Rubenstein's Augur Page 10

  “Wearing a coat—couldn’t tell. Tall—maybe five ten. Wide shoulders. Just right to

  handle an overhead smash.”

  “Figure you to consider that. How soon will you be able to evaluate the figure?” “Maybe never.”

  “Never?”

  “My associate was in the hospital. I went to visit. She was there. After she left his

  room, I told him I thought she didn’t like me. What do you suppose his response was?” “I give up.”

  Larson repeated Rubenstein’s comment.

  “Major put-down. So, no hope?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Be very careful, Sam. Those are the most dangerous kind and you have no

  experience in that arena at all.” June 15

  Larson found his own way to Margo Will’s office.

  Her smile was radiant as she led him to Sweet’s door.

  Sweet and Hazlett were seated away from the dining table in what had passed in the

  Nineteenth Century as comfortable chairs. They stood and shook hands. “I asked Margo the subject of today’s meeting when she called, but she wouldn’t tell

  me,” Larson said. “Since a telephone call suffices to transfer money, I assume something

  more important is on the agenda.” He smiled. “What can be more important than new

  money, I can’t imagine, but here I am. Do you worst.”

  Sweet leaned back and put his feet on a cocktail table. “I don’t think you’ll be

  displeased about the subject, Sam.” He nodded at Hazlett.

  “We have two kinds of managers here,” Hazlett said, “those we call family and

  others. It’s not a matter of amount of money under management or a matter of

  performance. Rather, it’s a way Richard and I—and the staff—feel about them.” “Today,” Sweet said, “you’re elevated from scientific to family.” He paused. “And

  so it’s time for your initiation.”

  “Initiation?”

  “You’ll learn the secrets of The Mannerling Trust.”

  Hazlett handed a folder to Larson. “Come with me, please.”

  He led Larson to an empty office, then gestured toward the folder.

  “Let Margo know when you’re finished reading.”

  An abridgement of the diary of Rudolf Mannerling, for the period November 11, 1856, through October 16, 1882 The subject diary has been abridged to allow the reader to understand the events that led to the establishment of The Mannerling Trust and history of the Trust’s early years without encumbering the reader with unnecessary details. Historians wishing access to the complete diary should apply to the Department of History, University of Alabama.

  ______ Tuesday, November 11, 1856, Montgomery.

  A cold and rainy day. There is nothing but the usual winter

  chores between me and spring plowing, at least four months hence.

  Our barns are full of the ’56 cotton crop, the brokers in Mobile and

  Memphis have more Mannerling cotton under bond, our bankers in

  Montgomery, Birmingham, Atlanta, and New Orleans have large

  deposit receipts, and the world price for cotton is excellent.

  I am thirty-five years of age today. I leaned back from the breakfast table this morning and fell into a sort of reverie. What to do with the rest of my life? The Mannerling family has all of the money it could ever want, yet I want more. No, that’s not correct. Not more money. What I want is to play in a bigger arena. Cotton is all I know. But, what can I do in cotton that I have not already done?

  I wondered where else it grows? Malcolm’s World Economics showed that cotton grows across the Deep South of the United States, but it also grows in Egypt and in China. Professor Malcolm surmised it could grow in Southern Russia, but not a boll grows there. In my mind’s eye, I could see cotton blossoms moving in the winds that blow across the steppes of southern Russia.

  Thursday, December 4, 1856, Montgomery.

  The name Mannerling meant something in Washington, so that

  the Russian chargé’s reply was prompt. The Russian ambassador

  would describe my ideas in his next dispatch to the new Tsar,

  Alexander II.

  Monday, May 4, 1857, Montgomery.

  A Russian, Prince Vladimir Eskranovich Dotvik, arrived two days

  ago with a dispatch. Tsar Alexander II would be delighted to

  receive me at Tsarskoye Selo at any time after June first.

  I had four new suits tailored to something the Prince said was close to Saint Petersburg fashion, and left with him on May 14 for Washington, New York City, Le Havre and Saint Petersburg.

  Friday, July 3, 1857, St. Petersburg.

  The city looked much like Birmingham, except that there

  seemed to be no middle ground in the appearance of the populace. There were well-dressed people in carriages and bedraggled people on foot or in rickety carts.

  In preparation for my visit to the Tsar, my name was altered to Rudolph ‘von’ Mannerling. Prince Vlad explained there was a decided lack of regard in the Tsar’s government for citizens of a nation newly born out of revolution. It was much easier to think of me as some sort of displaced Junker.

  I was ushered into the Tsar’s Foreign Minister’s office at ten this morning. “You wish to plant cotton in our south, Herr von Mannerling? Ridiculous, of course. But tell me your concepts. The Tsar wishes to hear them.” He found nothing revolutionary about the ideas and agreed that my escort and I might proceed to Tsarskoye Selo. When I asked what the Minister would have done had he not been pleased with my ideas, Vlad said, “He was required by the Tsar to send you along, but he might have found a way for you to have had an accident along the way. He has a responsibility to act in the Tsar’s best interest and would have met that responsibility as he saw best.”

  The trip to Tsarskoye Selo was painless. My escort consisted of Vlad and a small contingent of cavalry. He assured me the guard was out of respect. I was not so certain.

  The audience with Tsar Alexander II was the high point of my life to date. Vlad and a scholarly-looking old gentleman shared the responsibilities for translation. The Tsar, a youngish man, around forty, I judged, had a modern look about him—hair trimmed in the current fashion and long mustaches. He wore a splendid uniform, complete with golden epaulets, sashes, and medals. He set the stage by apologizing for not speaking English. Vlad said later that it was a first for him. He had never heard of a Tsar apologizing for anything.

  The scheme I had come to propose died quickly. The Tsar grunted a short sentence. Vlad translated: “His Majesty does not want any of his southern people to earn too much money or to have too good a life. Rather, he wishes to discuss investments in America.” Buoyed by my own interests in investments in general, I recovered quickly. For an hour I described life in America and the attendant opportunities of its citizens. At the close of a detailed question and answer segment, the Tsar abruptly rose. He spoke a few words to Vlad, smiled at me, and departed the audience chamber. “Tsar Alexander II is much impressed with you, Rudolph. He has ordered the transfer of the sum of one hundred thousand American dollars to your account in a New York bank of your choice.” I was stunned. “To do what with?” I stammered. “To invest for him.” I was flabbergasted. I gathered my wits enough to ask if there were to be no formal arrangements or documents. Prince Vlad, much amused, explained. “It would never have occurred to the Tsar that such a thing was required.” The Prince’s smile broadened at the idea. “You are to exploit America for him. And do some adventuring, too, adventuring he cannot do for himself.”

  Thursday, December 16, 1858, Montgomery.

  Upon my return from Russia, I purchased for the Tsar

  controlling interest in a new enterprise providing water transport on

  the Chattahoochee River between Atlanta and St. Marks, on the

  Gulf of Mexico. The venture prospered beyond the dreams of its

 
; founders. After agents of Commodore Vanderbilt demanded that I

  sell my position to the Commodore, I took a two hundred fifty

  percent return on the Tsar Alexander’s money.

  Given some of the disturbing things being said in the state capitals in the South, I felt it was time to look for investments elsewhere. I put the money in the hands of the directors of the Fulton Bank in New York until the national situation became clear.

  Friday, April 18, 1861, Fort Sumter.

  General Pierre G. T. Beauregard ordered the firing of cannon on

  the Union stronghold six days ago. A civil war will soon overtake

  me.

  Sunday, April 15, 1865, Cedar Brake Plantation. General Lee surrendered three days ago at Appomattox Court House in Virginia. I was at home at the time, convalescing from a wound. I had done my duty, but I had never been a strong believer in either the cause or the likelihood of our success.

  Sherman had passed to the north and east of Cedar Brake Plantation, so that it was not damaged. I set the wheels in motion to restore the plantation to economic strength and then took stock of my life. I was forty-three years old, a bachelor, a decorated and wounded veteran. My wound had been severe, a near miss to my liver that left several pieces of shrapnel in inoperable locations, but I felt well and had been assured there should be no problems with that damaged organ. I was certain that I could make Cedar Brake Plantation viable again, though the world was doubtless fulfilling its hunger for cotton elsewhere after the blockade of the South’s ports by the Yankees.

  There was also the Tsar’s money, sitting, and earning interest, I hoped, in the Fulton Bank in New York. The letter answering my query was a shock. The bank’s directors had felt a responsibility to invest the money in a way not detrimental to the cause of the South. The entire two hundred fifty thousand dollars had been invested in bonds issued by Prussia after the assembly of the Germanic states by Herr von Bismarck. ‘The bonds have increased in value markedly,’ was the bank’s formal assessment of the situation. ‘Mr. Mannerling’s holdings were currently worth eight hundred twenty thousand dollars’.

  I determined that it was inappropriate for the Tsar’s assets to be held in my name and so caused the establishment of a trust. In order to hide the identity of the assets true holder, I named the trust The Mannerling Trust. I hope that the Tsar will not look unkindly at my selection.

  Tuesday, August 22, 1865, Montgomery. I determined to send a formal report to the Tsar: August 22, 1865

  Cedar Brake Plantation Montgomery, Alabama United State of America

  Your Imperial Highness, Tsar Alexander II Dear Sir:

  Let me first wish you well and hope your health and that of your nation are excellent.

  I am pleased to report that I survived my participation in the late war with a minor wound and a very few losses at my plantation. The monies you entrusted to me have grown. I have completed liquidating the holdings in which the assets were invested during the war, realizing eight hundred twenty thousand dollars. I have tried often to learn your intentions, but to no avail. Failing to know your wishes, I shall continue to invest the money to produce the best return, while insuring such investments are not counter to Russian policies. I am considering the railroads that are to be built cross our nation to our Pacific shore. Perhaps our interests will meet on the far side of our globe. I await your thoughts and directions.

  Your obedient servant,

  Rudolph Mannerling Saturday, November 25, 1865, Montgomery. A dispatch rider arrived at Cedar Brake Plantation late in the afternoon. The small parcel contained three items: a note, written in the French language on fine parchment, a translation, also written on an excellent parchment, and a medal in a chamois pouch. The translation read:

  2 October 1865 (Gregorian) The Winter Palace

  St. Petersburg

  Herr von Mannerling: We have received your letter of 22 August. We are pleased with your results, though not surprised. Pray continue your efforts and keep us informed.

  Alexander Romanov II Tsar of All the Russias

  Postscript. You are herewith made State Councilor for your efforts on our behalf. Wednesday, January 17, 1866, New York City.

  I handed the quill pen to an aide to Mr. Harriman. The

  Mannerling Trust and I, personally, had just invested a total of nine

  hundred thousand dollars in the common stock of the Union Pacific

  Railroad.

  Saturday, March 19, 1870, Montgomery.

  The Pinkerton rider arrived at Cedar Brake Plantation just after

  the noon meal. Inside the heavy outer envelope I found a small

  white envelope. As before, there were two documents. The

  original French on a parchment without seal or decoration and a

  translation.

  20 January 1870 (Gregorian) The Winter Palace

  St. Petersburg

  Herr von Mannerling: I am commanded by his Imperial Highness, Tsar Alexander II, to inform you that His Imperial Highness requests a visit by you and your retinue to His Imperial Highness. You may attend Tsar Alexander II at Tsarskoye Selo at any time after 1 June (Gregorian) of this year.

  Prince Vassily Alexandrevich Simonev, Chamberlain to His Imperial Highness, Tsar Alexander II, Tsar of all the Russias

  Wednesday, June 1, 1870, St. Petersburg. Tsar Alexander II was unchanged. We discussed his sale, three years earlier, of Alaska and the Aleutian Islands to my country. He thought that he had bested Mr. Seward as to the price. He also congratulated me on my safe return from battle and on my financial successes on his behalf. He had no wish to make any changes in the activities of what had become ‘The Mannerling Trust’, except one: He had documents drawn stating that at the time of a recovering of the assets of The Mannerling Trust by the Romanov family, one quarter of the assets were to be separated and become the personal property of Herr Rudolph von Mannerling, an American citizen, of near Montgomery, Alabama. I was, of course, overwhelmed by the gift, but he told me there would have been no large American holdings without me and it was self-interest that had prompted the division. “You will doubtless now have even more impetus to improve the performance of the Trust and who knows, dear Rudolf,” the translator said, “when it might not be to my personal advantage to have access to funds in a land far away from Mother Russia?”

  I did in fact add to the funds. By the close of 1875, the assets of The Mannerling Trust were estimated at some two million three hundred thousand dollars. This was a great deal of money at the commencement of the fourth quarter of the nineteenth century. The investments ranged from railroads to developed real estate to interests in certain new patents.

  In 1877 I installed one of my nephews as manager at Cedar Brake Plantation and moved myself to New York City. I engaged a Wall Street brokerage firm and a local firm of attorneys to handle the administrative aspects my investing activities, thus allowing me to continue the relative anonymity that had served me well during my early investments.

  Tuesday, November 16, 1886, New York City.

  I awoke today on a cold, but cheery morning with the notion it

  was high time I learned the Tsar’s ultimate intention concerning The

  Mannerling Trust and me. I caught the mid-morning train to

  Washington.

  I registered at the Hay Adams Hotel, then wrote a short note to

  the Russian Ambassador explaining who I was and requesting a

  meeting. The courier returned within the hour. The Ambassador

  knew my identity and would be pleased to receive me at two the

  following afternoon. “Your note indicated you know who I am,” I

  began, “and how I relate to your Tsar. Under an atypical structure,

  I have worked hard for Russia and—” “For our Tsar, Herr

  Mannerling,” the Ambassador interrupted, “for Tsar Alexander II.

  You were given Romanov money to invest, not Russian money. I

  am in t
he employ of the Imperial government, while you are an

  employee of the Tsar. It is an important distinction.”

  My train of thought disturbed, I sat silently for a moment. “I and some astute bankers during the War, some knowledgeable associates since then, and God have combined to make some successful investments for the Tsar. Now I would like some direction from Tsar Alexander as to his goals.” “I must tell you, Herr von Mannerling,” he said, “I do not share your concern. If I had your fortune and your investment talents, I would be more than satisfied. On the other hand, I am prepared to answer your question.” He extracted a long, white envelope from a shallow drawer in the center of his desk. The letter had been opened. “Tsar Alexander II had foreseen that this meeting would occur and that you would pose the questions you have posed. May I read it to you?” I nodded. “Stop me if you have any questions.”

  January 4, 1884 (Gregorian) The Winter Palace

  St. Petersburg

  My dear Rudolph: If you are reading this, it means you have arrived at a position in life when you can afford to look about and say ‘why’? I foresaw this time would come and so prepared this letter.

  When we first met I thought I saw in you some of the same characteristics I have. Given your successes and the fact I have never had an opportunity to test myself as you have, perhaps that was merely wishful thinking. In any case, I saw in you a way to go adventuring a bit. Your initial funding was a pittance. You have made that tiny initial stake into something of significance, four-plus million dollars, at last count.

  The money was a personal investment and it was my decision to provide you with a one-quarter share. I want you to continue to expand the fortune with the idea that I, or perhaps some descendant, or perhaps Russia itself, may someday need the funds. I consider the money as banked with a trusted friend against a needful day.

  Since neither you nor I have permanent places on Earth, I suggest you regularize the management of the money against the day when your firm grip on the reins will be loosened. In your establishment of The Mannerling Trust you have taken the first step. Let us now concern ourselves with what I have considered for myself since the day I learned about death. Succession. Let us take steps to be certain there will be a steward as sure as yourself in the coming years.