Who knows the story of Abu Kasem and his slippers? The slippers were as famous--yea, proverbial--in the Bagdad of his time as the great miser and money-grubber himself. Everybody regarded them as the visible sign of his unpalatable greed. For Abu Kasem was rich and tried to hide the fact; and even the shabbiest beggar in town would have been ashamed to be caught dead in such slippers as he wore--they were so shingled with bits and pieces. A thorn in the flesh and an old story to every cobbler in Bagdad, they became at last a byword on the tongues of the populace. Anybody wishing a term to express the preposterous would bring them in.
Attired in these miserable things--which were inseparable from his public character--the celebrated businessman would go shuffling through the bazaar. One day he struck a singularly fortunate bargain: a huge consignment of little crystal bottles that he managed to buy for a song. Then a few days later he capped the deal by purchasing a large supply of attar of roses from a bankrupt perfume merchant. The combination made a really good business stroke, and was much discussed in the bazaar. Anybody else would have celebrated the occasion in the usual way, with a little banquet for a few business acquaintances. Abu Kasem, however, was prompted to do something for himself. He decided to pay a visit to the public baths, a place where he had not been seen for quite some time.
In the anteroom, where the clothes and shoes are left, he met an acquaintance, who took him aside and delivered him a lecture on the state of his slippers. He had just set these down, and everyone could see how impossible they were. His friend spoke with great concern about making himself the laughingstock of the town; such a clever businessman should be able to afford a pair of decent slippers. Abu Kasem studied the monstrosities of which he had grown so fond. Then he said: "I have been considering the matter for many years; but they are really not so worn that I cannot use them." Whereupon the two, undressed as they were, went in to bathe.
While the miser was enjoying his rare treat, the Cadi of Bagdad also arrived to take a bath. Abu Kasem finished before the exalted one, and returned to the changing room to dress. But where were his slippers? They had disappeared, and in their place, or almost in their place, was a different pair--beautiful, shiny, apparently brand new. Might these be a surprise present from that friend, who could no longer bear to see his wealthier acquaintance going around in worn-out shreds, and wished to ingratiate himself with a prosperous man by a delicate attention? Whatever the explanation, Abu Kasem drew them on. They would save him the trouble of shopping and bargaining for a new pair. Reflecting thus, and with conscience clear, he quit the baths.
When the judge returned, there was a scene. His slaves hunted high and low, but could not find his slippers. In their place was a disgusting pair of tattered objects, which everyone immediately recognized as the well-known footgear of Abu Kasem. The judge breathed out fire and brimstone, sent for the culprit, and locked him up--the court servant actually found the missing property on the miser's feet. And it cost the old fellow plenty to pry himself loose from the clutches of the law; for the court knew as well as everyone else how rich he was. But at least he got his dear old slippers back again.
Sad and sorry, Abu Kasem returned home, and
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