As I have happened to use the word 'fakir', I do not consider it superfluous to digress a little in order to throw some light on this famous word. It is, indeed, one of the many empty words which, on account of the incorrect meaning given them, particularly in recent times, has an automatic action upon all contemporary Europeans and has become one of the chief causes of the progressive dwindling of their thinking capacity.
Although the word 'fakir' in the meaning given it by Europeans is unknown to the peoples of Asia, nevertheless, this same word is in use there almost everywhere. Fakir, or more correctly fakhr, has as its root the Turkoman word meaning 'beggar', and among almost all the peoples of the continent of Asia whose speech is derived from ancient Turkoman, this word has come down to our day with the meaning of 'swindler' or 'cheat'.
As a matter of fact, to express this meaning of 'swindler' or 'cheat' two different words are used among these peoples, both derived from ancient Turkoman. One is this word 'fakir' and the other is lourie. The former is the word used for a cheat or swindler who uses his guile to take advantage of others by way of their religiousness, while the latter is applied to someone who simply takes advantage of their stupidity. The name lourie, by the way, is given to all gypsies, both as a people and as individuals.
Generally speaking, gypsies are found among all other peoples and everywhere lead a nomadic life. They are chiefly engaged in dealing in horses, tinkering, in singing at feasts, fortune-telling and kindred occupations. They usually make their camps near populated places and deceive naive townspeople and villagers by every kind of cunning. Consequently the word lourie, denoting the gypsy people, has from long ago come to be used in Asia for every person, regardless of race, who is a swindler or a cheat.
For conveying the meaning which Europeans wrongly ascribe to the word 'fakir', several words are employed among Asiatic peoples, the most widely used being ez-ezounavouran, which comes from the Turkoman spoken language and means 'he who beats himself.
I have myself read and heard many statements by Europeans about these so-called fakirs, asserting that their tricks are supernatural and miraculous, whereas actually, in the judgement of all more or less normal people in Asia, such tricks are performed by unconscionable swindlers and cheats of the highest order.
To show what confusion the wrong use of this word has caused among Europeans, I think it will be sufficient to say that, although I have travelled in almost all the countries where these fakirs, as imagined by Europeans, are supposed to live, I have never seen a single one of them; but I did have the good fortune recently to see a genuine fakhr, in the sense used by people of the continent of Asia, only not in India or any of those countries where Europeans think they live, but in the very heart of Europe, in the city of Berlin.
I was strolling one day along Kurfurstendamm in the direction of the main entrance to the Zoological Gardens, when I saw on the pavement, on a little hand-wagon, a cripple who had lost both legs, turning an antediluvian musical-box.
In Berlin, the capital city of Germany, as in other large centres representing, as it were, the epitome of contemporary civilization, it is forbidden to ask for charity directly, but anyone who wishes may beg and will not be bothered by the police, if he grinds an old barrel-organ, or sells empty match-boxes or indecent postcards and various kindred literature.
This beggar, dressed like a German soldier, was turning his musicalbox, which had half its notes missing. As I passed by I threw him a few small coins and, happening to glance at him, his face seemed familiar to me. I did not question him, as in general I did not then, any more than now, risk speaking alone with strangers in my broken German, but I began to think where I could have seen him before.
When I had finished my business, I returned along the same street. The cripple was still there. I approached very slowly and looked at him closely, trying to recall why his face was so familiar, but at that moment I could not. It was only on arriving at the Romanische Cafe, that it suddenly came to me that the man was no other than the husband of a lady who, several years before in Constantinople, was sent to me by a close friend of mine, with a letter of introduction appealing to me to give her medical treatment. The lady's husband was a former Russian officer who, it seems, had been evacuated from Russia to Constantinople with Wrangel's Army.
I then remembered how the young lady had come to me with a dislocated shoulder and her body covered with bruises. While I was busy with her arm, she told me that her husband had beaten her because she had refused to sell herself for a good sum to a certain Spanish Jew. Somehow or other with the help of Drs. Victorov and Maximovitch I put her shoulder right, after which she left.
Two or three weeks after that I was sitting in a Russian restaurant in Constantinople called the 'Black Rose', when this lady approached me. Nodding in the direction of a man with whom she had been sitting, she said: 'There he is—my husband,' and added, 'I have made it up with him again. He is really quite a good man although he does lose his temper at times.' Having told me this, she quickly left. It was only then that I understood what kind of woman she was. Afterwards, I sat there and scrutinized the face of this officer for a long time, as I was interested in such a rare type.
And now here was this same officer, a legless cripple, in the uniform of a German soldier, turning a musical-box and collecting small German coins. In the course of a day a great many small coins were thrown by kind-hearted passers-by to this unfortunate victim of the war!
This man in my opinion was a genuine fakhr in the sense understood by all Asiatic peoples; as for his legs, would to God that mine were as sound and strong as his!
Well, enough about this; let us return to the story we had begun. . . .
And so we approached that ez-ezounavouran, and after appropriate greetings sat down beside him. Before asking him what we wanted to know, we began to speak with him, observing the various conventional courtesies habitual among these people.
It is interesting to remark that the psyche of the people inhabiting these regions is totally different from that of Europeans. Among the latter [Europeans], almost always what is in the thoughts is on the tongue. Among Asiatics this is not the case—the duality of the psyche is highly developed. Any person of these regions, however polite and friendly he may be outwardly, may none the less inwardly hate you and be thinking out all kinds of harm for you.
Many Europeans who have lived among Asiatics for decades without understanding this particularity of theirs, and who judge them according to themselves, always lose a great deal as a result of this and create many misunderstandings which might have been avoided. These people of Asia are full of pride and self-love. Each of them, irrespective of his position, demands from everyone a certain attitude towards himself as a person.
Among them the main thing is kept in the background, and one must lead up to it as if it were just by the way; if not, at the best, they will for instance direct you to the right when your road lies to the left. On the other hand, if you do everything as it should be done, then not only will they give you accurate directions, but will even be eager to help you, if possible themselves, to reach your intended destination.
Therefore, when we approached this man, we did not begin by asking him what we wanted to know. God forbid that we should do so before observing the necessary conventions.
After sitting down beside him, we spoke of the beauty of the scenery and told him that we were there for the first time, asked how the surrounding conditions suited him, and so on. And only much later I remarked as if in passing: 'We need such and such wood for a certain purpose, but we are not able to find it anywhere around here.'
He replied that he greatly regretted that he did not know where it could be found, as he had only been in the neighbourhood a short time, but that a certain respected old man, who was his teacher, might know. He lived behind the hill in a cave, and had been there a long time and knew the locality very well.
G's "Meetings with Remarkable Men", p 217-219