Chapter XXXI: Adieu to Kabul

Afghan artists: their “style.” Presentation of the little Prince’s
portrait. His quarters at the Palace: presents. The Prince as a
host. After dark, a walk in the Kabul Bazaars. Before the Amîr: the
shock: the result, landscapes. A fresh commission. The “Gnat’s”
interpreting. The Amîr’s answer. Cogitation: decision. Art pupils
before the Amîr. His Highness’s criticism. The Amîr’s kindly
remark:--an interpretation thereof. The miner’s dog: other dogs:
shattered nerves and surgical operations. The worries of Kabul
life. To Paghman: the glens: the spy, and his reception. Sketches.
Before the Amîr. A fresh commission. Completion. Adieux.

[Sidenote: Afghan Artists.]

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.

[Sidenote: The Little Prince as a Host.]

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.

[Sidenote: A Shock.]

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.

[Sidenote: Cogitation: Decision.]

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?”

[Sidenote: Amîr’s Kindly Remark.]

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.

[Sidenote: Shattered Nerves.]

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.

[Sidenote: The Spy of the Gnat.]

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.

[Sidenote: Adieux.]

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.