Another time he heard one of the Page boys speak of me as “the Feringhi.” It was remarkable to see the Prince’s look of indignation and anger, it so exactly resembled the Amîr’s. He called the boy up and spoke very severely to him, ordering him in the future to address me as “Doctor Sahib.” As a punishment he made him bow to all the other boys and call them “Sahib.” The Prince was a little over three years of age at this time.

As there were three portraits instead of one to paint I was some time at Paghman, and became skilled in the art of eating pilau and kourma with my fingers, and eschewing forks and knives, for the Sultana had insisted upon my being the guest of the Prince. I brought with me, beside my guard, the Priest Compounder, who knew some English, and only one servant, an Afghan. Accommodation for servants was limited in Paghman, and though one could allow an Afghan servant to sleep on the ground in one’s tent, one could not have a Hindustani in the same position. In the evenings, after dinner, the Prince’s “Commander-in-Chief,” little Mahomed Omer, came in. He sat on the ground and chattered away, eating grapes while I smoked and aired my Persian.

While the painting was in progress Mr. Pyne visited Paghman to hold an interview with the Amîr; he came and stayed with me. It was snowing when he arrived, and I found he had fever. As he sat shivering, unable to get warm, I recommended the “sandali,” which he had never yet tried. The charcoal was brought all glowing in the brazier; the wooden framework and the quilt were arranged, and we sat on the carpet amidst the large pillows, drawing the quilt over our knees. There is no need to be shaking with fever in order to appreciate a sandali: nevertheless, when one is in that unfortunate position a sandali seems one of the wisest inventions of man. Mr. Pyne thought so at the time. I would not, however, say that a sandali is to be recommended when more sanitary means of becoming warm are to be procured. A dose or two of quinine and Mr. Pyne was soon all right.

We went for a ride the next morning up the mountain: the snow was not thick and the sun shone brightly. We reached a gorge sheltered from the wind, where we could feel the heat of the sun, and got off and smoked a cigar. I did not get much painting done while Pyne was my guest, for the spirit moved him to talk much.

In the dusk of the evening the Priests came and intoned their prayers near my wigwam. “Allah hû, Allah-il-Allah, Ressûl Allah!”

When the portrait was finished I sent it to Her Highness, the Sultana, for approval. She was delighted with it, but suggested that I had perhaps made the cheeks too pink: accordingly, I altered it. She wished me to show it to His Highness, the Amîr.

The next day I took it to the Palace. The only available Interpreter being the “Gnat,” this gentleman took the opportunity to prevent—as I afterwards found—the report of my arrival from being taken to the Amîr, and I was kept waiting some hours, till at last I got up and was leaving the Palace when I saw His Highness descending the stairs. I waited, therefore, until he approached, and then bowed. He seemed surprised to see me and asked how I was. I showed him the picture which my servant was carrying. He was very pleased with it, and said it was faultless: he added—and this pleased the Sultana exceedingly—that the portrait of the little Prince was exactly like that I had painted of himself, except that it was smaller.

The Priest Compounder, who was with me, mentioned that I had been waiting some hours at the Palace. His Highness seemed both surprised and annoyed. He told me that no report had been made to him of my arrival, and that there was no reason for my having been kept waiting.

His Highness’s words concerning the painting were, of course, reported at once to the Sultana, and she sent word to me that she would be pleased if I remained at Paghman a day or two longer: the Amîr, herself, and the Prince would then be departing for Kabul, and she desired me to accompany the Prince. I was myself to take charge of the picture on the journey, and when she summoned me I was to formally deliver it at the Harem Serai. Accordingly, I waited.

On the morning of our departure six or seven bullocks were slaughtered, by order of the Sultana, and presented to the Paghmanis. The manner of slaughtering was peculiar. The butcher seized the nostril and one horn of the victim, twisted the head sideways over the neck and threw the animal down. Putting his knee on the horn to extend the neck, he drew his short knife and cut the throat: the inevitable “Allah akbar” being shouted at the same time by the crowd. It was a striking but disagreeable sight to see the blood hiss on to the snow: it was so unpleasantly suggestive of what might happen to oneself under certain circumstances. The hopeless position of the creatures as they stood “waiting to be murdered,” rather shook my nerves. However, it taught me one thing—that my health was more affected by the climate than I liked to think: for on my arrival in Kabul, finding there were two delicate eye operations waiting for me to perform, I felt I must postpone them for a day or two.

As the whole Court was moving to Kabul the traffic was enormous. We had first snow, then sleet, then rain, and the road became a quagmire: mud—we on horseback were plastered from head to foot. The Royal family drove in carriages, and those of the Courtiers who possessed them, in buggies and tongas. There were several blocks on the road, but when we got through them we galloped. The picture was put in a palanquin of the Sultana’s under the charge of my Afghan servant. The man was greatly amused at a beggar woman by the wayside addressing him as “Bibi Sahib,” and asking alms.

For some little time I had been rather worried about money matters, for although acting upon the Amîr’s suggestion, I had in August sent a firman for six months’ pay to my bankers in Bombay, with orders to collect from the native Agent in that town; up to now, December, none of it had been paid. I wished, therefore, to see His Highness and inform him.

The Armenian being engaged in interpreting for the other Europeans, I had no one to make an appointment for me with His Highness except the Hindustani Gnat. A day or two after our arrival in Kabul this man called at my house, informing me that His Highness would see me that evening. Knowing that the truth was to him as naught, I doubted the accuracy of this information. I was correct in my supposition: he had made no appointment. However, it was quite as well I did not see His Highness, for a day or two afterwards I received a letter from my bankers saying that at last the Agent had disgorged: they were able, therefore, to transmit the money to London. I sent no more firmans to the Agent.

Just before Christmas I was sent for by His Highness. I managed to obtain possession of the Armenian, and taking him with me I went to the Erg Palace. It was on a Friday, and there was no one at the Palace except the Amîr’s uncle, Sirdar Usuf, and the ordinary attendants. His Highness was seated at the sandali. He was not dressed in European costume, but was wearing a silken robe and a small white turban. I was afraid His Highness was unwell and had sent for me on that account. Happily it was not so. After tea had been drank he told me that in the Palace when prayer-time came many people prayed, and that there were hanging on the walls pictures representing people—the English Houses of Parliament, and also the portrait of himself that I had painted in Turkestan. In the Mahomedan religion, he explained, it is not allowed to pray in any room where there is a pictorial representation of a man. He said that he wished, therefore, to hang these pictures in another room, and he desired me to paint three large pictures of scenery to take their place: the pictures were to be painted on leather, so that they might last as long as the Palace itself!

He desired me, for the second time, to paint a full-length portrait of himself, and expressed his intention of sending to me four of the most accomplished artists that the country could produce in order that I might give them instruction in portrait-painting. Also, he informed me that my leave of absence would be granted before “Nau Rôz,” March 21st.

It occurred to me at the time that with all these commissions on hand, Nau Rôz and after Nau Rôz would see me still in Kabul.

I do not know what emotion my face expressed, but as I sat holding my turban on my knee, His Highness suddenly desired me to bring him the turban that he might examine it. It was a good “Lungi,” of fawn-coloured Cashmere, embroidered on both sides, which had been given me by a patient, one of the Court Pages. His Highness said he was wearing a better kind that he had lately sent for from Cashmere, and he directed a Page to bring it. It certainly was better than mine; a white Cashmere delicately embroidered with silk. It was wound in the Amîr’s careless fashion round a Turkestan cap of bright colours. I was admiring it when, to my surprise, His Highness directed me to put it on.

After a moment’s hesitation at being covered in his presence I did so, and His Highness desired me to keep it.

Gratification and pride were now the dominant sensations; disappointment vanished into the haze of the past. No longer was “leave of absence” remembered. What was “Nau Rôz” or “after Nau Rôz?” Was I not wearing the King’s turban! The congratulations that everyone offered when I withdrew from the Presence were received with a lofty dignity suitable to the situation.

I had only a strip or so of canvas, and I painted a head on leather to show His Highness how difficult it was, for me at any rate, to get anything like an effect on that material, and I pointed out the fact that a skin of leather large enough for a landscape was almost impossible to obtain. A message, therefore, was sent to Bombay for canvas and paints.

On Christmas Day, Mr. Pyne and the other English called upon Mr. Collins and myself, who were living in the town, and after a ride in the afternoon, we all dined together in the Workshops, drinking the health of the Queen, standing. A congratulatory message also was sent to Her Majesty from the Kabul Colony, to be telegraphed from Peshawur.

CHAPTER XXXI.
Adieu to Kabul.

Two days after Christmas the most skilled of the artists arrived at my house to learn portrait-painting. They could all draw, and one of them showed talent of no mean order. The first thing, I found, was to teach them to draw a head life-size: formerly, they would do one the size of the thumb nail. The next, to teach them to draw heads in different positions, and not in the one conventional position to which they were accustomed; after that to show them how to put in their shadows crisply and with decision, having due regard to the relative value of each. For models I called up my Afghan servants and the soldiers of the guard. I have brought away with me many of the drawings of these artists, so that I have an interesting series of “types” of men born and bred in Afghanistan. The most skilful of the artists gave an almost Holbeinesque look to his drawings. They were perhaps somewhat hard, though he began to acquire, before I left, a freer style of drawing.

How they would have turned out as colourists I do not know, for we never got on to painting.

At the beginning of January I received an order from the Sultana to present formally to the little Prince Mahomed Omer the portrait I had painted of him in Paghman.

Accompanied by the Armenian, I went to the Erg Palace. The little Prince’s quarters were in a part of the Palace to which I had never before been admitted. It was a recent addition, built at the extreme west, behind the enclosure of the Amîr’s Pavilion, and high up overlooking the moat. I had noticed the building in progress when I was attending the Amîr, and had wondered whom the apartments were intended for. We were conducted up a flight of winding stone steps, along corridors and through ante-rooms, till we reached the Prince’s quarters. There were both “winter” and “summer” rooms, and the little Prince himself conducted me in a dignified manner to the different apartments, and showed them to me with great pride.

The winter rooms, where he was at that time located, were warmly curtained and carpeted, and on the hearth, at either end, a great wood fire was blazing. The summer room, more elaborately decorated, opened on to a stone platform or balcony, some twenty feet above the moat, and from here was a splendid view across the Shahbagh Valley to the Baghi-Buland, where the Amîr was building himself another Palace. In the distance was the Paghman offshoot of the Hindu Kush range.

Sweets, tea, and cigarettes were brought, some Cashmere embroidery was given me, and a large tray of sweetmeats for the servants to carry away. The Sultana also desired me to accept a present of a thousand rupees as soon as it was collected from the “tax-payers.” I, however, left the country before it was collected, but I have heard since that the Amîr was so annoyed at the delay that he fined Her Highness an equal sum in consequence.

The little Prince was very smart in a crimson velvet coat, with emerald and diamond ornaments, white cloth trousers, patent-leather boots, and a fur busby.

The accommodation in the Palace for the little man was more elaborate than that provided for any of his elder brothers, and he was deputed at this early age to receive visitors on behalf of the Sultana.

He received Mr. Collins and myself in these rooms some time afterwards, when we paid a ceremonial visit to Her Highness, and after ordering tea and cigarettes to be brought, he proceeded to entertain us in the way that struck him as most suitable—he sent for his toys. They were mechanical ones from London and Paris. There was a musical cat that played the violin, another that sprang from a basket, and so on. He gave a demonstration of their working, watching our faces at the time to see if we were amused. We were duly amused. He seemed highly delighted, for he suddenly ordered us to laugh once more. We promptly obeyed. He asked us then if we would like some sweets: on our assenting, called for pen and paper and wrote an order upon his storekeeper for a tray full.

The writing, however, was understandable only by those who had heard the order given. When the sweets were brought he warned us not to eat them too fast lest we should be ill. He seemed not disinclined to join us, but his tutor hinted to him in a whisper that he had eaten enough already.

He spoke in Persian, and I asked if he understood Pushtu. The tutor said that he did not at present speak that language, but that he was learning. The Prince, eager to show his knowledge, said that, on the contrary, he could speak Pushtu, and he gave us an example. He had apparently picked up the words from some of his attendants, for it was not language such as a Prince should use. When we asked permission to withdraw, the Prince shook hands with us, politely saying, “Khush-amadêd,” “Welcome,” and we bowed ourselves out.

In January the frost making the ground so hard and slippery that it was dangerous to ride on horseback, Mr. Collins and I went for long afternoon walks. One day, having made rather a longer round than usual, we arrived at the suburbs of the town just as night fell. It was a part of the town I had never been in before; however, there was a moon, and we had a soldier with us. The streets of Kabul, as I have already said, are not straight and neatly paved and lighted. They are most eccentric in their general arrangement, and are lit by an occasional—a very occasional—oil lamp, a saucer of earthenware with a wick thrown in, which gives but a dim smoky light. There were a great many people about, but few took any notice of us or we of anyone. Occasionally some one would say, “The English Doctor,” or “English,” and though I wore native costume with turban and cloak, Collins was dressed as a European, with fur cap and coat. A few years ago a walk in the dusk in Kabul would certainly have been fatal to two Europeans, but now—we had no weapons and needed none. There seemed really less danger than there would have been in walking through some of the back streets of London.

At the end of February when my three landscapes were finished, I took them, with some drawings that my pupils had finished, to show to the Amîr.

His Highness was occupying a suite of rooms in the Erg Palace that at one time was Prince Habibullah’s Harem Serai. We were shown into a large, well-furnished room with a wood fire burning on the hearth. A small scent-fountain was playing on the table, and the room was crowded with flowers, some cut and some growing in pots. The Amîr being fond of flowers, his Palace is supplied during the winter from Jelalabad, where the climate is always hot.

There were not many people in the room—some half-dozen of the chief officials of the country and several Page boys. The Amîr himself did not look well. He was dark under the eyes and thinner, and he looked as though he had been bled.

I asked if he were not well, and he said he had been troubled with gout.

This gave me a shock, and when I found that he had again called the Hakims to attend him, I at once determined to leave his service at the first opportunity. I had a very vivid recollection of my former experiences under similar circumstances, and had not the slightest desire to have them repeated.

His Highness was very kind and courteous, and he was pleased with the landscapes. He desired me however, to paint two more, one of them to be a view of Paghman, including the Palace and the Harem Serai.

I was surprised at this and far from pleased, for the snow lay thick at Paghman, and sketching there would be an impossibility for weeks to come. I said to His Highness that there were as yet no leaves on the trees, but he said—

“Khair ast!” “That is nothing—you can paint leaves on the trees in the picture!”

I showed him the work of the art students, and he was greatly pleased with their progress.

As the Armenian was ill with fever I had been compelled to take the Hindustani Gnat to translate, and I said to him:

“Seeing that His Highness has been ill and has not desired me to treat him, he probably does not wish me to return to this country when my leave expires. Enquire if this is so.”

The Interpreter said in Persian to His Highness: “The Doctor asks whether it is Amîr Sahib’s wish that he bring Mrs. Gray with him to this country when he returns?”

I had not asked this. His Highness answered:

“Most certainly; I said so before,” and addressing me he said:

“I look upon you as one of my household; I wish you and your wife to live here permanently: going to England for a time and again returning.”

He then repeated his promise of defraying the expenses of the journey and that of the two English maid-servants who were to be brought; he indicated the position where a house was to be built for us, near his own Palace, and talked for some time as to the arrangement of the house; and he said as regards the veil over the face, that it was, for a European lady, entirely optional.

It was very kind of His Highness to make these promises, but of what use were they to me? I had returned to the country after my first leave because I had promised to do so: I had imagined, and, indeed, had been given to understand, that having tested my good faith, the Amîr would, if he were taken ill, not keep me as a sort of dernier ressort, but call me to attend him before he was maltreated by the Hakims. Apparently this was not his intention. Such being the case, his service appeared to me to be no longer desirable, at any rate for a married man. The risks were too great.

I set to work and painted one landscape, and when that was finished and I was waiting for the weather to allow me to go to Paghman, I painted for my wife a portrait of myself in costume, for I guessed I should never paint another portrait of myself in Kabul.

About the middle of March I had again an interview with His Highness: I wished to show him the progress of my art pupils, and to exhibit the fresh landscape. He was then occupying the “Bostan Serai,” a new Palace or bungalow which was just completed. It was situated outside the South Gate of the Erg Palace.

I had set the artists to draw a portrait of the Armenian (to ensure at the interview the presence of an Interpreter whom I could trust), and of the sergeant of my guard. They and the pupils accompanied me to the Palace, the Hindustani Gnat attaching himself to our train.

After passing through a courtyard where there were soldiers and Page boys, we entered the garden of the Palace. I sat on a seat there while His Highness was informed of my arrival.

Some military Officers and Secretaries came through whom I knew and shook hands with. Presently came the two little Princes, Hafiz Ullah and Amin Ullah, pretty boys, with fair hair and white skins. They stopped and spoke to me, and the elder, Prince Hafiz Ullah, showed me some photographs of himself that were taken by an itinerant Hindu photographer who had recently come to Kabul: they were very badly done. The Princes then shook hands and went in to salaam His Highness. They were accompanied by their tutor and several Page boys.

In a few minutes I was called. His Highness was seated in an easy-chair in the porch overlooking the garden. Everyone was standing. The porch was three or four steps higher than the terrace where I stood. After the usual salutations I showed the landscape. His Highness was very interested in it, and I then exhibited the portrait of myself. This he said was faultless. He added, laughingly,

“You have painted the fur the same colour as the moustache, and the turban the same colour as the eyes.”

By his direction it was then fixed up on the wall in front of him.

When the drawings of the pupils were brought forward the Armenian and the sergeant had to stand in position in order to be compared with the drawings. Some of them His Highness praised, some he found fault with, but he expressed himself as being very pleased with the progress the artists had made, and stated his intention of giving each of them a present. Before I came away I said to the Interpreter:—

“If His Highness will accept the portrait I have painted of myself I shall be honoured, but, if not, will he kindly allow me to send it to my wife in London?”

His Highness said:—

“I would rather see your face here for many years to come than have the best portrait that ever was painted.”

I was gratified by the kindness of the remark: but it occurred to me that His Highness had received information concerning my intention of leaving his service.

At this time the English miner returned from Jigdilik, where he had been superintending the Spinel Rubies mines. As there was no room in the Workshops I offered him quarters in my house. He lived in the wing that Mr. Collins occupied.

A day or two afterwards he bought a half-bred bulldog of a man in the bazaar, and he tied it up in my garden. Every evening he went off to the Workshops to play cards with the other men, and the dog lifted up his voice and howled continuously. Looking at the affair from my own personal standpoint, the dog was undoubtedly an abominable nuisance, but from the miner’s point of view, probably this was not so. I considered in my own mind whether it would purely be selfish if I told him to take his dog with him, or otherwise dispose of it: I felt sorely tempted to do so, but I refrained. I did casually remark that the dog mourned greatly when he was away; the hint did not have the desired effect, for the miner shouted cheerily, “Did he?” and he laughed a stentorian laugh. It was an experience to go through, when he and the Armenian shouted jokes at one another in my small winter room. However, he was my guest at the time; but I confess I looked upon it as a special mercy that he was fond of cards and the society of the other English workmen at the shops.

But the dog! I remember it. He began with a short yelp, which he prolonged into a whining howl. Then he began another howl, and ended up with two or three sharp yelps: there were many changes and variations all painfully distinct in the silence of the night. One evening it was almost too much for me, and I nearly gave way: I was about to send a note to the shops, thus:—

“Dear Miner,—What is the price of your dog? I want to buy it, so that I can, without evil motives being assigned to me, poison it. My nervous system is becoming slowly shattered. Don’t apologise.—Yours, very truly,——”

But then, from the miner’s point of view this would, doubtless, be a very selfish and heartless letter, and I decided not to send it.

Distinctly there were dogs enough in the neighbourhood. The Armenian had a dog, and he would bring it sometimes in the morning and tie it up all day. This also mourned: I do not like dogs. It struck me afterwards that perhaps I was thought to enjoy their music. If the muscles of the face, in an unguarded moment, twitched spasmodically at a more than usually penetrating howl, I endeavoured to change it into a pleasant smile. To a medical observer I should imagine one’s appearance at these moments would be interesting.

The day I was nearly forgetting the duties of hospitality in sending a note to the miner, I had had an operation to perform, the removal of an eye: the day before to take a tumour from the forehead: also to put up the broken wing of a heron in splints. Prince Habibullah had shot the bird, and finding it was not killed, he sent it to me to be surgically attended to. In the morning I had to visit and prescribe for a sick tiger: this patient, by the way, broke loose from the attendants, but was too ill to do any harm.

I was not yet able to start for Paghman on account of the rain and the violent storms of thunder and lightning. It was bad enough in Kabul with the road like quagmires, but up in the hills it would be infinitely worse. It was rumoured that I was to start for home directly the Paghman picture was finished; it was also rumoured that I was not to start till the end of the summer.

Mr. Collins had for some time been considerably disturbed in his mind, in that he had not been for several months sent on any geologising expedition. He was “severely let alone,” and was heartily sick of Kabul life in consequence. The reason of this I have mentioned in an earlier part of the narrative, where I have drawn a parallel between his and Captain Griesbach’s experiences. The difficulty in Kabul is to avoid worrying one’s self into misery. It is galling to think that a spy can whisper what he likes behind one’s back, and one can do nothing: for being never accused one has nothing to answer; knowing, nevertheless, that some mischief is working. As for rumours, one can believe as little or as much as one pleases, for a report is just as likely to be false as true: there is, however, generally some substratum of fact upon which the structure is built.

At the beginning of April, I received the order to proceed to Paghman.

His Highness gave me a firman, ordering the Governor of Paghman to provide a house; food at the price His Highness pays, and anything else I wanted. Pack-horses were procured, and I sent off the servants with camp-bedstead, table, chair, kitchen utensils, and so on, including tea, sugar, and candles, and corn for the horses, for in Paghman, at this time of the year, there was little to be got from the villagers except meat and bread.

The next day, after breakfast, I rode to Paghman, accompanied by Mr. Collins and a guard. The snow was still on the mountains, but had disappeared in the valley of Paghman. We were quartered in the house of Sirdar Usuf Khan, the Amîr’s uncle. It was, of course, empty, except for the furniture I had sent over. We spent the rest of the day wandering about the hills and glens, seeking a suitable spot from which to make my drawings. Mr. Collins brought a gun and shot a few birds, among them was a kestrel. I noticed the wild tulips were in bloom; they had six pale pink petals, each with a darker median streak.

After walking and climbing a good many miles we found the best view of the Palace and Harem Serai was to be obtained from a hilly offshoot of the mountains bounding the north side of the valley: from the Pir-i-Buland peak.

When we got back to the house, one of my Afghan servants told me that an employé of the Hindustani Gnat was hanging about in the neighbourhood, and that while we were away he had attempted to enter the house. After we had had dinner, Mr. Collins and I walked in the garden, and I caught sight of the man spoken of. I knew his face at once as a spy. Apparently he had “squared” the guard, for he was creeping in at the entrance. What his object was I never knew, unless it were to peep about and carry a report to his master of what he saw. Mr. Collins and I suddenly stepped in his path and asked him what he wanted. He seemed rather taken aback and said he wanted nothing.

I told him that, as we could not have the supreme happiness of being of service to him, we would not detain him longer; nor would we trouble him to call again lest he should be put to the inconvenience, not to say danger, of being shot at. He did not appear again.

In a couple of days I had finished my sketches, and we rode back to Kabul. I then set to work to paint my picture. Meanwhile, the Hospital work had to go on as usual, and operations to be performed, so that it was the beginning of May before the picture was finished.

I then took it to the Bostan Serai Palace, which His Highness was still occupying, to show him. He was very pleased, and went over all the details of the picture with interest. The usual tea and cigarettes were brought, and His Highness sent me a plate of sweetmeats from his table. He talked for some time afterwards on natural history and philology, and said he was intending to build another Palace at Paghman. I showed him some vesical calculi I had removed by operation, and then asked when he would wish me to start for England. From the expression of His Highness’s face, I saw I had made a mistake in asking. However, the expression was only momentary, and His Highness said I should start at the beginning of the next month. One thing, however, he had overlooked; the pictures—he liked them exceedingly, and would hang them in the Palace he was then using—but for the Erg Palace, for which they were painted, they were the wrong shape; these were longer from side to side; they should have been longer from above downwards. This was indeed the fact, as I saw directly he called my attention to it, and I determined, therefore, to paint three more before I left. But, tobah! tobah! I was very sick of it all. I set to work again and called in the art students to see how the deed was done.

To find what you really can do, work with the “spur” well in. I painted better than I had ever done—though, may be, that is not saying very much.

As soon as one picture was finished I began another, working all day and every day. The Hospitals I left in the hands of the Hindustani assistants and the Hakims; but I was sorry for the patients. One or two cases, however, I attended to;—a Page boy, whom His Highness sent, and whose finger it was necessary to amputate: and one of the keepers of His Highness’s menagerie, who had been badly mauled by a tiger: a lithotomy operation that had to be performed, and a few others.

While I was at work I received a letter from His Highness, directing me to inform him as soon as I was ready to start, in order that the firmans for pack-horses, tent, and guard might be made out.

Towards the end of May the pictures were finished. I had at this time the pleasure of congratulating Prince Nasrullah on the birth of a son; and after the pictures were presented, His Highness’s thanks received, and my adieux made, I started on my long-deferred but greatly-desired journey home. Mr. Collins, at the same time, sent in his resignation and accompanied me. Just as I put my foot in the stirrup two patients arrived:—the Page boy from the Palace, whose finger I had amputated, and a girl from the Harem Serai, sent by the Sultana. However, I was not very long in attending to them, and at last we were really off.

CHAPTER XXXII.
The Argument.

Though I have endeavoured, by detailing my own experiences in the country, to give an idea of the present condition of Afghanistan and the character of the ruler, one must not forget that we English in the service were on an entirely different footing, as regards the Amîr, from any of the natives of the country. As outsiders we noted, sometimes with amused, sometimes with painful, interest, many occurrences which, however, concerned us only in the abstract and not in any personal way.

For instance, I have shown that the Amîr has raised men of the lowest rank, even slaves, to positions nearly the highest in the kingdom. Similarly, men of the highest rank are degraded in a day to nearly the lowest. A high official is one day riding through the streets dressed in velvet and gold, with a great retinue of servants around him: a day or two afterwards, in a shabby coat, he is creeping from door to door to beg a little bread, and I wondered if this state of things were the consequence, or is it the cause, of an Afghan’s utter untrustworthiness, when he is put into a position of responsibility.

As an example:—A man is made Governor of a Province on a very moderate salary, and presently the Amîr sees him in gorgeous attire, and surrounded by crowds of servants and horses. We, foreigners even, could see that the pay did not run to it—it was impossible; how much more clearly, therefore, could the Amîr see it, and yet the custom was invariable. After a few years the man is recalled to Kabul to make out a statement of accounts as regards the revenue and taxes of the province. He cannot do it. Forthwith his ill-gotten wealth is put in the Treasury, his finery, and the shawls and diamonds of his wives, in the Government stores, and he finds himself, as he deserved, a beggar or in jail. The sufferers—the men who have been squeezed—are the peasants and traders. When “gentlemen” behave in this way it is not to be wondered at that the Amîr makes a slave a gentleman.

On the other hand, there are cases, perhaps, as numerous where a man owes his fall not to any rascality of his own, but to the combination and intrigue of his enemies. This, I suppose, must necessarily be under a despotic Government, where one man has supreme power. Be he ever so wise and just a man he cannot know everything, and there being only one man to work upon, a clever scoundrel, who has the entrée to the Durbar, and who studies that one man’s disposition and moods, can oust a better man than himself, if he works long enough. Sometimes a man compounds with his enemies: each party knows something incriminating about the other, and both keep silent from mutual fear. This state of things has existed not in the reign of the present Amîr only, but for generations.

As a spectator I have watched the play many a time; it is interesting, as I said, though apt to be depressing. Sometimes it is simply a comedy; but more often the ending is tragic.

Are these rapid rises and falls to be looked upon as the consequence or are they the cause of the moral condition of the Afghan? The question is an important one, if we are looking forward to a civilized Afghanistan.

Does an Afghan in power, knowing the certainty of a fall, deserved or undeserved, say to himself,

“I have authority now, but sooner or later somebody will undermine me in the Amîr’s regard. I had better make the most of my power while it lasts: get all I can out of other people, and enjoy myself. The evil day may be long deferred.”

Looking at it in this way, it is possible to imagine that the condition of things is the cause of his behaviour.

On the other hand, is the moral nature of the Afghan utterly hopeless? I do not mean does he lie, steal, murder, and betray, for we know he has done that for ages; but I mean, is the nation incapable of being raised to a higher moral condition?

Their frank open-hearted manner and sense of hospitality; their love of liberty and of home; their faithfulness (sometimes) to a friend in adversity,—I have seen this in spite of widespread treachery; the graceful gratitude for a favour conferred: all these seem to show that the moving spirit of the race was once on a far higher moral plane than it is now, and one would think, therefore, that they are capable of being raised to a condition vastly superior to their present state.

That the Amîr thinks so is clear, for he has commenced to raise them by a system of education.

To say that Abdurrahman did not come to the throne by chance is to utter a platitude. There was a work to be done that doubtless he only could do. It was essential that the power of the “Barons,” the great chiefs with rival interests, should be broken and their constant feuds ended; that the country should be united under one head; that there should be respect for authority, and thus a possibility established of drawing the people from the slough of ignorance in which they are wallowing. The Amîr has done and is doing, in this country over which he has acquired nearly absolute control, a grand civilizing work.

Still, one cannot be blind to the fact that the usual evils of a Despotic Government exist:—the instability of every official appointment: the great evil of the “place-seeker” to which I have referred: the oppression of the poor; and the grinding down of the peasants and traders. These are enough to sap the life of any government, for there can be no strength where there is no mutual trust.

It is impossible for the Amîr, though like Napoleon he employs a complicated system of espionage, it is impossible for him to know all the evil that exists. In the preceding reigns the oppression of the middle and lower classes (the backbone of every country) was far greater than it is now, but the people had the continual excitement of constantly-recurring intertribal wars, when every Afghan is a soldier, to draw their attention away from their own miserable condition. Now, they have time to think, and though their condition is far better than it was, they are beginning to see how bad it is—to make comparisons.

That Afghanistan has during the last ten years made considerable strides toward civilization, there can, I think, be no doubt in the minds of those who have had the opportunity of collecting sufficient facts upon which to base an opinion. And that this progress has been entirely due to the remarkable Prince who is now occupying the throne of Afghanistan—Amîr Abdurrahman—requires but little proof.

We have only to compare the condition of the country and the “bent” of the people at the present time with their condition a few years ago, to bring out, in a very clear light, the civilizing effect of a far-seeing, strong man’s personality.

Amîr Abdurrahman is absolute autocrat of Afghanistan. His is now the only influence that has any lasting effect upon the people. There is no Press to guide public opinion. The influence and power of the Priests has been enormously curtailed. The Chief Priest—the Khani Mullah Khan himself—though treated with respect by His Highness, the Amîr, has scarcely more power, nor does he receive a greater share of attention than one of the Civil magistrates. The opinion of the Amîr, delivered in open Durbar, is the keynote from which all tunes are played. It is caught up by the Chamberlains, the Court Officials, and Pages; it reaches the bazaars, and soon the people join in the chorus. It is woe to the man who utters a discordant note: people look at him askance and draw out of his neighbourhood. Attention is directed to him, and unless he alters his note he is—dismissed from the choir.

The Amîr is, as I have said, the Chief of the powerful Durani tribe. This tribe has been from time immemorial more tolerant and more civilized than any other of the tribes of Afghanistan: and from it the native rulers of the country have been invariably drawn. When we consider the Amîr’s marvellous personal influence, we can but see it is a happy thing that his leaning is towards civilization and justice.

That it is so can be shown.

What was the condition of Afghanistan no further back than the time of his grandfather, Amîr Dôst Mahomed, the great Amîr—“Amîr-i-Kabir”—as the Afghans called him?

Dôst Mahomed was Amîr of the Kabul Province; his brother Ramdil occupied Kandahar: and Herat was held independently by Shah Mahomed, brother of Shah Shujah. This was in 1835. These chiefs were constantly intriguing with Persia and Russia; and their conflicting interests and personal jealousies brought the country into a condition so unsettled as to be little better than Anarchy. War, and in its train, robbery and murder were so constantly carried on, that it was most unsafe for Afghans, and quite impossible for foreigners, to travel from one city to another. So suddenly did fighting break out, that when travelling, one found one’s self in danger of falling into the thick of it. Caravans—such as ventured to start—made long and wearisome detours to avoid battlefields. The more savage of the Afghan tribes delighted in nothing more than the chances thus offered of unpunished highway robbery and murder.

About the year 1850 Dôst Mahomed succeeded in annexing Turkestan, and in 1854 he managed to evict Ramdil from Kandahar. Meanwhile, in Herat, Shah Kamran succeeded his father, Mahmud; and at his death came his minister, Yar Mahomed. The Persians at once advanced and took Herat: Herat being the key of India—this necessitated British interference. Sultan Jan, brother of Dôst Mahomed, was put in possession. He died in 1862, and there were many claimants for the Chieftainship, each of whom appealed to Persia. Dôst Mahomed therefore advanced with an army, besieged, and took Herat. This was his last act, for he died in his camp a few days after.

While Dôst Mahomed was on the throne it was allowable in Kabul to revile and curse the British openly, and although as a successful Warrior, with bluff, hearty manners, and a free accessibility to his people, he was a popular Monarch, nevertheless, there was not a single act he did which in any way increased the material prosperity of his people. To use the words of a skilled and indefatigable observer of facts, Dr. Bellew, of whom one still hears much in Kabul—“Dôst Mahomed, during his long reign, did nothing to improve the condition or advance the domestic welfare of his people, nor did he introduce a single measure of general benefit to his country. He kept it a close borough of Islam, stationary in the ignorance of the Middle Ages, and pervaded with the religious bigotry of that period, and, to the close of his life he defended that policy as the only one whereby to maintain the independence of the country. His great merit is that he had the sense to perceive his own interest in the British alliance, and he reaped the fruits of his good judgment in the ultimate consolidation of his kingdom. But he was a barbarian, nevertheless.”