After a long interval the eldest spoke:
“Oh! My revered uncle,” said he, in an awestruck voice, “if I may make so bold ... why did you leave this place of your power and return to Bagdad?”
His uncle was silent for a space and then replied in slow and measured words:
“It was in this wise. A sort of moral distemper—a mysterious inward plague—struck the people among whom I dwelt. The poor, in spite of their increased doles, seemed to grow mysteriously disinclined for work. The rich—and especially those in power—fell (I know not why!) into habits of self-indulgence. The middle class, whom I had so justly destroyed, were filled in their ruin with a vile spite and rancour. As they still commanded some remaining power of expression by pen and voice they added to the great ill ease. One evening an awful thing happened. A large pebble—one may almost call it a stone—was flung through the open lattice of my banqueting room and narrowly missed the Deputy Head Controller who stood behind the couch where I reclined at the head of my guests.
“It was a warning from Heaven. Next day I began with infinite precautions to realize. I knew that, for some hidden reason, the country was poisoned. Parcel by parcel, lot by lot, I disposed of my lands, my shares in enterprises, my documents of mortgage and loan. By messengers I transferred this wealth to purchases in the plains about Bagdad, my native place; on the Tigris; Bonds upon the Houses of Mosul and mills on the farm colonies of the Persian hills: In Promises to Pay signed by the Caliph and in the admitted obligations of the Lords of Bosra and the Euphrates.
“An Inner Voice said to me, ‘Mahmoud, you have achieved the Peace of the Soul. Do not risk it longer here.’...
“When all my vast fortune was so transferred to Mesopotamia, I went down by a month’s journey to the sea-coast, took ship, and sailed up the gulf for the home of my childhood....
“I was but just in time! Within a week of my departure an insolent message was received by the Sultan of my former habitation from the Robber King of the Hills demanding tribute. In vain did the unfortunate man plead his progress in the arts, his magnificent national debt, the high wages of his artisans and their happy leisure, the refinement and luxury of his nobles—not even their hot baths and their change of clothes three times a day could save them! The cruel barbarian conqueror over-ran the whole place, sacked the capital, confiscated the land, annulled all deeds, imposed a fearful tribute, and had I left one copper coin in the country (which happily I had not), it would have been lost to me for ever.
“But by the time these dreadful things were taking place I was safe here in Bagdad—it was about the time the eldest of you was born. I purchased this site, built the Palace where you do me the honour of attending me (and also that of Dar-al-Beida for my wife, your dear aunt, four days away) and have now lived serenely into old age, praising and blessing God.
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