Instead of returning any answer to her sister, Scheherazadè addressed these words to the sultan; “Will your majesty permit me to indulge my sister in her request?”—“Freely,” replied he. Scheherazadè then desired her sister to attend, and, addressing herself to the sultan, began as follows.
THE STORY
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.