On the evening of the 27th of March, 1863, my excellent friend, the Turkish ambassador in Teheran, gave me a farewell supper, at which all declared—to inspire me, of course with fear, and divert me from my adventurous undertaking,—that I was for the last time in my life to enjoy European food in the European manner. The handsome dining room at the residence of the ambassador was brilliantly lighted, the choicest viands were served, and the choicest wines handed round; for the intention was clear,—to give me a strong dose of reminiscences of European comforts on the difficult expedition before me. My friends were for ever scrutinizing my features, to discover whether my outward appearance might not betray some trace of inward excitement. But they were very much mistaken. I had ensconced myself comfortably in the velvet arm chair, which had been brought thither from the distant land of the Franks; the wine had tinged my face with the same colour as the fez which covered my head. A pious dervish and wine—what a frightful antithesis! To-night, however, I must transgress, the penance will be a long one, whether or no....

Twenty-four hours later, in the evening of the 28th of March, I was in the midst of my company of beggars on the road to Lar, in a half-dilapidated mud hut, called Dagaru. The rain was pouring in torrents. We had been pretty well wetted through during our day's march, so that all were anxious for shelter and a dry roof; and, the space being narrow, fate brought me the very first evening into the closest contact with my travelling companions. Their tattered garments, never very sweet-scented, and now thoroughly soaked with the rain, gave out the strangest evaporations; and no wonder if, under such circumstances, I had no great desire to take my share out of the large wooden bowl, from which the starved Hadjis, splashing about with their fists, were eating their supper. Moreover, hunger tormented me less than fatigue and my wet, ragged garments, to which I was as yet unaccustomed. Rolled up like a ball, I tried to get to sleep; but this also was impossible, packed together as we were in such close quarters. Now I felt the hand, now the head of one of my neighbours, falling upon me; then my opposite companion stretched out his foot, to scratch me behind the ears. It required the patience of Job to defend myself against these unpleasant civilities; and yet I might have had some sleep, but for the loud snoring of the Tartars, and above all the loud moaning of a Persian muleteer, who was sadly troubled with the gout.

Finding that all endeavours to close my eyes remained unsuccessful, I rose and sat upright in the midst of this mass of people, who were lying about in the most utter confusion. The rain kept falling, and, as I looked out into the dark and gloomy night, my thoughts returned to the difference in my position only twenty-four hours before, and the sumptuous farewell supper at the splendid Turkish embassy. The whole scene appeared to me not unlike a dramatic representation of "King and Beggar," in which I acted the chief part. The bitter feeling of reality, however, made little impression. I myself was the author of this sudden metamorphosis, and I had prepared my fate for myself.

The hard task of self-control lasted but a few days. As far as all outward peculiarities were concerned, I soon became familiar with the habitual as well as physical attributes of dervishism, such as dirt, &c. I gave my better garments, which I had brought with me from Teheran, to a weak and sickly Hadji, an act of kindness which gained all hearts. My new uniform consisted of a felt jacket, which I wore next my skin without any shirt, and of a djubbe (upper garment),[10] composed of innumerable pieces of stuff, and fastened with a cord round the loins. My feet were enveloped in rags, and an immense turban covered my head, serving as a parasol by day and pillow by night. I had also, in conformity with the rest of the Hadjis, hung round me a voluminous Koran in a bag, which resembled a cartridge pouch; and, viewing myself thus, "en pleine parade," I had reason proudly to exclaim: "Yes, indeed, I am born a beggar!"

The outer or material part of the incognito was thus easily assumed, but the moral part presented more serious difficulties than I expected. Although I had had the opportunity, for some years past, of studying the contrast between European and Asiatic modes of life, and the critical position in which I found myself made it incumbent upon me ever to be strictly on my guard, nevertheless, I could not avoid committing many glaring mistakes. The difference between Eastern and Western society does not consist merely in language, physiognomy, and dress. We Europeans eat, drink, sleep, sit, and stand, nay, I feel inclined to say, laugh, weep, sigh, and gesticulate otherwise than Eastern people. These things are visible trifles, but in reality difficult ones, and yet they are as nothing when compared with the effort required to disguise one's feelings. When travelling, people are naturally of a more eager and excitable temperament than in everyday life, and therefore it costs the European an unspeakable effort to conceal his curiosity, admiration, or any kind of emotion, when brought into intercourse with the indolent orientals, who are for ever indifferent to all and everything around them. Besides, the object of my travelling was merely to travel, whilst that of my friends was to reach their distant homes. My individual person excited their interest only during the first moments of our acquaintance, while to me they were each a continual study; and it certainly can never have entered the head of any one of them that, whenever we laughed and joked most intimately together my mind would just then be doubly occupied. No one but he who is practically acquainted with the East, can have any idea of the difficulty of entering into all these marked differences. I had been pretty well schooled by a four years' residence at Constantinople; yet there I played merely the part of an amateur, whilst here I dared not deviate even a hair's breadth from reality. Nay, I will make no secret of the fact, that during the first few days the struggle, though short, was severe, and that repentance and remorse seized me at every fresh difficulty. However, my mind, being stimulated by vanity, was in that state of excitement when everything had to give way before the irresistible impulse of its ardour; and, supported in its triumph by a sound constitution, it was enabled to bear easily whatever might happen.

I shudder even now when I think back of the fatigue I underwent during the first few days, and how much I suffered from the wet and cold, the uncleanliness—which makes one's hair stand on end—and the never-ending, harassing worry with the fanatic Shiites, during our long and tedious day-marches in Mazendran, a part of the world of historical reputation for its bad roads. Sometimes it rained from early in the morning until late in the evening, and, whilst not a thread of my tattered garments remained dry, I was moreover obliged to wade for hours knee-deep in mud. The narrow mountain-path has become hollow by the wear of centuries, and in many places it resembles a muddy brook, winding along between huge fragments of pointed rock that have fallen from the heights above. It is a sheer impossibility to remain in the saddle; and, in order to avoid danger, the best course is to tread slowly and cautiously, sounding the hollows with one's foot. No one will doubt that, under such circumstances, we arrived at the station at nightfall thoroughly exhausted and fatigued. Fire and shelter are the chief objects of desire, for which the eye looks longingly around. They both exist in Mazendran; but we, the Sunnitic beggars, had preferred, for the sake of quiet, to pass the night undisturbed and far from any human dwelling. A fire was kindled, to dry ourselves and our clothes, when the elder of our Tartar fellow-travellers observed, that such a proceeding would be prejudicial to health; and, indeed, they always preferred to dry themselves in another and more singular fashion. It is well known that, throughout the East, horse dung is dried and then ground into powder, to serve as stabling for the horses by night. During the day it is exposed to the sun, either spread out or made into conical-shaped heaps; and I was not a little astonished to see how my companions, divesting themselves entirely of their apparel, buried their soaked bodies up to the neck in such like poudre de santÉ. I need not add, that contact with this poudre, so well known as strong and stinging, cannot be very agreeable; but its effects are only felt during the first quarter of an hour, and I can assert, from my subsequent personal experience, that such a bed induces a most sweet and refreshing sleep, however it may offend the European eye and sense of refinement.

In spite of the drawbacks, I should have felt quite contented with my lot had it not been that, besides these fatigues common to all, an extra share was allotted to me, being a stranger in the company. As such, it was my duty to affect the qualities of modesty and devotion, to show myself not only friendly, but submissive, to all; and to endeavour to conciliate the affection of old and young, by professing an obliging disposition, and a readiness to perform any kind of small service. At first these offers were declined by most of them, since they did not wish to offend in me the character of "efendi," having made my acquaintance as such. However, it was my duty in no case to yield, but on the contrary, to strive continually to make myself useful to one or the other. Besides the minor services I performed on the march, I had to try to be helpful to every one at the station, either by preparing tea and baking bread, or by looking after the riding horses, or by packing and unpacking. Some of my companions were obliging to me in return for my attention, but others, who soon had forgotten my former position, treated me like an old fellow-traveller. Services were demanded and performed without the smallest ceremony; and I could not help laughing heartily, when a Hadji from Khokand once coolly handed me his shirt for me to free it from the many "uninvited guests," he being fully occupied in like manner on another part of his costume.

It was to be foreseen that in this way an entente cordiale would speedily ripen between us. The more I accommodated myself to my present position, forgetting the past, the quicker also disappeared the barrier between me and the other Hadjis. The society of others exercises a powerful influence upon us, uniting as it does the most opposite elements; and after I had lived for a whole month as dervish, all appeared to me not only natural and endurable, but the charm of novelty in the life around me had actually effaced Teheran, Stamboul, and Europe, from my memory; and the continual excitement in which I lived had produced in me a state of mind which was extraordinary, it is true, but never disagreeable.

One feeling alone disquieted me: this was the fear of discovery, or, rather, of its consequences,—the terrible death of torture which Tartar cruelty and offended Mahometan fanaticism would have invented for my punishment. Already during the first days of my residence with the Turkomans I became aware that, in assuming my incognito, I was playing a dangerous game; and, but for the unlimited confidence I placed in the fidelity of my companions, and my own preparations, this spectre would have haunted me every moment of my existence. During the greater part of the day, society, occupation, and events of various interest prevented the intrusion of these suspicions; but at night, when everything around was hushed in silence, and I sat alone in a solitary corner of my tent, or in the waste and barren desert, I became absorbed in thought. Fear appeared before me in its blackest guise and most terrible aspect; nor would it leave me for a long, long time, however much I attempted to dispel it by sophistry or light-heartedness. Oh, this terrible MegÆra! How she tormented me, how she tortured me, at those very moments when, seeking repose, I was about to lose myself in contemplation on the grandeur of nature and the wonderful constitution of man. In the long struggle between us, fear was finally subdued; but it is this very struggle, which I now blush to remember; for it is marvellous what efforts are required to grow familiar with the constant and visible prospect of death, and how great the anxiety in seeing only a doubtful foundation for the hope of one's further existence.

No one, I am sure, will blame me for acting with precaution, nay, at first, with scrupulous precaution; but often it degenerated into ridiculous extremes. I was, for instance, conscious of my habit of gesticulating with the hands when speaking,—a habit peculiar to many Europeans, but strictly forbidden in Central Asia;—and, fearing lest I might commit this mistake, I adopted a coercive remedy. I pretended to suffer from pains in the arms, and strapping them down to the body, they soon lost the habit of involuntary movement. In like manner I seldom ventured to make a hearty meal late in the evening, for fear of being troubled with heavy dreams, which might cause me to speak some foreign, European language. I laugh now at my pusillanimity, for I might have remembered that the Tartars, being unacquainted with European languages, would not have noticed it; and yet I rather bore in mind the words of my companions, who observed one morning with great naÏvetÉ, that my snoring sounded differently from that of the Turkestanis, whereupon another interrupted and informed him: "Yes; thus people snore in Constantinople."

It may be objected, that as so many of my actions might cause remark or offence when in company with others, I must at all events have shaken off this restraint when alone. But alas! Even then I was the slave of precaution; and is it not striking, or rather ridiculous, that at night, when in the boundless desert and at a considerable distance from the caravan, I did not venture to eat the unleavened bread, mixed up with ashes and sand, or take a draught of stinking water without accompanying it with the customary Mahometan formula of blessing! I might have thought to myself, no one sees you, all around are asleep; but no! the distant sand hills appeared to me like so many spies, who were watching whether I was saying the Bismillah, and whether I had broken the bread in the proper ritualistic manner. Thus it happened when in Khiva, that, when sleeping alone in a dark cell, bolted and barred, I started up from my couch at the call to prayer, and began the troublesome labour of the thirteen Rikaat. When at the sixth or eighth, I had a great mind to leave off, thinking I was safely out of sight. But no! it struck me, that perhaps the eyes of a spy might be watching me through the crevice in the door, and conscientiously I performed my unpleasant duty.

Only time, the universal panacÆa, could remedy this evil. Although my moral sufferings were considerably more painful than the physical ones, time and habit came to my aid, and gained me here also the victory, and after having lived happily through four months, my mind had grown as hardened to any fear or terror as my body to dirt and uncleanliness. The epoch of indifference succeeded, and with it I began to feel the true charms of my adventure. I was attracted above all by the unlimited freedom of our life as vagrants, the total absence of trouble as to food and clothing, the gratuitous manner in which the dervish had everything provided for him, and, in addition, the mental superiority which he exercises over the people at large. No wonder, then, that I lost no opportunity in amply profiting by the advantages of my position. My companions admitted that I possessed eminent talents for the life of a dervish, and whenever the question rose how to get money from hard-hearted villagers, or to beg and collect a larger store of victuals, I was always entrusted with that part of the business. I one day brilliantly justified the confidence thus placed in me, in an encampment of Tchandor Turkomans. These, the wildest of all nomad people, had the reputation of being exceedingly wicked, and Hadjis, Tshans and Dervishes habitually avoided going near their tents. Having been told of this I set out on my way, accompanied by three companions who were known as famous singers, and taking with me a goodly store of holy dust, Zemzem water, tooth-picks, combs and the like gifts, presented by pilgrims. Some received me rather coldly, but yet the son of the desert, however wild he may be, cannot resist the words or the mimics of a dervish's strategy, and not only did I receive ample presents in the shape of wheat, rice, cheese and pieces of felt, but I succeeded in persuading one of the men to load his own ass with this harvest, and take it to our astonished caravan.

Success leads to boldness. No wonder, then, that after several successful expeditions, I assumed a demeanour in which many will trace a certain degree of impudence. And, indeed, I can hardly refute this accusation entirely, but how was I to have done otherwise? No European can realize to himself what it is to stand, a disguised Frenghi, (this word of terror to orientals,) face to face with such a tyrant as the Khan of Khiva, and to have to bestow upon him the customary benediction. If this man were to discover the dangerous trick, this man with the sallow face and sinister look, as he sits there surrounded by his satellites—such an idea is only endurable to a mind steeled to the highest pitch of resolution. At my first audience I appeared really with a step so firm and gesture so bold, as if my presence were to bestow felicity upon the Khan. All looked at me with astonishment, for submissiveness is befitting to the pious and saints. However, they thought such was the custom in Turkey, and I heard no remark made about it.

Such bold measures, however, were seldom necessary, and, in its ordinary routine, the life of a dervish has often given me moments of the greatest happiness. Without feeling any inclination to imitate the Russian Count D——, who, wearied of the artificial life of Europeans, withdrew into one of the valleys of Kashmir, turning beggar-dervish, I must confess that a peculiar feeling of enjoyment came over me when, basking in the warm rays of the autumnal sun, either in some ruin or other solitary spot, I could, in true oriental manner, absorb myself in vacant reflection. It is inexpressibly pleasurable to be rocked in the soft cradle of oriental repose and indifference, when one is without money or profession, free from care and excitement. To us Europeans such an enjoyment of course can only be of very short duration, for if our thoughts turn at such moments toward the distant, ever-active, and stirring west, the great contrast between these two worlds must at once strike the eye, and instinctively we feel attracted towards the latter. European activity and Asiatic repose are the two great subjects which occupy the mind, but we have only to cast our look upon the ruins scattered around us to see which of the two follows the right philosophy of life. Here everything is on the road to ruin and servitude, there everything leads to prosperity and the sovereignty of the world.

These varied scenes of life, in which I moved during my incognito, were far from being devoid of attractions, as many a prejudiced European might imagine, although they naturally could fascinate but for a time. I was truly frightened one day, when the Khan of Khiva proposed to me seriously to marry and settle in Khiva, since persons of such extensive travelling as myself were far from disagreeable to him. The idea of spending my whole life in Turkestan, with an Œzbeg wife for my partner, was horrible, and I should certainly have thrown up my plans if I had been obliged to accept the offer; but, as it is, I shall certainly never repent having spent a few months in an adventure which ended happily. I say never, for even the remembrance of all I experienced is indescribably sweet, and even now, when already more than three years have elapsed since my return, I find every circumstance as fresh in my memory, the whole scene as near and vivid, as if I had arrived with my caravan only last night, and were obliged to start off again on the morrow, and load my ass for the journey; as often as I think back on my fellow-travellers, the most pleasant feelings are re-awakened in remembrance of that intimate and hearty friendship which existed between us. We chatted, laughed, and bantered with each other on our long day's march, as if we could not wish for a more enjoyable existence; it was above all my merry humour which greatly pleased them, and my jokes and puns afforded to them an endless source of amusement when we were alone, for in public we all of us wore the long, stony faces suited to the gravity of our character as holy men. What would they say if they could see me now in the midst of so many unbelievers, and dressed in a garment so ridiculous in their eyes, the forked garment, as they designate European trousers?—me, in whom they and the rest of the world believed to see a true specimen of a western Mahometan Mollah! I must confess that although the pleasant episodes of my incognito are even now frequently the cause of cheerful moments of recollection, the sad hours of suffering and extremity of danger loom like black clouds on the horizon of the present. Their gloomy shadows remind me vividly of past terrors, and even now, whenever I start up in my sleep, haunted by oppressive dreams, it was very often His Majesty, the Khan of Bokhara, or the frightful tortures of thirst, or a fanatic group of Mollahs, who, hastening hither from Central Asia on the wings of Morpheus, honoured me with a visit. How happy do I feel on awaking, to find myself in Europe, in my dear native country, in my peaceful home!

I have often been in critical, nay, extremely critical situations, but on the whole only a few episodes have left behind on me such an impression as never will be effaced, and which, from being associated with the most imminent danger to my life, will never be forgotten by me as long as I live.

I.

The evening in the Khalata desert, when, after having endured for two days the torments of thirst, I felt, with the last drop of water, my vital energies gradually ebbing away. Around me were lying many of my fellow-travellers, suffering, probably, as acutely as myself, to judge from their wild, haggard looks, and rigid features. Raising my heavy head with the greatest effort, I met the glance of those near me. They all seemed to be looking at me with expressions of bitter resentment, for during the afternoon I had heard the old ascetic, Kari Messud, repeat several times, "We are, alas! the propitiatory victims for some great evil-doer who is amongst us in our caravan." Possibly not one of them referred to me, but I felt, nevertheless, full of anxiety. Meanwhile the hour of evening prayer was approaching. Only a few could join in it. The sun was fast setting, and, as the last rays lit up the unhappy group of sufferers in that vast desert, I could not help casting a look towards the spot, where from the horizon he sent his last beams towards me,—that spot, which we call the west, the beloved west, which I had little hope to live to see the next morning again; and with unspeakable sadness I clung to the word 'west;' my half-exhausted senses revived anew, for with the word returned the thought of Europe, of my beloved home, my early departure from this world, the hard struggles of my past life, the wreck of all my aspirations, of all my pleasant hopes. My heart nearly broke with the burden of this great sorrow; I longed to weep, but could not. This moment is one of imperishable memory; the terror of that scene has impressed itself indelibly on my mind, and whenever my thoughts turn towards the Khalata desert it will rise and haunt me like a phantom.

II.

The next occasion was during my audience with the emir of Bokhara, in the palace of Samarkand. This prince, who had been represented to me as a person of doubtful character, had been severely examining my countenance as I sat by his side, in order to discover in me a Frenghi in disguise. The readers of my travels are already acquainted with a part of the conversation that took place between us. I hoped to gain him over to our interests, but it cost me a giant's effort not to betray by my countenance, and especially my eyes, the excitement within me; and, although I shook and trembled in every nerve, I was obliged to suppress even the slightest symptom of fear. An old adept in the part I played, I effectually succeeded in preventing a blush, or any change of colour, but I did not feel confident about the result. Let the reader realise my position, when the emir, after an audience of a quarter of an hour, called to him one of his servants, cautiously whispered something in his ear, and, motioning to me with a serious expression of countenance, ordered me to follow his attendant.

I rose quickly from my seat. The servant led me through room after room, and court after court, whilst the uncertainty of my fate filled me with alarm; and, as oppression of heart breeds none other but images of terror, I fancied that this ominous walk was leading me to the torture-chamber, and to that dreadful death which so often had presented itself to my imagination. After some time we came to a dark room, where my guide ordered me to sit down and wait for his return. I remained standing, but in what state of mind my readers may readily imagine. Perhaps I should have felt less terror could I only have known what my death was to be, but this uncertainty was like the torture of hell, and I shall never forget it as long as I live. With a feverish impatience I counted the minutes, until the door should open again.... A few more seconds of torture and the servant appeared. I fixed my eyes upon him, and perceived by the light that entered through the doorway that he did not bring with him the dreaded instruments of the executioner, but carried under his arm, instead, a carefully folded-up bundle. This contained a dress of honour, presented to me by the emir, as well as the 'viaticum' for my long pilgrim road.

III.

The third instance occurred to me when waiting for the arrival of the Herat caravan on the banks of the Oxus, during the hot days of August, in the company of the Lebab Turkomans. I dwelt in the court of a deserted mosque, and in the evenings the Turkomans usually brought with them one of their collections of songs or ballads, from which I had to read to them aloud, and it gave me especial pleasure to witness the undivided attention with which they listened to the deeds of some popular hero, while the silence of the night air around us was only broken by the hollow murmur of the rolling waters of the Oxus. One evening our reading lasted till near midnight. I felt rather tired, and, unmindful of the advice I had often received, not to sleep in the immediate proximity of ruined buildings, I stretched myself out beside a wall, and soon fell sound asleep. After about an hour I was suddenly awakened by an indescribably violent pain in my foot, and jumping up and screaming aloud, I felt as if hundreds of poisoned needles were shooting through my leg, and concentrating in one small point near the big toe of my right foot. My screams awakened the eldest of the Turkomans, who slept near me, and without questioning me, he exclaimed, "Poor Hadji, a scorpion has bitten thee, and that during the unlucky period of the Saratan (the dog days!) May God help thee!" With these words he seized my foot, and bound it up round the ancle with such violence as if he were going to cut it in two, then searching in all haste with his lips for the wounded spot, he sucked with such force that I felt it all through my body. Another soon took his place, and two more bandages having been applied they left me with these words of comfort, that, if it be the will of Allah, between now and the hour of the next morning prayer, it would be seen whether I should be released from pain, or freed from the follies of this world of vanity.

Although I felt completely maddened by the itching, pricking and burning, which kept increasing more and more in violence, yet I remembered the legend of the scorpions of Belkh, well known for their venomous nature even in ancient times. The reasonable apprehension of death rendered the pain still more unbearable, and that, after many hours of suffering, I really did surrender all hopes of recovery, was shown by the fact that, forgetting my incognito, I began to pour out my lament in expressions and sounds which, as the Tartars afterwards told me, appeared to them extremely droll, since they are in the habit of using them when shouting for joy. It is remarkable that the pain spread in a few minutes from the toe to the top of the head, but only on the right side, and kept flowing up and down me like a stream of fire. No words can describe the torment I had to undergo the hour after midnight. Loathing any longer to live, I was about to dash my head to pieces by beating it upon the ground, but my companions observed my intention and tied me fast to a tree. Thus I lay for hours, half fainting, whilst the cold sweat of death was running down me, and my eyes turned fixedly towards the stars. The Pleiades were gradually sinking in the west, and whilst awaiting in perfect consciousness the voice that calls to prayer, or rather the break of morning, a gentle sleep fell upon me, from which I was soon roused by the monotonous la illah il Allah.

No sooner was I fully awake when I was sensible of a faint diminution of the pain. The pricking and burning disappeared more and more, in the same way as it had come, and the sun had not yet risen a lance's height over the horizon when I was able, though weak and exhausted, to rise to my feet. My companions assured me that the devil, having entered my body through the bite of the scorpion, had been scared away by the morning prayer, a fact I dared not of course discredit. But that terrible night will for ever remain engraven on my memory.

It is these three events which were the critical moments in my adventures in Central Asia. As to the rest, the many curious eyes that scrutinised me, the various suspicions I laboured under, as well as the unspeakable fatigues of travelling in the guise of a beggar, all these privations and obstacles have left behind but few sad remembrances. The fascinations in seeing those strange countries, for which my eyes were longing from the earliest days of my youth, possessed in itself a charm at once animating and invigorating, for, except in the few cases just mentioned, I felt always particularly cheerful and happy. This much is certain, that I often miss, in my present civilised European life, the bodily and mental activity of those days, and who knows but that I may, in after years, wish that time to return, when, enveloped in tatters and without shelter, but vigorous and high in spirits, I wandered through the steppes of Central Asia.