The heir of the merchant Mahmoud had not disappointed that great
financier while he still lived, and when he died he had the
satisfaction of seeing the young man, now twenty-five years of age,
successfully conducting his numerous affairs, and increasing (fabulous
as this may seem) the millions with which his uncle entrusted him.
Shortly after Mahmoud’s death the prosperity of the firm had already
given rise to a new proverb, and men said: “Do you think I am
Mahmoud’s-Nephew?” when they were asked to lend money or in some other
way to jeopardize a few coppers in the service of God or their
neighbour.
It was also a current expression, “He’s rich as Mahmoud’s-Nephew,” when
comrades would jest against some young fellow who was flusher than
usual, and could afford a quart or even a gallon of wine for the
company; while again the discontented and the oppressed would mutter
between their teeth: “Heaven will take vengeance at last upon these
Mahmoud’s-Nephews!” In a word, “Mahmoud’s-Nephew” came to mean
throughout the whole Caliphate and wherever the True Believers spread
their empire, an exceedingly wealthy man. But Mahmoud himself having
been dead ten years and his heir the fortunate head of the
establishment being now well over thirty years of age, there happened a
very inexplicable and outrageous accident: he died—and after his death
no instructions were discovered as to what should be done with this
enormous capital, no will could be found, and it happened moreover to
be a moment of great financial delicacy when the manager of each
department in the business needed all the credit he could get.
In such a quandary the Chief Organizer and confidential friend, Ahmed,
upon whom the business already largely depended, and who was so
circumstanced that he could draw almost at will upon the balances,
imagined a most intelligent way of escaping from the difficulties that
would arise when the death of the principal was known.
He caused a quantity of hay, of straw, of dust and of other worthless
materials to be stuffed into a figure of canvas; this he wrapped round
with the usual clothes that Mahmoud’s-Nephew had worn in the office, he
shrouded the face with the hood which his chief had commonly worn
during life, and having so dressed the lay figure and secretly buried
the real body, he admitted upon the morning after the death those who
first had business with his master.
He met them at the door with smiles and bows, saying: “You know,
gentlemen, that like most really successful men, my chief is as silent
as his decisions are rapid; he will listen to what you have to say, and
it will be a plain yes or no at the end of it.”
These gentlemen came with a proposal to sell to the firm for the sum of
one million dinars a barren rock in the Indian Sea, which was not even
theirs, and on which indeed not one of them had ever set eyes. Their
claim to advance so original a proposal was that to their certain
knowledge two thousand of the wealthiest citizens of their town were
willing to buy the rock again at a profit from whoever should be its
possessor during the next few weeks in the fond hope of selling it once
again to provincials, clerics, widows, orphans, and in general the
uninstructed and the credulous—among whom had been industriously spread
the report that the rock in question consisted of one solid and
flawless diamond.
These gentlemen sitting round the table before the shrouded figure laid
down their proposals, whereupon the manager briefly summed up what they
had said, and having done so, replied: “Gentlemen, his lordship is a
man of few words; but you will have your answer in a moment if you will
be good enough to rise, as he is at this moment expecting a deputation
from the Holy Men who are entreating him to provide the cost of a
mosque in one of the suburbs.”
The proposers of the bargain rose, greatly awed and pleased by the
silence and dignity of the financier who apparently remained for a
moment discussing their proposals without gesture and in a tone too low
for them to hear, while his manager bent over to listen.
“It is ever so,” said one of them, “you may ever know the greatest men
by their silence.”
“You are right,” said another, “he is not one to be easily deceived.”
The manager in a moment or two rejoined them at the door. “Gentlemen,”
he said, smiling, “my chief has heard your arguments and has expressed
his assent to your conditions.”
They went out, delighted at the success of their mission, and
congratulated Ahmed upon the financier’s genius.
“He does not,” said the manager, laughing in hearty agreement, “bestow
himself as a present upon all and sundry. Nor is he often caught
indulging in short bouts of sleep, nor are flies diabolically left to
repose undisturbed upon his features—but you must excuse me, I hear the
Holy Men,” and indeed from the inner room came a noise of speechifying
in that doleful sing-song which is associated in Bagdad with the
practice of religion.
The gentlemen who had thus had the luck to interview Mahmoud’s-Nephew
with such success in the matter of the Diamond Island, soon spread
about the news, and confirmed their fellow-citizens in the certitude
that a great financier is neither talkative nor vivacious. “Still
waters run deep,” they said, and all those to whom they said it nodded
in a wise acquiescence. Nor had the Manager the least difficulty in
receiving one set of customers after another and in negotiating within
three weeks an infinite amount of business, all of which confirmed
those who had the pleasure of an audience with the stuffed dummy that
great fortunes were made and retained by reticence and a contempt for
convivial weakness.
At last the ingenious man of affairs, to whom the whole combination was
due, was not a little disturbed to receive from the Caliph a note
couched in the following terms:
“The Commander of the Faithful and the Servant of the Merciful whose
name be exalted, to the Nephew of Mahmoud:
“My Lord:—
“It has been the custom since the days of my grandfather (May his soul
see God!) for the more wealthy of the Faithful to be called to my
councils, and upon my summoning them thither it has not been unusual
for them to present sums varying in magnitude but always proportionate
to their total fortunes. My court will receive signal honour if you
will present yourself after the morning prayer of the day after
to-morrow. My treasurer will receive from you with gratitude and
remembrance upon the previous day and not later than noon, the sum of
one million dinars.”
Here, indeed, was a perplexity. The payment of the money was an easy
matter and was duly accomplished; but how should the lay figure which
did duty in such domestic scenes as the negotiation of loans, the
bullying of debtors, the purchase of options, and the cheating of the
innocent and the embarrassed, take his place in the Caliph’s council
and remain undiscovered? For great as was the reputation of
Mahmoud’s-Nephew for discretion and for golden silence, such as are
proper to the accumulation of great wealth, there would seem a
necessity in any political assembly to open the mouth from time to
time, if only for the giving of a vote.
But Ahmed, who had by this time accumulated into his own hands the
millions formerly his master’s, finally solved the problem. Judicious
presents to the servants of the palace and the public criers made his
way the easier, and on the summoning of the council Mahmoud’s-Nephew,
whose troublesome affection of the throat was now publicly discussed,
was permitted to bring into the council-room his private secretary and
manager.
Moreover at the council, as at his private office, the continued
taciturnity of the millionaire could not but impress the politicians as
it had already impressed the financial world.
“He does not waste his breath in tub-thumping,” said one, looking
reverently at the sealed figure.
“No,” another would reply, “they may ridicule our old-fashioned,
honest, quiet Mohammedan country gentlemen, but for common sense I will
back them against all the brilliant paradoxical young fellows of our
day.”
“They say he is very kind at heart and lovable,” a third would then
add, upon which a fourth would bear his testimony thus:
“Yes, and though he says nothing about it, his charitable gifts are
enormous.”
By the second meeting of the council the lay figure had achieved a
reputation of so high a sort that the Caliph himself insisted upon
making him a domestic adviser, one of the three who perpetually
associated with the Commander of the _Faithful_ and directed his
policy. For the universal esteem in which the new councillor was held
had affected that Prince very deeply.
Here there arose a crux from which there could be no escape, as one of
the three chief councillors, Mahmoud’s-Nephew, must speak at last and
deliver judgments!
The Manager, first considering the whole business, and next adding up
his private gains, which he had carefully laid out in estates of which
the firm and its employés knew nothing, decided that he could afford to
retire. What might happen to the general business after his withdrawal
would not be his concern.
He first gave out, therefore, that the millionaire was taken
exceedingly ill, and that his life was despaired of: later, within a
few hours, that he was dead.
So far from attempting to allay the panic which ensued, Ahmed frankly
admitted the worst.
With cries of despair and a confident appeal to the justice of Heaven
against such intrigues, the honest fellow permitted the whole of the
vast business to be wound up in favour of newcomers, who had not
forgotten to reward him, and soothing as best he could the ruined
crowds of small investors who thronged round him for help and advice,
he retired under an assumed name to his highly profitable estates,
which were situated in the most distant provinces of the known world.
As for Mahmoud’s-Nephew, three theories arose about him which are still
disputed to this day:
The first was that his magnificent brain with its equitable judgment
and its power of strict secrecy, had designed plans too far advanced
for his time, and that his bankruptcy was due to excess of wisdom.
The second theory would have it that by “going into politics” (as the
phrase runs in Bagdad) he had dissipated his energies, neglected his
business, and that the inevitable consequences had followed.
The third theory was far more reasonable. Mahmoud’s-Nephew, according
to this, had towards the end of his life lost judgment; his garrulous
indecision within the last few days before his death was notorious: in
the Caliph’s council, as those who should best know were sure, one
could hardly get a word in edgewise for his bombastic self-assurance;
while in matters of business, to conduct a bargain with him was more
like attending a public meeting than the prosecution of negotiations
with a respectable banker.
In a word, it was generally agreed that Mahmoud’s-Nephew’s success had
been bound up with his splendid silence, his fall, bankruptcy, and
death, with a lesion of the brain which had disturbed this miracle of
self-control.