This must be a dreary, unsatisfactory country to him, where one’s
desires are thwarted at every turn. Last week he woke up at three in the
morning and demanded of the Vizier on watch by his bedside that the
ballet dancers be summoned to dance before him. The Vizier prostrated
himself upon the floor and said:
“O king of kings, light of the world, source of human peace and
contentment, the glory and admiration of the age, turn away thy sublime
countenance, let not thy fateful frown wither thy slave; for behold the
dancers dwell wide asunder in the desert wastes of London, and not in
many hours could they be gathered together.”
The Shah could not even speak, he was so astounded with the novelty of
giving a command that could not be obeyed. He sat still a moment,
suffering, then wrote in his tablets these words:
“MEM.--Upon arrival in Teheran, let the Vizier have the coffin which has
just been finished for the late general of the household troops--it will
save time.”
He then got up and set his boots outside the door to be blacked and went
back to bed, calm and comfortable, making no more to-do about giving
away that costly coffin than I would about spending a couple of
shillings.