Mr. Isaacs | Page 6

my abruptness, but as there is
no one to introduce us, what is your name?"
"My name is Griggs--Paul Griggs. I am an American, but was born in
Italy. I know your name is Isaacs; but, frankly, I do not comprehend
how you came by the appellation, for I do not believe you are either,
English, American, or Jewish of origin."
"Quite right," he replied, "I am neither Yankee, Jew, nor beef-eater; in
fact, I am not a European at all. And since you probably would not
guess my nationality, I will tell you that I am a Persian, a pure Iranian,

a degenerate descendant of Zoroaster, as you call him, though by
religion I follow the prophet, whose name be blessed," he added, with
an expression of face I did not then understand. "I call myself Isaacs for
convenience in business. There is no concealment about it, as many
know my story; but it has an attractive Semitic twang that suite my
occupation, and is simpler and shorter for Englishmen to write than
Abdul Hafizben-Isâk, which is my lawful name."
"Since you lay sufficient store by your business to have been willing to
change your name, may I inquire what your business is? It seems to be
a lucrative one, to judge by the accumulations of wealth you have
allowed me a glimpse of."
"Yes. Wealth is my occupation. I am a dealer in precious stones and
similar objects of value. Some day I will show you my diamonds; they
are worth seeing."
It is no uncommon thing to meet in India men of all Asiatic
nationalities buying and selling stones of worth, and enriching
themselves in the business. I supposed he had come with a caravan by
way of Baghdad, and had settled. But again, his perfect command of
English, as pure as though he had been educated at Eton and Oxford,
his extremely careful, though quiet, English dress, and especially his
polished manners, argued a longer residence in the European
civilisation of his adopted home than agreed with his young looks,
supposing him to have come to India at sixteen or seventeen. A
pardonable curiosity led me to remark this.
"You must have come here very young," I said. "A thoroughbred
Persian does not learn to speak English like a university man, and to
quote German proverbs, in a residence of a few years; unless, indeed,
he possess the secret by which the initiated absorb knowledge without
effort, and assimilate it without the laborious process of intellectual
digestion."
"I am older than I look--considerably. I have been in India twelve years,
and with a natural talent for languages, stimulated by constant
intercourse with Englishmen who know their own speech well, I have

succeeded, as you say, in acquiring a certain fluency and mastery of
accent. I have had an adventurous life enough. I see no reason why I
should not tell you something of it, especially as you are not English,
and can therefore hear me with an unprejudiced ear. But, really, do you
care for a yarn?"
I begged him to proceed, and I beckoned the servant to arrange our
pipes, that we might not be disturbed. When this was done, Isaacs
began.
"I am going to try and make a long story short. We Persians like to
listen to long stories, as we like to sit and look on at a wedding nautch.
But we are radically averse to dancing or telling long tales ourselves, so
I shall condense as much as possible. I was born in Persia, of Persian
parents, as I told you, but I will not burden your memory with names
you are not familiar with. My father was a merchant in prosperous
circumstances, and a man of no mean learning in Arabic and Persian
literature. I soon showed a strong taste for books, and every
opportunity was given me for pursuing my inclinations in this respect.
At the early age of twelve I was kidnapped by a party of slave-dealers,
and carried off into Roum--Turkey you call it. I will not dwell upon my
tears and indignation. We travelled rapidly, and my captors treated me
well, as they invariably do their prizes, well knowing how much of the
value of a slave depends on his plump and sleek condition when
brought to market. In Istamboul I was soon disposed of, my fair skin
and accomplishments as a writer and a singer of Persian songs fetching
a high price.
"It is no uncommon thing for boys to be stolen and sold in this way. A
rich pacha will pay almost anything. The fate of such slaves is not
generally a happy one." Isaacs paused a moment, and drew in two or
three long breaths of smoke. "Do you see that bright star in the