At the Court of the Amîr: A Narrative

by John Alfred Gray

During a sitting shortly after this, His Highness told me of a report he had had from his Agent in Calcutta, concerning a paragraph in a newspaper there. It stated that I had given an opinion to the effect that His Highness was suffering from gout in the stomach, and could not live more than five years. As a matter of fact, I had given no such opinion. His Highness told me not to allow my mind to be distressed, as he considered either the report or the paragraph to be false.

At another sitting an incident occurred which might have given rise to a serious mishap. It occurred in this way: I was working at the watch chain, but presently His Highness moved and the chain became disarranged. Without thinking where I was—for I was absorbed in the painting—and acting as if he were an English gentleman and not an Oriental Prince whose life had already been attempted, I walked suddenly up to the Amîr to re-arrange the chain. There was a dead silence, though I hardly noticed it at the time, but I saw that the Amîr looked very hard at me. Then with a bow I went back to my work. Nothing was said.

When we reached home the Armenian told me that he and every one else in the Court were exceedingly startled by my walking suddenly up to His Highness. He was just as likely to have shot me as not. It was contrary to etiquette to approach near uninvited; and the suddenness was so very suggestive of evil designs. However, His Highness was not seriously annoyed. He saw at once that I meant no evil, nor any disrespect.

When I went to the Prince’s one morning, I was informed that the Sultana wished me to paint her little son’s portrait. He was not to be painted as a baby four or five months old, but sitting upright with a tunic and busby on, like his father, the Amîr. The tunic and busby were then being made. This seemed likely to be a difficult task.

I was accompanied back to my house by the Captain of the Prince’s guard, who had had a very severe toothache for some days, and he came to have the tooth out. He was a very large Afghan, much taller than I, but he was very nervous about the operation. I sat him in the chair, selected my forceps, put my arm firmly round his neck and pushed the forceps well home.

He screamed, slid down in the chair, and kicked violently. It was no use, however: I had him firmly, and the tooth too. He thanked me very profusely when the operation was over.

The Shooting Expedition and its Dangers.

At the next sitting, His Highness asked if I were fond of shooting. The Armenian at once answered, that it was the one particular delight of my soul. His Highness said he would send a rifle to my house, so that I might ride out on the plains and have some antelope shooting. Accordingly, the next afternoon, when the rifle arrived, the Armenian and I, accompanied by a servant, started on our expedition. We rode through the city, my horse going beautifully, as quiet as a trotting camel, till we reached the plain. Then, suddenly, he gave a scream, sprang up in the air, flung out his heels, and——but he did not have me off. No! I was not just convalescent from fever then, and he went quietly again. But I was on the watch, for I knew his ways. Four times he tried that buck. I am not a bold rider, I much prefer a quiet horse: but, it was the best I had.

I thought I would try the rifle, and I dismounted and put in a cartridge. The gun was a Martini-Henry pattern, made in Mazar, and I felt myself rather a dare-devil sort of fellow in venturing to fire it off. I aimed at a crow and pulled the trigger: there was a violent explosion. I did not hit the crow, but the gun kicked very much and cut my lip and made my eyes water. I determined that this should not occur again, so, therefore, I held the rifle very tight, shut my eyes, drew my head away, and fired. But I did not hit the mark. I asked the Armenian if he were sure that the gun was sighted right. He said he did not know.