OF THE MERCHANT AND THE GENIUS.
There was formerly, Sire, a merchant, who was possessed of great wealth, in land, in merchandize, and in ready money. He had a numerous set of clerks, factors, and slaves; and, from his great extent of commerce, he was from time to time obliged to take various journeys, in order to arrange his affairs in person with his correspondents. Having one day an affair of great importance to settle at a considerable distance from home, he mounted his horse, and with only a sort of cloak-bag behind him, in which he had put a few biscuits and dates, he began his journey. This provision was absolutely necessary, as he was obliged to pass over a desert, where it was impossible to procure any kind of food. He arrived, without any accident, at the place of his destination; and having finished his business, he set out on his return.
On the fourth day of his journey, he felt himself so incommoded by the sun, and the heated surface of the earth, that he turned out of his road, in order to rest and refresh himself under some trees, which he saw at a distance. At the foot of a large walnut-tree he perceived a very transparent and cool fountain. He immediately alighted, and tying his horse to a branch of the tree, sat down on its bank; having first taken some biscuits and dates from his little store. While he was thus satisfying his hunger, he amused himself with throwing about the stones of the fruit with considerable velocity. When he had finished his frugal repast, he washed his hands, his face, and his feet, and repeated a prayer, like a good mussulman.
He had hardly made an end, and was still on his knees, when he saw a genius, white with age, and of an enormous stature, advancing towards him, with a scimitar in his hand; as soon as he was close to him, he said in a most terrible tone: “Get up, that I may kill thee with this scimitar, as thou hast caused the death of my son.” He accompanied these words with a dreadful yell. The merchant, alarmed by the horrible figure of this monster, as well as the words he heard, replied, in trembling accents, “Of what crime, my good lord, alas, can I have been guilty towards you, to deserve the loss of life?”—“I have sworn to kill thee, as thou hast slain my son.”—“Good God,” answered the merchant, “how can I have slain him? I do not know him, nor have I ever seen him?”—“Didst thou not,” replied the monster, “on your arrival here sit down, and take some dates from thy wallet; and after eating them didst thou not throw the stones about on all sides?”—“This is all true,” replied the merchant: “I do not deny it.”—“Well then,” said the other, “I tell thee, thou hast killed my son; for while thou wast throwing about the stones, my son passed by; one of them struck him in the eye, and caused his death, and thus thou hast slain my son.”—“Ah, sir, forgive me,” cried the merchant. “I have neither forgiveness nor mercy,” added the monster; “and is it not just that he who has inflicted death should suffer it?”—“I grant this; yet surely I have not done so: and even if I have, I have done so innocently, and therefore I entreat you to pardon me, and suffer me to live.”—“No, no,” cried the genius, still persisting in his resolution, “I must destroy thee, as thou hast done my son.” At these words he took the merchant in his arms, and having thrown him with his face on the ground, he lifted up his sabre, in order to strike off his head.
The merchant, in the mean time, bathed in tears, protested his innocence, and lamenting his wife and children, tried the most persuasive means to avert his fate. The genius, still holding up the sabre, waited, however, till he had ended his complaints; though it altered not his purpose. “All thy lamentations are vain,” he cried; “were thy eyes to weep blood, it should not prevent my killing thee, as thou hast slain my son.”—“Can nothing then,” replied the merchant, “soften you? Must you shed the blood of a poor innocent being?”—“Yes,” he added, “I am resolved.”
Scheherazadè, at this instant, perceiving it was day, and knowing that the sultan rose early to his prayers, and then to hold a council, broke off. “What a wonderful story,” said Dinarzadè, “have you pitched upon.”—“The conclusion,” answered Scheherazadè, “is still more surprising, as you would confess, if the sultan would suffer me to live another day, and in the morning permit me to continue the relation.”—Schahriar, who had listened with much pleasure to the narration, determined, in his own mind, to wait till to-morrow; intending to order her execution after she had finished her story. Having resolved to defer her death till the following day, he arose, and having prayed, went to the council. [2]
The grand vizier, in the mean time, was in a state of cruel suspense. Unable to sleep, he passed the night in lamenting the approaching fate of his daughter, whose executioner he was compelled to be. Dreading, therefore, in this melancholy situation, to meet the sultan, how great was his surprise in seeing him enter the council-chamber, without giving him the horrible orders he expected.
The sultan spent the day, as usual, in regulating the affairs of his kingdom, and on the approach of night retired with Scheherazadè to his apartment. The next morning, before the day appeared, Dinarzadè did not fail to remind her sister: “My dear sister,” she said, “if you are not asleep, I entreat you, before the morning breaks, to continue your story.” The sultan did not wait for Scheherazadè to ask permission, but said, “Finish the tale of the genius and the merchant: I am curious to hear the end of it.” Scheherazadè immediately went on as follows.
When the merchant, sire, perceived that the genius was about to execute his purpose, he cried aloud, “One word more, I entreat you; have the goodness to grant me a little delay; give me only time to go and take leave of my wife and children, and divide my estates among them, as I have not yet made my will, that they may not be obliged to have recourse to any legal process after my death; and when I have done this, I promise to return to this spot, and submit myself entirely to your pleasure.”—“But if I grant you the respite you demand,” replied the genius, “I fear you will not return.”—“If my oath will assure you of it,” added the merchant, “I swear by the God of heaven and earth, that I will not fail to repair thither.”—“What length of time do you require?” said the genius.—“It will take me a full year to arrange every thing, and enable me to bear, with composure, the loss of life. I therefore promise you, that you shall find me to-morrow twelvemonths under these trees, waiting to deliver myself into your hands.”—“Take thy God to witness of the promise thou hast made me,” said the other. “Again I swear,” replied he, “and you may rely on my oath.” On this the genius left him near the fountain, and immediately disappeared.
The merchant having recovered from his fright, mounted his horse, and continued his journey. But if, on the one hand, he rejoiced at escaping from the great peril he was in, he was, on the other, much distressed, when he recollected the fatal oath he had taken. When he arrived at home, his wife and family received him with signs of the greatest joy; but instead of returning their embraces, he wept so bitterly, that they supposed something very extraordinary had happened. His wife inquired the cause of his tears, and of that grief which appeared so violent. “We were rejoicing,” she said, “at your return, and you alarm us all by the situation we see you in; explain, I entreat you, the cause of your violent sorrow.”—“Alas!” he replied, “how should I feel otherwise, when I have only a year to live?” He then related to them what had passed, and that he had given his word to return, at the end of a year, to receive his death.
When they heard this melancholy tale they were in despair. The wife uttered the most lamentable groans, tearing her hair, and beating her breast; the children made the house resound with their grief; while the father, overcome by affection, mingled his tears with theirs. In short, the whole was a most affecting scene.
The next day the merchant began to settle his affairs, and first of all to pay his debts. He made many presents to his different friends, and large donations to the poor. He set at liberty many of his slaves of both sexes; divided his property among his children; appointed guardians for such as were young; and in returning to his wife all the fortune she brought him, he added as much more as the law would permit.
The year soon passed away, and he was compelled to depart. He took, in his portmanteau, the garment he wished to be buried in; but when he attempted to take leave of his wife and children, his grief quite overcame him. They could not bear his loss, and almost resolved to accompany him, and all perish together. Compelled at length to tear himself away from objects so dear, he addressed these words to them: “In leaving you, my children, I obey the command of God; imitate me, and submit, with fortitude, to this necessity. Remember, that to die is the inevitable destiny of man.” Having said this, he snatched himself away from them, and set out. He arrived at the destined spot on the very day he had promised. He got off his horse, and seating himself by the side of the fountain, with such sorrowful sensations as may easily be imagined, waited the arrival of the genius.
While he was kept in this cruel suspense, there appeared an old man leading a hind, who came near to him. Having saluted each other, the old man said, “May I ask of you, brother, what brought you to this desert place, which is so full of evil genii there is no safety. From the appearance of these trees, one might suppose it was inhabited; but it is, in fact, a solitude, where it is dangerous to stay long.”
The merchant satisfied the old man’s curiosity, and related his adventure. He listened with astonishment to the account, and having heard it, he said, “nothing in the world surely can be more surprising; and you have kept your oath inviolable! In truth I should like to be a witness to your interview with the genius.” Having said this, he sat down near the merchant, and while they were talking, another old man, followed by two black dogs, came in sight. As soon as he was near enough, he saluted them, and inquired the reason of their stay in that place. The first old man related the adventure of the merchant exactly as he had told it; and added, that this was the appointed day, and therefore he was determined to remain, in order to see the event.
The second old man, thinking it also very curious, resolved to do the same; and sitting down, joined in the conversation. He had hardly done so, when a third arrived, and addressing himself to the other two, asked, why the merchant, who was then with them, appeared so melancholy. They related the cause, which seemed to him so wonderful, that he also resolved to be witness to what passed between the genius and the merchant. He therefore sat down with them for this purpose.
They immediately perceived, towards the plain, a thick vapour or smoke, like a column of dust, raised by the wind. This vapour approached them, and then suddenly disappearing, they saw the genius, who, without noticing them, went towards the merchant with his scimitar in his hand; and taking him by the arm, “Get up,” said he, “that I may kill thee, as thou hast slain my son.” Both the merchant and the three old men were so alarmed they began to weep, and fill the air with their lamentations.
When the old man who conducted the hind saw the genius lay hold of the merchant, and about to murder him without mercy, he threw himself at the monster’s feet, and, kissing them, said, “Prince of the genii, I humbly entreat you to suspend your rage, and do me the favor to listen to me. I wish to relate my own history, and that of the hind, which you see; and if you find it more wonderful and surprising than the adventure of this merchant, whose life you wish to take, may I not hope that you will at least remit a third part of the punishment of this unfortunate man.” After meditating some time, the genius answered, “Well then, I agree to it.”