Impossible! a musician of his standing it
accustomed to receive thirty and forty dollars from great people
for so beautiful and honourable a song."
This was somewhat startling; I began to reflect upon the price of
a box at Her Majesty's Theatre in London; but there I was not the
hero of the opera; this minstrel combined the whole affair in a
most simple manner; he was Verdi, Costa, and orchestra all in
one; he was a thorough Macaulay as historian, therefore I had to
pay the composer as well as the fiddler. I compromised the
matter, and gave him a few dollars, as I understood that he was
Mek Nimmur's private minstrel, but I never parted with my dear
Maria Theresa* with so much regret as upon that occasion, and I
begged him not to incommode himself by paying us another visit,
or, should he be obliged to do so, I trusted he would not think
it necessary to bring his violin.
* The Austrian dollar, that is the only large current
coin in that country.
The minstrel retired in the same order that he had arrived, and
I watched his retreating figure with unpleasant reflections, that
were suggested by doubts as to whether I had paid him too little
or too much; Taher Noor thought that he was underpaid; my own
opinion was, that I had brought a curse upon myself equal to a
succession of London organ-grinders, as I fully expected that
other minstrels, upon hearing of the Austrian dollars, would pay
us a visit, and sing of my great deeds.
In the afternoon, we were sitting beneath the shade of our
tamarind tree when we thought we could perceive our musical
friend returning. As he drew near, we were convinced that it was
the identical minstrel, who had most probably been sent with a
message from Mek Nimmur: there he was, in snow-white raiment, on
the snow-white mule, with the mounted attendant and the violin as
before. He dismounted upon arrival opposite the camp, and
approached with his usual foppish bow; but we looked on in
astonishment: it was not our Paganini, it was ANOTHER MINSTREL!
who was determined to sing an ode in our praise. I felt that this
was an indirect appeal to Maria Theresa, and I at once declared
against music. I begged him not to sing; "my wife had a
headache--I disliked the fiddle--could he play anything else
instead?" and I expressed a variety of polite excuses, but to no
purpose; he insisted upon singing; if I "disliked the fiddle, he
would sing without an accompaniment, but he could not think of
insulting so great a man as myself by returning without an ode to
commemorate our arrival."
I was determined that he should NOT sing; he was determined that
he WOULD, therefore I desired him to leave my camp; this he
agreed to do, provided I would allow him to cross the stream, and
sing to my Tokrooris, in my praise, beneath a neighbouring tree
about fifty yards distant.
