Reb David Moshe of Chortkov used to relate how Mayer Amschel Rothschild, the founding father of the dynasty of magnates, rose to his legendary opulence by virtue of an incident that took place one year on the 14th of Nissan, during the annual household search for chametz (leaven) on the evening before Seder night.

In his youth, Mayer Amschel was an attendant of Reb Zvi Hirsch of Chortkov, the father of Reb Shmelke of Nikolsburg. In due course he married a young woman from Siniatin, where he set up in merchandising and prospered somewhat.

Now Reb Zvi Hirsch had saved up 500 gold ducats as a dowry for his daughter. Throughout the year he hardly ever opened the desk drawer where it was kept - except for the eve of the 14th of Nissan, when in the course of the search of chametz he opened it up. When this occasion came around for the first time after Mayer Amschel had left the household and married, the rabbi duly opened the drawer, and was horrified to find that the wallet containing his entire savings had disappeared.

The members of his household hastily decided that the thief could be no other than Mayer Amschel. They cited reports that he had opened a shop and was prospering - indisputable evidence that he was the thief, no doubt about it!

The rabbi repeatedly silenced their arguments, and reprimanded them for succumbing to the Jewish prohibition of suspecting the innocent. Had they themselves not been witness to his honest and God-fearing ways during the period of his employment with them? But they gave him no rest, until eventually he was compelled to make a reluctant journey to Siniatin. On opening his door and beholding his former employer whom he so much admired and esteemed, the young man rejoiced exceedingly, and showed the rabbi every mark of respect.

With heavy heart and faltering spirit, Reb Zvi Hirsch recounted his misfortune to his trusted former attendant, and through the discreetest of hints intimated to him that they suspected him.

"They are right," Mayer Amschel was quick to confess, "I took the money. At the moment, though, I have at hand only about 200 ducats, which I will return to you at once. The rest I will return within a short time."

The rabbi returned home with a double measure of relief - firstly, because the members of his family had not wrongly suspected an innocent party, and secondly, because the missing amount was now being returned to him. And in fact it all reached him in due course, in periodic installments.

In fact, however, the young man had stolen nothing. This is how it all came about.

As Pesach approached, a maid from one of the nearby villages had been hired to whitewash the house of the rabbi. The locked drawer in his study fascinated her intensely. She contrived to secure a key, and in due course presented the bulging wallet to her admiring spouse. For a long time he kept it well-hidden, but when he was satisfied that the whole matter had no doubt been forgotten - and besides, it was high time to begin to enjoy this windfall - he took one ducat with him on his next visit to the local tavern, and ordered vodka in plenty for himself and all his cronies. When it was time to pay, he slapped the gold ducat expansively on the counter and said to the innkeeper: "Look what I found! Here, take it to town and have it exchanged. Keep what I owe you for the drinks and give me the change."

This he did. The next week again, the humble hostelry rang loudly in the wake of this peasant's generosity, and when the local yokels all caroused a third time, he again paid with a gold ducat that he had found.

The innkeeper was no fool. He went off quietly to the Polish governor and passed on his suspicions.

"Next time he comes around," advised the governor, "surround him on all sides with his favorite drinking companions, and fill him up till he's dead drunk. Then we'll hear the truth! As they say, 'In flow the spirits, out flow the secrets.'"

The next time came soon enough, and by now the rustic's quickly-growing circle of friends were intensely inquisitive: where had he found all those ducats? And so it was that he confided the whole story of his wife's little escapade to a couple of dozen eager and red-nosed listeners, mentioning for good measure exactly where the treasure now lay buried.

The innkeeper took along a group of witnesses to the governor, and on hearing their testimony he sent off his henchmen to dig in the peasant's backyard. There they duly found just a few ducats less than 500.

They bound and shackled him and hauled him off unceremoniously to the governor's castle, where he confessed.

The governor now sent for the rabbi. Quaking, the unfortunate scholar prepared himself for the worst: for who could know what new problem awaited?

Surprisingly, though, the governor asked him instead how many children he had, how much he earned weekly, and so on - and the rabbi of course answered.

Then came the following question: "And how do you plan to marry off your daughter?"

The rabbi thereupon told him about the 500 ducats that he had saved up, and that had been stolen; and on being asked further questions, he described the wallet in which the money had been kept. Fully convinced, the governor promptly handed it over to its rightful owner, and told him of the episodes in the local tavern.

So it was that the rabbi returned to his home with mixed feelings - joyful at the discovery that his former employee was indeed an upright man, and grieved that he had suspected him.

He immediately set out for Siniatin and asked the young man what on earth had prompted him to admit to an offense which he had not committed, and to return a sum which he had not stolen. Mayer Amschel's explanation was simple enough. He had seen at their previous meeting that his former master was deeply distressed, and had gathered that if he were to return to his family with empty hands, both he and they would be in even deeper anguish. He had therefore decided on the spot to say that he had stolen the money. He gave away his entire fortune at the time in order to give the rabbi some peace of mind, and had then sold and mortgaged whatever he owned in order to make up the required amount.

Amazed, the rabbi begged his forgiveness for having once suspected him. He returned the money, and gave him a blessing that Heaven should grant abounding riches to him and to his seed after him, for many generations.

Amschel grew to be prodigiously wealthy, the father of the opulent House of Rothschild.