Jewels Have a Long Life - Henry Bedford-Jones - ebook

Jewels Have a Long Life ebook

Henry Bedford-Jones

0,0
14,90 zł

lub
-50%
Zbieraj punkty w Klubie Mola Książkowego i kupuj ebooki, audiobooki oraz książki papierowe do 50% taniej.
Dowiedz się więcej.
Opis

Again the strange Sphinx Emerald came to the scene to play its part in the unrolling historic drama. This series about the Sphinx Emerald constitutes, as has been said, a veritable Outline of History – or perhaps „Highlights of History” would be more accurate. For this reason the greatest event in all history could not be left out.

Ebooka przeczytasz w aplikacjach Legimi lub dowolnej aplikacji obsługującej format:

EPUB
MOBI

Liczba stron: 37

Oceny
0,0
0
0
0
0
0
Więcej informacji
Więcej informacji
Legimi nie weryfikuje, czy opinie pochodzą od konsumentów, którzy nabyli lub czytali/słuchali daną pozycję, ale usuwa fałszywe opinie, jeśli je wykryje.



Contents

Jewels Have a Long Life

Jewels Have a Long Life

Are the things we love ever ours? The old Moor thought not: “I bought them! They were given me! They are mine!” he mocked. “Yet when you die–what? They are just so much gravel to you, then.”

WILL PAGET paused with his host and guide, Roger Waynflete, outside the little Leghorn shop.

“This is the place,” Waynflete said. “This man Hassan is the finest gem-cutter in Italy; but he’s a devious rogue, an agent of the Moors, an arrant rascal who’ll cheat you of your eyeteeth.”

Paget smiled. “You forget, Roger, that for these many years I’ve been a goldsmith and jewel merchant in London town. Lead on.”

Waynflete pushed into the shop and past the front attendant to the long workbench in the rear, where a man with clipped gray beard sat hunched above delicate tools and enlarging lenses great and small.

Waynflete spoke to him in Italian.

“Hassan, here’s a client, Messire Paget of London. He speaks French but no Italian. Well, Paget, this is Hassan the Lapidary. Shall I wait for you?”

“No, no, get back to your counting-house, Roger. Many thanks. I’ll find my way back to your house without any guide, when ready.”

Waynflete departed. Paget drew up a stool, sat down, found Hassan scrutinizing him narrowly, and returned the scrutiny. Despite clipped gray beard, Hassan’s lean features were smooth, unlined, ageless–a Moorish trait. His dark eyes were bright as stars. He had a thin, satirical mouth under a hawk nose, and a finely carven chin.

“I was expecting you, Sir William Paget,” he said in fluent English, to the surprise of his visitor. “I heard from Paris that you had bought some gems there which would need re-cutting; and you were directed there to me”. Yes, I speak your tongue. Why not? There are English in Morocco, where I was born–or were, until Sultan Ismail expelled them from Tangier. That is why I am sometimes called El Maghrebi–the Moor. You are a man of high intelligence, favored by Allah. I am humbly at your service.”

“Thank you,” said Paget. He drew a packet from his belt and set it on the bench. “Here are the stones–poorly cut, poorly polished. Can you improve them?”

Hassan opened the packet. From wads of silk and cotton he disinterred half a dozen gems–four rubies and two large sapphires. He poked them under enlarging glasses, put a jeweler’s lens in his eye and examined them, with the greatest attention. Paget, himself old in the trade, which had brought him a knighthood and royal favor, watched closely. He was amazed and disturbed that this man should know so much about him and his errand, but gave no sign of it. Finally Hassan turned to his visitor and nodded.

“You are a good buyer. The sapphires and two of the rubies will be valuable gems when re-cut. The other two rubies will lose half their weight, but will be brilliant.”

“As I thought,” Paget said. “When can you do the work?”

“Within two months. I will take the smallest ruby for my pay.”

“You will not,” said Paget calmly, and they fell to bargaining. Hassan came at last to a decent price.

“Signor Waynflete will pay it, and will take charge of the stones for me. I shall not be here,” Paget said when they had agreed. Hassan, who was no darker than an Italian, laughed softly, and his bright eyes glittered sardonically.

“For you?” he said. “I suppose you think they are yours?”

“I bought them,” said Paget curtly.

“Yes. Many say the same. ‘I bought them! They were given me! They are mine!’ Yet jewels have long life–hundreds, thousands of years. When you die–what? Can you take them with you? They are just so much gravel to you, then.”

“Too true. You’re a philosopher.”

“No. An exile who wants to go home.” Hassan leaned forward, and spoke with an easy air of familiarity and confidence. “There is only one way I can do it–by taking the king of my country a jewel so wonderful that he will pardon my past offenses. Sultan Ismail of Morocco loves jewels. He will welcome me and restore my estates when he sees the gem I shall bring him–a gem no wealth could buy.”

“I know nothing of Barbary, but you interest me. I too love jewels. Show me this gem of yours.”