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CHAPTER EIGHT

In which the young man discovers

the power of words

AN HOUR LATER the butler came to fetch the young man, who had been so engrossed in the exercise the eccentric millionaire had given him to do, that it seemed as if no time at all had passed.

The butler explained that the millionaire was expecting him in the garden, and he accompanied the young man there in silence. His host was sitting on a bench, contemplating a freshly cut rose. He raised his head when he heard the young man approach. A gentle smile lit his face. He was radiant; in fact, he seemed almost ecstatic.

“So, how did it go?” he asked. “Did the exercise work out all right?”

“Yes, it did. But I’ve got a lot of questions.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He invited the young man to sit next to him.

“What bothers me in particular,” he told the old man, “is that I just can’t see how I can become a millionaire in six years even if I do write down this crazy sentence and meditate on it. How can I convince my-self that I can become a millionaire? I don’t even know which field I want to work in. And I still feel I’m pretty young to become a millionaire.” “Youth is no obstacle. Countless people became rich at a much younger age than yours. The major obstacle is not knowing the secret, or knowing it and not applying it.” “I feel ready to apply it. But the only trouble is that I don’t think I can honestly convince myself that I can become a millionaire.” “There’s basically only one way to do it. And it’s the same method you use to persuade yourself that you can’t become a millionaire even if you want to.

“During the next few days, or few weeks at the most, you are going to develop the attitude of an instant millionaire. Naturally, it’s going to take some time to undo everything you’ve built up over the years.

“The secret to developing this personality resides in words, combined with images, which are the special way in which thoughts express themselves. Each thought you have tends to manifest itself in your life in one way or another. The stronger a person’s character is, the more powerful his thoughts will be, and the more quickly they will tend to manifest, thus shap-ing the circumstances of his life. This undoubtedly inspired the early Greek philosopher Heraclitus to observe, ‘Character equals destiny.’ “Desire is what best sustains your thoughts. The more passionate your desire is, the more quickly the thing you want will spring up in your life. The way to become rich is to desire it fervently. In every area of life, sincerity and fervor are necessary ingredients of success.” “And yet I sincerely wish to be rich,” said the young man. “I’ve been doing everything possible for years now. But nothing’s worked out.” “Ardent desire is necessary, but not enough. What you lack is faith. You must believe that you will become a millionaire.” “How can I get this faith?”

“I’ve read a great many books on this subject. And what my own mentor taught me corresponds to the conclusions reached in them: The way to obtain faith is through the repetition of words. Words have an extraordinary impact on our inner and outer lives. Words are omnipotent. Most people are totally unaware of this principle and fail to use it — no, I take that back. They do use the power of words, but generally to their detriment.” “I don’t want to contradict you,” said the young man, “but I think you’re exaggerating. I can’t really see how words can help me become a millionaire. They have some importance, but certainly other things are more important, and more powerful.” The millionaire didn’t respond. He was absorbed in his own thoughts for a moment. Then he said, “In the desk up in your room I left a booklet that explains this theory in a very enlightening way. Go and find it. It’s very short. Read it and come down again. We’ll continue our discussion then.” The young man went back to his room, closed the door, and searched for the booklet in the desk. There was no booklet, but he found a letter that was apparently addressed to him even though it didn’t have his name written on it. It was inscribed, Letter to a Young Millionaire.

He opened it. It contained a single word written in red ink: FAREWELL. It was signed, The Instant Millionaire.

The young man’s heart began to flutter like a butterfly gone mad. At that moment he heard a strange sound behind him. He turned around and saw a computer he had not previously noticed. He approached it and saw that a single sentence, repeated over and over again, filled the screen: YOU HAVE AN HOUR LEFT TO LIVE.

YOU HAVE AN HOUR LEFT TO LIVE.

YOU HAVE AN HOUR LEFT TO LIVE.

YOU HAVE AN HOUR LEFT TO LIVE.

If this was a joke, it was certainly in bad taste. It had to be a joke, though. Why would the Instant Millionaire want him to die? The young man hadn’t done anything to him. But everything was so strange in this place. Maybe the millionaire was a madman hiding his murderous tendencies behind a veneer of kindheartedness.

The young man was terribly confused. He was sure of one thing, however: whether or not this was a joke, he wasn’t going to take any risks. He was going to make his escape, and forget about his check and the magical theories the millionaire had used to fuel his gullible imagination.

He threw the letter on the floor and made for the door, but again it was firmly locked. He was over-whelmed with panic. He shook the handle, trying to force the door open, but it was hopeless.

The young man went wild. He ran to the window and saw the millionaire working in the garden. He shouted to him. No answer. He screamed more frantically. Again no answer. The butler stepped into the garden, and the young man called out to him in a hysterical voice. But it was as if his shouts didn’t exist.

What kind of horrible nightmare was he going through?

He called again and again. Another servant appeared a few paces behind the butler. He, too, was completely oblivious to the prisoner’s screams for help. The young man became more and more desperate.

He frantically searched for something with which to pry open the door. As he passed the window, he noticed a man approaching the house. He was wearing an immense black cloak and a wide-brimmed black hat. The young man’s chest was constricted; he was almost suffocating with terror. Who could it be but a hired assassin coming to get him? It was clear. He was trapped. He was going to die.

Soon he heard heavy footsteps slowly making their way toward the door. He was right. His time had finally come. He searched left and right for something, anything, with which to defend himself, but could find nothing. He heard the key turning in the lock. The handle moved; the door opened.

Standing in the doorway was a murky black shadow, which swiftly turned into the more substantial figure of a man, standing silently, motionless as a statue. Then the man plunged his hand into his pocket. The young man thought he was going to pull out a weapon, but the mysterious stranger drew out a piece of paper instead. He lifted the brim of his hat and the young man, breathlessly expecting the worst, saw it was the millionaire.

“You forgot the figures you came up with in the garden,” said the millionaire. “Did you find the book-let I told you about?” “No, I didn’t. I found this instead,” the young man said angrily.

He retrieved the letter from the floor.

“What’s the meaning of this grotesque scenario you just played out?” the young man said. “I could sue you, you know.” “But . . . they’re only words, a word scribbled on a piece of paper, a few words on a computer screen. Didn’t you tell me that you didn’t believe in the power of words? Look at the state you’re in. . . .” The young man suddenly realized what the millionaire was talking about.

“I just wanted to give you a quick lesson. Experience is a much better teacher than mere theory. Experience is life. Wasn’t that Goethe’s philosophy? Gray is the color of theory; green, the color of the tree of life.

“Now do you understand the power that words have? Their power is so great they don’t even need to be true to have an effect on people. I assure you I did not at any time have criminal intentions toward you.” “How was I to know that?” said the young man, gradually calming down.

“You could have used your head and reasoned things out. Why on earth would I want to kill you? You’ve never done me any harm. Even if you had, I would never waste time on revenge. All I want is to be free to tend my rose garden.

“You should have relied on your sense of logic. Yet, did you notice how powerless logic is in a situation such as this? When you were shouting to us from the window and we were pretending not to hear, you were truly in despair. The mistake you made was not in reading the words, but in believing them. By doing so you instinctively obeyed one of the greatest laws governing the human mind: When imagination and logic are in conflict with each other, the imagination invariably takes over.”