The room on the second floor of Teheran's Majlis (Parliament) building was as bare as a hermit's cell. It was furnished with a sagging cot, a few dingy chairs, a foot locker, and a small table on which rested a half-used box of Kleenex, a bottle of ink, and a key ring with three keys. The only spot of color in the drab room was supplied by a bright blue enamel chamberpot under the cot.

In this austere room last week lived an austere old man consumed by illness and by strange fires of faith. His body was so frail that it seemed as if a gust of wind could blow it over; his face was sallow and flabby, his eyes were watery, his hands trembled. Yet in this fragile frame is a will tougher than the rock of the Elburz Mountains and more inflammable than the oil of Abadan. A month ago, scarcely anyone in the West had ever heard of Mohammed Mossadeq; by last week, what he said and did could powerfully affect the free world's security.

Even so, little was known about him in the U.S. beyond the facts that 1) his government had just nationalized the British-owned Iranian oilfields; 2) he faints when highly excited during a speech, and has to be carried out feet first.

There was a chance that this unknown and implausible figure would slide feet first into chaos, taking his country and perhaps a large part of the world with him. Iran is a vital source of oil, the lifeblood of industrial civilization (see box, next page). It is also a natural road of conquest for Soviet Russia. If Mossadeq fails to keep the country's vast oilfields operating, what will happen, at the very least, is that Western Europe will be deprived of the oil it needs to keep its industries going.

At worst, if disorders flare up in Iran as a result of nationalization, the Russians may intervene, grab the oil, even unleash World War III. The Russians would not necessarily have to use the Red army to move into Iran; the northern border province of Azerbaijan (which the Russians tried to annex in 1946) might be used by Moscow to set up a "native Iranian" Communist regime.

While U.S. forces are trying to hold Western Europe and Asia, Communism might turn the flank from Iran. An American engineer, an old Iran hand, put it this way: "The 38th parallel runs right through Iran. We wouldn't even have to learn a new name."

The Face of the Land. Outwardly, last week, Iran was calm. In Teheran, on a sunny afternoon, the Shah and his young bride drove to the races in their new sea-blue Rolls-Royce. Across the city, the spring cycle of parties was in full swing.

The Shah's small (130,000) but loyal army was in its barracks, ready for trouble. For the present, at least, there was none. Beyond the capital, Iran's brown and barren face was peaceful. The skeletons of Persepolis, Susa, Pasargadae, the great dead imperial cities, were bleaching in the sun. Eastward the silent desert reached toward Asia. In the southwest, Iran's black treasure still gushed into the Abadan refinery from beneath the baked flats east of the Tigris. The people, moving herds across the plains and raising cotton in the steaming Caspian littoral, lived in poverty, as they had for centuries; as far as they thought about large issues at all, they were ready to follow Mohammed Mossadeq wherever he would lead them.

In his bare room at Teheran, where he had taken refuge in fear of the bullets of Moslem extremists—to whose minds even he was not extreme enough—Mossadeq sat in his pajamas and pondered. Occasionally he wandered into the next room and wearily reclined on a couch while a parliamentary committee tried to decide how to tackle the gigantic task of taking over and running the oilfields. U.S. and British diplomats were anxiously trying to guess what was going on inside the Parliament's yellow walls, and inside Mossadeq's eagle-bald head. Sighed one Briton: "We could deal with a reliable blackguard. But how can you deal with an honest fanatic?"

The Faith of Mohammed. Westerners are apt to call anyone a fanatic whose convictions are stronger and whose behavior is stranger than their own. To call Mossadeq a fanatic may be correct, but it explains almost nothing. Mossadeq is a far more complex character than the most baffling men the West has yet had to deal with, including misty yogis like Nehru and notably unmisty commissars like Joseph Stalin. The biggest single factor that makes Mossadeq different is a religion that the West knows little about: Islam. Mossadeq is not devout, rarely goes to a mosque. But at home, as in his Parliament hideout, he lives almost as austerely as the founder of his faith (he eats little, owns only two suits, likes to dress no better than his chauffeur). Nowhere but in a Moslem country would the phenomenon of Mossadeq be possible.

In the 1,300 years since its founding, the faith of Islam has been relatively successful in defying progress as well as secularization—in large measure because it manages, more than most other religions, to avoid the troubling conflict between body and spirit, temporal power and divine aim. To millions of Moslems, to kill for the greater glory of the true faith is right and blessed. Together with a new consciousness on the part of Asia's "backward" peoples that poverty is not a law of nature but a condition that can and should be abolished, Mohammedanism can be formidable.

In Iran the militant faith of Mohammed grew into a violent, mystic evangelism, complete with its own saints, rituals and miracles. Through the centuries Iran became the home of the Sufi mystics and the whirling dervishes, wild-eyed ascetics who fascinated the marketplace in Teheran and Isfahan with their homemade trances and visions.

Mohammed Mossadeq, with his faints, his tears and wild-eyed dreams, is a whirling dervish with a college education and a first-rate mind.

Tried, Tested & Worthy. Mohammed Mossadeq spent most of his life as a fighter for his conception of the right. In the sad history of modern Iran, a history of corruption, ignorance and greed, he usually fought on the side of the angels—the more militant angels.

He grew up in Teheran, at the declining but still magnificent court of the Kajar Shahs (who had ruled the country for more than a century, were deposed in 1925). His father, Mirza Hedayat, was for 30 years the Shah's Finance Minister. His mother, Najmos Saltaneh, was a Kajar princess, the cousin of the Shah Nasr-ed-Din, an uxorious monarch (he had 50 wives) who hated foreigners.*

Young Mohammed was educated in the shadow of the Shah's palace. Between assignments in classical Persian and Arabic, he hunted gazelles and wild pigs with the favorites of the Shah's court. His mother, a woman with a strong social conscience, took him with her on her visits to Najmieh Hospital, which she had founded in Teheran (and which Mossadeq still supports today). Outside the palace walls, young Mohammed found a troubled, poverty-stricken land beset by swarms of foreign adventurers and corrupted by the imperial court's mismanagement.

When he was 15, Mohammed was sent to the province of Khurasan as financial agent, for his apprenticeship in public service. When he returned to Teheran ten years later, a shrewd, aloof young official, the Shah granted him the title "Mossadeq" ("One who has been tried, tested and found to be worthy").

But a few months later, young Mossadeq joined an unsuccessful revolution against the Shah's revocation of the new Iranian constitution, made street-corner speeches against the throne. The Shah's men advised that he leave the country.

For three years, Mossadeq studied finance and political science in Paris. He learned about Western ideas, often in precariously oversimplified form. He still remembers a debate from his student days on the question: "What Makes a Man a Socialist?" The conclusion (which he applies to Communism today) : "Poverty."

He was deeply unhappy in Paris; he had been forced to leave his young wife and their two children in Teheran. In his small Left Bank room he became nervous and moody, developed stomach ulcers. When he heard about the ulcers, the Shah allowed his ex-protege to return home.

Letters in Blood. Later, Mossadeq got a law doctorate in Switzerland, and in 1916 the young lawyer was appointed Under Secretary of Finance. With characteristic energy and total lack of tact, he tried summarily to dismiss hundreds of do-nothing officeholders. Some of them wrote him threatening letters in blood. He was fired, but in 1919 Mossadeq jumped up again. He founded his political reputation by attacking the British (who had just forced the Persian government to sign a treaty making the country virtually a protectorate). He was exiled again; in 1920 he was back as governor of a province, promptly threatened to plunge Iran into civil war over a disagreement with the central government at Teheran. In 1922 he became Minister of Finance, and at once proceeded to cut the salaries of all bureaucrats (including Parliament members and himself) in half. Officials howled in anguish. Again Mossadeq was fired—but the Teheran voters elected him to Parliament.

In 1925, Reza Khan, a onetime army sergeant who with British help had become Iran's virtual dictator, proclaimed himself Shah. "I am against it. It is contrary to law," Mossadeq shrieked in Parliament, and he was the only prominent man in Iran with the courage to say so.

With immense, if often misdirected energy, the new Shah tried to modernize an extraordinarily backward country (paper money was not introduced until 1931). But Mossadeq, opposed to his strong-arm methods, fought him at every turn.

In 1928, complaining that the elections were rigged (they were), Mossadeq retired to his farm holdings in Ahmabad, west of Teheran, stayed out of politics for 13 years. His health grew worse. In 1930 he went to Berlin for medical treatment, also consulted a psychiatrist about his worsening nervous condition. The psychiatrist was greatly interested in this odd case, but Mossadeq refused to continue seeing him.

In 1940 Reza Shah (the present Shah's father) took belated revenge on his old enemy. On a trumped-up charge, secret police arrested Mossadeq in his garden. When his favorite daughter, Khadijeh, then 17, heard the news, she suffered a nervous breakdown, is still in a sanitarium in Switzerland. (The Premier bursts into tears whenever her name is mentioned.)

When he was released (due to intercession by the crown prince) after 4½ months in a basement cell, Mossadeq was unable to walk. He made a partial physical recovery, but psychologically, close associates say, he still bears the injuries of his imprisonment.

Nine Men in the Cloakroom. In 1940 British and Russian troops occupied Iran. Mossadeq's alien-baiting became more popular than ever. In 1944 he put through a bill forbidding the government to grant an oil concession to anyone without legislative permission. Since this was aimed at the Russians, who were trying to extract an oil concession in northern Iran, the Iranian Communists called Mossadeq a British agent. He never got over the insult.

When the Russians occupied Azerbaijan, Mohammed Mossadeq was in the front row of those calling for their expulsion. After the U.N. forced the Russians to evacuate, he turned his attention to his old enemy, the British. He still opposed any pro-Russian gestures, like Premier AH Razmara's $20 million trade treaty with Moscow, but Red expansion worried him far less than British exploitation of Iran's oil.

An extremely shrewd cloakroom politician, Mossadeq set to work forming a political instrument of his own. With eight other deputies from Teheran, he founded the National Front Party. Incredible as it might seem by Western standards, these nine men were able, in a matter of months, to control Iran's 136-member Parliament. They could do it because Mossadeq is one of the few men in Iran who know or care anything about political organization. Except for the Communists, there are no political parties in Iran; most politicians are merely after all they can get by and for themselves.

Three weeks after moderate Premier Ali Razmara was assassinated last March by a member of the extremist Fadayan Islam, the old dissenter got his unconditional nationalization program through Parliament by unanimous vote. He was asked by Parliament to be Prime Minister. Though "sick and old," he accepted, bowing, as he said, to the demands of the majority.

How Bad Are the British? Mossadeq stands on a single plank: oil nationalization. That issue had become the focal point of every political passion, every instinct of discontent in the country. How sound an issue does Mossadeq have against the British?

Last week Hussein Makki, the Prime Minister's right-hand man, took foreign correspondents in Teheran on a tour of the "Pit," a slum of caves and crumbling hovels—all caused, he said, by British exploitation of Iran's natural resources. Oil nationalization was served up to both Iranians and foreigners as a magic cureall.

Such an approach was pure demagoguery. Iran's poverty was more the fault of an inefficient government and an oppressive landlord system than of any foreign influence. The British could be blamed, however, for having failed to do something about inefficiency and oppression. For its workers in the Khuzistan fields, Anglo-Iranian has built model dispensaries, schools and recreation grounds, but it has made no effort to integrate itself in the life of the country. In 1951, swimming pools and flush toilets for the oil workers make a poor substitute for a long-term policy.

In 1933, the British drew up a new 60-year oil agreement which gave Iran a royalty of four shillings to the ton. By the standards of the day, that was no more than a hard bargain by the empire, but by 1951 standards, it was exploitation. Under the agreement—still in effect—the British government got more revenue from the Anglo-Iranian Oil Co. in taxes alone than the Iranian government received from all its sources of income.

The U.S. Lesson. Britain might have avoided a lot of trouble if it had caught the lesson the U.S. learned in Mexico, where the Cardenas government in 1938 expropriated British and American oil properties after years of bickering. Standard Oil Co. (New Jersey), noting the disastrous Mexican experiment, resolved not to make the same mistake elsewhere. Its subsidiary in Venezuela, the Creole Petroleum Corp., issued orders to its executives there to become a part of the country instead of remaining representatives of an aloof "foreign interest." All company personnel was obliged to learn Spanish. Executives made it a point to get to know Venezuelan leaders socially. In 1943, Creole offered Venezuela a concession agreement guaranteeing the government 50% of each year's profits. Arabian-American Oil Co. followed the same policy in Saudi Arabia.

By 1949, when the British offered the Iranians a similar 50-50 deal, it was too late. The Iranian Parliament refused the offer.

The Prospects. For the moment, Mossadeq holds power in his frail, nervous hands. The only other Iranian politician of stature is Ahmad Qavam, who is ill in Switzerland. The young Shah, who is known to favor a go-slow policy on oil nationalization, could dissolve Parliament, dismiss Mossadeq and rule the country with his still loyal army, but all signs indicate that he does not dare try. Even the Communists have for the moment been stopped by Mossadeq's popularity. They have called off street demonstrations and other political action, evidently waiting to strike if & when Mossadeq makes a mess of things. If, for instance, large-scale unemployment should result from mismanagement of the oilfields (Anglo-Iranian employs 80,000 people), no one doubts that the Communists would make the most of the situation and attempt to seize power.

Potentially the strongest force for peace and order in Iran is the U.S. Lack of interest in Iran and the Middle East by the U.S. State Department has dissipated much of the good will that existed for the U.S.; more & more, Iranians have come to regard Americans simply as Britons without monocles. But there are signs that it is not too late for U.S. action.

After Mossadeq became Prime Minister, U.S. Ambassador Henry F. Grady shut himself up in the U.S. embassy for several days to show that he was not interfering in Iran's affairs; the Iranian press promptly attacked him for his noninterference (Iranians want the U.S. to put pressure on the British to meet Mossadeq's demands). The incident proved an important point: no matter how loudly Iranian politicos shout against foreign intervention, they would welcome U.S. intervention if they considered it in the country's favor.

Pressure from Washington. U.S. policy is to calm everyone down, "wait for the air to clear," and later get the British and Iranians together around a conference table. Washington and London still hope that the British can keep part control of Iranian oil by running the huge Abadan refinery as well as the distribution machinery, i.e., 1,718 miles of British-built pipeline and 147 British-owned tankers. The crucial issue: Mossadeq wants British technical assistance to run the fields, without strings attached; the British are willing to offer technical assistance, but only in exchange for certain concessions e.g. continued part ownership.

Last week, when Sir William Fraser, chairman of Anglo-Iranian, indicated that he was about to take a "tough" line with Mossadeq, Grady immediately cabled Washington, which put pressure on Fraser via London to be reasonable. At the same time, Grady informed the Iranians that 1) the U.S. recognized Iran's right to nationalize its resources, but 2) would not make available U.S. technicians to run the nationalized fields. Last week, limited U.S. pressure showed some limited results.

Coolness & Conciliation? London, meanwhile, had done a little more saber-rattling, announced that a crack British parachute brigade would be sent from England to Cyprus, 900 miles from Abadan. At the same time, London assured Washington—which believes that British military intervention in Iran would be a disastrous mistake—that troops would not be sent in unless it became necessary to protect British lives and property. The British also announced that they would refer the nationalization dispute to the World Court at The Hague.

In Teheran, Oilman Fraser agreed to send a representative to confer with the parliamentary oil commission "as a measure of respect to the Imperial Government and the Iranian Parliament." Reports trickled out of Parliament that some members of the commission were counseling coolness, conciliation and delay. The British still hold some cards which, if played wisely, might give Iran pause. In taking over Anglo-Iranian, the Mossadeq government has assured the British of compensation (about 25% of current oil revenues). Iran not only lacks capital to pay this, but probably will not even be able to raise the $60 million needed annually for the company's operations. Mossadeq will not compromise on anything he considers a basic issue, but even his attitude last week seemed just a shade softer.

The Swaying Step. Toward week's end, Mossadeq dressed and for the first time in thirteen days came out of seclusion, for a press conference with foreign newsmen. His blue, pin-striped suit hung loosely from his thin, haunched shoulders as he shuffled along the magnificently carpeted Parliament halls. Facing the reporters, the Prime Minister held his text in his trembling hands, started to read. After a few words he choked, his eyes filled with tears. He swayed from side to side. An aide quickly grasped his right arm to prevent him from falling. Mossadeq blew his nose, shook his head, and read on unevenly in singsong Persian. As he swayed back & forth, the aide had a hard time keeping him on his feet.

Between gasps, the Prime Minister told correspondents that Iran would "fight to the death" for oil nationalization, added: "The first step towards the country's reform is to get rid of Anglo-Iranian agents who have sacrificed the whole nation to satisfy their greed." But he showed awareness of what was at stake in Iran for the free world: "The free nations of the world who assist Iran in this struggle will not only prevent the fall of this, one of the oldest nations of the world, but by survival of this nation, the fate of the world may be altered and Western civilization saved from downfall." For the first time, he also suggested that Iran would welcome U.S. economic aid.

Ray of Hope. U.S. aid to Iran so far has been tiny, compared to Marshall Plan expenditures for Western Europe. The total to date: 1) roughly $60 million worth of military equipment, mostly U.S. surplus; 2) a $25 million loan from the Export-Import Bank, not yet drawn by Iran; 3) $500,000 under Point Four, mostly for locust-fighting equipment. A major development plan for Iran designed by a private-enterprise group of U.S. experts, Overseas Consultants, Inc. (TIME, Oct. 24, 1949), fizzled out because the Iranian government did not have the money to pay for it and the U.S. State Department did nothing to help the Iranians get it. The first ray of hope: last week President Truman asked Congress to appropriate $8.5 billion for foreign military and economic aid to help build "a defensive shield against aggression." Of this sum, $415 million would be set aside for Greece, Turkey and Iran.

Until the U.S. can develop a policy to bring the Middle East into the Western camp, no safe end is in sight to Mohammed Mossadeq's fantastic national adventure. Meanwhile, the only people to profit from the situation will be the Iranian Communists and their Soviet Russian friends. In Teheran last week, at a caviar and vodka garden party at the Russian embassy, guests noticed that Ambassador Ivan Vasilievich Sadchikov was in an unusually good mood, generally seemed the most contented man in sight.

^{*After a few trips to Europe, Nasr-ed-Din soured on Westernization. Said he: "I want men around me who do not know whether Brussels is a city or a cabbage."}