by Ben Holden
The Arabian Nights is primarily a book about storytelling. It’s a collection that celebrates the power of stories to lead experience, and many of them, like the story of the Greek King and the Physician Duban, issue warnings about comeuppances of dishonest brokers and the punishments that will befall them. As with fairy tales, the stories warn against bad faith, cruelty and capriciousness, promising that eventually, fortune will favour the downtrodden, the poor, and the wrongfully accused. But this narrative therapy isn’t soothing. These aren’t sleepy-making bedtime stories, and they don’t shrink from scenes of violence and horror. This particular tale of posthumous vengeance is a story of cunning rough justice and one of the shapeliest in the Nights: revenge is wishful thinking, as well as a powerful source of reader and listener’s pleasure (though some disapprove of this effect). The plot has had a long afterlife, and inspired, for example, Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. In the world of the story, at least, the treacherous tyrant gets his due.
The Tale of King Yunan and the Sage Duban
(from The Arabian Nights)
There was once a king called Yunan, who reigned in one of the cities of Persia, in the province of Zuman. This king was afflicted with leprosy, which had defied the physicians and the sages, who, for all the medicines they gave him to drink and all the ointments they applied, were unable to cure him. One day there came to the city of King Yunan a sage called Duban. This sage had read all sorts of books, Greek, Persian, Turkish, Arabic, Byzantine, Syriac, and Hebrew, had studied the sciences, and had learned their groundwork, as well as their principles and basic benefits. Thus he was versed in all the sciences, from philosophy to the lore of plants and herbs, the harmful as well as the beneficial. A few days after he arrived in the city of King Yunan, the sage heard about the king and his leprosy and the fact that the physicians and the sages were unable to cure him. On the following day, when God’s morning dawned and His sun rose, the sage Duban put on his best clothes, went to King Yunan and, introducing himself, said, ‘Your Majesty, I have heard of that which has afflicted your body and heard that many physicians have treated you without finding a way to cure you. Your Majesty, I can treat you without giving you any medicine to drink or ointment to apply.’ When the king heard this, he said, ‘If you succeed, I will bestow on you riches that would be enough for you and your grandchildren. I will bestow favours on you, and I will make you my companion and friend.’ The king bestowed robes of honour on the sage, treated him kindly, and then asked him, ‘Can you really cure me from my leprosy without any medicine to drink or ointment to apply?’ The sage replied, ‘Yes, I will cure you externally.’ The king was astonished, and he began to feel respect as well as great affection for the sage. He said, ‘Now, sage, do what you have promised.’ The sage replied, ‘I hear and obey. I will do it tomorrow morning, the Almighty God willing.’ Then the sage went to the city, rented a house, and there he distilled and extracted medicines and drugs. Then with his great knowledge and skill, he fashioned a mallet with a curved end, hollowed the mallet, as well as the handle, and filled the handle with his medicines and drugs. He likewise made a ball. When he had perfected and prepared everything, he went on the following day to King Yunan and kissed the ground before him . . .
He asked him to ride to the playground to play with the ball and mallet. The king rode out, attended by his chamberlains, princes, viziers, and lords and eminent men of the realm. When the king was seated, the sage Duban entered, offered him the mallet, and said, ‘O happy King, take this mallet, hold it in your hand, and as you race on the playground, hold the grip tightly in your fist, and hit the ball. Race until you perspire, and the medicine will ooze from the grip into your perspiring hand, spread to your wrist, and circulate through your entire body. After you perspire and the medicine spreads in your body, return to your royal palace, take a bath, and go to sleep. You will wake up cured, and that is all there is to it.’ King Yunan took the mallet from the sage Duban and mounted his horse. The attendants threw the ball before the king, who, holding the grip tightly in his fist, followed it and struggled excitedly to catch up with it and hit it. He kept galloping after the ball and hitting it until his palm and the rest of his body began to perspire, and the medicine began to ooze from the handle and flow through his entire body. When the sage Duban was certain that the medicine had oozed and spread through the king’s body, he advised him to return to his palace and go immediately to the bath. The king went to the bath and washed himself thoroughly. Then he put on his clothes, left the bath, and returned to his palace.
As for the sage Duban, he spent the night at home, and early in the morning, he went to the palace and asked for permission to see the king. When he was allowed in, he entered and kissed the ground before the king; then, pointing toward him with his hand, he began to recite the following verses:
The virtues you fostered are great;
For who but you could sire them?
Yours is the face whose radiant light
Effaces the night dark and grim.
Forever beams your radiant face;
That of the world is still in gloom.
You rained on us with ample grace,
As the clouds rain on thirsty hills,
Expending your munificence,
Attaining your magnificence.
When the sage Duban finished reciting these verses, the king stood up and embraced him. Then he seated the sage beside him, and with attentiveness and smiles, engaged him in conversation. Then the king bestowed on the sage robes of honour, gave him gifts and endowments, and granted his wishes. For when the king had looked at himself the morning after the bath, he found that his body was clear of leprosy, as clear and pure as silver. He therefore felt exceedingly happy and in a very generous mood. Thus when he went in the morning to the reception hall and sat on his throne, attended by the Mamluks and chamberlains, in the company of the viziers and the lords of the realm, and the sage Duban presented himself, as we have mentioned, the king stood up, embraced him, and seated him beside him. He treated him attentively and drank and ate with him . . .
King Yunan bestowed favours on the sage, gave him robes of honour, and granted his wishes. At the end of the day he gave the sage a thousand dinars and sent him home. The king, who was amazed at the skill of the sage Duban, said to himself, ‘This man has treated me externally, without giving me any draught to drink or ointment to apply. His is indeed a great wisdom for which he deserves to be honoured and rewarded. He shall become my companion, confidant, and close friend.’ Then the king spent the night, happy at his recovery from his illness, at his good health, and at the soundness of his body . . .
In the morning, the king went to the royal reception hall, and the princes and viziers came to stand in attendance. It happened that King Yunan had a vizier who was sinister, greedy, envious, and fretful, and when he saw that the sage had found favour with the king, who bestowed on him much money and many robes of honour, he feared that the king would dismiss him and appoint the sage in his place; therefore, he envied the sage and harboured ill will against him, for nobody is free from envy. The envious vizier approached the king and, kissing the ground before him, said, ‘O excellent King and glorious Lord, it was by your kindness and with your blessing that I rose to prominence; therefore, if I fail to advise you on a grave matter, I am not my father’s son. If the great King and noble Lord commands, I shall disclose the matter to him.’ The king was upset and asked, ‘Damn you, what advice have you got?’ The vizier replied, ‘Your Majesty, “He who considers not the end, fortune is not his friend.” I have seen your Majesty make a mistake, for you have bestowed favours on your enemy who has come to destroy your power and steal your wealth. Indeed, you have pampered him and shown him many favours, but I fear that he will do you harm.’ The king asked, ‘Whom do you accuse, whom do you have in mind, and at whom do you point the finger?’ The vizier replied, ‘If you are asleep, wake up, for I point the finger at the sage Duban, who has come from Byzantium.’ The ki
ng replied, ‘Damn you, is he my enemy? To me he is the most faithful, the dearest, and the most favoured of people, for this sage has treated me simply by making me hold something in my hand and has cured me from the disease that had defied the physician and the sages and rendered them helpless. In all the world, east and west, near and far, there is no one like him, yet you accuse him of such a thing. From this day onward, I will give him every month a thousand dinars, in addition to his rations and regular salary. Even if I were to share my wealth and my kingdom with him, it would be less than he deserves. I think that you have said what you said because you envy him . . . you, being envious of this wise man, would like me to kill him and regret it afterward.’
When the vizier heard what King Yunan said, he replied, ‘O great King, what harm has this sage done to me? Why, he has not harmed me in any way. I am telling you all this out of love and fear for you.’ . . . The vizier added, ‘Your Majesty, if you trust, befriend, and bestow favours on this sage, he will plot to destroy you and cause your death. Your Majesty should realize that I know for certain that he is a foreign agent who has come to destroy you. Haven’t you seen that he cured you externally, simply with something you held in your hand?’ King Yunan, who was beginning to feel angry, replied, ‘You are right, vizier. The sage may well be what you say and may have come to destroy me. He who has cured me with something to hold can kill me with something to smell.’ Then the king asked the vizier, ‘My vizier and good counsellor, how should I deal with him?’ The vizier replied, ‘Send for him now and have him brought before you, and when he arrives, strikes off his head. In this way, you will attain your aim and fulfil your wish.’ The king said, ‘This is good and sound advice.’ Then he sent for the sage Duban, who came immediately, still feeling happy at the favours, the money, and the robes the king had bestowed on him. When he entered, he pointed with his hand toward the king and began to recite the following verses:
If I have been remiss in thanking you,
For whom then have I made my verse and prose?
You granted me your gifts before I asked,
Without deferment and without excuse.
How can I fail to praise your noble deeds,
Inspired in private and in public by my muse?
I thank you for your deeds and for your gifts,
Which, though they bend my back, my care reduce.
The king asked, ‘Sage, do you know why I have had you brought before me?’ The sage replied, ‘No, your Majesty.’ The king said, ‘I brought you here to have you killed and to destroy the breath of life within you.’ In astonishment, Duban asked, ‘Why does your Majesty wish to have me put to death, and for what crime?’ The king replied, ‘I have been told that you are a spy and that you have come to kill me. Today I will have you killed before you kill me. “I will have you for lunch before you have me for dinner.” Then the king called for the executioner and ordered him, saying, ‘Strike off the head of this sage and rid me of him! Strike!’
When the sage heard what the king said, he knew that because he had been favoured by the king, someone had envied him, plotted against him, and lied to the king, in order to have him killed and get rid of him. The sage realized then that the king had little wisdom, judgment, or good sense, and he was filled with regret, when it was useless to regret. He said to himself, ‘There is no power and no strength, save in God the Almighty, the Magnificent. I did a good deed but was rewarded with an evil one.’ In the meantime, the king was shouting at the executioner, ‘Strike off his head.’ The sage implored, ‘Spare me, your Majesty, and God will spare you; destroy me and God will destroy you.’ King Yunan said to the sage, ‘Sage, you must die, for you have cured me with a mere handle, and I fear that you can kill me with anything.’ The sage replied, ‘This is my reward from your Majesty. You reward good with evil.’ The king said, ‘Don’t stall; you must die today without delay.’ When the sage Duban became convinced that he was going to die, he was filled with grief and sorrow, and his eyes overflowed with tears. He blamed himself for doing a favour for one who does not deserve it and for sowing seeds in a barren soil.
Then the sage added, ‘Is this my reward from your Majesty? It is like the reward of the crocodile.’ The king asked, ‘What is the story of the crocodile?’ The sage replied, ‘I am in no condition to tell you a story. For God’s sake, spare me, and God will spare you. Destroy me, and God will destroy you,’ and he wept bitterly.
Then several noblemen approached the king and said, ‘We beg your Majesty to forgive him for our sake, for in our view, he has done nothing to deserve this.’ The king replied, ‘You do not know the reason why I wish to have him killed. I tell you that if I spare him, I will surely perish, for I fear that he who has cured me externally from my affliction, which had defied the Greek sages, simply by having me hold a handle, can kill me with anything I touch. I must kill him, in order to protect myself from him.’ The sage Duban implored again, ‘For God’s sake, your Majesty, spare me, and God will spare you. Destroy me, and God will destroy you.’ The king insisted, ‘I must kill you.’
When the sage realized that he was surely going to die, he said, ‘I beg your Majesty to postpone my execution until I return home, leave instructions for my burial, discharge my obligations, distribute alms, and donate my scientific and medical books to one who deserves them. I have in particular a book entitled The Secret of Secrets, which I should like to give you for safekeeping in your library.’ The king asked, ‘What is the secret of this book?’ The sage replied, ‘It contains countless secrets, but the chief one is that if your Majesty has my head struck off, opens the book on the sixth leaf, reads three lines from the left page, and speaks to me, my head will speak and answer whatever you ask.’
The king was greatly amazed and said, ‘Is it possible that if I cut off your head and, as you say, open the book, read the third line, and speak to your head, it will speak to me? This is the wonder of wonders.’ Then the king allowed the sage to go and sent him home under guard. The sage settled his affairs and on the following day returned to the royal palace and found assembled there the princes, viziers, chamberlains, lords of the realm, and military officers, as well as the king’s retinue, servants, and many of his citizens. The sage Duban entered, carrying an old book and kohl jar containing powder. He sat down, ordered a platter, and poured out the powder and smoothed it on the platter. Then he said to the king, ‘Take this book, your Majesty, and don’t open it until after my execution. When my head is cut off, let it be placed on the platter and order that it be pressed on the powder. Then open the book and begin to ask my head a question, for it will then answer you. There is no power and no strength save in God, the Almighty, the Magnificent. For God’s sake, spare me, and God will spare you; destroy me, and God will destroy you.’ The king replied, ‘I must kill you, especially to see how your head will speak to me.’ Then the king took the book and ordered the executioner to strike off the sage’s head. The executioner drew his sword and, with one stroke, dropped the head in the middle of the platter, and when he pressed the head on the powder, the bleeding stopped. Then the sage Duban opened his eyes and said, ‘Now, your Majesty, open the book.’ When the king opened the book, he found the pages stuck. So he put his finger in his mouth, wetted it with his saliva, and opened the first page, and he kept opening the pages with difficulty until he turned seven leaves. But when he looked in the book, he found nothing written inside, and he exclaimed, ‘Sage, I see nothing written in this book.’ The sage replied, ‘Open some more pages.’ The king opened some more pages but still found nothing, and while he was doing this, the drug spread through his body – for the book had been poisoned – and he began to heave, sway, and twitch.
When the sage Duban saw that the drug had spread through the king’s body and that the king was heaving and swaying, he began to recite the following verses:
For long they ruled us arbitrarily,
But suddenly vanished their powerful rule.
Had they been just, they
would have happily
Lived, but they oppressed, and punishing fate
Afflicted them with ruin deservedly,
And on the morrow the world taunted them,
‘’Tis tit for tat; blame not just destiny.’
As the sage’s head finished reciting the verses, the king fell dead, and at that very moment the head too succumbed to death.
(14th century)
Translated by Husain Haddawy
Marina Warner is known for her work in mythology and feminism. Her many books range from Alone of All Her Sex: The Cult of the Virgin Mary (1976) to From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers (1996) and Stranger Magic: Charmed States and the Arabian Nights (2012). Professor of English and Creative Writing at Birkbeck, University of London, she was appointed DBE in 2015.
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When I was recently asked what my favourite story was while growing up, I had no hesitation in choosing Oscar Wilde’s ‘The Happy Prince’. It continues to move me immeasurably, now that I’m a grown-up and have read it to my own children at bedtime.
The Happy Prince
by Oscar Wilde
High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.
He was very much admired indeed. ‘He is as beautiful as a weathercock,’ remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; ‘only not quite so useful,’ he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.
‘Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?’ asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. ‘The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.’
‘I am glad there is someone in the world who is quite happy,’ muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.
