THE OLD PAIR OF SLIPPERS.
There was at Bagdad a merchant very notorious for his avarice, and his name was Abou-Cassem-Tambouri. Although he was enormously rich, his clothes were constantly in rags and tatters, and his turban, made of coarse stuff, was so dirty that its colour could no longer be distinguished. Of all his garments, however, his slippers were the most remarkable; the soles were kept together by large, clumsy nails, and the upper leathers were pieced in every direction. The famous ship Argo was not made up of a greater number of separate fragments. During the ten years of their existence as slippers, the cleverest cobblers of Bagdad had exerted their utmost skill to tag together their remains, and had only succeeded by adding piece on piece, by which means they had become so heavy, that they had passed into a proverb; and when any one wished to describe something weighty, the slippers of Cassem were always the object of comparison.
One day, when this merchant was taking a walk in the great bazaar of the city, a proposal was made to him to buy a considerable quantity of glass; he agreed to the offer, because it was an advantageous one; and having heard a few days afterwards, that a perfumer who had fallen into difficulties had nothing left but some rose-water, which he would of course be obliged to sell as speedily as possible, Cassem took advantage of the poor man's misfortune, and purchased it at less than half its value. This successful stroke of business had put him into good humour, and instead of giving a great feast, according to the custom of Eastern merchants, when they have made an excellent bargain, he thought it better to take a bath, a luxury which he had not enjoyed for a long time.
Whilst he was taking off his clothes, one of his friends, or at least one who pretended to be a friend—for it is a rare thing for a miser to have one—remarked to him that his slippers made him the laughing-stock of the whole city, and that he certainly ought to purchase a new pair.
"I have long thought of doing so," replied Cassem; "but my old ones are not so very bad, and will last me for some time even yet." While talking, he stripped off his clothes, and entered the bath.
At this juncture the cadi of Bagdad came also to take one. Cassem, having finished his bath before the judge, went into the first apartment, where he found his clothes, but not his slippers, which had disappeared, and in their place was a new pair, which our miser was convinced were a present from the man who had made him such a friendly remonstrance about them. With that he made no more ado, but put the new pair on his own feet, thus sparing himself the pain of buying new ones, and left the bath overjoyed with his prize.
When the cadi had finished his bath, his slaves looked about in vain, for their master's slippers, and finding only a wretched pair, which were immediately recognized as Cassem's, the police ran after the supposed sharper, and brought him back with the stolen goods upon his feet. The cadi, after having exchanged the slippers, sent Cassem to prison; and, as he was well known to be rich as well as avaricious, he was not allowed to come out of prison until he had paid a handsome fine.
On returning home the afflicted Cassem threw his slippers, in a rage, into the Tigris, which flowed beneath his windows. A few days after, some fishermen, drawing up a net heavier than usual, found in it Cassem's slippers. The nails, with which they had been patched, had broken the meshes of the net. The fishermen, out of spite to Cassem and his slippers, threw them into his room by the open window, and in their passage they struck the bottles containing the rose-water, and knocking them down, the bottles were broken and the water totally lost.
The grief and wrath of Cassem on seeing this may easily be conceived. He cursed his slippers, and tearing out the hair from his beard, vowed that they should cause him no more mischief; and so saying, he took a spade, and digging a hole in his garden, buried them there.
One of his neighbours, however, who had borne him a grudge for a long time, perceived him turning up the earth, and ran and told the governor that Cassem had dug up a treasure in his garden. This was enough to excite the cupidity of the officer, and he sent forthwith for Cassem. In vain our miser declared that he had not found money, that he was only employed in burying his slippers. The governor had calculated on his bribe, and the afflicted Cassem could only regain his liberty by paying down a second large sum.
Our friend, in an extremity of despair, consigned his slippers to Shitan[10], and went and threw them into an aqueduct at some distance from the city, thinking that this time he should hear no more of them. But as though the evil spirit he had invoked was determined to play him a trick, the slippers somehow found their way just to the very pipe of the aqueduct, by this means preventing the flowing of the water. The persons who had the care of the aqueduct having gone to ascertain the cause of the stoppage, and to remove it, carried Cassem's slippers to the governor of the city, declaring them to be the cause of all the injury. Their unfortunate owner was thrown again into prison, and condemned to pay a larger fine than before. The governor who had punished the offence, and who pretended to be indebted to no one for any thing, returned Cassem's precious slippers to him again most faithfully; and Cassem, in order to free himself from all the evils which they had brought upon him, resolved to burn them. As they were saturated with water, he first of all put them out to dry in the sun on the terrace of his house. But Cassem's evil genius had not yet quite done with his tricks, and the last which he played him was the worst of all.
[10] The Devil.
A neighbour's dog prowling along the terrace on the housetops spied out the slippers, and, darting at them, carried off one of them. As, however, the dog was playing with it, and tossing it about, he contrived to let it fall off the terrace on to the head of a woman who happened to be passing below. The fright and the violence of the blow together, made the poor woman quite ill; and her husband having carried his complaint before the cadi, Cassem was condemned to pay a fine proportionate to the misfortune of which he had been the cause. Going home, he took up his slippers, and returned to the cadi with them in his hands.
"My lord," he exclaimed with a vehemence which excited the judge's laughter, "my lord, look at the fatal cause of all my troubles! These abominable slippers have at length reduced me to poverty; be pleased now to issue a decree, in order that the misfortunes which they will, no doubt, still continue to occasion, may not be imputed to me."
The cadi could not refuse to comply with this request, and Cassem learned, at great expense, the danger there is in not changing one's slippers often enough.
The vizir listened to this story with such a serious countenance that Bedreddin was astonished.
"Atalmulc," he said, "you are of a strange disposition; you seem always sad and melancholy. During ten years that you have been in my service I have never seen the slightest sign of pleasure on your countenance."
"May it please your majesty," replied the vizir, "you need not be surprised at it; all have their secret sorrows; there is no man on earth who is exempt from them."
"Your remark is surely untrue," replied the king. "Do you mean to say that all men have some secret anxiety preying on their minds, because you appear in that state? Do you really believe this to be the truth?"
"Yes, your majesty," replied Atalmulc; "such is the condition of all the children of Adam; our bosoms are incapable of enjoying perfect ease. Judge of others by yourself. Is your majesty quite contented?"
"Oh, as to me," exclaimed Bedreddin, "that is impossible! I have enemies to deal with—the weight of an empire on my hands—a thousand cares to distract my thoughts, and disturb the repose of my life; but I am convinced that there are in the world a vast number of persons whose days run on in unruffled enjoyment."
The vizir Atalmulc, however, pertinaciously adhered to what he had stated, so that the king, seeing him so strongly attached to his opinion, said to him:
"If no one is exempt from vexation, all the world, at any rate, is not like you, wholly overcome by affliction. You have made me, however, very curious to know what it is that has rendered you so pensive and sorrowful; tell me therefore the reason of your melancholy."
"I shall comply with your majesty's wish," replied the vizir, "and reveal the cause of my secret cares to you, by relating the history of my life."