor specimens of the geological formations. Having been asked whether I had brought some drawings with me, I answered not quite to his satisfaction, that I carried only a small pencil not larger than the half of my thumb with me, concealed under the wadding of my dervish dress, and that if people had noticed my making any use of this contrivance, I certainly should not have had the pleasure of my present interview with him. The good old man was unable to realize the great dangers I ran in my disguise, for he always thought of his own journey to the Ural, executed under the princely protection of the Emperor of Russia--he being provided with ample means from home. The topic which he most decidedly shunned was politics; for whenever I touched the question of the Russian approach to the frontiers of India, and of the very near term of Russian encroachment upon Central Asia, he immediately said smilingly, "Oh, you must not believe that; the Russians are a nice people; their Emperor is an enlightened, noble prince, and the Russian plans in Asia cannot mean mischief against the interests of Great Britain." As to the enlightened character of the late Russian Emperor, nobody had any doubt. His esteem and consideration for science had an eloquent symbol in the pair of magnificent malachite vases which were in the house of Sir Roderick Murchison, who was much liked at the Court on the Neva; but, as events have since proved, these were only testimonials of personal feelings, which had no influence whatever upon the course of politics in Asia. Excepting that this single difference of opinion occurred, my first meeting with the President of the Royal Geographical Society succeeded beyond all my expectations. He invited me to lecture before the society at its concluding meeting, and asked me to dinner on an early evening. I confess the kind manner in which this noble-hearted gentleman treated me during my sojourn in London, and the rich hospitality which I so frequently enjoyed in his house, will be ever green in my memory.

The third man upon whom I called was the late Viscount Strangford, the wonderful Oriental linguist and the brilliant writer. I say on purpose wonderful, for I rarely met a man in my life whose almost supernatural ability to speak and to write many European and Asiatic languages caused me so much astonishment. Our conversation began in the Turkish of Constantinople, in that refined idiom, whereof six or eight words out of every ten are certainly either Arab or Persian, only the others belonging to the genuine Turkish stock. To use this language in an elegant way, it is requisite to adapt one's mode of thinking entirely to that of thoroughbred Orientals, to have besides a proficiency in the standard works of Mohammedan literature, and, above all, to have moved a good deal in the so-called Effendi society. It is certainly no exaggeration to say that Lord Strangford, fully adequate to these exigencies, would have been taken by everybody for a downright Effendi, had it not been for the peculiarly Celtic shape of his head, and for the way in which he used to turn it to the right and to the left of his shoulders. Finding that I had come fresh from the East, where for many years I used Turkish as a colloquial and literary language, he was delighted to renew with me all his reminiscences of a long stay on the Bosphorus, and particularly to have somebody who was able to give him oral information about the language and literature of Central Asia, in which he was so much interested. Having flattered myself with the hope that I should become the only authority in Europe on Eastern-Turkish, the reader may fancy my astonishment when I heard from the mouth of an English nobleman the recital of such poems as those of Nevai, which had hitherto escaped my attention, and when he gave me the explanation of words which I had vainly looked for in the Eastern dictionaries. Lord Strangford was quite a riddle to me; for apart from his knowledge in Eastern tongues, he spoke almost all European languages; he was a Sclavonic scholar, he knew Hungarian, nay, even the language of the Gipsies; and what struck me most was his vast information concerning the various literatures and histories of these peoples. No wonder, therefore, that I felt from the beginning a particular attraction to the learned Viscount, and that he also, as I afterwards had ample opportunity to learn, took a fancy to me and became my most zealous and disinterested supporter in England. Envy and jealousy had no place in the noble heart of Lord Strangford; he gave himself all possible pains to introduce me everywhere, and to level the ground before me, and the standing I gained in London society was entirely due to his exertions.

Amongst the introductions which I had brought with me from Teheran was one to Mr., now Sir Henry, Layard, another to the late Sir Justin Sheil, formerly Ambassador at Teheran, and recommendations to several men of note connected in some way or other with the interior of Asia. Sir Henry Layard who was at that time Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, received me in his open, straightforward, British manner. Not many years having elapsed since the politician of high standing was himself a traveller in Asia, he behaved towards me like a colleague and like a former brother in arms. The same I must say in reference to the late Sir Justin Sheil and Lady Sheil; the latter was kind enough to give me the necessary hints as to the complicated laws and social tone of the West End; in one word, all my friends helped together to shape out of the rough material of the _ci-devant_ dervish the lion of the London season. No easy task of course, if you consider that the said dervish, although a European by birth, had never before been west of his own country, and that his education and his continual studies were not made to facilitate such a change in his life. But what does not man attempt for the sake of success? Necessity and assistance had soon transformed the lame Mohammedan beggar into an admired lion of the British metropolis; and the man, who but a few months before had to wander about in tatters and to beg his daily bread by chanting hymns and by bestowing blessings upon true believers in Asia, became the wonder of the richest and the most civilized society of the Western world!

It is the details of this extraordinary change that I have to relate to my gentle reader.

The account of my adventures having become known in strictly scientific circles, my friends thought it necessary to bring me before the larger public, and the first forum in which I had to appear was the Royal Geographical Society. There was, however, a rather curious hindrance to the final settlement, an incident which I cannot leave untold. A few days after my arrival in London I noticed that some of my friends began to have a shy look, and that they treated me with a good amount of caution, if not suspicion. Having just finished the career of a dangerous disguise, and being accustomed to the suspicious looks of men, I did not at first feel disconcerted; but the fact nevertheless excited my curiosity, and speaking just then with General Kmethy, my countryman of Kars renown and a popular member of London Society at that time, about the strange attitude of people, I was told by the good man, in a half-laughing and joking manner, that I was probably unaware of the serious danger in which I found myself in London. I heard then that some, even the best of my friends, on seeing my sun-burned, swarthy face, and on hearing my unmistakably genuine Persian and Turkish conversation, got rather suspicious about me, and took me for some Persian vagabond who had learned English in India, and who, after having succeeded in getting letters of introduction, was now playing a comedy for English scholars and diplomatists. It was only the formal assurance of General Kmethy that I was a countryman of his and a member of the Hungarian Academy, which dissipated the doubts that had arisen. "Is it not strange?" said I to myself. "In Asia they suspected me to be a European, and in Europe to be an Asiatic; languages have really an immense power of fascination!" This difficulty having been removed and an unimpaired confidence having set in, I began to work out a short account of my travels in English, to be read before the Royal Geographical Society--a paper which Mr. Laurence Oliphant, who was acting at that time as foreign secretary of the Society, was kind enough to revise. I must say that it was with a good deal of impatience and anxiety that I looked forward to the evening of my first _début_ before a select English audience such as the members of the London Geographical Society have been always, and are even now. My anxiety was the much more justified, as it happened that on the same evening a political question of a far-reaching interest, namely, whether England should side with Denmark in her struggle with Germany, was to be discussed in the House of Parliament, and my friends as well as myself apprehended the presence of a very small audience at our proceedings. The usual dinner at Willis's Rooms which preceded our meeting went off tolerably well. My health was proposed by Sir Roderick Murchison in very kind terms and drunk with much cheering; and, when I returned thanks, I concluded my little speech by conferring a Mohammedan blessing upon the dinner party--reciting the first Surah of the Koran with all the eccentricity of the Arabic guttural accent, and with all the queerness of genuine Moslem gesticulation. I need scarcely say that my mode of recital elicited a good deal of merriment. We left the table and went straight to Burlington House.