For some weeks the museums of Dresden detained him; now the splendid collection of pictures, and now the unusual specimens in the zoölogical and ethnological museums. Thence he passed to Leitmeritz, old Bohemia, where he began that close and intimate friendship with Dr. Ferdinand Blumentritt, the famous ethnologist, that was to last so long as Rizal lived. For months they had been in correspondence; they had even progressed in their letters to the stage of a more than ordinary esteem; for Rizal, as we have seen, having so many other good gifts, had also this abundantly, that he could cause his real self to shine through the imperfect medium of the written word and make it appear what it was, a spirit of power and grace. That he might be identified at the station by his Austrian friend, Rizal sent in advance a pencil-sketch he had made of himself, and with this in hand Dr. Blumentritt knew him instantly. The high opinion the elder scientist had formed of Rizal’s character and talents must have been justified upon closer acquaintance; it appears that Rizal spent most of his time at the Blumentritts’, and Mrs. Blumentritt signified her approbation of him by cooking for him rare old-time Bohemian dainties, unknown to the restaurants and hotels. [90] Thence to Vienna, where he became intimate with Nordenfels, the Austrian novelist, and met other men prominent in literature and art. Upon all these he seems to have left the uniform impress of a mind strong, capacious, and candid, and a soul disciplined and enlightened. His studies in Vienna completed, he passed into Italy, and in a few weeks was pondering the antiquities of Rome. Reviewing there his observations and researches in so many lands, he concluded that the time had come for him to return to the Philippines. The irregularity of his passport by which he had escaped from Manila he had since corrected; legally, he was as free as any one else to travel in the Islands. His objective had been won; he had made good use of his time. He might even have congratulated himself on the diligence of his service. Consecration and an almost prodigious industry had made him one of the foremost scholars of the day; he must now put to use the resources he had gathered for the chief purpose of aiding his people. If we knew more about his disastrous romance we might possibly find that Leonora’s silence had become a motive to draw him home. What we do know is that he was distressed by the reports he had of his mother’s failing eyesight and eager to return to her and help her. For months a double cataract had been growing upon her eyes. He felt sure that he could remove it and restore her vision: it was to this branch of optical surgery that he had given most heed. From Rome he sped to Marseilles, took steamer on July 3, 1887, for Saigon, and transhipped for Manila. On August 5, after five years of wanderings and so many triumphs, he saw once more the green tide of the Pasig.