The Merchant

A poor merchant strikes a fortune and buys a beautiful estate out in the country. It has every luxury he could require, and at first, the merchant is enraptured with the place. After living on the estate for a short while, he goes back to town and happens to run into an old friend.

They get to talking, and the merchant’s friend congratulates him on his new fortune and estate. To the friend’s surprise, the merchant disparages his new mansion. He bemoans the lengthy trip to and from the estate—everything is so far away!—and grumbles about the heavy gate at the edge of the property—it’s so cumbersome!—before complaining about how hard it is to keep up with the latest fashions.

The merchant’s friend, who respectfully nods throughout the tirade, looks down at his ratty, torn-up shoes. Across from his own feet stand the merchant’s, clad in fine leather boots.

“Oh, you see these boots?” The merchant lifts one leg up to showcase his footwear. “Antelope leather. One of a kind!”

“Very nice,” says the merchant’s friend.

“Well, they hurt like hell! The toe is far too narrow, I’ll tell you that.”

The two friends continue their conversation, but the merchant soon returns to his groaning.

“Isn’t this all so horrible?” the merchant whines. “I’ve got more problems than ever!”

The merchant’s friend raises his gaze and eyes the pristine carriage awaiting the merchant in the background. He recalls the filth and the throngs of people of the quarter they grew up in.

“I don’t know,” the merchant’s friend says, “maybe it isn’t all so bad. You sure look like you’re doing well for yourself.”

The merchant waves his hand dismissively.

“Ah,” he replies, “you can’t understand what I’ve got to deal with! Your life is so simple here in the city.”

The conversation ends shortly afterward, and the friends shake hands before they take leave of each other. They part ways, but before the merchant can get into his carriage, his old friend stops him with a shout.

“Say,” the friend calls, “who bought those boots for you?”

“Well, I bought them myself,” the merchant says.

“And who put your feet into them this morning?”

The merchant raises an eyebrow. “I did.”

“And who called such a beautiful carriage for you to drive all the way into the city?”

“No one called this carriage,” the merchant huffs. “This is my own vehicle!”

“And remind me, good friend, who dragged you out to that country estate of yours?”

“What are you getting at?” the merchant postures. “Are you trying to provoke me?”

“No, dear merchant, I would never wish to injure you so. I simply ask these questions to ensure that you are in no danger, that no one is forcing an unwelcome condition upon you against your will. Now that I see that you are free from harm, I bid you a safe journey home.”

With that, the merchant’s friend turns on a heel and walks off, leaving the merchant sputtering on the step of his carriage.

That night, the merchant travels home in his decorated carriage, cursing the distance the whole way. His friend, meanwhile, sits in front of a warm fire, a small loaf of bread in his hand.

Only one man greets sleep with a smile on his face.