The Story of the Scholar

An old scholar in a threadbare, tight coat came and took a seat in the judge's hall. The judge looked him over sharply, then had an usher tug his sleeve: get up. Don't you know this high seat isn't yours? Sit lower, or leave, or stand where you are. Not everyone deserves the place of honor; dignity goes with rank, and a seat with one's worth. Why should anyone have to see you again? This one embarrassment is punishment enough. Whoever sits humbly in a lower place is never toppled from high to low in disgrace. Don't act bold in the seats of the great; if your grip has no strength, don't play the lion. When that wise, shabby-looking man saw that his fortune had turned to a quarrel the moment he sat and rose, the poor man, like a fire, gave off smoke; he sank down to a place below the one he'd had. The scholars set about their disputes, throwing out their 'why nots' and 'I don't concede.' They flung the doors of strife wide open, craning their necks over 'no' and 'yes.' You'd have said fighting cocks had fallen upon each other with beak and claw. One, beside himself with rage, was like a drunk; another slammed both hands on the ground. They fell into a knot so tangled they found no way at all to undo it. The one in the worn coat, in the very back row, roared out like a lion in his den. He said: You champions of the Prophet's law, versed in scripture, jurisprudence, and its roots, you need strong, meaningful arguments, not bulging neck-veins to prove your case. I too can play this game, I have my mallet and ball. They said: If you know it well, then speak. With the pen of eloquence, whatever he said engraved itself on hearts like a seal on a ring. He led them from the alley of surface up to meaning, and struck his pen through their empty claims. From every side they cried out praise: A thousand bravos to your mind and nature! He rode the steed of speech so far ahead that the judge was left stuck like a donkey in mud. The judge came down from his high seat and, with honor and kindness, sent his own turban forward to him. Saying: Alas, I failed to know your worth, and did not welcome your arrival as I should. It pains me that a man of such substance should be seen by me in so low a rank. The usher came to him warmly, meaning to set the judge's turban on his head. With hand and tongue he refused: Keep away! Don't lay the shackle of vanity on my head. For tomorrow, with a turban five yards wide, I'd grow haughty toward the old, plain-clothed men. Once they call me 'master' and 'great eminence,' people would look small in my eyes. Does pure water ever change whether its jug is gold or clay? A man needs wisdom and brains in his head; I don't need a fine turban like yours. No one amounts to anything by a big head; the gourd has a big head too, and no brain. Don't hold your neck high for turban and beard; the turban is only cotton, the whiskers only weeds. Those who only look like men, in appearance, had better keep their mouths shut. One should seek a place to match one's merit; don't be lofty and ill-omened like Saturn. The reed mat gains nothing from height; sugarcane's virtue lies within it, not its stature. With such intellect and spirit, I wouldn't even call you 'you,' even if a hundred servants trailed behind you. How well the cowrie shell spoke, lying in the mud, when a greedy fool picked it up: No one will ever buy me for anything; don't foolishly wrap me in silk. A dung-beetle is worth exactly what it is, even if it settles among the poppies. The rich man is no better than anyone for his wealth; if a donkey wears a silk saddlecloth, it's still a donkey. In this way the quick, eloquent man washed the grudge from his heart with the water of words. Words come down hard on a wounded heart; when your rival has fallen, don't go soft. When you have the chance, strike out your enemy's brains, for the moment washes the dust of grief from the heart. The judge stayed so trapped by his onslaught that he said: Truly this is a hard day. In astonishment he bit his hands, and his eyes stayed fixed on the man like the twin stars. Then the young man turned his high-minded face away, walked out, and no one found a trace of him again. An uproar rose from the notables of the assembly: Where does such a bold-eyed man come from? The chief usher went after him and ran everywhere: Who has seen a man of this manner and look? Someone said: Of such a sweet-souled sort, in this city we know only Saadi. A hundred thousand bravos to the one who said this; see how sweetly he spoke the bitter truth.