Mr. Isaacs | Page 3

though
two remarkably well-dressed servants, in turbans of white and gold,

stood with folded arms behind it, apparently awaiting their master. Nor
was he long in coming. I never remember to have been so much struck
by the personal appearance of any man in my life. He sat down
opposite me, and immediately one of his two servants, or khitmatgars,
as they are called, retired, and came back bearing a priceless goblet and
flask of the purest old Venetian mould. Filling the former, he
ceremoniously presented his master with a brimming beaker of cold
water. A water-drinker in India is always a phenomenon, but a
water-drinker who did the thing so artistically was such a manifestation
as I had never seen. I was interested beyond the possibility of holding
my peace, and as I watched the man's abstemious meal,--for he ate
little,--I contrasted him with our neighbours at the board, who seemed
to be vying, like the captives of Circe, to ascertain by trial who could
swallow the most beef and mountain mutton, and who could absorb the
most "pegs"--those vile concoctions of spirits, ice, and soda-water,
which have destroyed so many splendid constitutions under the tropical
sun. As I watched him an impression came over me that he must be an
Italian. I scanned his appearance narrowly, and watched for a word that
should betray his accent. He spoke to his servant in Hindustani, and I
noticed at once the peculiar sound of the dental consonants, never to be
acquired by a northern-born person.
Before I go farther, let me try and describe Mr. Isaacs; I certainly could
not have done so satisfactorily after my first meeting, but subsequent
acquaintance, and the events I am about to chronicle, threw me so often
in his society, and gave me such ample opportunities of observation,
that the minutest details of his form and feature, as well as the smallest
peculiarities of his character and manner, are indelibly graven in my
memory.
Isaacs was a man of more than medium stature, though he would never
be spoken of as tall. An easy grace marked his movements at all times,
whether deliberate or vehement,--and he often went to each extreme,--a
grace which no one acquainted with the science of the human frame
would be at a loss to explain for a moment. The perfect harmony of all
the parts, the even symmetry of every muscle, the equal distribution of
a strength, not colossal and overwhelming, but ever ready for action,

the natural courtesy of gesture--all told of a body in which true
proportion of every limb and sinew were at once the main feature and
the pervading characteristic. This infinitely supple and swiftly-moving
figure was but the pedestal, as it were, for the noble face and nobler
brain to which it owed its life and majestic bearing. A long oval face of
a wondrous transparent olive tint, and of a decidedly Oriental type. A
prominent brow and arched but delicate eyebrows fitly surmounted a
nose smoothly aquiline, but with the broad well-set nostrils that
bespeak active courage. His mouth, often smiling, never laughed, and
the lips, though closely meeting, were not thin and writhing and
cunning, as one so often sees in eastern faces, but rather inclined to a
generous Greek fullness, the curling lines ever ready to express a
sympathy or a scorn which, the commanding features above seemed to
control and curb, as the stern, square-elbowed Arab checks his
rebellious horse, or gives him the rein, at will.
But though Mr. Isaacs was endowed with exceptional gifts of beauty by
a bountiful nature, those I have enumerated were by no means what
first attracted the attention of the observer. I have spoken of his
graceful figure and perfect Iranian features, but I hardly noticed either
at our first meeting. I was enthralled and fascinated by his eyes. I once
saw in France a jewel composed of six precious stones, each a gem of
great value, so set that they appeared to form but one solid mass,
yielding a strange radiance that changed its hue at every movement,
and multiplied the sunlight a thousand-fold. Were I to seek a
comparison for my friend's eyes, I might find an imperfect one in this
masterpiece of the jeweler's art. They were dark and of remarkable size;
when half closed they were long and almond-shaped; when suddenly
opened in anger or surprise they had the roundness and bold keenness
of the eagle's sight. There was a depth of life and vital light in them that
told of the pent-up force of a hundred generations of Persian magii.
They blazed with the splendour of a god-like nature, needing neither
meat nor strong drink to feed its power.
My mind was made up. Between his eyes, his temperance, and