Thus I was safe on Bokharan soil, and also on the journey through Maimene up to the Persian frontiers. From there, however, and for the rest of the way, I was constantly watched with Argus eyes, and had to endure the most trying fatigues. During my stay at Herat, which lasted for several weeks, I had to sleep in the shivering cold autumn nights on the bare ground, and in the literal sense of the word begged my bread from the fanatical Shiites or the niggardly Afghans, who frequently instead of bread gave me invectives, and often struck me, the supposed Frenghi, or threatened me with death. Even now I shudder when I think of the vile food on which I had to feed and the angry looks these people cast upon me, whom by command of the young Emir they dare not insult, but whom they hated from the bottom of their hearts.
When I think upon the Ghazi attacks in North India, so frequent even in our days, in which some fanatical Afghan calmly murders the harmless Englishman he happens to come across, simply to gain paradise by killing a Kafir, it seems a veritable marvel that I escaped with my life. Every Afghan who came past my cell glared at me with angry eyes. To shoot me would have passed as a virtue, but fortunately their anger did not vent itself in deeds.
This secret wrathfulness manifested itself most strongly on the journey from Herat to Meshhed, when the hard-hearted Afghans, wrapped in their thick fur-coats, took a special delight in seeing me spend the night in my light clothing without any covering, hungry, and with chattering teeth. In spite of all my sufferings and privations I did not give way however, but, regardless of hunger and cold, I always remained cheerful, and I attribute this chiefly to my excitement at the successful accomplishment of my adventure, for once on Persian soil I expected to be safe from all danger.
The charm of this consciousness was so strong and effective that for days together, both after my arrival at Meshhed and on the tedious marches through Khorasan, I lived in a constant fever of excitement; and the farther the horrible spectres of past dangers dwindled away in the distance, i.e., the nearer I came to Teheran, where I should find the first European colony, the louder throbbed my heart, and the more vivid became the enchanting pictures of future renown on the rosy horizon of my fancy. Whether this joyous excitement was proportionate to the actual results of my adventurous enterprise, and whether the reward was worth all the trouble, I never stopped to consider then. It was enough for me that I was the first European to have advanced from the south coast of the Caspian Sea through the Hyrcanian desert to Khiva, from there through the sandy plains of the Khalata to Bokhara, and from thence to Herat. I knew that the specimens of the East Turkish languages and the manuscripts I had collected were unknown to the scientific world of Europe, and would give me the character of an explorer and specialist in Turkology, and finally I was not a little proud of the manner in which I had travelled, always under the impression that my intimate intercourse with the various tribes of inner Asia, so far but little or imperfectly known, must yield an abundant harvest of ethnographical knowledge. Indeed, had I been a professional philologist and linguist, trade, industry, and politics, geography as well as ethnography, could not have captivated my attention to the same extent, and I could not have obtained all this practical knowledge of inner Asia, keenly interested as I was in the destiny of these far-away nations. If it had struck me that, owing to my very deficient education, much had been neglected and passed by unnoticed, that, for instance, I had not a notion of geology, and was absolutely useless on geographical grounds; that I could not have rendered any assistance in these, even had I had the knowledge, because I only carried a little bit of pencil hidden in the lining of my coat, and consequently that my services to geography and natural science in general were of the vaguest and most problematic character—had I realised all this the temperature of my exultation would have fallen considerably. But all such thoughts remained down at the bottom of the ocean of my bliss; and so now, after an existence of thirty-one years in this world, for the first time in my life the golden fruit of realised success and the sweet reward after hard labour beckoned to me from the distance, and filled me with ecstasy and blissful anticipation. The long, weary stretch from Meshhed to Teheran I accomplished in mid-winter; two horses were at my disposal, for the Governor of Meshhed, Prince Hussam es Saltana, had furnished me with the necessary means, and throughout all this journey my mind was full of joy and anticipation. My Osbeg attendant, who from Khiva had accompanied me, and through weal and woe had been faithful to me, was not a little surprised at this metamorphosis in my behaviour. For hours together I used to sing songs or airs from favourite operas, which the good lad took for holy hymns of the Western Islam. He was highly pleased to see the Dervish of the West in such a pious frame of mind, and often as I warbled my operas he accompanied me in his nasal tone, fully under the impression that they were Moslem songs of praise or pious hymns. Such a duet has not often been heard, I believe. Thus it came about that during the four weeks occupied by this ride from Meshhed to Teheran—a ride which exhausts even the most hardened traveller—I was always full of good-humour. Physically I was worn out, even to the extent of being unrecognisable, but mentally uplifted and full of elasticity when I made my entry into the Persian capital.
The kindly reception accorded me in Meshhed by Colonel Dolmage had shown me that in Asia Europeans are not separated by any national wall of partition, but, united in a common bond of Western fraternity, share each other's weal and woe; and on my arrival in the Persian capital I was still firmer convinced of this bond of unity. The news of my fortunate escape from the hands of the Central Asiatic tyrants had been received by all the European colony with equal pleasure. Young and old, rich and poor, high diplomatists and modest craftsmen—all the Europeans in Teheran, in fact—wanted to see and to welcome me; and few could repress their sympathy when they saw the gay and lively young Hungarian of former days so sadly changed and fallen off. From my letter to the Turkish Embassy, written in the Turkoman Steppe, they had heard of my safe arrival in this dangerous robbers' den. But after that no further intelligence had been received. No wonder that in the Persian capital the wildest rumours about my imprisonment, execution, and miserable end were circulated and believed. Pilgrims from Middle Asia, who confused my identity with that of some Italian silk merchants captured in Bokhara before my arrival there, related the most horrible details of the martyr's death I had undergone. Some had seen me hanging by my feet; others declared that I had been thrown down from the tower of the citadel; others again had been eye-witnesses when the executioner quartered me and threw my limbs to the dogs to eat. As Bokhara was known to be the hotbed of the most consummate barbarities and cruelties, these tales were easily believed by the Europeans in Teheran, and now, on my return, hale and hearty, but with the indisputable marks of excessive sufferings upon me, every one's sympathy went out to me. All strove to show me attention and to please me in some way or other. The various Legations invited me to festive dinners. The English Envoy, Sir Charles Alison, asked me to write an account of my travels, and gave me official recommendations to Lord Palmerston, Lord Strangford, Sir Justin Sheil, Sir H. Rawlinson, and other political and scientific notabilities in London, which were of great service to me, and largely influenced my further career. M. von Giers, then Russian Ambassador at Teheran, and afterwards Imperial Chancellor, urged me to go to Petersburg, because he thought that my Turkestan experiences would be most appreciated on the Neva. At the Russian Legation they drew a picture of my future career in the most brilliant colours, and when I pointed out that life in those severely autocratic spheres would be incompatible with my nationality and political opinions, these diplomatists came to the conclusion that I was too naïve, and, in spite of the hard school I had gone through, still remained an enthusiast.
Teheran, indeed, was the centre of important decisions for me. Had I listened to the persuasions of the Russians, who knows what position I might not be occupying at present in the administration of Turkestan? Of course it was out of the question for me to turn my footsteps northward. All the treasures and all the glory of the Czar's dominions would never help me to conquer the feeling of dislike which from a child I had had against the oppressor of my fatherland and all its national policy, the personification of despotism and unbridled absolutism. With all the more readiness I accepted the introductions given me by the English; for this nation, with its glorious literature and liberal ideas, had long since become dear to me; and as, moreover, in the East I had found them the only worthy representatives of the West, it will seem quite natural that in Teheran I had already made up my mind what course to pursue in Europe, and made London the final aim of my journey to the West.
At Teheran I rested for about three months from the fatigues of my Central Asiatic expedition. During that time, and while it was all yet fresh in my mind, I completed and supplemented the pencil-notes secretly taken on the journey and written on odd bits of paper in the Hungarian tongue, but with Arabic characters to avoid detection. I even mapped out an account of my travels, which I intended to publish in England. I built the most delightful castles in the air, and revelled in the glorious colouring of the pictures of my imagination, without, however, having the slightest conception of how to create for myself a decided career built upon solid foundations. It was enough for me that I had become acquainted with districts and places in the Asiatic world which no European before me had ever set eyes on, but how and where I was to turn this knowledge to the best account never once entered my mind in the excessive joy of my successful campaign. And I could not in any case have come to any satisfactory conclusion on this head, for, in the first place, I was not quite sure yet as to the best ways and means of disposing of my knowledge; in the second, I was somewhat doubtful as to my literary accomplishments; and in the third, I had not yet made up my mind in which language to write.
In the tumult of my exultation the one certain, joyful prospect that rose up before me was that my successful expedition would gain me European fame and honour, and secure for me a position in life, but of what nature this position was to be I knew not, and cared not. All I wanted was to get to Europe now as soon as possible; first go home to Hungary and report myself to the Academy at Pest, and then place the account of my wanderings before the European public.
As soon as the fine weather set in I left the Persian capital to return to Trebizond by the same way by which I had come, viz., Tebriz and Erzerum. Full of anxiety, apprehension, and uncertainty as my journey here had been, equally full of joy and delightful anticipation was my journey back to the Black Sea. In quick day marches I passed the different stations. The formerly toilsome journey was now mere child's play to my body inured against fatigues. It was an exciting pleasure-ride which the warm reception of my European friends in Tebriz made into a veritable triumphal march. Warm welcomes, banquets, laudations, and undisguised appreciation of my adventure were my greeting. Swiss, French, Germans, English, and Italians—all were proud that a lame European had actually been amongst the kidnapping Turkomans and the wildly fanatical Central Asiatics; and glad that through his discoveries this hitherto obscure portion of the Old World was brought within the reach of Western lands. Besides the account of my journey which I had sent from Teheran to the President of the Hungarian Academy, the diplomatic representatives at Teheran officially acquainted their various Governments with my doings, and sent off innumerable letters to European newspapers. The fame of my successful expedition thus preceded me, and when I came to Constantinople I was presented to the Austrian Internuncio (Count Prokesh-Orten) and the Grand-Vizier (Ali Pasha), who both seemed to know all about me. Their warm reception and the lively interest they manifested in the concerns of the hitherto closed districts of inner Asia showed me their appreciation of the work I had done. After my late experiences, Constantinople, where I delayed only for a few hours, seemed to me the flower of Western civilisation. I went by one of Lloyd's steamers, viâ Kustendji-Czernawoda on the Danube, to Pest, where I arrived in the first half of May, 1864.
I shall not attempt to describe my feelings at sight of my beloved fatherland. My pen would be unequal to interpret the emotions which I experienced as I trod once again the soil of the land for which I had undergone so much. It was to find out its early history that I had first been induced to start on this dangerous expedition; for, as already mentioned, the national beginnings of my native land had from my earliest youth stirred within me a feeling of curiosity, to satisfy which I had faced the dangers and privations now safely over. Arrived in Pest, I left the boat at the Suspension Bridge and, accompanied by the Tartar whom I had brought from Khiva as a living proof of my sojourn in foreign parts, I sped towards the Hôtel de l'Europe. My joy knew no bounds, and it never struck me that my home-coming was just as lonely and unobserved as my departure had been some years ago. When in after years I witnessed the receptions granted in London to Livingstone, Speke and Grant, Palgrave, Burton, and, above all, to Stanley—receptions in which the whole nation took part, of which the newspapers were full weeks and months beforehand, a special train meeting the traveller, who was feasted as if he were a national hero—and when I saw how even in Vienna, where travellers as a rule are not the heroes of the day, officers like Payer and Weyprecht were celebrated on their return from the North Pole—it pained me to think upon my own gloomy, lonely home-coming, and the lamentable indifference of my compatriots. Even in the circle of the Academy, whose delegate I had been, my successfully accomplished undertaking seemed to rouse no interest; for, when at the next Monday's meeting, I entered the hall of the Academy only the noble, highly-cultured secretary, Mr. Ladislaus Szalay, and my high-minded patron, Baron Eötvös, warmly embraced me and expressed their pleasure at my fortunate escape. They indeed did all they could to make up for the neglect of the others. Hungary was just then passing through the sad period of Austrian absolutism. The nation languished in the bonds of this autocracy. There was no sign of public life or social vitality. Every one's hopes and expectations were fixed on the restoration of the national Government and the reconciliation with Austria; and although Asia, from the historical point of view of the old Magyars, might be of some interest, geographical and ethnographical researches and the opening out of the hitherto almost unknown portion of the old world could have no special attractions for Hungary just then. He who longs for bread requires no dainties to tempt the palate, and a nation sorely troubled about its political existence and its future can scarcely be blamed if all efforts are in the first place directed towards the regaining of its constitutional rights and national independence, and if it pays more attention to culture and the improvement of science in general than to geographical and ethnographical discoveries in distant lands.