High life
Means and ends
Taki
rr he crocodile tears that were shed by our 1 leaders over Yuri Andropov's demise reminded me that politicians, unlike virgins, never change. the hypocrisy of lavishing praise on someone like Andropov would make even a diplomat in the United Nations blush with shame. Well, perhaps that's going too far, but I'm sure you get the message. What I don't understand is why I'm surprised. When another Russian, one who helped kill more people than An- dropov ever did, died the year before I was born, almost as many croc tears were shed. I am talking about Sir Basil Zaharoff, pro- bably the world's richest man when he died in 1936, and a man who sold guns to all sides in order to amass his fortune. By the time Zaharoff made the world a better place by dying, he had been knighted by George V, France had granted him honorary citizenship and showered him with honours, Greece considered him her uncrowned king, and Monte Carlo, well Monte Carlo belonged to him outright.
My grandfather told me that when the news came that Zaharoff had died Greeks wept openly in the streets, and he (Grand- daddy) declared a public day's mourning. What my grandpappy never understood was that Zaharoff was the moral equal of the man I hope by now is boiling down below in the company of his old chums, Lenny, Josif, even Nikita. And Lavrenti (how could I have forgotten Lavrenti).
Like Andropov, Zaharoff remained a sphinx until the end. The world loves in- timate details about powerful men, and nothing breeds curiosity more than when the public is deprived of morsels of infor- mation. Zaharoff, according to one of the three versions, was born a Greek in 1849 in Turkey (that was when most civilised Greeks lived under the Turks in Constan- tinople, Egypt and Anatolia — the rest of them lived like animals in what is mistaken- ly known as Greece today). Soon afterwards he moved to Odessa, as the Russian people have been traditionally friendly to the Greeks (so friendly, in fact, that they still subsidise most Greek newspapers). Once in Russia Zaharoff quickly realised his options were few, so he moved to Greece and from there to Lon- don. Somewhere along the way he became an arms representative and began selling them like the proverbial hotcakes. Another version has it that he was born a Russian Jew, was caught stealing while in the army, was sent to Siberia and, after spending some time cooling his heels, then escaped to Istanbul and Athens.
My favourite version is the following: Basil Zaharoff was the ecclesiastical adviser to and favourite of the Tsar in the Romanoff court of the late 1880s. His name back then was Bishop Anthony and his charm with the ladies was legendary. One day the Tsarina became angry with him because of his indiscretions and banished him from her immediate circle. In order to ingratiate himself, Anthony decided upon the time-honoured manoeuvre recommend- ed for such emergencies — the princely gift. The Tsarina was a lover of fine stones and Bishop Anthony offered Her Majesty the choicest relic in the Bishop's monastery, a perfect emerald. What the Tsarina didn't know, however, was that the stone was a fake. Anthony had substituted a perfect fake. When the mauvaises langues finally told the Tsarina that she had been had, An- thony fled for his life with the real one. That was how he made his first fortune, and that is why, according to legend, he kept quiet about his background.
During Zaharoff s heyday he controlled five newspapers in France in order to manipulate public opinion, and was a close associate of Lloyd George, George Clemenceau, Aristide Briand and the Greek Bismarck, Elefterios Venizelos. He con- tributed heartily to the Greek cause during the Balkan wars, but it didn't stop him from selling two submarines to the Turks after having sold the first-ever sub to the Greeks and being proclaimed a saviour by the King of the Hellenes. He initiated a system that comprised a vast empire of spies and assassins, but also people who would bribe and manipulate politicians. At one time he was considered more powerful than any European government, and he was mainly responsible for the Balkan wars that went on for 50 years, from 1870 until roughly 1922. While people fought and died he sold arms and became rich. Filthy rich. The politicians genuflected in front of him, just as they now genuflect in front of Yuri Andropov's casket. Andropov climbed the greasiest of poles, and incidentally ordered the elimination of the Pope in the process, and that is good enough for our leaders. The fact that he sent thousands to a slow death seems to be irrelevant. The end, I guess, justifies any means. I only hope they finally all feel the heat down below.
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