Persia was waiting for miracles, and, in fact, miracles were going to come to pass.
CHAPTER 45
It was Fazel who announced the first miracle to me, triumphantly albeit in a whisper:
‘Look at him! I told you that he would look like Baskerville!’
‘He’ was Morgan Shuster, the new General Treasurer of Persia who was coming over to greet us. We had gone to meet him on the Kazvin road. He arrived, with his men, in dilapidated poste-chaises pulled by feeble horses. It was strange how much he looked like Howard: the same eyes, the same nose, the same clean-shaven face which was perhaps a little rounder, the same light hair parted the same way, the same polite but firm hand-shake. The way we looked at him must have irritated him, but he did not show it; it is true that he must have expected to be the object of sustained curiosity, coming to a foreign country in this way and in such exceptional circumstances. Throughout his stay, he would be watched, examined and followed — sometimes with malice. Each of his actions, and every one of his omissions would be reported and commented on, praised or damned.
A week after his arrival the first crisis broke out. Amongst the hundreds of people who came every day to welcome the Americans, some asked Shuster when he was planning to visit the English and Russian delegations. His response was evasive, but the questions became insistent and the affair leaked out and gave rise to animated discussions in the bazaar: should the American pay courtesy calls to the legations or not? The legations let it be known that they had been belittled and the climate became strained. Given the role that he had played in bringing Shuster, Fazel was particularly embarrassed by this diplomatic hitch which was threatening to put his whole mission at stake. He asked me to intervene.
I therefore went to see my compatriot at the Atabak Palace, a white stone building, the fine columns of which were reflected in a pond and which consisted of thirty huge rooms, some furnished in the oriental and some in the European manner, filled with carpets and objets d’art. All around was an immense park crossed by streams and peppered with man-made lakes — a real Persian paradise where the noises of the city were filtered out by the song of the cicadas. It was one of the most beautiful residences in Teheran. It had belonged to a former prime minister before being bought up by a rich Zoroastrian merchant who was a fervant supporter of the constitution and who had graciously placed it at the American’s disposal.
Shuster received me on the steps. Having recovered from the exhaustion of the journey, he seemed to me quite young. He was only thirty-four years old and did not look it. And I had thought that Washington would send over someone who looked like Father Time!
‘I have come to speak to you about this business with the legations.’
‘You too!’
He pretended to be amused.
‘I do not know,’ I stated, ‘whether you are aware of just how serious this question of protocol has become. Don’t forget, we are in the country of intrigue!’
‘No one enjoys intrigue more than I do!’
He laughed again but stopped suddenly and became as serious as his position demanded of him.
‘Mr Lesage, it is not just a question of protocol. It is a question of principles. Before I accepted this post, I briefed myself thoroughly on the dozens of foreign experts who came to this country before me. Some of them lacked neither competance nor goodwill, but they all failed. Do you know why? Because they fell into the trap I am being asked to fall into today. I have been named Treasurer General of Persia by the Parliament of Persia. It is thus normal for me to signal my arrival to the Shah, the regent and the government. I am an American and can thus also go to visit the charming Mr Russel. But why am I being demanded to make courtesy calls to the Russians, the English, the Belgians and the Austrian?
‘I will tell you: because they want to show to everyone, to the Persian people who expect so much from the Americans, to the Parliament which took us on inspite of all pressure put on it, that Morgan Shuster is a foreigner like all foreigners, a farangi. Once I have made my first visits, the invitations will come pouring in; diplomats are courteous, welcoming and cultivated people, they speak the languages I know and they play the same games. I could live happily here, Mr Lesage, between games of bridge, tea, tennis, horse-riding and masked balls and when I go home in three years’ time I would be rich, happy, tanned and in the best of health. However, that is not why I came, Mr Lesage.’
He was almost shouting. An unseen hand, perhaps his wife’s, discretely shut the door to the sitting-room. He seemed not to have noticed and carried on:
‘I came with a very precise mission: to modernise Persia’s finances. These men have called upon us because they have faith in our institutions and the way we handle affairs. I have no intention of disappointing them. Nor of misleading them. I come from a Christian nation, Mr Lesage, and that means something for me. What image do the Persians have of the Christian nations today? Ultra-Christian England which appropriates their petrol and ultra-Christian Russia which imposes its will on them according to the cynical law of the survival of the fittest? Who are these Christians who have frequented here? Swindlers, arrogant, godless men and Cossacks. What idea do you want them to have of us? In what world are we going to live together? Do we have no choice to offer other than to be our slaves or our enemies? Could they not be our partners and equals? Some of them fortunately continue to believe in us and our values, but how much longer will they be able to muzzle the thousands who liken Europeans to demons?
‘What will the Persia of tomorrow be like? That depends on how we behave and on the example which we offer. Baskerville’s sacrifice has made people forget the greed of many other Europeans. I have the greatest esteem for him, but I assure you I have no intention of dying; quite simply, I wish to be honest. I shall serve Persia as I would serve an American company. I shall not despoil Persia but I will make every effort to clean it up and make it prosper, and shall respect its government but without bowing and scraping.’
Stupidly, tears had started to pour down my face. Shuster fell silent and watched me warily and a little confused.
‘Would you please excuse me if I have hurt you, without meaning to, by my tone of voice or my words.’
I stood up and held out my hand.
‘You have not hurt me, Mr Shuster, I am simply shattered. I am going to report your words to my Persian friends and their reaction will not be any different from mine.’
When I left I ran to the Baharistan; I knew that I would find Fazel there. The moment I saw him in the distance I shouted out:
‘Fazel. There has been another miracle!’
On 13 June, the Persian Parliament decided, by an unprecedented vote, to confer full powers on Morgan Shuster to reorganize the country’s finances. Henceforth he would be invited regularly to be present at Cabinet meetings.
In the meantime, another incident had become the topic of conversation in bazaar and chancellery alike. A rumour, whose origin was unknown but which could be easily guessed, accused Morgan Shuster of belonging to a Persian sect. The whole thing may seem absurd but the people spreading the rumour had distilled their venom well enough to be able to give the gossip an air of plausibility. Overnight the Americans became suspect in the eyes of the crowd. Once again I was charged to speak about it to the Treasurer General. Our relations had become closer since our first meeting. I called him Morgan and he called me Ben. I explained to him the subject of the offence.
‘They are saying that amongst your servants there are babis or acknowledged bahais, which fact Fazel has confirmed to me. They are also saying that the bahais have just founded a very active branch in the United States. They have deduced that all Americans in the legation are in fact bahais who, under the pretext of cleaning up the country’s finances, have come to win converts.’