THE REARING OF THE INFANT PRINCE.
The Amîr’s autograph letter. Medical consultation concerning the
rearing of the Prince. Conflicting customs of the Orient and
the Occident. Conservative nurses. The “Hakim fair to see”: the
patient: his fate. Lessons in Persian and lessons in English.
Portrait painting. Dietary difficulties. Gracious acts of His
Highness. Amîr’s letter of condolence. The Royal visit by deputy.
Congratulations of the British Agent. The doleful dumps of
illness and the cheery Armenian. Accident to the favourite Page.
The khirgar. Story of the attempt upon the life of the Amîr. An
earthquake. Afghan appreciation of pictures and jokes. Generosity
of the Amîr. The first winter Durbar. His Highness’s invention. The
Royal costume. The bearing of the men brought before His Highness.
The Amîr’s question: the Parable. Arrangement and furnishing of
the dining-room. The guests. The breakfast. The press of State
business. Amîr’s thoughtful kindness. The Armenian’s comment. Visit
to the Commander-in-Chief. The ride to the Hospital. Adventure with
the “fool horse.” Hospital patients in winter. “Two much and three
much.”
At the beginning of October I received an autograph letter from His
Highness, directing me to consult with the two chief Hakims, Abdul
Wahid and Abdur Rashid, and advise as to the best manner in which to
rear the infant Prince. This is a literal translation of His Highness’s
letter:--
[Sidenote: Amîr’s Autograph Letter.]
“To the Honourable and Righteous Dr. Gray,
“Be it known to you that my two Physicians, Mirza Abdul Wahid Khan
and Mirza Abul Rashid Khan, are directed by me to consult you and
take your advice concerning the customs and ways in which Europeans
of to-day rear their children, and also concerning the proper
time for putting on and removing the bandages, and the time of
giving milk, and of cradling and sleeping, and all things which
are necessary for the nourishment of a child, which are written
by the doctors and scientific men of Europe. These physicians are
acquainted with the customs of the Greeks, and I desire that they
be informed concerning the customs of Europeans.”
AMÎR ABDURRAHMAN,
“Finis.” “I have written it.”
The Hakims arrived at half-past seven in the evening. I have spoken
of the courtly old Abdul Wahid with his Roman face. He was Hakim to
Amîr Shere Ali. Abdul Rashid was the very fat man with interminable
words. He did the talking, because he was ignorant, and Abdul Wahid sat
silent. They were both exceedingly polished as became Court physicians.
We compared the customs of Orientals and Occidentals in the rearing of
infants. The Hakims were very surprised to hear that we did not bandage
infants closely from shoulder to ankle, and so prevent them from moving
a limb.
“How then can you ensure that the child’s limbs grow not crooked? What
other method is there for keeping them straight?”
I said, “Cannot Allah who created each child finish His work and cause
its limbs to grow straight without our help.”
“Beshak--undoubtedly, Allah is all-powerful and all-wise; but our
fathers, and our fathers’ fathers, placed bandages on the children,
and they were wise men. How do you account for the fact that in some
children the legs are bent?”
I forthwith entered into an explanation of the causes of rickets. How
that want of pure air, of sunlight, and free movement of the limbs, of
suitable food, produced a disease of the bones in which the lime salts
were absorbed, leaving only the soft bendable gristle, and so on--but
it was not any use: they knew nothing about pathology, or anatomy
either. So we left that and went on to other matters.
[Sidenote: The Rearing of Afghan Infants.]
The Afghan baby--among the rich--is wrapped up as to the head and
neck by a stifling head-dress, rather like that which an Arab wears
to protect him from the sun, and I could not make them understand the
advantage of dispensing with a head covering indoors.
The cradle is a massive wooden concern. It consists of a hammock or
shallow box, suspended at either end from a longitudinal bar supported
on uprights, so that it will swing from side to side. When the child is
asleep every breath of air is excluded by thick curtains, which fall
from the bar over the sides of the cradle--and this in a hot climate.
What could I say? We differed in almost every detail; there was no
common ground to start from.
The Sultana had expressed her desire that the European doctor should
attend the Prince medically. I saw a cheerful future before me,
for I found that the nurses would diverge, not in the slightest
degree, from the customs of their ancestors. It is possible to
move a mountain--granted time and a sufficient amount of blasting
material--but no amount of blasting will move an Oriental woman out of
the rut that ages of custom has made.
The Sultana did not nurse her child. A nurse therefore was sought for
to rear the little Prince.
Before the Hakims left my house the fat one expressed his deep sense
of gratitude that I had granted him my friendship, and he ended a
polite speech by asking me to see a patient of his. I ought to have
remembered the poet’s lines:--
“I know a Hakim fair to see,”
(Only he was dark and fat, but that does not matter)--“Beware!
He can both false and friendly be--Beware!
Trust him not he is fooling thee.”
I went to see the patient: he was one of the Chamberlains, Nasir
Courbon Ali. He was exceedingly ill with malarial fever, and his skin
was yellow, which was bad. I thought there was a chance of saving his
life if vigorous remedies were used. I returned home and directed the
compounder to prepare a mixture and deliver it himself. I visited the
Nasir three times that day, but he did not seem to be improving. The
next day he was worse. I had to go on to the Hospital, but when I
returned home I said to the compounder,
“You sent the Nasir’s medicine this morning?”
The compounder had picked up a little English from the Armenian. He
said,
“No, sir, I forget it.”
Forget it! I was exceedingly angry.
“A man’s life is in extreme danger, and you _forget_!”
Then he explained, or rather the Armenian did. When he had delivered
the medicine he found the Hakim there: he left the medicine, noticing
where it was placed; he returned once or twice during the day, but
found the bottle just as it had been left. Not a dose was given that
day or afterwards. Why, therefore, did the fat old fraud ask me to go
and see his patient? I do not know. The Nasir died the next day.
[Sidenote: Lessons in English.]
Towards the end of September the cases of malarial fever among the
soldiers and townspeople began to decrease in number, and I had more
leisure. I commenced to study Persian, with the occasional assistance
of Munshi Amin Ullah, secretary to the British Agent. The Armenian was
not, at that time, sufficiently learned to attempt to teach me. He had
very vague ideas as to moods and tenses: and pronouns and prepositions
bothered him considerably. I tried to teach him English. He knew the
letters, but words, whose sound and meaning he knew well, baffled him
completely when written. I found this was chiefly due to the fact that
when he spelt out a word he pronounced it exactly as it was spelt.
“Enough” was a complete stumper, because there was no “f” in it. He
considered it ought to have been “enuf,” and wished to argue the point
with me; so that his English reading did not progress very rapidly. He
spoke fluently in Hindustani and some of the other Indian languages,
in Persian and Pushtu, and was picking up Turki while we were in
Turkestan; English, too, he was becoming better acquainted with: all
these he learnt by ear, but Hindustani and Persian he could both read
and write.
About this time I found leisure to take up painting again. Rather
fancying myself in Afghan turban and robes, I painted my portrait from
the reflection in a hand-glass. It happened to turn out a success,
and created quite a little mild excitement. The Armenian was not the
man to let my light shine under a bushel: he looked upon me as a sort
of possession of his. Anything that I could do and others could not,
reflected, he seemed to think, a great deal of credit upon him: so
that he trumpeted the news abroad. I had a great many visitors, and
every second one asked me to paint his portrait. The Armenian said:
“Sir, you not do. This man, who is?”
Which sentence, though it sounds odd, is simply a literal translation
of the Persian, “Sahib, shuma ne kunēd. In mard, ki’st?”
However, I consented to paint my neighbour the Mirza Abdur Rashid, and
he gave me some sittings. He had good features, and was dark-skinned
for an Afghan, so that when attired in green velvet and gold he made
rather a striking picture. The matter reached the ears of His Highness
the Amîr, and he sent for the two portraits. They were taken to the
Palace just as they were, though the Mirza’s turban was unfinished.
When the pictures were brought back I heard that His Highness was
pleased with them. My own portrait I rolled up and addressed to
England, intending to have it posted home by one of the British Agent’s
men, who was returning to India on leave. In the evening, just as I had
addressed it, His Highness sent for it again.
[Illustration:
Dr. Gray and his Armenian Interpreter,
from a photograph by Van der Weyde.]
I went to the military Durbar the next day, Tuesday: His Highness was
very gracious. He spoke some time about the Moolah upon whom I had
operated for goitre, and desired me to instruct the native dressers:
then he spoke about the portraits, praising them highly, and finally
told me that he would himself give me sittings for a portrait.
A day or two afterwards a carpenter arrived to take instructions for
the making of a frame to stretch the canvas upon. The next day I caught
a most severe cold. It was the end of October, the sky was clouded
for the first time, and the weather seemed suddenly to have become
autumnal.
[Sidenote: Dietary Difficulties.]
Though the canvas was soon ready it was a long time before I began
the Amîr’s portrait. The cold I had became better, but, after two or
three days, instead of feeling well I felt much worse. I could not
rouse myself to anything, and I had a constant backache. It struck
me suddenly I might have fever. I had; rather severely. It was quite
different in type from the first attack I had had. Unfortunately, a few
days before, I had discharged my cook for some rascality or other, I
do not remember what, and the only man who could cook in the European
way for me was my syce, or groom. This was the man who had been in
the Burmese Police, and who cooked dinner for me the day we went to
Takh-ta-Pul. He could roast meat and make a rice pudding, but that was
about the extent of his capabilities in the cooking line. With the
fever on I did not seem to hanker after the grey, thin, greasy liquid
he denominated “soup,” neither did I seem to desire the slippery,
sloppy, watery dish he called “custard” pudding. As bread was not to be
obtained, but only the leathery chupatti, which is not appetizing when
you are ill, the fact began to force itself upon me that I should be
obliged to undergo the Hakim’s treatment of fever--that of starvation.
However, in a day or two it reached His Highness’s ears that I was
ill. He at once ordered the two chief Hakims and all the Hindustani
Hospital assistants to wait upon me, and discuss what could be done for
my relief. It was kind and gracious of the Amîr; but it appeared to me
that if I submitted to the treatment of all or any of them, I should
be likely to find myself in a great deal more danger of dying than
there otherwise seemed any immediate probability of. But His Highness’s
thoughtful kindness was not exhausted. Hearing that food suitable for a
sick European was not to be easily obtained from the bazaars, he gave
orders to his chief Hindustani cook, a man who had been imported from
one of the hotels in India, to prepare anything that seemed agreeable
to me. The cook came every day for orders. I had soups, bread, beeftea,
jellies, puddings, and fruit, and, in addition, His Highness sent me
some claret and a bottle of Chartreuse.
I learnt a good deal about malarial fevers from a patient’s point of
view before I was well again, for I had three consecutive attacks of
fever, each differing from the preceding one in its manifestations.
When I had been ill rather more than a fortnight, His Highness wrote me
a very kind letter enquiring after my health; this is a translation of
it:
“To the Honourable and Respected Dr. Gray,--
“May Almighty God grant you health and safety. I write to you for I
wish greatly to hear of your health. My prayer to God is that I may
see you always well and happy.”
“AMÎR ABDURRAHMAN,”
“Finis.” “I have written it.”
At different times salaams and messages of condolence were received
from the Commander-in-Chief and other people. I was gratified to hear
that the soldiers and townspeople were wishing for my speedy recovery,
for, certainly, it is a privilege to feel you have been of use.
I became better, and went for an hour’s ride, which I enjoyed
immensely, but the next day the second attack came on violently.
During this attack, when I was becoming better, I had the honour of
receiving a Royal visit from the Amîr--by deputy.
[Sidenote: The Royal Visit by Deputy.]
His Highness sent one of his chief secretaries, Mir Ahmad Shah, a tall
and courteous man. I received him, of course, in my bedroom, as I was
not able to get up. He brought me many kind messages. His Highness had
signified his intention of visiting me personally, but explained that
he was prevented by his lameness and the press of State business. He
was greatly pleased with the work I had already done in his service,
and was convinced that I had no other motive or desire than to serve
him faithfully. I endeavoured to express my gratitude for the honour
His Highness had done me, and for the many kindnesses he had showed me
while I was in his country.
The next day the secretary of the British Agent arrived bearing the
Sirdar’s congratulations to me, upon being the recipient of such signal
marks of His Highness’s favour.
Some time before I was taken ill I had written to Dr. Weir, the health
officer of Bombay, to whom I had been introduced when in India, for
some vaccine lymph, and a day or two after my “Royal visit” I received
a letter from him. He said that all our mutual acquaintances were well,
but that he himself was suffering from a recurrence of the fever he had
caught some years before in Turkestan! This was cheerful news, seeing
that I had had the Turkestan fever five weeks already. I said to the
Armenian,
“I suppose then this will stick to me for the rest of my days--even if
I get better now, which seems doubtful”--for my liver was touched.
But the Armenian was equal to the occasion.
Oh, no: that fever my friend had was quite another kind: it was caught
at such a place--I forget where he said--and was a very bad fever.
Everybody knew that fever, it came on sometimes years after. But this
fever it was no-thing.
“Sir, if you very ill, how you can smoke papyrus--cigarette?” and with
other specious words did he beguile me. I got better after some days,
and wrapping up carefully, for I concluded I must have got a chill the
time before, went for a short ride. I was all right that day, and went
out the next day for two hours, and came home feeling utterly fagged
and aching in every bone. Back came the fever. The temperature chart,
this time, was quite different from either of the other two.
The snow commenced, but we did not have very much, not more than we
often have in England, but the winds sweeping across the plains were
bitter. This attack lasted about a month. In the middle of it I heard
that one of His Highness’s Page boys, rather a favourite one, named
Samander, had met with an accident. While out riding his horse had
become unmanageable, and the boy’s leg had been dashed against a tree.
The Hindustanis, who had been sent for, came to me to make their
report. There seemed some doubt whether the leg was broken or not. They
had, however, put on a splint, but when I asked what kind of splint, I
found that it was one that was quite unsuitable if the leg were broken.
There seemed nothing for it but to get up and dress and go off and see.
Wrapping up well, and taking a stick, I hobbled off with the Armenian
for the Palace. The snow was not very deep, not more than six or seven
inches.
[Sidenote: Attempt upon the Life of the Amîr.]
I found Samander living in a Turkoman khirgar, in the Palace gardens.
The khirgar was a circular dome-shaped wigwam, about fourteen feet
across by fourteen feet high, and was made of a number of light but
strong wooden uprights, which bent inwards seven feet above the ground,
their ends fitting into a wooden ring above. It was covered over with
thick felt and then with canvas. A wooden door was fitted on one
side--this is not used in the summer--and a carpet hung over the door.
Around the khirgar was a small trench to carry off melted snow or rain.
Inside, the floor was carpeted, and my patient was lying on a mattress
on the ground. The khirgar was very warm, for in the centre was a large
brazier with glowing charcoal. Light was to be obtained only by opening
the door or by lighting a lamp. In the summer, when the felt-covering
is dispensed with, light is obtained by pushing back a flap of canvas.
On the boy’s thigh there was bandaged a wretched little splint, quite
useless if the bone were broken. I soon had it off, and found that the
bone was broken in the lower third. It took some little time to have a
long splint made and to put it on. Several Page boys, who were living
in other khirgars, came in, and also the official whose duty it is to
look after the boys. When I was putting on the splint, I noticed the
scar of a bullet in the upper part of the boy’s thigh. I enquired how
he had got it, and then I heard the story of the attempt upon the life
of the Amîr which had taken place the year before.
His Highness was reviewing the troops on the plains outside the town of
Mazar. The pain of his Sciatica was troubling him so that he was not on
horseback, but sat in an arm-chair, which was placed on a large square
mound or platform some four or five feet high, artificially made. His
Highness sat smoking a cigarette, the Commander-in-Chief, Page boys,
and officials were grouped around his chair, and seated on the ground
by his side was Captain Griesbach, C.I.E., the geologist.
An Herati regiment was passing, and suddenly one of the men stepped
out of the line, threw up his rifle, and fired point-blank at the
Amîr. Just at that moment His Highness leaned over to speak to Captain
Griesbach, and the bullet whizzed under his arm, through the chair
back, and caught Samander just below the hip.
The Amîr continued what he was saying without a pause, and still smoked
the cigarette. The Commander-in-Chief sprang instantly from the mound
and rushed on the man to cut him down.
Then the Amîr shouted “Stop!” But it was too late, the
Commander-in-Chief’s sword flew to pieces on the man’s head, and the
bystanders instantly dispatched him.
The Amîr, presumably, wished to go into the matter, for the Herati was
a known shot, and to enquire the motive of his action with a view of
determining if he were alone in the plot. But whatever may have been
suspected I never heard that anything definite was found out. It was,
however, an evil day for the officers of that regiment.
Samander receives a larger pay than any of the other Page boys, and is
naturally somewhat of a favourite.
It was two hours before the splint was made and properly put on, and at
the end of it I was quite done up. I found that the fact of my arrival
had been reported to the Amîr, for His Highness most kindly ordered the
palanquin of one of the Princes to be brought to the khirgar to convey
me back to my house. I visited Samander once or twice after that to see
that everything was all right, but my temperature began creeping up in
a way that was not at all satisfactory, so that I had to give up going
and simply trust to reports from the Hindustanis.
[Sidenote: An Earthquake.]
We had an earthquake a few days after this, at half-past five in the
afternoon. The bed shook and the door and windows rattled, but it was
quite a slight affair compared with the Kabul earthquakes. I called out
to the Armenian, who was in the next room playing cards, to ask if he
felt the shock. He came in to know if I wanted anything.
“Didn’t you feel the earthquake?” I said.
“The what, sir?”
“The earthquake! Why, man, the house shook.”
“Ah!” said he, “I did think a little the earth shivered, but I not
notice.”
On Christmas day my fever departed. Some time before, I had written to
Mr. Pyne to ask him to send me a cook, if he could find one, and on
Christmas day a cook arrived bringing a box of newspapers, Graphics
and Punches, and a case of briar pipes, which had reached Kabul from
London.
The Graphics and Punches were a constant source of amusement to
myself and my visitors, the older as well as the younger ones. I was
astonished to find how little idea some of them had as to what a
picture was intended to represent.
For instance, in one of the Christmas numbers--it was of the year
before, but that didn’t matter--a pig was represented standing up on
his hind legs to take a view of the world outside his stye. Little
Mahomed Omer, son of Perwana Khan, could not make the picture out at
all; finally he came to the conclusion that it represented a horse in
his stable. The Armenian allowed him to remain with that idea.
The pig is unclean to the Mahomedans, and he would have been very
disgusted if he had thought that we ate such a nasty creature.
A frequent visitor at this time was a young man named Shere Ali, who
was, I was told, the second son of the ex-Mir of Bokhara. A friendship
commenced at that time between us which, like that of the Mirza Abdur
Rashid, lasted till I left the country.
Shere Ali was greatly interested in “Misterre Punch.” I had to go over
the jokes and explain them to the Armenian--sometimes, in the more
subtle ones, a matter of no little difficulty--and he translated them
to Shere Ali in Persian. Shere Ali generally laughed, though I fancy
from the little I had picked up of Persian, that the Armenian made his
own point when he had missed mine. He was quite capable of both seeing
and making a joke, as I found in after years when I brought him to
London.
With the aid of the pictures I gave the Armenian vivid descriptions of
London and the glories thereof. One day, somewhat to my surprise, he
said:--
“Sir, let me see London. If I die then--don’t matter!”
The officer who had charge of the Page boys, came to see me; he was
a short thick-set man, and sensible. He asked me many questions in
surgery, and seemed willing to learn a few simple remedies in case of
emergency. I was very glad to teach him.
[Sidenote: Generosity of the Amîr.]
At this time I was brought very low in the world as regards tobacco.
I had been reduced to smoking in a pipe broken-up cigar stumps which,
in view of this difficulty, I had carefully saved. Tobacco, except
uncured, and to me unsmokable Persian tobacco, was not to be obtained
in Mazar. I said to the Armenian, “I shall be cleaned out of tobacco
soon--and then, Chaos!”
He said, “Sir, I not know Chaos, what is; but Amîr Sahib has plenty of
cheroot and cig-rette.”
“That is very likely,” I said, “but I haven’t.”
“You not care it, I write him, Amîr Sahib, and he give it you. What a
few cigar or cig-rette! no-thing!”
“No! you must not do that,” I said, “I can’t cadge of His Highness.”
“Sir, please you kind, you say nothing. _I_ write, you not write.”
Sure enough he did write. I confess I was rather ashamed when His
Highness sent me ten boxes of most delicious Turkish cigarettes, four
boxes of cigars, and a silver cigar-case and match-box.
His Highness had forbidden me to go out till I was quite strong, and
it was the 4th of January before I ventured to do so. I went to see
Samander and found his leg was progressing satisfactorily.
[Sidenote: The First Winter Durbar.]
On the 7th, it was a Tuesday, was a military Durbar, and after I had
seen Samander and had tea with him, I determined to go on to the Durbar
and pay my respects to His Highness: this was at eleven o’clock in the
morning. It was the first winter Durbar I had ever been to.
The Armenian accompanied me. He was gorgeous to look upon, being
attired in a white turban, a yellow leather postîn, and light blue
trousers.
We walked from Samander’s khirgar along the paths of the garden to the
Palace. The trees were white with snow, and great icicles hung from the
branches. The sky was grey, and the water and mud by the paths frozen
hard. Everyone looked nipped up in the icy wind. In the far distance to
the south were the mountains dimly blue.
In the open space opposite the Palace was a large crowd of people
with petitions to offer or disputes to settle. Near at hand was the
Amîr’s guard with fixed bayonets. On each side of a large open window,
which reached nearly to the ground, were secretaries and other Court
officials. At the window sat His Highness.
The Armenian and I skirted the crowd and went towards the window, the
crowd very politely making way for us.
I waited awhile, until His Highness had finished speaking, then when he
saw me I took off the Astrakhan busby I had on, went forward and bowed.
His Highness enquired very kindly after my health, expressed his
pleasure at seeing me, and then directed me to come into the room where
he was sitting.
I was very glad to do so, for in spite of my furs the bitter wind began
to make me shiver.
I made my way through the door of the Pavilion into the centre hall or
passage, turned off to the left, and raising the curtains over the door
entered the room where His Highness was. Compared with the outside it
was, in spite of the open window, delightfully warm.
His Highness was seated in an arm-chair facing the open window: at his
left hand was a little table with a cup of tea on it. He directed a
chair to be placed for me and some more tea to be brought. At first
the pages placed my chair some little distance from the table, but His
Highness ordered them to bring it near. While I was drinking the tea
His Highness continued giving judgment in the cases brought before him.
Presently a man, apparently a carpenter, was ushered into the room,
bearing in his hand a curiously shaped pair of wooden sandals with
spikes of iron fixed into them. His Highness examined them, and then
turning to me explained that he had invented these things himself, that
they were to fasten on the boots to prevent a slip when one was out
shooting among the mountains in the winter.
The Amîr looked very handsome. He was dressed in a postîn of dark
purple velvet, trimmed and lined with a valuable fur, called in Persian
Pari-pásha, I think a kind of sable. He had gold shoulder knots, and a
belt covered with bosses of gold. In his right trouser pocket he had
a small nickel-plated revolver, for I saw him take it out when he was
searching for a seal to give to one of the secretaries. A fur rug was
thrown over his knees, and he wore a beaver busby ornamented with a
diamond star.
It was interesting to note the bearing and appearance of the different
men as they came before him. Almost everyone, who was not attached to
the Court, turned pale, some went white to the lips, or yellow if they
were dark skinned. I understood so little Persian then, that I could
not follow what was being said, and thus was unable to judge if there
were any reason for this emotion, beyond the awe that the presence of
majesty inspires.
Presently, with a suddenness that was quite startling, the Amîr turned
to me, and said in Persian:--
“Men in autumn and winter are blown upon by _cold_ winds, and at once
take _hot_ fever (tâp-i-gurrum). In your eyes, what is the reason of
this?”
It seemed pedantry to talk pathology, and I spoke in a sort of parable.
I said:--
“A gun is loaded with powder and shot, the trigger is pulled, the cap
flashes and the gun explodes. The men of this country are the guns;
they are loading themselves with a poison rising from the earth by
breathing it constantly, the malarial poison. A slight shock, the chill
of the wind, brings about the explosion, and fever seizes them.”
His Highness seemed struck by the plausibility of this explanation, and
presently he said,
“Darûst, darûst, it is right!”
He asked me several other questions, but I am sorry I have forgotten
what they were.
[Sidenote: The Dining-room.]
The room we sat in looked not unlike an English drawing-room. The
windows, however, were different. They were wider than English windows
generally are: the larger ones were filled with plain glass, the
smaller with coloured glass; over the lower part of one large window
was a sort of fretwork of wood, which, as the light was reflected from
the snow outside, was rather a relief to the eye than otherwise. The
door panels and the window jambs were somewhat elaborately carved: they
were neither painted nor polished. Draped over the doors and by the
side of the windows were silk curtains of different colours. The floor
was covered with Persian and Turkestan rugs. The walls were white, and
the ceiling decorated rather crudely with colours. The ceiling sloped
up on each side to a beam, supported at each end by a slender wooden
column carved in distinct imitation of a Corinthian column, but not
fluted. Ranged against the wall were two or three arm-chairs covered
with velvet, and some small tables with writing materials, vases, and
lamps upon them. The table-covers were mostly of velvet embroidered
with gold: one or two were Indian. In the middle of one wall was what
looked like a white “overmantel,” though there was no fireplace. This
was more Oriental in appearance than the rest of the room, the keynote
of the decoration being the Saracenic arch. [Illustration: Saracenic
arch] On the shelves and in the recesses of this were small ornaments
and vases of various kinds. Below this decorative arrangement, and in
the position usually occupied by the fireplace, was a table covered
with heavily embroidered velvet, and on it were two lamps and several
brass candlesticks with many branches, each holding a wax candle, so
that the whole looked rather like an altar in a High church. In the
window that had fretwork over it was arranged a bank of flowers in
flower-pots. The centre of the room was clear, except that exactly in
the middle was a large brass brazier filled with glowing charcoal.
At the far end of the room, away from the Amîr, were seated,
cross-legged on the ground, the chief officers of the army, with the
exception of the Commander-in-Chief, who was ill.
At about two o’clock in the afternoon the Durbar was over, the
petitioners and disputants disposed of, and His Highness arose. We all
stood up.
His Highness did not leave the room, but took another chair in front
of a small oblong table with a white table-cloth which the servants
had brought in. I did not know whether I was to stop or go, and was
debating the point in my mind, when the Armenian, who was standing
behind my chair, leant over and whispered:--
“Sir, please you stop, Highness wish it.”
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: The Breakfast.]
His Highness sat at his table, and a small table with a table-cloth
was placed in front of my chair. The officers sat where they were. In
front of them was spread a large leather cloth, and over it a white
cloth--I was going to say “table-cloth,” but it was on the ground. Then
lunch, or breakfast, was brought in. The dishes were protected with
curiously shaped covers, which were perforated in designs. One or two
were placed upon His Highness’s table, and several more in front of the
officers. His Highness helped himself, and then the dish was brought to
me. A knife, fork, spoon, and plate were provided for me, though they
are not used in the East except by Europeans.
I was glad of the fork and spoon, for in those days I had not learned
how to eat pilau with my fingers. I was just in front of His Highness,
and the Armenian told me that the servants--who really waited very
well, considering--were reprimanded rather sharply by His Highness for
not bringing me a clean knife and fork for each dish: they were not
used to such things.
First, I had a sort of pancake, tasting something like that ancient
sweatmeat called a “jumble;” after that some meat, I didn’t know what
it was, cooked in a curious way; then some pilau. Altogether I thought
it very tasteful. Afterwards, they took away the white table-cloths
and put others in their place, mine was blue velvet embroidered with
gold, and fruit was brought, mostly grapes, which had been kept from
the summer in cotton wool. His Highness lit a cigarette, and I, pulling
out the silver cigar-case, lit a cigar. For the officers, the native
chillim or hubble-bubble was brought and handed round to them one after
another. Each drew a volume of smoke into his lungs and handed back the
pipe to the servant, who, after blowing the smoke out of the tubes,
passed it to the next guest.
Then the officers got up, salaamed, and filed off. I did not. I said to
myself,
“I am a stranger, and it is the Armenian’s business to direct me: he
has not hinted that the time has arrived to withdraw: meanwhile, I am
very comfortable. If an error is being committed, on his head be it.”
There was no occasion to disturb myself. Presently, tea was brought in
and I had another cigar.
Meanwhile, His Highness was busily engaged: secretaries came in, spoke,
received their directions and went. Letters or reports were brought
singly and in bundles. His Highness opened them and generally answered
each one there and then; writing his answer on the flyleaf of the
letter or on the back of it. Then he placed it in a fresh envelope,
fastened it down, addressed it and threw it on the ground. These
letters were gathered up by one of the secretaries. Other letters,
after he had read them, he handed over to a secretary to answer, but
these were comparatively few.
[Sidenote: The Amîr’s Thoughtful Consideration.]
In the midst of all this business a youngster, about ten years old,
dressed in tunic, trousers, and turban, came into the room; as he
entered the silence of the room, he piped out in his young penetrating
treble the usual salutation,
“Salaam aleicoum,” “God be with you.”
The Amîr, who was engaged reading a letter, answered mechanically,
“W’aleicoum”--“and with you.”
Then he looked up to see who it was: when he saw the small Page
boy he said something in Persian, in which I recognized the word
“Khunûk”--“cold.” The boy disappeared and presently came back with a
postîn on. I was rather struck that His Highness, in the midst of the
great amount of State business he transacts, should notice and give
orders about such a small thing as the possibility of a little Page boy
taking cold.
When the press of work was over, His Highness turned and addressed
some very kind remarks to me. He said, among other things, that he
had examined and found that I was more intent upon doing my duty and
serving him faithfully than upon anything else. In future, I was not
his servant only but his friend.
He appointed a time for me to vaccinate the little Prince Mahomed Omer,
and--which concerned my comfort considerably--he, at a suggestion
from the Armenian, ordered the Afghan bath-rooms attached to my house
to be heated any or every day, whenever I wished. This is rather an
extensive operation, and one to which, considering the price of wood,
my income hardly stretched. Wherefore, I was duly grateful. I had some
more tea, finished my cigar, and then asked permission to withdraw.
Before I left, His Highness desired me to visit the Commander-in-Chief,
who was ill with fever. I bowed and retired. We came away at half-past
four, and the Armenian was jubilant at His Highness’s kindness and
condescension. With Oriental exaggeration he said that no man had been
so favoured as I.
“Highness very kind upon you: very much wish you,” he said--meaning
“like you,” I suppose.
We visited the Commander-in-Chief, drank the necessary tea, and then
I got home rather fatigued by the excitement and the exercise out of
doors. I took off my furs and lit a pipe for a quiet evening, but had
to go out again to see a Page boy who was very ill with fever.
I was on the watch that evening and the next morning to see if I should
have any return of fever myself. As there was none, I had my horse
saddled, and started, after breakfast, on a visit to the Hospital,
where I had not been able to put in an appearance for several weeks.
I enjoyed being out on horseback again. I was riding a young horse that
the Amîr had given me. He seemed to enjoy being out also, for presently
he began to toss his head and snort and plunge.
The Armenian said, sagaciously,
“Sir, he very fool horse.”
The plunging was not sufficiently satisfying, and he commenced rearing
and kicking. Unfortunately the fever, in addition to making my legs
shaky, had taken a large slice off the normal amount of pluck that one
ordinarily possesses, so that in proportion as his jubilation increased
mine diminished.
The road was very lumpy and frozen hard, and it seemed to me that the
“fool horse,” in his lunatic caperings, must inevitably slip down and
break my leg. There was an evil time to come. We had got through the
Bazaar without any serious mishap when, just outside, we happened to
come alongside of another man on horseback. This was what my “fool
horse” desired; the very thing he was waiting for--he always was a
regular bulldog for worrying with his teeth, and was a ruffian at
striking: up he reared and simply pounced on the other horse. He caught
him by the neck and shook him, and drove him up against a wall. Both
reared upright, and then commenced the screams and the strikings of
two incensed stallions. The other man was even less happy than I, for
my brute was getting the best of it. I wondered which of us would be
killed, and began to think it would be the other man.
The Armenian shouted,
“Sir, please you hit him with spur.”
I hadn’t a spur to “hit” with, for, knowing the horse would be “fresh,”
I had not put any on. I tore at his mouth with the curb, and hit him
over the head with my fist. It seemed to astonish him, for he let go
the other horse, and settled on his four feet again. It was all the
other man wanted: he was out of sight round the corner before you could
say “Parallelopipedon.”
We got outside the town and had a large open space to cross. Some
horses in the distance were neighing, and, of course, mine answered
them shrilly and fiercely, and he tried to be off at a furious gallop
to get another little boxing match. This I was able to put a stop to,
fortunately, for the ground was much broken up and very slippery.
Having nothing better to do, therefore, he reared and kicked again. We
reached the Hospital at last, and, with shaking knees and a thankful
heart, I dismounted.
[Sidenote: The Hospital in the Winter.]
There were a great many sick soldiers at the Hospital, some sixty or
seventy. I was not yet strong enough to attend to them all, and I chose
out about a dozen who were very ill.
Some of them were mere lads, and there they lay coughing and panting
with acute inflammation of the lungs. It was in times like this that I
missed so frightfully the well-appointed hospitals and the women nurses
of England. The soldier attendants did their best, no doubt, but very
few showed any sympathy or gentleness with the sick. In many of the
cases it was necessary for the patient to sit up for me to listen to
the sounds of the chest. In England the nurse slips her arm under the
shoulders and head of the patient and helps him up. Here a curt “sit
up” was all. One or two could not do it, and I had to lift them.
Coming away I decided that the Armenian should ride the “fool horse”
and I would take his. He said:--
“Oh, yes, sir, I can ride him, but I ’fraid we make late for your
lunch. Better this--you take mine, I take soldier’s horse. Other horse
come afterwards. In my o-pinion we get home soon this way.”
“Very well,” I said, “_I_ can’t ride him home; it is too much.”
“Yes, sir,” he answered, “it is _three_ much! a little you not strong,
and he very fool horse.”
It was a long time before I could make him believe it was “_too_ much,
and not _two_ much.”
[Illustration]