He sang of me as though I had been Richard Coeur de Lion, and recounted, before an admiring throng of listeners, how I had wandered with a young wife from my own distant country to fight the terrible Base; how I had slain them in a single combat, and bow elephants and lions were struck down like lambs and kids by my hands. That during my absence in the hunt my wife had been carried off by the Base; that I had, on my return to my pillaged camp, galloped off in chase, and, overtaking the enemy, hundreds had fallen by my rifle and sword, and I had liberated and recovered the lady, who now had arrived safe with her lord in the country of the great Mek Nimmur, etc., etc.
This was all very pretty, no doubt, and as true as most poetical and musical descriptions; but I felt certain that there must be something to pay for this flattering entertainment. If you are considered to be a great man, a PRESENT is invariably expected in proportion to your importance. I suggested to Taher Noor that I must give him a couple of dollars. “What!” said Taher Noor, “a couple of dollars? Impossible! a musician of his standing is accustomed to receive thirty and forty dollars from great people for so beautiful and honorable 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 (* The Austrian dollar, that is the only large current coin in that country.) 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.