“Solomon, Solomon,” cried the Genius, “great prophet of God, pardon, I pray. I will never more oppose your will; but will obey all your commands.”
The fisherman, Sire, had no sooner heard these words spoken by the Genius, than he regained his courage, and said, “Proud spirit, what is this you say? Solomon the prophet of the most High has been dead more than eighteen hundred years. Inform me, I pray, of your history, and on what account you were shut up in this vase?”
To this speech the Genius, looking disdainfully at the fisherman, answered, “Speak more civilly; thou art very bold to call me a proud spirit.”—“Perhaps then,” returned the fisherman, “it will be more civil to call you an owl of good luck.”—“I tell thee,” said the Genius, “speak to me more civilly, before I kill thee.”—“And for what reason, pray, will you kill me?” answered the fisherman, “Have you already forgotten, that I have set you at liberty?”—“I remember it very well,” returned he, “but that shall not prevent my destroying thee, and I will only grant thee one favour.”—“And pray what is that?” said the fisherman.—“It is,” replied the Genius, “to permit thee to choose the manner of thy death.”—“But in what” added the other, “have I offended you? Is it thus you wish to recompense me for the good I have done you?”—“I can treat thee no otherwise,” said the Genius, “and, to convince thee of it, attend to my history.
“I am one of those spirits who rebelled against the sovereignty of God. All the other Genii acknowledged the great Solomon, the prophet of God, and submitted to him. Sacar and myself were the only ones who were above humbling ourselves. In order to revenge himself, this powerful monarch charged Assaf, the son of Barakhia, his first minister, to come and seize me. This was done; and Assaf took and brought me, in spite of myself, before the throne of the king, his master.
“Solomon, the son of David, commanded me to quit my mode of life, acknowledge his authority, and submit to his laws. I haughtily refused to obey him; and rather exposed myself to his resentment, than take the oath of fidelity and submission, which he required of me. In order, therefore, to punish me, he enclosed me in this copper vase; and to prevent my forcing my way out, he put upon the leaden cover the impression of his seal, on which the great name of God is engraven. This done, he gave the vase to one of those Genii who obeyed him, and ordered him to throw me into the sea; which, to my great sorrow, was performed directly.
“During the first period of my captivity, I swore, that if any one delivered me before the first hundred years were passed, I would make him rich even after his death. The time elapsed, and no one assisted me: during the second century I swore, that if any released me, I would discover to him all the treasures of the earth; still I was not more fortunate. During the third, I promised to make my deliverer a most powerful monarch, to be always hovering near him, and to grant him every day any three requests he chose. This age too, like the former, passed away, and I remained in the same situation. Enraged, at last, to be so long a prisoner, I swore, that I would without mercy kill whoever should in future release me, and the only favour I would grant him, should be to choose what manner of death he pleased. Since, therefore, thou hast come here to-day, and hast delivered me, fix upon whatever kind of death thou wilt.”
The fisherman was much afflicted at this speech. “How unfortunate,” he exclaimed, “am I, to come here and render so great a service to such an ungrateful object! Consider, I entreat you, of your injustice; and revoke so unreasonable an oath. Pardon me, and God will in like manner pardon you. If you generously suffer me to live, he will defend you from all attempts that may be made against your life.”—“No,” answered the Genius, “thy death is sure; determine only how I shall kill thee.”—The fisherman was in great distress, and finding him thus resolved on his death, not so much on his own account as on that of his three children, whose wretched state they greatly deplored, when they would be reduced by his death. He still endeavoured to appease the Genius. “Alas!” he cried, “have pity on me, in consideration of what I have done for you.”—“I have already told thee,” replied the Genius, “that it is for that very reason that I am obliged to take thy life.”—“It is very strange,” added the fisherman, “that you are determined to return evil for good. The proverb says, that he who does good to him that does not deserve it, is always ill rewarded. I did think, I own, that it was false, because nothing is more contrary to reason, and the rights of society: yet I cruelly find it too true.”—“Let us lose no time,” cried the Genius, “your arguments will not alter my resolution. Make haste, and tell me how you wish to die.”
Necessity is the spur to invention; and the fisherman thought of a stratagem. “Since then,” said he, “I cannot escape death, I submit to the will of God; but before I choose the sort of death, I conjure you, by the great name of God, which is graven upon the seal of the prophet Solomon, the son of David, answer me truly to a question I am going to put to you.” When the Genius found that he should be compelled to answer positively, he trembled, and said to the fisherman, “Ask what thou wilt, and make haste.”
The Genius had no sooner promised to speak the truth, than the fisherman said to him, “I wish to know whether you really were in that vase; dare you swear it by the great name of God?”—“Yes,” answered the Genius, “I do swear by the great name of God, that I most certainly was.”—“In truth,” replied the fisherman, “I cannot believe you. This vase cannot contain one of your feet; how then can it hold your whole body?”—“I swear to thee, notwithstanding,” replied he, “that I was there just as thou seest me. Wilt thou not believe me after the solemn oath I have taken?”—“No truly,” added the fisherman, “I shall not believe you, unless I were to see it.”
Immediately the form of the Genius began to change into smoke, and extended itself as before over both the shore and the sea; and then, collecting itself, began to enter the vase, and continued to do so in a slow and equal manner, till nothing remained without. A voice immediately issued forth, saying, “Now then, thou credulous fisherman, dost thou believe me now I am in the vase?” But instead of answering the Genius, he immediately took the leaden cover, and put it on the vase. “Genius,” he cried, “it is now your turn to ask pardon, and choose what sort of death is most agreeable to you. But no, it is better that I should throw you again into the sea, and I will build on the very spot where you are cast, a house upon the shore, in which I will live, to warn all fishermen that shall come and throw their nets, not to fish up so wicked a Genius as you are, who make an oath to kill him who shall set you at liberty.”