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. He remounted his mule with his violin,
to ford the muddy stream, and he descended the steep bank,
followed by his attendant on foot, who drove the unwilling mule.
Upon arrival at the brink of the dirty brook, that was about
three feet deep, the mule positively refused to enter the water,
and stood firm with its fore feet sunk deep in the mud. The
attendant attempted to push it on behind, at the same time he
gave it a sharp blow with his sheathed sword; this changed the
scene to the "opera comique." In one instant the mule gave so
vigorous and unexpected a kick into the bowels of the attendant,
that he fell upon his back, heels uppermost, while at the same
moment the minstrel, in his snow-white garments, was precipitated
head foremost into the muddy brook, and for the moment
disappearing, the violin alone could be seen floating on the
surface.
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