The story of my struggles: the memoirs of Arminius Vambéry, Volume 2

In Short

This second volume of memoirs tracks the author’s transition from a celebrated, adventurous Orientalist to a settled, albeit isolated, academic in Budapest. It chronicles his political writings, his complex relationships with Middle Eastern potentates like Sultan Abdul Hamid and the Shah of Persia, and his profound sense of displacement. By reflecting on his past as a wandering Dervish and his present as an international intellectual, the author offers a candid meditation on the cost of true independence, the nature of fame, and the persistent loneliness of a man who belonged everywhere and nowhere.

The Story

The narrative begins with a reflective look at the author's decision to settle in Budapest after his daring, incognito travels across Central Asia. Though his reception in England was warm and filled with the company of brilliant minds, he felt a magnetic pull toward his native Hungary. However, this return is not a homecoming in the traditional sense; rather, it is the start of a long period of professional and social friction. He finds his fellow countrymen largely indifferent to his expertise on the East, viewing his international focus with suspicion and envy. As he attempts to establish a reputation as a scholar, he is repeatedly sidelined by academic gatekeepers and political elites who prefer to dismiss him as a liar or a charlatan rather than acknowledge their own ignorance of the regions he studied.

The heart of the book is the author’s life-long intellectual and political engagement with the "Central Asiatic question." He spends decades writing prolifically for newspapers and journals across Europe and America, acting as a one-man bridge between the Ottoman world and the West. His writing, often predicting the geopolitical shifts involving Russia and England, is frequently met with skepticism or hostility. He describes his shifting role from an active traveler to a political observer, and eventually to a trusted, if scrutinized, confidant of powerful monarchs.

His interactions with the East remain a constant, albeit complex, presence in his life. He details his time teaching in an Ottoman palace—where he sat before a curtain to instruct a princess—and his subsequent, somewhat enigmatic, relationship with Sultan Abdul Hamid. These connections bring him immense notoriety in diplomatic circles, where he is frequently accused of being a secret agent. He reflects on the "Oriental despotism" of these courts with a mixture of critical insight and sympathy for the men trapped within those systems.

As he approaches the end of his career, the author turns toward a broader philosophy of life. He compares the religious and cultural institutions of the East and West, finding in both a common strain of hypocrisy and decay. He concludes that his life, while marked by the "bitter disappointment" of being a stranger in his own land, was ultimately defined by the power of the pen. He rejects the vanity of rank and position, finding that the independence gained through his own efforts was worth the price of social ostracization. He ends his story not with a sense of triumph, but with a quiet, firm acceptance of his role as an eternal outsider who successfully navigated two continents only to realize that the most difficult territory to traverse was the indifference of the society into which he was born.

How It Unfolds

The return to the native land The author explains the difficult choice to abandon his acclaim in London to settle in Budapest. He finds that his past as a Dervish is not easily reconciled with the expectations of European academic life.

The struggle for recognition He recounts the persistent envy of his peers and the neglect he suffers from the Hungarian government. This period of isolation drives him to seek a broader audience in the international press.

A life of political commentary He describes his prolific output as a journalist and advisor on the rivalry between England and Russia in Asia. He finds his warnings about the "Northern Colossus" largely ignored by those in power.

The court at the Yildiz He details his long, often uncomfortable, and misunderstood relationship with Sultan Abdul Hamid. He portrays the Sultan not as a villain, but as a deeply fearful and isolated figure held captive by his own power.

The comparison of worlds He steps back to analyze the differences between Eastern and Western customs. He concludes that both societies are plagued by the same human failings, and he embraces his identity as an independent thinker.

The final reflection He looks back on his life from childhood as a tailor's apprentice to his status as a professor. He asserts that the freedom of the intellect is the only true prize worth having.

The People

The book is populated by figures who represent the contrasting worlds the author occupied. Lord Houghton appears as the quintessential English host, a man of sharp contrasts who brought together rival thinkers and provided a sanctuary of intellectual freedom. Sultan Abdul Hamid is presented as a tragic, deeply paranoid, and indecisive monarch, a man for whom power is a "burning fire" that isolates him from humanity. Nasreddin Shah serves as a direct foil to the Sultan; he is described as an unrepentant Oriental despot whose pride and severity contrast with the Sultan’s timidity. Baron Eötvös stands out as a noble, high-minded figure who offers the author the cold comfort of truth, explaining that society is far more comfortable branding an expert as a liar than admitting its own ignorance. Finally, the author himself emerges as a man of relentless energy and "childish sensitiveness," whose thirst for knowledge and independence ultimately forces him into a permanent, analytical detachment from all he encounters.

In Its Own Voice

"I have often been asked how it was that, after the bitter disappointment I had experienced in my native land on my return from Asia, and after the brilliant reception accorded to me in England, I yet preferred to settle down permanently in Hungary."

This opening reflection highlights the author’s persistent, gnawing sense of displacement even in his own home.

"The nearness of princes is as a burning fire."

The author uses this proverb to characterize the dangerous, suffocating atmosphere of the Ottoman court and his proximity to the Sultan.

"The worst victims of despotism are the despots themselves."

This insight summarizes the author's nuanced, often sympathetic view of the lonely, anxious rulers he met in his travels.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the incompatibility of the life of an independent, truth-seeking intellectual with the rigid, status-obsessed structures of national society. The book asks whether a man can truly be a patriot when his mind has been shaped by the "international" experiences of a global traveler. It poses hard questions about the utility of knowledge: if a society does not value the expertise one brings, is the labor still worthwhile? The author argues that true intellectual work is its own reward, even when it leads to professional isolation and social alienation. It is a defense of the "cosmopolitan" spirit against the narrow, often "stupid" demands of local envy and political convenience.

Why Read It Today

This volume is essential for anyone interested in the personal cost of intellectual independence. You will love the author’s sharp, unflinching honesty; he does not shy away from admitting his own "wounded vanity" or his failures, which makes his eventual peace with his position feel hard-earned and authentic. Reading him feels like sitting across from a man who has traveled through centuries as much as continents, offering a perspective that is both deeply dated and surprisingly modern.

However, be prepared: the book is a creature of its time. You will encounter the period’s casual Eurocentrism and, at times, a verbose, academic structure that reflects the 19th-century penchant for exhaustive lists and digressions. The author’s preoccupation with the geopolitical "Central Asiatic question" may feel arcane, but it serves as a fascinating window into how the 19th-century mind grappled with the encroaching influence of empires. What stays with you is the image of a man who, having worn the tattered rags of a Dervish and the formal attire of a courtier, eventually realized that neither mask defined him. He leaves the reader with a powerful, if melancholic, message: the pen is a true power, but it is a power that demands the total surrender of a place to call home.