Duties of the Princes.
The duty of Prince Nasrullah was to superintend the management of the Government offices, and the work of the numerous scribes and secretaries—the Mirzas. Both Princes worked hard, and one met them in all weathers, in the blazing sun, in the hissing icy winds, the heavy snow fall, or the pouring rain, riding on their way from their houses in the city to the Durbar Hall, or the Mirza’s offices, in the Erg Palace. With their regular and daily attendance upon their duties, they shamed many of the high officials of the Kingdom, and were a living and daily lesson to the ordinary Afghan, whose motto is ever, “To-morrow, or after to-morrow.”
CHAPTER XXV.
A Kabul Winter.
Hindustani intrigue: information from the British Agent: offer of assistance: measures for protection: further intrigue. The “Royal manner.” The two factions: Habibullah: Mahomed Omer. The question of succession. Return to the City House and English Society: divers discomforts: the cold of Kabul. The naked beggar boy. The old Kabul bridge. The question of “bleeding.” Disbanding of a Shiah regiment. Amîr’s advice to his sons. The oncoming spring: improvements in Amîr’s health. The Hindustani again: Sabbath: the Amîr’s decision. The Afghan noble as workshop superintendent. New Year sports. The grand stand: the crowd: refreshments. Horse-racing: collisions. Tent pegging and its dangers. Lemon slicing. The greater skill of gentlemen. Displays of horsemanship. Amîr’s absence from the sports: the result. The Naû Rôz levee. Salaam to the Sultana. Amîr in the Salaam Khana: reception of the Maleks and merchants: presents. The Princes standing before the Amîr. Reception of the English engineers: the “White-beard:” his age: the Amîr’s surprise.
Hindustani Intrigue.
The interesting Hindustani whom I have designated the “Gnat,” and who, by the way, was giving lessons in English to Prince Habibullah, began to spread reports in the bazaars concerning my personal character. As, however, I had done nothing to reproach myself with, I did not bother my head about the matter, until one day the Secretary of the British Agent, that highly-educated Mahomedan I have spoken of, called upon me and told me the nature of the rumours. Then I was more than a little annoyed. It was so abominable. Only the vile mind of this creature could have conceived the indignity of charging me—not openly, but by a whispered word here and there—with impurity. What could I do? To attempt to defend myself against a charge that was not formulated, that only lived, like the typhus poison, in filthy corners—invisible—was to accuse myself.
The Agent’s Secretary very kindly enquired whether there were anything he could do that could in any way give the lie to the rumours.
So far as I could see, the utmost that could be done was to refuse absolutely to allow the man to interpret or translate for me on any occasion whatsoever. I said as much to the Agent’s Secretary, and he advised me to write at once to the Amîr and inform him of my decision.