All that might
be changed when the prince would reach his majority; his failing health
and morbid melancholy had frightened the grand vizier, and the king of
Balakia had been petitioned to send Pobloff, the composer, designer of
inimitable musical masques, Pobloff, the irresistible interpreter of
Chopin, to the aid of the ailing youth.
So this middle-aged David left his nest to go harp for a Saul yet in his
adolescence. What his duties were to be Pobloff had not the slightest
idea. He had received no special instructions; a member of the royal
household bore him the official mandate and a purse fat enough to soothe
his wife's feelings. After appointing his first violin conductor of the
Balakian Orchestra during his absence, the fussy, stout, good-natured
Russian (he was born at Kiew, 1865, the biographical dictionaries say)
secured a sleeping compartment on the Ramboul express, from the windows
of which he contemplated with some satisfaction the flat land that
gradually faded in the mists of night as the train tore its way noisily
over a rude road-bed.
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