Čahār Maqālah - The Čahār Maqāla

Abú Rayḥán Bírúní says in the first chapter of his “Explanation of the Science of Astrology” (Kitábu't-Tafhím fí ṣaná'ati 't-tanjím¹):

“A man does not deserve the title of Astrologer until he attains proficiency in four sciences: first, Mathematics; secondly, Arithmetic; thirdly, Cosmography; and fourthly, Judicial Astrology.”

Now Mathematical Science is that whereby are known the natures and qualities of lines and geometrical figures, plain and solid, and the general relations of quantities, and what partakes of the quantitative nature, to what has position and form. It includes the principles of the Book of Euclid the geometrician²

in the recension of Thábit ibn Qurra.³

Arithmetic is that science whereby are known the natures of all sorts of numbers;⁴

the nature of their relation to one another; their generation from each other; and the applications thereof, such as halving, doubling, multiplication, division, addition, subtraction, and Algebra. The principles thereof are contained in the book of the ◌, and the applications in the “Supplement” (Takmila) of Abú Manṣúr of Baghdad,⁵

and the “Hundred Chapters” (Ṣad Báb) of as-Sajzí.⁶

Cosmography is that science whereby are known the natures of the Celestial and Terrestrial Bodies,¹

their shapes and positions, their relations to one another, and the measurements and distances which are between them, together with the nature of the movements of each one of the stars and heavens, and the co-ordination of the spheres, axes, and circles whereby these movements are fulfilled. It includes a knowledge of the Al-Magest and the best of its commentaries and elucidations, which are the Commentary of Tabrízí²

and the Al-Magest of Shifá. And amongst the applications of this science is the science of the Calendar and of Almanacs.

Judicial Astrology is a branch of Natural Science, and its special use is prognostication, by which is meant the deducing by analogy from configurations, and from an estimation of the degrees and zodiacal signs and their influences, those events which are brought about by their movements, in respect to the condition of the cycles of the world, politics, cities, nativities, changes, transitions, decisions, and other questions; and it is contained in these five [books] which we have enumerated, to wit, the writings of Abú Ma'shar of Balkh,³

Aḥmad 'Abdu'l-Jalíl-i-Sajzí, Abú Rayḥán Bírúní, and Gúshyár-i-Jílí.⁴

So the Astrologer must be a man of acute mind, approved character, and great natural intelligence. And one of the essentials of this art is that the astrologer who would pronounce prognostications should possess in his own horoscope the Share of the Unseen, and that the Lord of the House of this Share of the Unseen should be lucky, and in a favourable position, in order that such pronouncements as he gives may be near the truth. And one of the conditions of being a good astrologer is that he should have in mind the whole of the “Principia” (Uṣúl) of Gúshyár, and should continually study the “Opus Majus,”¹

and should look frequently into the Qánún-i-Mas'údí²

and the Jámi'-i-Sháhí, so that his knowledge and concepts may be refreshed.

Ya'qúb b. Isḥáq al-Kindí,³

though he was a Jew, was the philosopher of his age and the wisest man of his time, and stood high in the service of al-Ma'mún. One day he came in before al-Ma'mún, and sat down above one of the Imáms of Islám. Said this man, “Thou art of a subject race;⁴

why, then, dost thou sit above the Imáms of Islám?” “Because,” said Ya'qúb, “I know what thou knowest, while thou knowest not what I know.”

Now this person knew of his skill in Astrology, but had no knowledge of his other attainments in science. “I will write down,” said he, “something on a piece of paper, and if thou canst divine what I have written, I will admit your claim.” Then they laid a wager, on the part of this person a cloak, and on the part of Ya'qúb a mule and its trappings, worth a thousand dínárs, which was standing at the door. Then the former asked for an inkstand and paper, wrote something on a piece of paper, placed it under the Caliph's quilt, and cried, “Out with it!” Ya'qúb b. Isḥáq asked for a tray of earth, rose up, took the altitude, ascertained the ascendant, drew an astrological table on the tray of earth, determined the positions of the stars, fixed the signs of the Zodiac, worked out the subjective conditions and affinities,¹

and said, “On that paper he has written something which was first a plant and then an animal” Al-Ma'mún put his hand under the quilt and drew forth the paper, on which was written “The Rod of Moses.” Al-Ma'mún was filled with wonder and expressed his astonishment. Then Ya'qúb took the cloak of his adversary, and cut it in two before al-Ma'mún, saying, “I will make in into two …”²

This matter became generally known in Baghdad, whence it spread to 'Iráq and throughout Khurásán, and was widely discussed. A certain doctor of Balkh, prompted by that fanatical zeal which characterizes the learned, obtained a book on Astrology and placed a knife in the middle of it, intending to go to Baghdad, attend the lectures of Ya'qúb b. Isḥáq al-Kindí, make a beginning in Astrology, and, when he should find a suitable opportunity, suddenly kill him. Stage by stage he advanced, until he went in to the hot bath and came out, arrayed himself in clean clothes, and, placing this book in his sleeve, set out for Ya'qúb's house.

When he reached the gate of the house, he saw standing there many handsomely-caparisoned horses belonging to descendants of the Prophet³

and other eminent and noble persons of Baghdad. Having made enquiries, he went in, entered the circle in front of Ya'qúb, greeted him, and said, “I desire to study somewhat of the science of the stars with our Master.” “Thou hast come from the East to slay me on a pretence of studying Astrology,” replied Ya'qúb, “but thou wilt repent of thine intention, study the stars, and attain perfection in that science, and wilt become one of the greatest Astrologers in the Church of Muḥammad (on whom be God's Blessing and Peace).” All the great men there assembled were astonished; and Abú Ma'shar¹

confessed and produced the knife from the middle of the book, broke it, and cast it away. Then he bent his knees and studied for fifteen years, until he reached that eminence which he reached in Astrology.

It is stated that once when Sulṭán Maḥmúd b. Náṣiru'd-Dín ²

was sitting on the roof of a four-doored summer-house in Ghazna, in the Garden of a Thousand Trees, he turned his face to Abú Rayḥán³

and said, “By which of these four doors shall I go out?” (for all four were practicable) “Decide, and write the decision on a piece of paper, and put it under my quilt.” Abú Rayḥán called for an astrolabe, took the altitude, worked out the ascendant, reflected for a while, and then wrote down his decision on a piece of paper, and placed it under the quilt. “Hast thou decided?” asked Maḥmúd. He answered, “Yes.”

Then Maḥmúd bade them make an opening in the wall, and they brought mattocks and spades, and in the wall which was on the eastern side dug out a fifth door, through which he went out. Then he bade them bring the paper. So they brought it, and on it was written: “He will go out through none of these four doors, but they will dig a fifth door on the side of the eastern wall, by which door he will go forth.” Maḥmúd, on reading this, was furious, and bade them cast Abú Rayḥán down from the midst of the palace. So they did even as he had said. Now a net had been stretched here to keep off the flies,¹

and on it Abú Rayḥán fell. The net tore, and he subsided gently to the ground, so that he received no injury. “Bring him in,” said Maḥmúd. So they brought him in, and Maḥmúd said: “O Abú Rayḥán, didst thou know this?” “I knew it, sire,” he answered, and, taking the Almanac from the servant, produced the prognostications out of the Almanac;²

and amongst the predictions for that day was written: “To-day they will cast me down from a high place, but I shall reach the earth in safety, and arise sound in body.”

All this was not according to Maḥmúd's mind. He waxed still angrier, and ordered Abú Rayḥán to be detained in the citadel. So Abú Rayḥán was confined in the citadel of Ghazna, where he remained for six months. It is said that during that period of six months none dared speak to Maḥmúd about Abú Rayḥán, one of whose servants was, however, deputed to wait upon him, and to go out to get what he wanted, and to return therewith. One day this servant was passing through the Park of Ghazna,³

when a fortune-teller called to him and said, “I perceive several things worth mentioning in your fortune: give me a present, that I may reveal them to you.” The servant gave him two dirhams, whereupon the soothsayer said: “One dear to thee is in affliction, but ere three days are past he will be delivered from that affliction, will be invested with a robe of honour, and will again be loaded with honours and favours.”

The servant proceeded to the citadel, and told this incident to his master as a piece of good tidings. Abú Rayḥán smiled and said, “O foolish fellow, dost thou not know that on such occasions one ought not to stand still? Thou hast informed me too late.”¹

It is said that the Prime Minister Aḥmad Ḥasan of Maymand (may God be merciful to him!) was for six months seeking an opportunity to say a word on behalf of Abú Rayḥán. At length, when engaged in the chase, he found the King in a good humour, and, working from one topic to another, he brought the conversation round to Astrology. Then he said: “Poor Abú Rayḥán uttered two such good prognostications, and instead of decorations and a robe of honour obtained bonds and imprisonment.” “Know, my lord,” replied Maḥmúd, “for I have proved it,²

that this man is said to have no equal in the world save Abú 'Alí Síná (Avicenna), but both his prognostications were opposed to my will; and kings are like little children³

—in order to receive rewards from them, one should speak in accordance with their opinion. It would have been better for him on that day if one of those two prognostications had been wrong. But to-morrow order him to be brought forth, and to be given a horse caparisoned with gold, a royal robe, a satin turban, a thousand dínárs, a slave, and a handmaiden.”

So, on the very day specified by the soothsayer, they brought forth Abú Rayḥán, and the gift of honour detailed above was conferred upon him, and the King apologized to him, saying: “If thou desirest always to reap advantage from me, speak according to my desire, not according to the dictates of thy science.” So thereafter Abú Rayḥán altered his practice; and this is one of the conditions of the service of kings, that one must be with them in right or wrong, and speak according to their wish.

Now when Abú Rayḥán reached his house, the learned came to congratulate him. He related to them the incident of the soothsayer, whereat they were amazed, and sent to summon him. They found him most illiterate, knowing nothing. Then Abú Rayḥán said, “Hast thou the horoscope of thy nativity?” “I have,” replied he. Then Abú Rayḥán examined it, and the Share of the Unseen fell directly on the degree of his Ascendant,¹

so that whatever he said, though he spoke blindly, came near to the truth.

I had in my employment a woman-servant, who was born on the 28th of Ṣafar, A.H. 510²

(=July 12th, A.D. 1116), when the Moon was in conjunction with the Sun and there was no distance between them, so that both the Share of Fortune and the Share of the Unseen fell on the degree of the Ascendant. When she reached the age of fifteen years, I taught her Astrology, in which she became so skilful that she could answer difficult questions in this science, and her prognostications came very near the truth. Ladies used to come to her and question her, and the most part of what she said coincided with the pre-ordained decrees of fate.

One day an old woman came and said: “It is now four years since a son of mine went on a journey, and I have no news of him, neither of his life nor of his death. See whether, wherever he may be, he is of the living or the dead.” So the woman-astrologer arose, took the altitude, worked out the degree of the Ascendant, drew out an astrological table, and determined the positions of the stars; and the very first words she said were, “Thy son hath returned!”

The old woman was annoyed and said: “O child, I have no hopes of my son's coming: tell me this much, is he alive or dead?”

“I tell you,” said the other, “thy son hath come. Go, and, if he hath not come, return, that I may tell thee how he is.”

So the old woman went to her house, and lo! her son had arrived and was unloading his asses. She embraced him, took off her veil, and came back to the woman-astrologer, saying, “Thou didst speak truly; my son hath come, bringing presents”; and she gave her her blessing. When I came home and heard tidings of this, I enquired of her, “By what didst thou speak, and from what House didst thou deduce this prognostication?” She answered: “I had not reached so far as this. When I had finished the figure of the Ascendant, he came in and sat down on the letter of the degree of the Ascendant, wherefore it so seemed in my mind, that this young man had returned. When I said so, and the mother had gone to find out, it became so certain to me that it was as though I actually saw him unloading his asses.”

Then I perceived that it was the Share of the Unseen, and nothing else but this, which thus influenced the degree of the Ascendant.

Maḥmúd Dá'údí, the son of Abu'l-Qásim Dá'údí, was a great fool, nay, almost a madman, and had no considerable knowledge as to the actions of the stars; yet he could cast a nativity, and in his notebook were figures declaring “it is” or “it is not.” He was in the service of Amír Dá'úd Abú Bakr Mas'úd at Panj-dih; and his prognostications generally came right.

Now his madness was such that when my master the King of the Mountains sent him a pair of Ghúrí dogs, very large and formidable, he fought with them of his own free-will, and escaped from them in safety. Years afterwards we were sitting with a number of persons of learning in the Perfumers' Market at Herát, in the shop of Muqrí the surgeon-druggist,¹

and discussing all manner of subjects. One of these learned men happening to remark, “What a great man was Avicenna (Ibn Síná)!” I saw Dá'údí fly into a passion, all the possession of anger appearing in and overcoming him, and he cried: “O so-and-so, who was Abú 'Alí? I regard myself as equal in worth to a thousand Abú 'Alí's, for he never even fought with a cat, whilst I fought before Amír Dá'úd with two dogs.” So on that day I knew him to be mad; yet for all his madness I witnessed the following occurrence.

In the year A.H. 505²

(A.H. 1111-1112), when Sulṭán Sanjar encamped in the Plain of Khúzán,³

on his way to Transoxania to fight with Muḥammad,⁴

Amír Dá'úd attached himself to the King, and made a great entertainment for him. On the third day the King came to the river-brink, and entered a boat to amuse himself with fishing. In the boat he summoned Dá'údí before him to talk after the manner of madmen, while he laughed, for Dá'údí would openly abuse Amír Dá'úd.

Presently the King said to him, “Prognosticate how many maunds the fish which I shall catch this time will weigh.” Dá'údí said, “Draw up your hook.” So the king drew it up; and he took the altitude, paused for a while, and then said, “Now cast it.” The King cast, and he said, “I prognosticate that this fish which you will draw out will weigh five maunds.” “O knave,” said Amír Dá'úd, “whence should fish of five maunds' weight come into this stream?” “Be silent,” said Dá'údí; “what do you know about it?” So Amír Dá'úd was silent, fearing that, should he insist further, he would only get abuse.

Suddenly there was a pull on the line, indicating that a fish had been taken captive. The King drew in the line with a very large fish on it, which, when weighed, scaled five¹

maunds. All were amazed, and expressed their astonishment. “Dá'údí,” said the King, “what dost thou wish for?” “O King,” said he with an obeisance, “of all that is on this earth I desire but a coat of mail, a shield, and a spear, that I may do battle with Báwardí.” And this Abáwardí was the Captain of Amír Dá'úd's gate, and Dá'údí entertained towards him a fanatical hatred, because the title of Shujá'u'l-Mulk had been conferred upon him, while Dá'údí himself bore the title of Shujá'u'l-Ḥukamá, and grudged that the other should be so entitled. And the Amír, well knowing this, used continually to embroil Dá'údí with him, and this good Musulmán was at his wits' end by reason of him.

In short, as to Maḥmúd Dá'údí's madness there was no doubt, and I have mentioned this matter in order that the King may know that folly and insanity are amongst the conditions of this craft.

Ḥakím-i-Mawṣilí was one of the order of Astrologers in Níshápúr, and was in the service of that great Minister Nidhámu'l-Mulk of Ṭús, who used to consult with him on matters of importance, and seek his advice and opinion. Now when Mawṣilí's years were drawing to a close, and great decrepitude appeared in him, and feebleness of body began to show itself, so that he was no longer able to perform these long journeys, he asked the Minister's permission to go and reside at Níshápúr, and to send thence annually the almanac and forecast for the year.

Now the Minister Nidhámu'l-Mulk was also in the decline of life and near the term of existence; and he said: “Look so much at the lapse of my life as to observe when the dissolution of my elemental nature will occur, and at what epoch that inevitable fate and unavoidable sentence will befal.”

Ḥakím-i-Mawṣilí answered, “Six months after my death.” So the Minister ordered him to receive all things needful for his comfort, and Mawṣili went to Níshápúr, and there abode in ease, sending each year the forecast and calendar. And whoever came to the Minister from Níshápúr, he used first to enquire, “How is Mawṣilí?” And so soon as he had news of his safety, he would become joyous and cheerful.

At length, in the year A.H. 485 (=A.D. 1092-3), one arrived from Níshápúr, and the Minister enquired of him concerning Mawṣilí. The man replied, with an obeisance: “May he who holdeth the chief seat in al-Islám be the heir of many lifetimes! Mawṣilí hath quitted this mortal body.” “When?” enquired the Minister. “In the middle of Rabí' the First” (April 11-May 11, A.D. 1092), answered the man, “he yielded up his life for him who sitteth in the chief seat of al-Islám.”

The Minister thereat was mightily put about, and was warned, and looked into all his affairs, and confirmed all his pious endowments, and gave effect to his bequests,¹

and wrote his last testament, and set free such of his slaves as had earned his approval, and discharged the debts which he owed, and, so far as lay in his power, made all men content with him, and sought forgiveness from his adversaries, and made his will, and so sat awaiting his fate until the month of Ramaḍán (A.H. 485=Oct. 5-Nov. 4, A.D. 1092), when he fell a martyr at the hands of that Sect (i.e. the Assassins); may God make illustrious his Proof, and accord him an ample Approval!

Since the Ascendant ruling his nativity, the observation, the Lord of the Sign, and the dominant factor were rightly determined, and the Astrologer was expert and accomplished, naturally the prognostication came true.¹

In the year A.H. 506 (A.D. 1112-1113) Khwája Imám 'Umar Khayyám²

and Khwája Imám Mudhaffar-i-Isfizárí had alighted in the city of Balkh, in the street of the Slave-sellers, in the house of Amír Abú Sa'd,³

and I had joined that assembly. In the midst of our convivial gathering I heard that Argument of Truth (Ḥujjatu'l-Ḥaqq) 'Umar say, “My grave will be in a spot where the trees will shed their blossoms on me twice in each year.” This thing seemed to me impossible, though I knew that one such as he would not speak idle words.

When I arrived at Níshápúr in the year A.H. 530 (A.D. 1135-6), it being then some years since that great man had veiled his countenance in the dust, and this lower world had been bereaved of him, I went to visit his grave on the eve of a Friday (seeing that he had the claim of a master on me), taking with me a guide to point out to me his tomb. So he brought me out to the Ḥíra⁴

Cemetery; I turned to the left, and his tomb lay at the foot of a garden-wall, over which pear-trees and peach-trees thrust their heads, and on his grave had fallen so many flower-leaves that his dust was hidden beneath the flowers. Then I remembered that saying which I had heard from him in the city of Balkh, and I fell to weeping, because on the face of the earth, and in all the regions of the habitable globe, I nowhere saw one like unto him. May God (blessed and exalted is He) have mercy upon him,¹

by His Grace and His Favour! Yet although I witnessed this prognostication on the part of that Proof of the Truth 'Umar, I did not observe that he had any great belief in astrological predictions; nor have I seen or heard of any of the great [scientists] who had such belief.²

In the winter of the year A.H. 508 (=A.D. 1114-1115) the King sent a messenger to Merv to the Prime Minister Saḍru'd-Dín Muḥammad b. al-Mudhaffar (on whom be God's Mercy) bidding him tell Khwája Imám 'Umar to select a favourable time for him to go hunting, such that therein should be no snowy or rainy days. For Khwája Imám 'Umar was in the Minister's company, and used to lodge at his house.

So the Minister sent a messenger to summon him, and told him what had happened. The Khwája went and looked into the matter for two days, and made a careful choice; and he himself went and superintended the mounting of the King at the auspicious moment. When the King was mounted and had gone but a short distance,³

the sky became overcast with clouds, a wind arose, and snow and mist supervened. All present fell to laughing, and the King desired to turn back; but Khwája Imám ['Umar] said: “Have no anxiety, for this very hour the clouds will clear away, and during these five days there will be not a drop of moisture.” So the King rode on, and the clouds opened, and during those five days there was no moisture, and no one saw a cloud.

But prognostication by the stars, though a recognized art, is not to be relied on, and whatever the astrologer predicts he must leave to Fate.

It is incumbent on the King, wherever he goes, to prove such companions and servants as he has with him; and if one is a believer in the Holy Law, and scrupulously observes the rites and duties thereof, he should make him an intimate, and treat him with honour, and confide in him; but if otherwise, he should drive him away, and guard even the outskirts of his environment from his very shadow. Whoever does not believe in the religion and law of Muḥammad the Chosen One, in him can no man trust, and he is unlucky, both to himself and to his master.

In the beginning of the reign of the king Sulṭán Ghiyáthu'd-Dunyá wa'd-Dín Muḥammad b. Maliksháh, styled Qasímu Amíri'l-Múminín (may God illuminate his proof!),¹

the King of the Arabs, Sadaqa,²

revolted and withdrew his neck from the yoke of allegiance, and with fifty thousand Arab horsemen marched on Baghdad from Ḥilla. The Prince of Believers al-Mustadhhir bi'lláh had sent off letter after letter and courier after courier to Isfahán,³

summoning the Sultan, who sought from the astrologers the determination of the auspicious moment. But no such determination could be made which would suit the Lord of the King's Ascendant, which was retrograde. So they said, “We find no auspicious moment.” “Seek it, then,” said he; and he was very urgent in the matter, and much vexed in mind. And so the astrologers fled.

Now there was a stranger of Jayy¹

who had a shop by the Gate of the Dome and who used to take omens; and men and women of every class used to visit him, and he used to write for them amulets and charms, but he had no profound knowledge. By means of an acquaintance with one of the King's servants he brought himself to the King's notice, and said: “I will find an auspicious moment: depart in that, and if thou dost not return victorious, then cut off my head.”

So the King was pleased, and mounted his horse at the moment declared auspicious by him, and gave him two hundred dínárs of Níshápúr, and went forth, fought with Ṣadaqa, defeated his army, took him captive, and put him to death. And when he returned triumphant and victorious to Isfahán, he heaped favours on the soothsayer, ordered him to receive great honours, and made him one of his intimates. Then he summoned the astrologers and said: “You did not find an auspicious moment, it was this stranger of Jayy who found it; and I went, and God justified the omen.²

Probably Ṣadaqa had sent you a bribe so that you should not name the auspicious time.” Then they all fell to the earth, lamenting and exclaiming: “The astrologers were not satisfied with that moment. If you wish, write a message and send it to Khurásán, and see what Khwája Imám 'Umar Khayyám says.”

The King saw that the poor wretches did not speak amiss. He therefore summoned one of his courtiers and said: “Invite this stranger of Jayy³

to your house, drink wine with him, and treat him with kindly familiarity; and, when he is overcome with wine, enquire of him, saying, ‘Was that moment determined by thee not good? For the astrologers find fault with it. Tell me the secret of this.’”

Then the courtier did so, and, when his guest was drunk, made this enquiry of him. The soothsayer answered: “I knew that one of two things must happen; either that army would be defeated, or this one. If the former, then I should be loaded with honours; and if the latter, how should the King concern himself with me?”

Next day the courtier reported this conversation to the King, who ordered the strange soothsayer to be expelled, because one who held such views about good Musulmáns was unlucky. Then¹

the King summoned his own astrologers and restored his confidence to them, saying: “I knew that this soothsayer never said his prayers, and one who agrees not with our Holy Law agrees not with us.”

In the year A.H. 547 (A.D. 1152-3) a battle was fought between that king of blessed memory Sanjar b. Maliksháh and my lord the king 'Alá'u'd-Dín wa'd-Dunyá; and the army of Ghúr was defeated, and my lord the King of the East was taken prisoner, and my lord's son the Just King Shamsu'd-Dawla wa'd-Dín Maḥmúd b. Mas'úd was taken captive at the hands of the Commander-in-chief (Amír-i-sipahsálár ). The ransom was fixed at fifty thousand dínárs of pure gold,²

and a messenger from him was to go to the Court at Bámiyán to ask for this sum; and when it should be sent the Prince was to be released, while the King himself was granted his liberty by the Lord of the World (Sanjar), who, moreover, at the time of his departure from Herát, granted him a robe of honour; and it was under these circumstances that I arrived to wait upon him.¹

One day, being extremely sad at heart, he signed to me, and enquired when this deliverance would finally be accomplished, and when this consignment would arrive. So I took an observation that day with a view to making this prognostication, and worked out the ascendant, exerting myself to the utmost, and [ascertained that] there was an indication of a satisfactory solution to the question on the third day. So next day I came and said: “To-morrow at the time of the first prayer the messenger will arrive.” All that night the Prince was thinking about this matter. Next day I hastened to wait on him. “To-day,” said he, “is the time fixed.” “Yes,” I replied; and continued with him till the first prayer. When the call to prayer was sounded, he remarked reproachfully: “The first prayer has arrived, but still no news!” Even while he was thus speaking, a courier arrived bringing the good tidings that the consignment had come, consisting of fifty thousand dínárs, sheep, and other things, and that 'Izzu'd-Dín Maḥmúd,²

the steward of Prince Ḥusámu'd-Dawla wa'd-Dín, was in charge of the convoy. My lord Shamsu'd-Dawla wa'd-Dín was invested with the King's dress of honour, and very shortly regained his beloved home, and from that time his affairs have prospered more and more every day (may they continue so to do!). And thence it was that he used to treat me with the utmost kindness and say: “Nidhámí, do you remember making such a prognostication in Herát, and how it came true? I wanted to fill thy mouth with gold, but there I had no gold, though here I have.” Then he called for gold, and filled my mouth therewith till it would contain no more, whereupon he said, “Hold out thy sleeve.” So I held it out, and he filled it also with gold. May God (blessed and exalted is He) maintain this dynasty in daily-increasing prosperity, and long spare these two Princes to my august Master, by His favour, bounty, and grace! Amen, O Lord of the Worlds!

Medicine is that art whereby the health of the human body is preserved; whereby, when it wanes, it is restored; and whereby the body is embellished by long hair, a clean complexion, freshness and vigour.

The physician should be of tender disposition, of wise and gentle nature, and more especially an acute observer, capable of benefiting everyone by accurate diagnoses, that is to say, by rapid deduction of the unknown from the known. And no physician can be of tender disposition if he fails to recognize the nobility of man; nor of philosophical nature unless he knows Logic, nor an acute observer unless he be strengthened by God's guidance; and he who is not an acute observer will not arrive at a correct understanding of the cause of any ailment, for he must form his opinion from the pulse, which has a systole, a diastole, and a pause between these two movements.

Now here there is a difference of opinion amongst physicians, one school maintaining that it is impossible by palpation to gauge the movement of contraction; but that most accomplished of the moderns, that talented man Abú 'Alí al-Ḥusayn b. 'Abdu'lláh Síná (Avicenna),¹

says in his book the Qánún that the movement of contraction also can be gauged, though with difficulty, in thin subjects;²

and that the pulse is of two sorts, each of which is divided into three subordinate varieties, namely, its two extremes and its mean; but, unless the Divine guidance assist the physician in his search for the truth, his thought will not hit the mark. So also the examination of the urine, and the observing of its colour and peculiarities, and the deducing somewhat from each colour, is no easy matter; for these deductions are dependent on Divine help and Heavenly guidance; and this is the quality which we have already mentioned under the name of acumen. And unless the physician knows Logic, and understands the meaning of species and genus, he cannot discriminate between that which appertains to the category and that which is peculiar to the individual, and so will not recognize the cause of the disease. And, failing to recognize the cause, he will not succeed in his treatment. But let us now give an illustration, so that it may be known that it is as we say. Disease³

is the genus; fever, cold, headache, dizziness, scarlet fever, and jaundice are the species, each of which is distinguished from the others by a diagnostic sign, while each itself is again divisible into varieties. For instance, ‘Fever’ is the genus, wherein quotidian, tertian, double tertian, quartan, and the sub-varieties of each, are distinguished from each other by a special diagnostic sign, so that, for instance, quotidian is distinguished from other fevers by the fact that the longest period thereof is a day and a night, and that in it there is no rigor, heaviness, lassitude, nor pain.¹

Again, inflammatory fever²

is distinguished from other fevers by this, that when it lays hold of anyone it does not abate for several days; while tertian is distinguished by the fact that it comes one day and not the next; and double tertian by this, that one day it comes with a higher temperature and a shorter interval, and another day in a milder form with a longer interval; while, lastly, quartan is distinguished by this, that for two days it does not come and the third day it comes.

Each of these, again, comprises several varieties, and each of these in turn sundry sub-varieties; and if the physician be versed in Logic and possessed of acumen, he will know which fever it is, what the materies morbi is, and whether it is simple or compound, and he can then at once proceed to treat it; but if he fail to recognize the disease, then let him turn to God and seek help from Him; and so likewise, if he fail in his treatment, let him have recourse to God, seeing that the issue is in His hands.

In the year A.H. 512,³

in the Druggists' Bazaar of Níshápúr, at the shop of Muḥammad Ḍakhm the Physician,⁴

I heard Khwája Imám Abú Bakr Daqqáq saying: “A certain man of Níshápúr⁵

was seized with the colic and called me in. I examined him, and proceeded to treat him, fulfilling the utmost of my endeavour in this matter; but no improvement in his health took place. Three days elapsed. At the time of evening prayer I returned, thinking that the patient would pass away at midnight. I went up on to the roof, but could hardly sleep for anxiety. In the morning when I awoke I said to myself, ‘The patient will have passed away.’ I turned my face in that direction, but heard no sound [of lamentation] which might indicate his passing. I repeated the Fátiḥa, and hastened in that direction, saying: ‘O my God and my Lord, Thou Thyself hast said in the Sure Book and Indubitable Scripture, “And we send down in the Qur'án what is a Healing and a Mercy to true believers.”’¹

For I was filled with regret, seeing that he was a young man, and in easy circumstances. Then I performed the minor ablution, went to the oratory, and repeated the customary prayer. One knocked at the door of the house. When I went to look who was there, it was one of his household, who gave good tidings, saying, ‘He hath passed out of danger’; and, on my enquiring when, added, ‘Just now he obtained relief.’ Then I knew that the patient had been relieved by the blessing of the Fátiḥa of the Scripture, and that this draught had been dispensed from the Divine Dispensary. For I have put this to the proof, administering this draught in many cases, in all of which it proved beneficial, and resulted in restoration to health.”

Therefore the physician should be of good faith, and should venerate the commands and prohibitions of the Holy Law. And on the science of Medicine he should read the “Aphorisms” (Fuṣúl) of Hippocrates, the “Questions” (Masá'il) of Ḥunayn b. Isḥáq,²

the “Guide” (Murshid) of Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá of Ray (ar-Rází),³

and Nílí's “Commentary”⁴;

and after he has read and learned these volumes above enumerated with a kind and careful master, he should diligently study with a congenial teacher the following intermediate works, to wit, the “Thesaurus” (Dhakhíra) of Thábit b. Qurra, the Manṣúrí¹

of Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá of Ray, the “Direction” (Hidáya) of the younger²

Abú Bakr, or the “Sufficiency” (Kifáya) of Aḥmad Farrukh, or the “Aims” (Aghráḍ) of Sayyid Isma'íl Jurjání.³

Then he should take up one of the more detailed treatises, such as the “Sixteen (Treatises,” Sitta 'ashar) of Galen, or the “Compendium” (Ḥáwí) of Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá, or the “Complete Practitioner” (Kámilu'ṣ-Ṣaná'at), or the “Hundred Chapters” (Ṣad Báb) of Abú Sahl Masíḥí,⁴

or the Qánún of Abú 'Alí (Avicenna),⁵

or the Dhakhíra-i-Khwárazmsháhí,⁶

and read it in his leisure moments; or, if he desires to be independent of other works, he may content himself with the Qánún.

The Lord of the Two Worlds and the Guide of the Two Grosser Races says: “Every kind of game is in the belly of the wild ass.”⁷

All this has been set forth by the Qánún, so that much may be effected therewith; and whoever has mastered the first volume of the Qánún, to him nothing will be hidden of the general principles and applications of Medicine, for if Hippocrates and Galen could return to life, it would be proper that they should do reverence to this book. Yet have I heard a wonderful thing, to wit, that one hath taken exception to Abú 'Alí in respect of this work, and hath embodied his objections in a book, which he hath named “the Rectification of the Qánún”¹;

and it is as though I looked at both books, and perceived what a distinguished man the author of the first was, while the author of the second merits only censure. For what right has anyone to find fault with so great a man, when the very first question which he meets with in a book of his which he comes across is difficult to his comprehension? For four thousand years the physicians of antiquity travailed in spirit and melted their very souls in order to reduce the science of Medicine to some fixed order, yet could not effect this, until, after the lapse of this period, that absolute philosopher and most mighty thinker Aristotle portioned and parcelled out²

Logic and Philosophy as in a balance, and measured them by the measure of analogy, so that all doubt and ambiguity departed from them, and they were established on a sure and critical basis. And during these fifteen centuries which have elapsed since his time, no philosopher has won to the inmost essence of his doctrine, nor travelled the high road of his pre-eminence, save that most excellent of the moderns, the Philosopher of the East and the West, the Proof of Islám,³

Abú 'Alí b. 'Abdu'lláh b. Síná (Avicenna). He who finds fault with these two great men will have cast himself out from the company of the wise, ranked himself with madmen, and proved himself to be of the number of those who lack intelligence. May God (blessed and exalted is He) keep us from such stumblings and vain imaginings!

So, if the physician hath mastered the first volume of the Qánún, and hath attained to forty years of age, he will be worthy of confidence; and when he hath reached this degree, he should keep ever with him some of the smaller treatises composed by proved masters, such as the “Gift of Kings” (Tuḥfatu'l-Mulúk) of Muḥammad Zakariyyá [ar-Rází], or the Kifáya of Ibn Sandúna of Isfahán, or the “Provision against all sorts of error in Medical Treatment” (Tadáruku anwá'i'l-khaṭá fi't-tadbíri'ṭ-ṭibbí), of which Abú 'Alí (Avicenna) is the author; or the Khafiyyu'l-'Alá'í,¹

or the “Memoranda” (Yádigár) of Sayyid Isma'íl Jurjání.²

For no reliance can be placed on the Memory, which is located in the posterior part of the brain, for it may delay to afford him assistance in carrying out these prescriptions.

Therefore every king who would choose a physician must see that these conditions which have been enumerated are found in him; for it is no light matter to commit one's life and soul into the hands of any ignorant quack, or to entrust the care of one's health to any reckless charlatan.

Bukht-Yíshú',³

a Christian of Baghdad, was a skilful physician and a true and tender man; and he was attached to the service of al-Ma'mún the Caliph. Now one of the children of Háshim, a kinsman of al-Ma'mún, was attacked with dysentery, and al-Ma'mún, being greatly attached to him, sent Bukht-Yíshú' to treat him. So he, for al-Ma'mún's sake, girded up his loins in service, and treated him in various ways, but to no purpose, for the case passed beyond his powers. So Bukht-Yíshú' was ashamed before al-Ma'mún; but al-Ma'mún said to him: “Be not ashamed, for thou didst fulfil thine utmost endeavour, but God Almighty doth not desire that it should succeed. Acquiesce in Fate, even as we have acquiesced.” Bukht-Yíshú', seeing al-Ma'mún thus hopeless, replied: “One other remedy remains, and it is a perilous one; but, trusting to the fortune of the Prince of Believers, I will attempt it, and perchance God Most High may cause it to succeed.”

Now the patient was going to stool fifty or sixty times a day. So Bukht-Yíshú' prepared a purgative and administered it to him; and on the day whereon he took the purgative, his diarrhœa was still further increased; but next day it stopped. So the physicians asked him, “What hazardous treatment was that which thou didst adopt yesterday?” He answered: “The materies morbi of this diarrhœa was from the brain, and until it was dislodged from the brain the flux would not cease. I feared that if I administered a purgative the patient's strength might not be equal to the increased diarrhœa; but at length, when I plucked up heart, [I saw that] there was hope in giving the purgative, but none in withholding it. So I gave it, and God Most High vouchsafed a cure; and my opinion was justified, namely, that if the purgative were withheld, only the death of the patient was to be expected; but that if it were administered, there was a possibility of either life or death. Therefore, seeing that to give the purgative was the better course, I administered it.”

The great Shaykh Abú 'Alí Síná (Avicenna) relates as follows in the “Book of the Origin and the Return” (Kitábu'l-Mabdá wa'l-Ma'ád), at the end of the section on Contingent Being:—

“A curious anecdote hath come to me which I have heard related.¹

A certain physician presented himself at the court of one of the House of Sámán, and was well received, and rose to so high a position of trust that he used to enter the women's apartments and feel the pulses of its carefully-guarded and closely-veiled inmates. One day he was sitting with the King in the women's apartments in a place where it was impossible for any [other] male creature to pass. The King demanded food, and it was brought by the handmaidens. One of these presided over the table. As she was placing it on the ground, she bent down.¹

When she desired to stand upright again, she was unable to do so, but remained as she was, by reason of a rheumatic swelling of the joints.²

The King turned to the physician and said, ‘Cure her at once in whatever way you can.’ Here was no opportunity for any physical method of treatment, since for such no appliances were available. So the physician bethought himself of a psychical treatment, and bade them remove the veil from her head, whereon she made a movement. Then he bade them remove her skirt,³

whereon she raised her head and stood upright.

“‘What method of procedure was this?’ enquired the King. ‘At that juncture,’ replied the physician, ‘a rheumatic swelling appeared in her joints. I bade them uncover her head, that perchance she might be ashamed, and might make some movement because this condition was displeasing to her. So the whole of her head and face was uncovered, and anger was apparent therein.⁴

I then abandoned this, and ordered her skirt to be removed. She was filled with shame, and a flush of heat was produced within her, such that it dissolved the rheumatic humour. Then she stood upright, and, restored to her erect position, became sound once again.’

“Had this physician not been skilled in his art, he would never have thought of this treatment; and had he failed, he would have forfeited the King's regard. Hence a knowledge of natural science¹

and an apprehension of its facts form a part of this subject.”

Another of the House of Sámán, Amír Manṣúr b. Núḥ b. Naṣr,²

became afflicted with an ailment which grew chronic, and remained established, and the physicians were unable to cure it. So the Amír Manṣúr sent messengers to summon Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá of Ray to treat him. Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá came as far as the Oxus, but when he saw it he said: “I will not embark in the boat: God Most High saith, ‘Do not cast yourselves into peril with your own hands’³;

and, again, it is surely a thing remote from wisdom voluntarily to place one's self in so hazardous a position.” Ere the Amír's messenger had gone to Bukhárá and returned, he had composed the treatise entitled Manṣúrí.⁴

So when a notable arrived with a special led-horse, bringing a message intermingled with promises of reward, he handed this Manṣúrí to him, saying: “I am this book, and by this book thou canst attain thine object, so that there is no need of me.”

When the book reached the Amír he was in grievous suffering, wherefore he sent a thousand dínárs and one of his own private horses, saying: “Strive to move him by all these kind attentions, but, if they prove fruitless, bind his hands and feet, place him in the boat, and fetch him across.” So, just as the Amír had commanded, they urgently entreated Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá, but to no purpose. Then they bound his hands and feet, placed him in the boat, and, when they had ferried him across the river, released him. Then they brought the led-horse, fully caparisoned, before him, and he mounted in the best of humours, and set out for Bukhárá. And when they enquired of him, saying, “We feared to bring thee across the water lest thou shouldst cherish enmity against us, but thou didst not so, nor do we see thee vexed in heart,” he replied: “I know that every year several thousand persons cross the Oxus without being drowned, and that I too should probably not be drowned; still, it was possible that I might perish, and if this had happened they would have continued till the Resurrection to say, ‘A foolish fellow was Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá, in that, of his own free will, he embarked in a boat and so was drowned.’ But when they bound me, I escaped all danger of censure; for then they would say, ‘They bound the poor fellow's hands and feet, so that he was drowned.’ Thus should I have been excused, not blamed, in case of my being drowned.”

When they reached Bukhárá, he saw the Amír and began to treat him, exerting his powers to the utmost, but without relief to the patient. One day he came in before the Amír and said: “To-morrow I am going to try another method of treatment, but for the carrying out of it you will have to sacrifice such-and-such a horse and such-and-such a mule,” the two being both animals of note, so that in one night they had gone forty parasangs.

So next day he took the Amír to the hot bath of Jú-yi-Múlíyán, outside the palace, leaving that horse and mule ready equipped and tightly girt in the charge of his own servant; while of the King's retinue and attendants he suffered not one to enter the bath. Then he brought the King into the middle of the hot bath, and poured over him warm water, after which he prepared a draught and gave it to him to drink. And he kept him there till such time as the humours in his joints were matured.

Then he himself went out and put on his clothes, and, taking a knife in his hand, came in, and stood for a while reviling the King, saying: “Thou didst order me to be bound and cast into the boat, and didst conspire against my life. If I do not destroy thee as a punishment for this, I am not Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá!”

The Amír was furious, sprang from his place, and, partly from anger, partly from fear of the knife and dread of death, rose to his feet. When Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá saw the Amír on his feet, he turned round and went out from the bath, and he and his servant mounted, the one the horse, the other the mule, and turned their faces towards the Oxus. At the time of the second prayer they crossed the river, and halted nowhere till they reached Merv. When Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá reached Merv, he alighted, and wrote a letter to the Amír, saying: “May the life of the King be prolonged in health of body and effective command! According to agreement this servant treated his master, doing all that was possible. There was, however, an extreme weakness in the natural caloric, and the treatment of the disease by ordinary means would have been a protracted affair. I therefore abandoned it, and carried you to the hot bath for psychical treatment, and administered a draught, and left you so long as to bring about a maturity of the humours. Then I angered the King, so that an increase in the natural caloric was produced, and it gained strength until those humours, already softened, were dissolved. But henceforth it is not expedient that a meeting should take place between myself and the King.”

Now after the Amír had risen to his feet and Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá had gone out, the Amír sat down and at once fainted. When he came to himself he went forth from the bath and called to his servants, saying, “Where has the physician gone?” They answered, “He came out from the bath, and mounted the horse, while his attendant mounted the mule, and went off.”

Then the Amír knew what object he had had in view. So he came forth on his own feet from the hot bath; and tidings of this ran through the city, and his servants and retainers and people rejoiced greatly, and gave alms, and offered sacrifices, and held high festival. But they could not find the physician, seek him as they might. And on the seventh day Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá's servant arrived, riding the horse and leading the mule, and presented the letter. The Amír read it, and was astonished, and excused him, and sent him a horse, and a robe of honour, and equipment, and a cloak, and arms, and a turban, and a male slave, and a handmaiden; and further commanded that there should be assigned to him in Ray from the estates of al-Ma'mún¹

a yearly allowance of two²

thousand dínárs and two hundred ass-loads of corn. These marks of honour he forwarded to him by the hand of a trusty messenger, together with his apologies. So the Amír completely regained his health, and Muḥammad b. Zakariyyá attained his object.

Ma'mún Khwárazmsháh³

had an accomplished Minister named Abu'l - Ḥasan Aḥmad b. Muḥammad. He was a man of learning and a friend of scholars, and consequently many philosophers and men of erudition, such as Abú 'Alí b. Síná, Abú Sahl Masíḥí, Abu'l-Ḥasan Khammár, Abú Naṣr 'Arráq, and Abú Rayḥán [al-Bírúní],⁴

gathered about his court.

Now Abú Naṣr 'Arráq was the nephew of Khwárazmsháh, and in all branches of the exact sciences he was second only to Ptolemy the Philosopher; while Abú 'Alí [b Síná] and Abú Sahl Masíḥí were the successors of Aristotle⁵

in the science of Philosophy, which includes all sciences; and Abu'l - Ḥasan Khammár was the third after Hippocrates and Galen in the science of Medicine. And all these were, in this their service, independent of worldly cares, and maintained with one another familiar intercourse and pleasant correspondence.

But Fortune, as is its custom, disapproved of this; though the King would not willingly have destroyed this happiness of theirs, or brought these pleasant days to an end. So a notable arrived from Sulṭán Maḥmúd Yamínu'd-Dawla with a letter, whereof the purport was as follows: “I have heard that there are in attendance on Khwárazmsháh several men of learning, each unrivalled in his science, such as So-and-so and So-and-so. You must send them to my court, so that they may attain the honour of attendance thereat. We rely on being enabled to profit by their knowledge and skill, and request this favour on the part of Khwárazmsháh.”

Now the bearer of this message was Khwája Ḥusayn 'Alí Míká'íl, who was one of the most accomplished men of his age, and the wonder of his time amongst his contemporaries, while the prosperity of Sulṭán Yamínu'd-Dawla continued ever on the increase in the zenith of dominion and empire, and the kings of the time used to treat him with every respect and do him homage, and night and day lay down in fear of him. So Khwárazmsháh entertained Ḥusayn 'Alí Míká'íl in the best of lodgings, and ordered him to be supplied with all materials suitable for a prolonged stay; but, before according him an audience, he summoned the philosophers and laid before them the King's letter, saying: “The King is strong, and has a large army recruited from Khurásán and India; and he covets 'Iráq. I cannot refuse to obey his order, or be disobedient to his mandate. What say ye on this matter?”

They answered, “We cannot abandon thy service, nor will we in any wise go to him.” But Abú Naṣr and Abu'l-Ḥasan and Abú Rayḥán were eager to go, having heard accounts of the King's munificent gifts and presents. Then said Khwárazmsháh, “I will summon you before me,¹

and do you take your own way.” Then he equipped Abú 'Alí [b. Síná] and Abú Sahl, and arranged a plan for them, and sent with them a guide, and they set off through the desert towards Mázandarán.

Next day Khwárazmsháh accorded Ḥusayn 'Alí Míká'íl an audience, and heaped on him all sorts of compliments. “I have read the letter,” said he, “and have acquainted myself with its contents and with the King's command. Abú 'Alí and Abú Sahl are gone, but I will provide equipment for Abú Naṣr and Abú Rayḥán and Abu'l-Ḥasan,²

so that they may enjoy the honour of entering that August Presence.” So in a little while he provided their outfit, and despatched them in the company of Khwája Ḥusayn Míká'íl to Balkh. So they came into the presence of Sulṭán Yamínu'd-Dawla, and joined the King's Court.

Now it was Abú 'Alí [b. Síná] whom the King chiefly desired. He commanded Abú Naṣr the painter to draw his portrait on paper, and he ordered the other artists to make forty copies of the portrait, and these he despatched in all directions, placing them in the hands of persons of note, to whom he said, “There is a man after this likeness, whom they call Abú 'Alí b. Síná. Seek him out and send him to me.”

Now when Abú 'Alí and Abú Sahl departed from Khwárazmsháh,³

ere morning came they had travelled fifteen parasangs. When it was morning they alighted at a place where there were wells, and Abú 'Alí took up an astrological table to see under what ascendant they had started on their journey. “We shall lose our way,” said he, “and experience hardships.” Said Abú Sahl: “We acquiesce in God's decree. Indeed, I know that I shall not come safely through this journey, for in these two days the passage of the degree of my ascendant reaches Capricorn, and that is decisive,¹

so that no hope remains to me. Henceforth our intercourse of souls is at an end.”²

Then a wind arose and clouds gathered. Abú 'Alí relates as follows. On the fourth day a dust-storm arose, and the world was darkened. They lost their way, for the wind had obliterated the tracks. When the wind lulled, their guide was a thousand times more astray than before; no water was obtainable; and, by reason of the heat of the desert of Khwárazm, Abú Sahl Masíḥí passed away to the World of Eternity. The guide turned back, while Abú 'Alí, with a thousand hardships and difficulties, reached Abíward, whence he went to Ṭús, and finally happened on Níshápúr.

There he found a number of persons who were seeking for Abú 'Alí. He alighted in a quiet spot, where he abode several days, and thence he turned his face towards Gurgán. Qábús,³

who was king of that province, was a great and accomplished man, and a friend to men of learning. Abú 'Alí knew that there no harm would befal him. When he reached Gurgán, he alighted at a caravanseray. One day a person fell sick in his neighbourhood. Abú 'Alí treated him, and he got better. It is related that Abú 'Alí continued to live in Gurgán,⁴

and that his income became considerable and went on increasing day by day. Some time elapsed thus, until one of the relatives of Qábús fell sick. The physicians set themselves to treat him, striving and exerting themselves to the utmost, but the disease was not cured. Now Qábús was greatly attached to him. So one of the servants of Qábús did obeisance before him and said: “Into such-and-such a caravanseray hath entered a young man who is a physician, and whose efforts are singularly blessed, so that several persons have been cured at his hands.” So Qábús bade them seek him out and bring him to the patient.

So they sought out Abú 'Alí and brought him to the sick man. He saw a youth of comely countenance, whereon the hair had scarcely begun to show itself, and of symmetrical proportions. He sat down, felt his pulse, asked to see his urine, inspected it, and said, “I want a man who knows all the districts and the quarters of this province” So they brought one; and Abú 'Alí placed his hand on the patient's pulse, and bade the other mention the names of the different quarters and districts of Gurgán. So the man began, and continued until he reached the name of a quarter at the mention of which, as he uttered it, the patient's pulse gave a strange flutter. Then Abú 'Alí said, “Now I must have someone who knows all the streets in this quarter.” They brought such an one. “Repeat,” said Abú 'Alí, “the names of all the houses in this district.” So he repeated them till he reached the name of a house at the mention of which the patient's pulse gave the same flutter. “Now,” said Abú 'Alí, “I want someone who knows all the households.” They brought such an one, and he began to repeat them until he reached a name at the mention of which that same strange flutter was apparent.

Then said Abú 'Alí, “It is finished.” Thereupon he turned to the confidential advisers of Qábús, and said: “This lad is in love with such-and-such a girl, in such-and-such a house, in such-and-such a street, in such-and-such a quarter: the girl's face is the patient's cure.” The patient, who was listening, heard what was said, and in shame hid his face beneath the clothes. When they made enquiries, it was even as Abú 'Alí had said.¹

Then they reported this matter to Qábús, who was amazed thereat and said, “Bring him before me.” So Abú 'Alí b. Síná was brought before Qábús.

Now Qábús had a copy of Abú 'Alí's portrait, which Yamínu'd-Dawla had sent to him. “Why, here is Abú 'Alí!” exclaimed he. “Yes, O most puissant Prince,” replied the other. Then Qábús came down from his throne, advanced several paces to meet Abú 'Alí, embraced him, conversed genially with him, sat down beside him, and said, “O greatest and most accomplished philosopher of the world, explain to me the rationale of this treatment!” “O Sire,” answered Abú 'Alí, “when I inspected his pulse and urine, I became convinced that his complaint was love, and that he had fallen thus sick through keeping his secret. Had I enquired of him, he would not have told me; so I placed my hand on his pulse while they repeated in succession the names of the different quarters, and when it came to the name of the quarter of his beloved, love moved him, and his heart was stirred, so that I knew she was a dweller in that quarter. Then I enquired the streets, and when I reached the street in question that same movement occurred, and I knew that she dwelt in that street. Then I enquired the names of the households in that street, and the same phenomenon occurred when the house of his beloved was named, so that I knew the house also. Then they made mention of the names of its inhabitants, and when he heard the name of his beloved, he was greatly affected, so that I knew the name of his sweetheart also. Then I told him my conclusion, and he could not deny it, but was compelled to confess the truth.”

Qábús was greatly astonished, and indeed there was good reason for astonishment. “O most eminent and most excellent philosopher of the world,” said he, “both the lover and the beloved are the children of my sisters, and are cousins to one another. Choose, then, an auspicious moment that I may unite them in marriage.” So the Master [Avicenna] chose a fortunate hour, and in it they were united, and that prince was cured of the ailment which had brought him to death's door. And thereafter Qábús maintained Abú 'Alí in the best manner possible, and thence he went to Ray, and finally became minister to 'Alá'u'd-Dawla, as is well known in history.

The author of the Kámilu'ṣ-Ṣaná'at¹

was physician to 'Aḍudu'd-Dawla²

in Párs, in the city of Shíráz. Now in that city there was a porter who used to carry loads of four hundred and five hundred maunds on his back. And every five or six months he would be attacked by headache, and become restless, remaining so for ten³

days and nights. One time he was attacked by headache, and when seven or eight days had elapsed, he several times determined to destroy himself. At length one day this physician passed by the door of his house. The porter's brother ran to meet him, did reverence to him, and, conjuring him by God Most High, told him his brother's condition. “Bring him to me,” said the physician. So they called him before the physician, who saw that he was a big man, of bulky frame, wearing on his feet a pair of shoes each of which weighed a maund and a half. Then the physician asked for and examined his urine; after which, “Bring him with me into the open country,” said he. They did so. On their arrival there, he bade his servant take the turban from his head, and cast it round his neck. Then he ordered another servant to take the shoes off the porter's feet and kick him on the back of the neck. The porter's sons wept, but the physician was a man of consideration, so that they could say nothing. Then the physician ordered his servant to throw the turban round his neck, to mount his horse, and to make the porter run round the plain. The servant did as he was bid. Blood began to flow from the porter's nostrils. “Now,” said the physician, “let him alone, that the blood may flow from him, for he stinketh worse than a corpse.” The man fell asleep amidst the blood which flowed from his nose, and three hundred dirhams' weight of blood escaped from his nostrils. They bore him thence, and he slept for a day and a night, and his headache passed away and never again returned.

Then 'Aḍudu'd-Dawla questioned the physician as to the rationale of this treatment. “O King,” he replied, “for some while the blood had coagulated¹

in his head, and it was impossible to relieve this congestion by means of belladonna,²

so I devised another treatment, which proved successful.”

Melancholia is a disease which physicians often fail to treat successfully, for, though all melancholic diseases are chronic, melancholia is a pathological condition which is [especially] slow to pass.

Abu'l-Ḥasan b. Yaḥyá, in his work entitled the “Hippocratic Therapeutics” (Mu'álaja-i-Buqráṭí),¹

a book the like of which hath been composed by no one on the Art of Medicine, hath reckoned up the leaders of thought, sages, physicians, scholars, and philosophers who have been afflicted by this disease, for there were many of them; and he continues thus:—

“My master Abú Ja'far b. Muḥammad Abú Sa'd²

al-Nashawí, commonly known as Ṣarakh,³

related to me,” says he, “on the authority of the Imám Shaykh Muḥammad b. al-'Aqíl al-Qazwíní, on the authority of the Amír Fakhru'd-Dawla Kálinjár the Buwayhid, that one of the princes of the House of Buwayh was attacked by melancholy, and was in such wise affected by the disease that he imagined himself to have been transformed into a cow. Every day he would low like a cow, causing annoyance to everyone, and saying, ‘Kill me, so that a good stew may be prepared from my flesh’; until matters reached such a pass that he would eat nothing, and the physicians were unable to do him any good.

“Now at this juncture Abú 'Alí (Avicenna) was prime minister, and the king 'Alá'u'd - Dawla Muḥammad b. Washmgír had the fullest confidence in him, and had entrusted into his hands all the affairs of the kingdom, and placed under his judgment and discretion all matters. And, indeed, since Alexander the Great, whose minister was Aristotle, no king had such a minister as Abú 'Alí. And during the time that he was minister, he used to rise up every morning before dawn and write a couple of pages of the Shifá.⁴

Then, when the true dawn appeared, he used to give audience to his disciples, such as Kiyá Ra'ís Bahmanyár, Abú Manṣúr Zíla,¹

'Abdu'l - Wáḥid Jurjání, Sulayman of Damascus, and me, Abú Kálinjár. We used to continue our studies till the morning grew bright, and then perform our prayers behind him; and as soon as he came forth he was met at the gate of his house by a thousand mounted men, comprising the dignitaries and notables, as well as such as had boons to crave, or were in difficulties. Then the minister would mount, and this company would attend him to the Government Offices. By the time he arrived there, the number of horsemen had reached two thousand. And there he would remain until the morning prayer, and when he retired for refreshment all that company ate with him. Then he took his midday siesta, and when he rose up from this he would perform his prayer, wait on the King, and remain talking and conversing with him until the next prayer; and in all matters of importance there was no third person between him and the King.

“Our object in narrating these details is to show that the minister had no leisure time. Now when the physicians proved unable to cure this young man, the King's intercession was sought, so that he might bid his minister take the case in hand. So 'Alá'u'd-Dawla spoke to him to this effect, and he consented. Then said he, ‘Good tidings to the patient, for the butcher has come to kill him!’ When the patient heard this, he rejoiced. Then the minister mounted his horse, and came with his retinue to the gate of the patient's house. Taking a knife in his hand, he entered with two attendants, saying, ‘Where is this cow, that I may kill it?’ The patient made a noise like a cow, meaning, ‘He is here.’ The minister bade them bind him hand and foot in the middle of the house. The patient ran forward into the middle of the house and lay down on his right side, and they bound his hands and feet firmly, and 'Abú 'Alí then came forward, rubbing the knives together, sat down, and placed his hand on his side, as is the custom of butchers. ‘He is very lean,’ said he, ‘and not fit to be killed: he must eat fodder until he gets fat.’ Then he rose up and came out, having bidden them loose his hands and feet, and place food before him, saying, ‘Eat, so that thou mayst grow fat.’ They did so, and he ate, and recovered his appetite, after which they administered to him drugs and draughts. ‘This cow,’ said Abú 'Alí, ‘must be well fattened’; so the patient ate in the hope that he might grow fat and they might kill him; while the physicians applied themselves vigorously to treating him as the minister had indicated, and in a month's time he completely recovered.”

All wise men will perceive that one cannot heal by such methods of treatment save by virtue of extreme excellence, perfect science, and unerring acumen.

In the reign of Maliksháh, and during part of the reign of Sulṭán Sanjar, there was at Herát a philosopher named Adíb Isma'íl, a very great and perfect man, who, however, derived his income from his receipts as a physician. By him many rare cures of this class were wrought.

One day he was passing through the sheep - slayers' market. A butcher was skinning a sheep, and was eating the warm fat which he took from its belly.¹

Khwája Isma'íl said to a grocer opposite him, “If at any time this fellow should die, inform me of it before they lay him in his grave.” “Willingly,” replied the grocer. When five or six months had elapsed, one morning it was rumoured abroad that such-and-such a butcher had died suddenly without any premonitory illness. The grocer also went to offer his condolences. He found a number of people tearing their garments, while others were consumed with grief, for the dead man was young, and had little children. Then he remembered the words of Khwája Isma'íl, and hastened to bear the intelligence to him. Said the Khwája, “He has been a long time in dying.” Then he arose, took his staff, went to the dead man's house, raised the sheet from the face of the corpse, and began to apply the remedies for apoplexy.¹

On the third day the dead man arose, and, though he remained paralytic, he lived for many years, and men were astonished, for that great man had seen from the first that he would be stricken by apoplexy.

The Shaykhu'l - Islám 'Abdu'lláh Anṣárí (may God sanctify his spirit!) conceived a fanatical hatred of the above-mentioned man of science, and several times attempted to do him an injury, and burned his books. Now this fanatical dislike arose from religious motives, for the people of Herát believed that he could restore the dead to life, and this belief was injurious to his own pretensions.²

Now the Shaykh fell ill, and in the course of his illness the death - rattle became apparent. However much the physicians treated him, it availed nothing. They were in despair, and so sent a sample of his urine to the Khwája under the name of another, and requested him to prescribe. When he had inspected it, he said: “This is the urine of so-and-so, in whom the death-rattle has become apparent, and whom they are unable to treat. Bid them pound together a sír of pistachio-skins and a sír³

of the sugar called 'askarí and give it to him, so that he may recover; and give him this message: ‘You should study science, and not burn men's books.’”

So they made a confection of these two ingredients, and the patient ate it, and immediately the death-rattle ceased, and he recovered.

In the time of Galen, one of the notables of Alexandria was attacked by pain in the finger-tips, and suffered great restlessness, being debarred from all repose. They informed Galen, who prescribed an unguent to be applied to his shoulders. As soon as they did this he was cured. Then they questioned Galen, saying, “What was [the rationale of] this treatment which thou didst adopt?” He replied: “This, that the source of a pain which attacks the fingertips is the shoulder. I treated the root so that the branch might be cured.”

In the year A.H. 547 (= A.D. 1152-3),¹

when a battle took place at Daráward²

between the King of the World Sanjar b. Maliksháh and my master 'Alá'u'd - Dawla al - Ḥusayn (may God immortalize their reigns!), and the Ghúrid army was so grievously smitten by the evil eye,³

and I wandered about Herát in hiding, because I was connected with the House of Ghúr, and their enemies uttered all manner of accusations against them, and rejoiced malignantly over their reverse; in the midst of this state of things, I say, I chanced one night to be in the house of a certain noble man. When he had eaten bread, I went out to satisfy a need. That noble man, by reason of whom I came to be there, was praising me, saying: “Men know him as a poet, but, apart from his skill in poetry, he is a man of great attainments, well skilled in astrology, medicine, polite letter-writing, and other accomplishments.”

When I returned to the company, the master of the house showed me much respect, as do those who are in need of some favour, and sat by me for a while. “O so-and-so,” said he, “I have one only daughter, and, save her, no other near relative, and she is my treasure. Lately she has fallen a victim to a malady such that during the days of her monthly courses ten or fifteen sírs¹

of sanguineous matter come from her, and she is greatly weakened. We have consulted the physicians, several of whom have treated her, but it has availed nothing, for if this issue be stopped, she is attacked with pain and swelling in the stomach, and if it be renewed, it is increased in amount,²

and she is much weakened, so that I fear its cessation, lest her strength should wholly decline.” “Send me word,” said I, “when next this state occurs.”

When ten days had passed, the patient's mother came to fetch me, and brought her daughter to me. I saw a girl very comely, but despairing of life, and stricken with terror. She at once fell at my feet, saying: “O my father! For God's sake help me, for I am young, and have not yet seen the world.” The tears sprang to my eyes, and I said, “Be of good cheer, this is an easy matter.” Then I placed my fingers on her pulse. I found the artery strong, and her colour and complexion normal. It was at this time the season of summer, and most of the conditions of an enjoyable life³

were present, such as a robust habit of body, a strong constitution, a healthy complexion, age, season, country,⁴

and occupation. Then I summoned a phlebotomist and bade him open the basilic vein in both her arms; and I sent away all the women. The bad blood continued to flow, and, by pressure and manipulation, I took from her a thousand dirhams' weight of blood, so that she fell down in a swoon. Then I bade them bring fire, and prepare roasted meat beside her, until the house was filled with the smoke of the roasting meat, and it entered her nostrils. Then she came to her senses, moved, groaned, and asked for a drink. Then I prepared for her a gentle stimulant, and treated her for a week, and she recovered, and that illness passed away, and her monthly courses resumed their normal condition. And I called her my daughter, and to-day she is to me as my other children.

My object in writing this treatise and in setting forth this discourse is not to make mention of my merits or to show forth my services, but rather to guide the beginner, and to glorify my Lord, the learned and just King, Ḥusámu'd-Dawla wa'd-Dín, Helper of Islám and the Muslims, Pride of monarchs and kings, noblest of mankind, Shamsu'l-Ma'álí, Maliku'l-Umará, Abu'l-Ḥasan 'Alí b. Mas'úd b. al-Ḥusayn, Nuṣratu Amíri'l-Mú'minín (may God perpetuate his glory!), by whose high station the Kingly Office is magnified. May God (blessed and glorious is He!) continue to embellish it by his Beauty, and may the Divine Protection and Heavenly Grace be a buckler over the form and stature of both, and may the heart of my Lord and Benefactor Fakhru'd-Dawla wa'd-Dín, Bahá'u'l-Islám wa'l-Muslimín, King of the kings of the mountains, be rejoiced, not for a while but for ever, by the continuance of both!

In the beneficent reign of the Sovereign Lord¹

of the nations, the King of kings who is like unto Alexander in pomp, the Remembrancer of Kisrá and Jamshíd, the Monarch of monarchs, the Shadow of God in the lands, by the regards of whose weighty mind all the sciences and arts enjoy the fullest ascendency, and the votaries of every sort of craft and cunning possess the most brilliant position, the King, son of a king and grandson of a king, and the Prince, son of a prince and grandson of a prince, SHÁH NÁṢIRU'D-DÍN QÁJÁR (may God prolong his Power, and extend his Life and his Reign!)—

“O King, who resemblest the Angels in exaltation,
Whose name is held in fair renown by the Supreme Host!”

By the auspicious traits of his nature the treatises of men of culture, which had been clothed in the raiment of oblivion, have become adorned with the ornament of print, while the dust of desolation has been removed from the senses of men of learning. Amongst such treatises is this Chahár Maqála of 'Arúḍí, whereof, until this time, the virgin sentences were hidden behind the curtain of concealment, and the maiden anecdotes lay latent and unknown in the leaves. This servant of the Heaven-high Court and house-bred slave of this Immortal Dynasty, Muḥammad Báqir Khán, son of the late Hájí Muḥammad Báqir Khán, Begler-begí, the Qájár, who has devoted most of his time to the transcription of written pages, undertook, at the desire of his High Reverence Mullá 'Alí Khwánsárí, to transcribe this also. Two manuscripts were examined, of which the one had been copied from the other. In the one there were bad mistakes, and in the other worse. It was as though a heap of gold had been acquired, but filled with alloy and dross. Thus, amongst other errors, ◌ was written ◌. Therefore, to the utmost of my power, I applied myself, while transcribing the book, to correcting as far as possible the words and sentences occurring in it. My prayer of my spiritual friends, who are the changers of the coins of ideas, is that if a chance mistake occur, or an erroneous idea or word appear, they will overlook it with gracious eyes, and will endeavour to read such correction into the text.

At the time of concluding, a chronogram expressing the date [of publication] occurred to me, and is here submitted:¹

By the desire of Ákhúnd-i-Mullá 'Alí Khwánsárí, A.H. 1305, and by the care of His Reverence Abu'l-Qásim, the noble heir of Ákhúnd-i-Mullá Muḥammad.