The Triumph of my Labours
CHAPTER IX THE TRIUMPH OF MY LABOURS
From reading the preceding pages the reader will easily gather how it was that, after so many years of hard fighting and struggling, my labour brought its own triumph and gave me the gratification of my dearest wishes.
The psychological problem is clear enough, and the solution is not hard. Other children of men, animated by a desire to produce something new, give themselves neither rest nor peace in the pursuit of their object, but they hide the true motive which instigates them under a mask of modesty; they pretend to be the unwilling instruments of fate. I frankly admit that what animated me was the indomitable ambition to do something out of the common, something that would make me famous. I think I must have been born with this fire in my veins, this devil in my flesh. The confession brings no blush of shame to my face, for now in my seventieth year, looking back upon the thorny path of my life, I am fully convinced it was this longing for fame and the insatiable thirst for activity in the early stages of my career which were at the bottom of all the inconsistencies of my life. On the one hand, the desire to put to some practical use the experience and the knowledge I had gained urged me on to take an active part in whatever was going on in Europe or Asia, while, on the other, my natural propensities, or, perhaps more correctly, the poverty and simplicity of my bringing up, made me lean more towards a quiet, contemplative life and the retirement of my own study. The severe rules of etiquette and the demands of society, where everybody is so important in his own eyes, have ever been distasteful to me, and often when I mixed with the leading people of the diplomatic world or of high life I felt wearied with the empty talk and hollow, would-be importance of these folks. These feelings were not calculated to lit me for a diplomatic career, for, notwithstanding my eminently practical turn of mind, I was anything but a man of the world.
Possibly—in fact, probably—these feelings would have become considerably modified in process of time if at the commencement of my public life, i.e., on my return from Central Asia, I had had the chance of entering upon an active career instead of contenting myself with purely scientific pursuits. I had always had a secret longing for public activity, as I mentioned before, but at that time insurmountable obstacles and difficulties stood in my way. In England I was certainly a distinguished foreigner, but still I was a foreigner, and not likely to receive the nation's unreserved confidence in important matters of State. In Austria every chance of coming to the front was cut off for me by ancient prejudices; and as for Hungary, its foreign affairs being entirely managed in Vienna, there can even to this day be no question of diplomatic activity. In bureaucratic and nobility-crazed Prussia the prejudices against plebeian descent had already been somewhat mitigated, and in so far overcome that the Iron Chancellor found for nearly all German travellers who had gained experience in foreign lands some employment in the diplomatic service. Nachtigal and Rohlfs have been entrusted with missions to West and North Africa, for Emin Pasha there was a regular fight, and Brugsch, who in company with Minutoli made only one journey to Persia, was appointed First Secretary to the German Embassy at Teheran. In spite of my excellent reception in England and the rest of Europe, in spite of my energetic publicistic activity in Asiatic politics, I was so absolutely unknown in Austria that when the Ministry for War once had the unlucky idea of publishing a map of Central Asia, obtained by secret means, and wanted to have it revised by an expert, they submitted it to Kiepert in Berlin. He advised the gentlemen in Vienna to refer the matter to one of their compatriots who had visited the scene, and only after that the Military Geographical Institute thought of me. This wilful and persistent ignoring of me lasted for several years. When Austria sent its first Embassy to Teheran, and the Press mentioned my name, an application of mine met with the reply that I had not and could not come into consideration, because in point of social rank I was not even a Truchsess (i.e. chairbearer) at court; and yet, as I learned afterwards, the Shah and his Government had received the newspaper report with pleasure. When Austria, before the Bosnian occupation, sent a mission to Constantinople to intercede for an amicable settlement of this affair, nobody thought of me, although, as was afterwards clearly shown by my personal intercourse with Sultan Abdul Hamid, no one could more easily than I have brought about a conciliation, saving the country thousands of human lives and millions of money, which the occupation campaign ultimately claimed. At the critical period of the last Russo-Turkish War it was considered advisable for the country to be represented at the Bosphorus by a non-diplomatic ambassador. The choice fell on an aristocrat held to be exceptionally cunning and clever, who before this was supposed to have displayed his sagacity in various ways; but of Oriental affairs he had not the faintest notion, and through ignorance and simplicity he committed some gross mistakes. The fact that my many years' personal intercourse with the Porte, my familiarity with the national customs, languages, and conditions, and my personal acquaintance with the Sultan, might have served the country far better, never entered anybody's mind; not even my own countryman, Count Andrássy, who was then at the head of foreign affairs, thought of me. Ridiculous! The very idea of it would have been preposterous in the eyes of Austria. A Jew, a plebeian by birth, how could he be admitted into the diplomatic service? Knowledge and experience are of second or third-rate importance; and as for literary proclivities, these had always been looked upon rather as a crime than a virtue in Austria. Birth, position, rank, and the art of dissimulation and cringing are worth more than all knowledge, and the proverbial stupidity of Austria's diplomacy best illustrates how strongly this mediæval spirit has asserted itself there.
In these circumstances it would have been only reasonable if, after settling down in Austro-Hungary as a writer, I devoted myself henceforth solely to literary pursuits. Quietly seated at my writing-table I learned to appreciate the sweet fruits of liberty and independence. Here I was safe against the chicaneries and whims of superior persons and the constraint of social forms; the moral reward which honest work never withholds was worth more to me than all the vain glamour of rank and position coveted by all the world round me. Without wishing it, perhaps against my own will, the force of circumstances finally landed me on the right track, and I found a vocation more in keeping with my past career. An active participation in Asiatic affairs might possibly have made me richer and more noted, but certainly not happier or more contented, for although I am not blind to the fact that literary fame can never, either with the public at large or in the higher circles, boast of the same recognition which birth and position claim as their due, I have nevertheless noticed with satisfaction that the fruit of intellectual labour is more real and lasting, more worth fighting for than all the pomp and vanity people are so fond of displaying. Whatever may be said in disparagement of writing, it remains true that the pen is a power, and its victories greater, more durable, and nobler than the advantages which other careers, be they ever so brilliant, have to offer. The pen needs not the gracious nod of high personages; it depends on none save on the hand that wields it; and if, in the face of the amount of general and light literature produced in our days, some might incline to think that the pen has lost its power, that its influence is gone, and that for a writer to rise from obscurity and the lowest position to the pedestal of esteem and appreciation is no longer possible, the story of my life will help to reveal the fallacy of such views. Even as the strenuous labour of my younger days raised me, the quondam servant and Jewish teacher, to attract the attention of all cultured Europe, even so my unremittent efforts in literary work have secured me a position far beyond my merits and surpassing my wildest expectations.
I have already mentioned the widespread popularity of my writings, extending over three continents; I will only add here that, with regard to some exclusively literary works, certain circles—not ordinarily given to express admiration—could not help expressing their appreciation of them, and the Press of England, which for years had laughed at my political utterances, had at last ruefully to admit that I was right, that I had rendered the State great service, and that I had contributed many a brick to the building up of the wall of defence around the Indian Empire. During a lecture which I delivered in 1889 in Exeter Hall the late Commander-in-Chief of India, Sir Donald Stewart, remarked that my writings had often stimulated the sinking courage of the officers in India and stirred them up to endure to the end. Frequently I received letters of appreciation from various parts of India thanking me for my watchfulness over occurrences in Central Asia, and the constant attacks I made on English statesmen who were so easily rocked to sleep in false security.