(Ebook) Alfarabi, The Political Writings:

Selected Aphorisms and Other Texts (Agora

Editions) by Alfarabi (Author), Charles E.
Butterworth (Translator, Contributor) ISBN
9780801489136, 080148913X download
https://ebooknice.com/product/alfarabi-the-political-writings-
selected-aphorisms-and-other-texts-agora-editions-1861104

Explore and download more ebooks at ebooknice.com

Here are some recommended products for you. Click the link to
download, or explore more at ebooknice.com

(Ebook) The Political Writings by Alfarabi ISBN 9780801489136,

080148913X

https://ebooknice.com/product/the-political-writings-58310462

(Ebook) Biota Grow 2C gather 2C cook by Loucas, Jason; Viles,

James ISBN 9781459699816, 9781743365571, 9781925268492,
1459699815, 1743365578, 1925268497

https://ebooknice.com/product/biota-grow-2c-gather-2c-cook-6661374

(Ebook) Matematik 5000+ Kurs 2c Lärobok by Lena Alfredsson, Hans

Heikne, Sanna Bodemyr ISBN 9789127456600, 9127456609

https://ebooknice.com/product/matematik-5000-kurs-2c-larobok-23848312

(Ebook) The Political Writings, Volume II: "Political Regime"

and "Summary of Plato's Laws" by by Alfarabi; translated & with
an introduction & notes by Charles E. Butterworth ISBN
9780801456329, 0801456320
https://ebooknice.com/product/the-political-writings-volume-ii-political-
regime-and-summary-of-plato-s-laws-56121844
(Ebook) SAT II Success MATH 1C and 2C 2002 (Peterson's SAT II
Success) by Peterson's ISBN 9780768906677, 0768906679

https://ebooknice.com/product/sat-ii-success-math-1c-and-2c-2002-peterson-
s-sat-ii-success-1722018

(Ebook) Vagabond, Vol. 29 (29) by Inoue, Takehiko ISBN

9781421531489, 1421531488

https://ebooknice.com/product/vagabond-vol-29-29-37511002

(Ebook) Philosophy of Plato and Aristotle by Alfarabi, Muhsin

Mahdi, Muhsin Mahdi, Charles E. Butterworth ISBN 9780801487163,
0801487161

https://ebooknice.com/product/philosophy-of-plato-and-aristotle-1632152

(Ebook) Master SAT II Math 1c and 2c 4th ed (Arco Master the SAT
Subject Test: Math Levels 1 & 2) by Arco ISBN 9780768923049,
0768923042

https://ebooknice.com/product/master-sat-ii-math-1c-and-2c-4th-ed-arco-
master-the-sat-subject-test-math-levels-1-2-2326094

(Ebook) Cambridge IGCSE and O Level History Workbook 2C - Depth

Study: the United States, 1919-41 2nd Edition by Benjamin
Harrison ISBN 9781398375147, 9781398375048, 1398375144,
1398375047
https://ebooknice.com/product/cambridge-igcse-and-o-level-history-
workbook-2c-depth-study-the-united-states-1919-41-2nd-edition-53538044
 ALFARABI
AGORA E D I T I O N S
Editor: Thomas L. Pangle
Founding Editor: Allan Bloom The Political
Alfarabi, The Political Writings: "Selected Aphorisms" and Other Texts.
Translated and annotated by Charles E. Butterworth
Bolotin, David. Plato's Dialogue on Friendship: An Interpretation of the
"Lysis," with a New Translation.
Writings
Kojeve, Alexandre. Introduction to the Reading of Hegel: Lectures on the
"Phenomenology of Spirit." Assembled by Raymond Queneau.
SELECTED APHORISMS and Other Texts
Edited by Allan Bloom. Translated by James H. Nichols Jr.
Medieval Political Philosophy: A Sourcebook. Edited by Ralph Lerner and
Muhsin Mahdi.
TRANSLATED AND ANNOTATED BY
Plato. Gorgias. Translated by James H. Nichols Jr.
Plato. Phaedrus. Translated by James H. Nichols Jr.
Plato. Gorgias and Phaedrus. Translated by James H. Nichols Jr.
The Roots of Political Philosophy: Ten Forgotten Socratic Dialogues. Edited by
CHARLES E. BUTTERWORTH
Thomas L. Pangle.
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. Politics and the Arts: Letter to M. D'Alembert on the
Theatre. Translated by Allan Bloom.

Cornell University Press

ITHACA AND LONDON

2.001
 Copyright © 2001 by Cornell University For
All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this Charles "Chick" Evans Jr.,
book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without Roland F. "Mac" McGuigan,
permission in writing from the publisher. For information, address
Cornell University Press, Sage House, 512 East State Street, Ithaca, and Thomas Dutch,
New York 14850. with gratitude for their faith in
the promise of education
First published 2001 by Cornell University Press

Printed in the United States of America

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Farabi.
[Selections. English. 2001]
Alfarabi, the political writings : Selected Aphorisms and other
texts / translated and annotated by Charles E. Butterworth.
p. cm.— (Agora editions)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-8014-3857-8 (alk.)
1. Philosophy, Islamic—Early works to 1800. I. Butterworth, Charles E. II. Title.
III. Agora editions (Cornell University Press)
B753.F32 E5 2001
181'.6—dc21 00-012887

Cornell University Press strives to use environmentally responsible

suppliers and materials to the fullest extent possible in the publishing
of its books. Such materials include vegetable-based, low-VOC inks
and acid-free papers that are recycled, totally chlorine-free, or partly
composed of nonwood fibers. Books that bear the logo of the FSC
(Forest Stewardship Council) use paper taken from forests that have
been inspected and certified as meeting the highest standards for
environmental and social responsibility. For further information, visit
our website at www.cornellpress.cornell.edu.

Cloth printing 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 Contents

Preface
ix

Selected Aphorisms

Enumeration of the Sciences

69

Book of Religion
85

The Harmonization of the Two Opinions of the Two Sages:

Plato the Divine and Aristotle
115

Glossary
169

Index
177
 Preface

Widely referred to as "the second teacher/' that is, second after Aristotle,
Abu Nasr Muhammad Ibn Muhammad Ibn Tarkhan Ibn Awzalagh al-
Farabl (Alfarabi) is generally heralded as having founded political phi-
losophy within the Islamic cultural tradition. Born in about 870/2561 in
the village of Farab in Turkestan, he resided in Bukhara, Marv, Harran,
Baghdad, and perhaps in Constantinople, as well as in Aleppo, Cairo,
and finally Damascus, where he died in 950/339. The son of an army
officer in the service of the Samanids, Alfarabi first studied Islamic
jurisprudence and music in Bukhara, then moved to Marv, where he
began to study logic with a Nestorian Christian monk, Ytihanna Ibn
Haylan. While in his early twenties, Alfarabi left for Baghdad, where he
continued to study logic and philosophy with Ibn Haylan. At the same
time, he improved his grasp of Arabic by studying with the prominent
philologist Ibn al-Sarraj and is said to have followed the courses of the
famous Nestorian Christian translator and student of Aristotle, Matta Ibn
Yunus.
Around 905/293-910/298, Alfarabi left Baghdad for Byzantium (pos-
sibly even reaching Constantinople), where he remained for about eight
years, studying Greek sciences and philosophy. On his return to Baghdad,
he busied himself with teaching and writing until political upheavals in
942/330 forced him to seek refuge in Damascus. Two or three years later,
political turmoil there drove him to Egypt, where he stayed until return-
1. That is, 870 of the Common Era and 256 of the Anno Hejirae (the year 622 c.E., when
Muhammad and his followers fled from Mecca to Medina, marks the beginning of the
Muslim calendar).

IX
 Preface Preface xi

ing to Damascus in 948/337 or 949/338, a little over a year before his Yet Alfarabi seems always alert to the difficulties religion and revealed
death.2 law pose for the older approach to politics. In the fifth chapter of the Enu-
His writings, extraordinary in their breadth as well as in their deep meration of the Sciences, for example, he sets forth two accounts of the old
learning, extend through all of the sciences and embrace every part of phi- political science. Both presuppose the validity of the traditional separa-
losophy. Alfarabi's interest in mathematics is evidenced in commentaries tion between the practical and the theoretical sciences, but neither is ade-
on the Elements of Euclid and Almagest of Ptolemy, as well as in several quate for the radically new situation created by the appearance of
writings on the history and theory of music. Indeed, his Kitab al-Musiqa al- revealed religion. The two accounts explain in detail the actions and ways
KabTr, (Large Book on Music) may well be the most significant work in Ara- of life required for sound political rule to flourish, but are utterly silent
bic on that subject. He also wrote numerous commentaries on Aristotle's about opinions—especially the kind of theoretical opinions that have been
logical treatises, was knowledgeable about the Stagirite's physical writ- set forth in the now dominant religion—and thus are unable, given this
ings, and is credited with an extensive commentary on the Nicomachean religion's prevalence, to point to the kind of rulership needed. Nor can
Ethics that is no longer extant. In addition to writing the accounts of either speak about the opinions or actions addressed by the jurisprudence
Plato's and Aristotle's philosophy that form the second and third parts of and theology of revealed religion. These tasks require a political science
the trilogy published as the first volume in this series of Alfarabi's politi- that both combines theoretical and practical sciences along with prudence
cal writings, the Philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, he composed a commen- and shows how they are to be ordered in the soul of the ruler.
tary on Plato's Laws. Such a view of political science is presented in the Book of Religion. It is
As the first philosopher within the tradition of Islam to explore the a political science that is a part of philosophy. Yet even as Alfarabi offers
challenge to traditional philosophy presented by revealed religion, espe- this redemptive vision of political science, he suggests that religion and
cially in its claims that the Creator provides for human well-being by revelation must also be put into perspective or considered anew and then
means of an inspired prophet legislator, Alfarabi has come to be known as goes about explaining religion in such a manner that its theoretical and
the founder of Islamic political philosophy. In the first part of the Philoso- practical subordination to philosophy becomes manifest. Alfarabi's
phy of Plato and Aristotle—that is, in the Attainment of Happiness—he seeks account of this subordination makes it seem perfectly reasonable—so rea-
to pinpoint the common concerns that link Islam and its revealed law sonable that the limitations thereby placed on dialectical theology and
with pagan philosophy in its highest form—namely, the writings of Plato jurisprudence appear to follow necessarily from it.
and Aristotle. That effort finds an echo in the Selected Aphorisms, the first To this explanation of the way Alfarabi elaborates the relationship
writing presented in this volume, in two ways. First, the opening words of between the philosophy of the ancients and the new revelation, one might
the treatise indicate that Alfarabi draws from what the ancients—that is, object that it relies too much on a presumption of harmony and agreement
Plato and Aristotle—have to say about governing, but governing with a between Plato and Aristotle on these matters. We know, however, that the
view to a particular purpose. For him, the goal is to govern cities so that two differed about many minor and not-so-minor questions. This issue is
they become prosperous and the lives of their citizens are improved—this addressed in the last work presented in this volume, the highly enigmatic
in the sense that they be led toward happiness. Second, the overlap Harmonization of the Two Opinions of the Two Sages, Plato the Divine and Aris-
between this work and the Philosophy of Plato and Aristotle, especially the totle. Here Alfarabi, desirous of putting an end to the disputes and discord
Attainment of Happiness, indicated by these words is made even more among his contemporaries about the disagreement they claim to discern
explicit toward the end of the Selected Aphorisms. Indeed, a long passage in between "the two eminent and distinguished sages, Plato and Aristotle,"
aphorism 94 paraphrases sections 11-20 of the Attainment of Happiness. sets out to show that their opinions are in agreement, to "remove doubt
and suspicion from the hearts of those who look into their books," and to
2. For the preceding biographical observations, see Muhsin S. Mahdi, "Al-Farabi," in "explain the places of uncertainty and the sources of doubt in their trea-
Dictionary of Scientific Biography, ed. C. C. Gillispie (New York: Charles Scribner, 1971), vol. tises." These goals, set forth in the opening words of the treatise, are
4, pp. 523-26; and "Al-Farabl's Imperfect State," in Journal of the American Oriental Society
n o , no.4 (1990): 712-13. surely most appealing. But do they not too readily discount or ignore sim-
 Preface Preface xiii

pie facts manifest to any student of Plato and Aristotle? Precisely for that how to resolve particular textual problems. Professor Fauzi M. Najjar's
reason, the reader must look again at Alfarabi's final observation as he sterling editions of Selected Aphorisms and Harmonization have proved to
begins this treatise: he deems the attempt to show the agreement or har- be especially helpful, as have his initiative and assistance in translating
monization between these two philosophers' teachings to be of the utmost the latter for this book. Every translator should be so fortunate to have a
importance and, in addition, a most beneficial matter "to expound upon reader like Miriam Galston, who allows almost nothing to pass unques-
and elucidate." Stated differently, whether such agreement exists in fact tioned, especially not infelicities of expression that admit of remedy. If
or not, concern for the commonweal prompts Alfarabi to seek for a means these translations now have anything approaching literary appeal or ele-
of bringing something like agreement to light. gance and some greater accuracy, it is largely due to her painstaking read-
ing of the final manuscript and to her constant probing; for that precious
Such are the general features of and linkages between the texts before us. gift of time and effort, my gratitude is boundless. I was also fortunate to
Each has been translated anew for this volume, and each translation relies have in Thomas Pangle a series editor willing to read each translation
either on a text newly edited or on the revision of an older edition. To the with great care, suggest ever so tactfully how awkward formulations
extent consonant with readable English, Arabic terms have been rendered might be better phrased, and query passages whose opacity had eluded
consistently by the same English word. Similarly, every effort has been me. Rima Pavalko's careful eye for details and gracious assistance with
made to ensure that once an English word is used for a particular Arabic editorial tasks have been invaluable. To each of these benefactors, I
term, it is subsequently used only for that term. The goal is to reproduce in express my deepest thanks and hope that this end product will seem wor-
faithful and readable English the argument of these Arabic texts in a man- thy of their efforts. Finally, it is a great pleasure to acknowledge the sup-
ner that captures their texture and style and also communicates the port of the Earhart Foundation.
nuances and variety of Alfarabi's expression. To this end, notes sometimes
point to particular problems in a passage or to the fact that considerations
of style or sense have made it necessary to render an important term dif-
ferently. An English-Arabic and Arabic-English glossary has been placed
at the end of the volume to provide the interested reader with the possi-
bility of investigating how particular words have been translated.

The translations presented here have benefited from the kindly sugges-
tions of many readers, especially the students in undergraduate and grad-
uate seminars at the University of Maryland, Georgetown University, and
Harvard University, who wrestled valiantly with the complexities of
Alfarabi's thought and expression. May they and all those fellow scholars
who have read these translations with such care, pondered over my
attempts to render Alfarabi's teaching in something approaching conven-
tional English, and helped me present it more precisely or perhaps more
elegantly, find here my warmest expressions of gratitude. Special thanks
are due also to five individuals, each of whom contributed massively to
this project. First, as all students of Alfarabi know so well, Professor
Muhsin Mahdi discovered many of the manuscripts on which these trans-
lations are based and prepared the excellent critical edition of the Book of
Religion. In addition, I have benefited greatly from his sound advice on
Selected Aphorisms
The translation
This translation is based on the text of the Selected Aphorisms edited by
Fauzi M. Najjar just over a quarter of a century ago.1 Najjar's edition was
intended to expand upon, correct, and generally improve the edition and
translation published by D. M. Dunlop a decade earlier.2 It was primarily
Muhsin Mahdi's discovery in Turkey of an older and more reliable manu-
script of this work that prompted the new edition. This manuscript, from
the Diyarbekir Central Library (no. 1970), had not been known to Dunlop
and offered better readings of key passages as well as a more complete
text. In addition, Mahdi discovered another Turkish manuscript unknown
to Dunlop—the Istanbul Millet Library, Feyzullah, no. 1279. Though it
was not much more reliable than the two manuscripts on which Dunlop
had based his work (the Chester Beatty, no. 3714; and Bodleian, Hunt., no.
307), Najjar's acquisition of copies of two other manuscripts unknown to
Dunlop (the University of Teheran, Central Library, Mishkat, no. 250, and
the University of Teheran, Faculty of Divinity, Ilahiyyat, no. 695) allowed
him to improve considerably upon Dunlop's edition. These improve-
ments appear throughout the text, but are especially evident in the new
aphorisms (3,15, 23, and 40) and the additional sentences in aphorisms 6,

1. See Abu Nasr al-Farabi, Fusul Muntaza'a, (Selected Aphorisms), edited, with an intro-
duction and notes, by Fauzi M. Najjar (Beirut: Dar al-Mashriq, 1971).
2. See Al-Farabi: Fusul al-Madanl, Aphorisms of the Statesman, edited with an English
translation, introduction and notes, by D. M. Dunlop (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1961).
4 Alfarabi, The Political Writings
r Selected Aphorisms 5

8, and 26 (corresponding to Dunlop's 5, 7, and 23). Again, in aphorisms itself to seamless, fluid prose. It should come as no surprise that particu-
68-87, where Dunlop had to rely solely on the Chester Beatty source, Naj- larly when he is engaged in discussions of difficult questions, as when he is
jar's richer manuscript base offered far better textual readings and clari- explaining wisdom (aph. 37), Alfarabi's Arabic prose is equally strained.
fied many problems Dunlop had not been able to resolve. The extremes to be avoided in translation seem to be the excessive
The numbering of the aphorisms in the present translation corre- pedantry or desire for precision that creates confusion where none exists
sponds to Najjar's edition, but the section titles and other material found and the insufficient attentiveness that leads to smoothing over just those
within square brackets have been added by me. Some of these divisions difficulties that one ought not remove. Though awareness of them offers
are supported by marginal notations found in the Diyarbekir and Univer- no immunity, it is surely a better portent for a translation than nescience.
sity of Teheran Central Library manuscripts. Still, Dunlop's erroneous
division of the text into two parts (aphorisms 1-65 and 66-96) on the basis
The title of the work
of a marginal note in the Chester Beatty manuscript shows that such deci-
sions cannot be reached on the basis of scribal marginalia alone, but must Only one of the known manuscripts—namely, the "Book of the Apho-
also be consonant with the sense of the argument.3 Also of my doing is the risms of the Statesman, by Abu Nasr al-Farabi"—offers a title. It is also
sentence punctuation and paragraph divisions within the aphorisms. The one of the latest and least reliable manuscripts, the Bodleian. Moreover,
numbers within square brackets refer to the pages of Najjar's Arabic text. no medieval bibliographic source attributes a book with this title to
With these additions, as with the notes, my primary goal has been to Alfarabi; nor does the famous nineteenth century historian of medieval
make it easier for the reader to seize and follow Alfarabi's argument. Islamic and Jewish philosophy, Moritz Steinschneider, ever refer to it by
The same goal guides this translation. Years of using Dunlop's trans- this name. He, like Najjar, looks back to those traditional sources as well
lation with students who do not read Arabic showed that it would not be as to the way the work is identified in the first few lines of the other man-
sufficient merely to insert Najjar's new aphorisms and otherwise lightly uscripts and opts for the appellation "The Selected Aphorisms"; in doing
touch up his version. Rather, it had become clear that a technically rigor- so, Steinschneider departs only minutely from the other title traditionally
ous rendering of the text was needed. For example, in aphorism yj, Dun- assigned the work, the one Najjar opts for—"Selected Aphorisms."4
lop renders the term al-madina al-fadila, not as "the virtuous city" (which Najjar relies principally upon the Diyarbekir manuscript to establish
corresponds to the context and its discussion of virtue) but as "the ideal this title. With minor variations, the first few lines of this manuscript and
city." In aphorism 2, where Alfarabi contrasts noble actions (al-af'al three of the other five manuscripts read:
al-jamila) with base actions {al-af'al al-qabiha), a contrast perfectly in keep-
ing with the other one he is making between virtue and vice, Dunlop Selected aphorisms that comprise the roots of many of the sayings of the
translates these as "fair actions" and "ugly actions," thereby leaving the Ancients concerning that by which cities ought to be governed and made
reader to wonder what Alfarabi is talking about. In keeping with this prosperous, the ways of life of their inhabitants improved, and they be led
lack of rigor is Dunlop's tendency to use different English terms for the toward happiness.
same Arabic terms and the same English term to translate different Ara-
bic ones, a practice that deprives the reader of learning anything about The emphasis here is thus on the partial character of the treatise: it con-
Alfarabi's philosophic or political vocabulary. tains selected aphorisms that encompass the foundations, principles, or
To be sure, the contrary practice I have adopted sometimes obliges the grounds of several—that is, not all—of the sayings of the ancients. More-
reader to pause and puzzle out certain passages. The attempt to render over, those sayings are limited to political subjects, especially ones relat-
Arabic terms consistently with the same English ones does not always lend ing to rule. Only in the two Teheran manuscripts is a reading substantially
different from this prefatory passage to be found. Because it places greater
3. See Muhsin Mahdi, "Review of Al-Farabi: Fusul al-Madam, Aphorisms of the States-
man," Journal of Near Eastern Studies 23 (1964): 140-43. 4. See Najjar, pp. 10-13 and notes.
6 Alfarabi, The Political Writings Selected Aphorisms 7

stress upon human virtue than on political order and thereby suggests a six manuscripts, are sufficiently problematic that it is best to set them
different orientation to the work, it is worth citing in full: apart. In the Selected Aphorisms, Alfarabi begins with, then develops, a
comparison between the health of the soul and that of the body. That is,
These are the sentences and aphorisms chosen from the science of morals somewhat abruptly, he starts his exposition by defining the health of each
[and] comprise: acquiring the virtues of the human soul, avoiding its vices, and then explains how the health of the more important of the two—that
moving the human being himself from his bad habits to fine habits, mak- of the soul—may be obtained and its sickness repulsed. The first word of
ing firm the virtuous city, and making firm the household and the ruler- the Selected Aphorisms is simply "soul," while the last is "virtue." In the 96
ship over its inhabitants. They are all brought together in this epistle.5 aphorisms occurring between these two words, Alfarabi first enters upon
a detailed examination of the soul, then provides an account and justifica-
Moreover, in both these manuscripts the work is identified as an epis- tion of the well-ordered political regime that the soul needs in order to
tle (risala). Such differences notwithstanding, insofar as both versions pro- attain its perfection. At no point in the treatise or epistle does he speak of
vide a summary preview of the argument to come, they may well be prophecy or of the prophet or legislator. The terms are not even evoked.
nothing more than attempts on the part of industrious scribes to offer He is equally silent with respect to the philosopher and mentions "philos-
readers a preliminary synopsis of the work. ophy" only twice, both in the antepenultimate aphorism 94—the same
In translating the term fusul (sing, fasl) as "aphorisms" here, I do no aphorism in which he mentions, for the only time, the word "revelation."
more than follow in the steps of the first editor and translator—Dunlop— On the other hand, Alfarabi speaks constantly throughout these apho-
just as the second editor—Najjar—and most other scholars have done. risms of the statesman {madam) and of the king.
Yet Dunlop's recourse to Maimonides in order to urge that aphorisms are The "Ancients" referred to in the few lines preceding the first apho-
necessarily incomplete or fall short of a fully scientific explanation seems rism are, of course, none other than Plato and Aristotle. Alfarabi calls
unwarranted.6 Nor, pithy as they are, is anything to be gained by conjec- upon them in this work to identify the political order that will bring about
turing that Alfarabi understands fusul to mean "aphorisms" in the sense human happiness. The individual who succeeds in understanding how a
Nietzsche ascribes to the term almost a millennium later.7 The matter is political community can be well-ordered—whether this person is a states-
much more straightforward: we need only note how "aphorism," derived man or a king—will do for the citizens what the physician does for indi-
from the Greek aphorizein ("to mark off" or "to determine"), is aptly cap- vidual sick persons and will accomplish for the citizens who follow his
tured by the Arabic fasl and understand the English term in light of its rules what the prophet accomplishes for those who follow his. Nonethe-
Greek origin. Indeed, since Alfarabi at no point indicates why he calls the less, to attain such an understanding, one must first be fully acquainted
divisions of this work fusul, he may mean nothing more by the term than with the soul as well as with political life. More precisely, the virtuous
"sections" or some other form of textual break. Still, given the shortness political regime is the one in which the souls of all the inhabitants are as
of many of the fusul, there is no good reason to call them "chapters." healthy as possible: "the one who cures souls is the statesman, and he is
also called the king" (aph. 4).
This is why such a patently political treatise contains two long discus-
The structure of the work
sions of the soul. One, very reminiscent of what is found in the Nico-
The work itself consists of 96 aphorisms. The four additional and con- machean Ethics, explains all the faculties of the soul except for the
tested aphorisms, found only in the most recent and least reliable of the theoretical part of the rational faculty (aphs. 6-21). The other analyzes this
theoretical part as well as its companion, the practical part, by discussing
5. See Najjar, p. 23 note 2. In parentheses, Najjar adds "five chapters" (khamsat abwab) the intellectual virtues (aphs. 33-56). In addition, there is an investigation
after "epistle," but the link with the rest of the note is not evident. of the sound and erroneous opinions with respect to the principles of
6. See Dunlop, p. 10.
7. See Friedrich Nietzsche, Zur Genealogie der Moral (Towards a genealogy of morals)
being and happiness (aphs. 68-87). These three groups of aphorisms con-
Preface, no. 8; and also Morgenrote (Daybreak), no. 454. stitute a little less than two-thirds of the treatise. Void of formal structure
8 Alfarabi, The Political Writings Selected Aphorisms 9

or divisions, the treatise unfolds in such a manner that each moral discus- practical arrangements to facilitate life in community and of the qualities
sion is preceded and followed by other groups of aphorisms that go more obviously desirable in one identified as the best possible ruler prepares—
deeply into its political teaching. indeed, it presupposes—a fuller account of the soul. That is, Alfarabi's
Thus, the discussion of the soul in general is preceded by a series of exposition points to the limitations of moral virtue. For life in common
analogies between the soul and the body as well as between the soul and and, even more, for the best kind of political rule, human beings need
the body politic (aphs. 1-5) and followed first by a discussion devoted to more than moderation and courage.
domestic political economy (aphs. 22-29) a n d then by an inquiry into the The second question arising from attention to the structure of this
king in truth (aphs. 30-32). The second discussion of the soul, preceded by work has to do with the topics of aphorisms 68-87. Once the human soul
these three aphorisms, is followed by an inquiry into the virtuous city has been fully explained—that is, once its moral and intellectual excel-
(aphs. 57-67). This in turn precedes the investigation of sound and erro- lences have been identified and described in detail—Alfarabi focuses on
neous opinions, itself followed by the account of the virtuous regime providing for the soul in a proper political order. So what prompts him to
(aphs. 88-96). Subsequent to each moral digression, the tone of the discus- pause in the middle of that discussion and turn to questions having to do
sion seems to become more elevated, almost as though the moral teaching with physical science as well as with metaphysics or even theology? This
were the driving force for the political teaching of the treatise or were at question, too, admits of a different formulation: why is it necessary to dis-
least giving it direction. tinguish the sound opinions about the principles of being and the status of
Here, then, is the schematic structure of the treatise or epistle as I happiness from the erroneous ones before moving from a discussion of a
understand it: particular form of virtuous political community, the city, to the virtuous
regime in general? It almost seems that the virtuous city is so particular
A . ANALOGIES BETWEEN THE SOUL AND THE BODY AND THEN BETWEEN THE and so dependent on a series of fortuitous circumstances coming about as
SOUL AND THE BODY POLITIC ( a p h s . l - 5 ) to absolve Alfarabi from providing a full-blown account of being and hap-
B. THE HUMAN SOUL, ITS VIRTUES AND VICES ( a p h s . 6 - 2 l ) piness when his attention is focused on that city. With respect to it, a
C. HOUSEHOLDS, DWELLINGS, AND CITIES ( a p h s . 22-29) merely persuasive account of such matters will suffice. When the broader
D . ON THE KING IN TRUTH ( a p h s . 30-32) political entity encompassed by the term regime is being investigated,
E. THE INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES ( a p h s . 3 3 - 5 6 ) however, something more is needed. Something more is needed because
F. THE VIRTUOUS CITY ( a p h s . 57-67) what can be gained in the regime, for the ruler as well as for the ruled, far
G. THE DIVISIONS OF BEING AND THE STATUS OF HAPPINESS: SOUND VS. ERRO- surpasses what can be gained in the city. The distinction between the two
NEOUS OPINIONS ( a p h s . 68-87) turns not on their relative size—not, that is, on the notion that the regime
H . THE VIRTUOUS REGIME ( a p h s . 88-96) is larger insofar as it encompasses a number of cities—but on the greater
I. THE DOUBTFUL APHORISMS ( a p h s . 97-IOO) virtue and greater happiness to which both ruler and ruled can aspire in
the virtuous regime (aph. 89). Here alone, or so it seems, can ruler and
Such an explanation of the general structure of Alfarabi's Selected ruled aspire to completing themselves as human beings.
Aphorisms and identification of its major themes raise at least two ques- In this sense, the title formerly ascribed to the work, Aphorisms of the
tions. First, what do aphorisms 22-29 a n d 3°~32 bring to the general expo- Statesman, is almost more appropriate than the one by which it is pre-
sition that warrants their interrupting Alfarabi's explanation of the sented here, Selected Aphorisms. These are aphorisms that tell the would-be
human soul and its faculties (aphs. 6-21 and 33-56)? Or, differently statesman precisely the kind of things he needs to know in order to rule.
stated, why can Alfarabi not provide a full account of the soul's facul- They answer, with concision, the questions he might raise about the moral
ties—especially of its intellectual faculty—before having discussed the and intellectual virtues, about the way people live together, and so forth.
way human beings live together and a particular kind of monarch? What is more, these aphorisms draw upon the wisdom of Plato and Aris-
Clearly, his discussion of the deeper significance behind seemingly basic totle—as much the one as the other—in order to answer such questions.
10 Alfarabi, The Political Writings

The same line of reasoning explains another characteristic of this

work: the fundamental or basic character of its teaching—its appearance
as something like a primer for politics. Alfarabi posits in this work the
fundamentals with respect to the soul, the city, and ruling. Drawing on
Aristotle without saying so, he provides an excellent summary of the key
points of the Nicomachean Ethics with respect to the moral virtues, the dis-
tinction between virtue and self-restraint, and the intellectual virtues.
Then, drawing on Plato without saying so, he provides a kind of sum-
Selected Aphorisms
mary of the Republic to explain the idea of political justice and the basic
distribution of duties in the virtuous city. He also explains what opinions
one should hold about the soul and its faculties, the life to come, the prin-
ciples of being, ultimate happiness, and similar matters. As a result, it
becomes perfectly patent here that good practice presupposes correct
understanding or that knowledge is virtue.
[23I Selected aphorisms that comprise the roots of many of the sayings
of the Ancients concerning that by which cities ought to be governed and
made prosperous, the ways of life of their inhabitants improved, and they
be led toward happiness.

[A. ANALOGIES BETWEEN THE SOUL AND THE BODY AND

THEN BETWEEN THE SOUL AND THE BODY POLITIC.]

1. Aphorism. The soul has health and sickness just as the body has
health and sickness. The health of the soul is for its traits and the traits
of its parts to be traits by which it can always do good things, fine
things, and noble actions. Its sickness is for its traits and the traits of its
parts to be traits by which it always does evil things, wicked things, and
base actions. The health of the body is for its traits and the traits of its
parts to be traits by which the soul does its actions in the most complete
and perfect way, whether those [24] actions that come about by means
of the body or its parts are good ones or evil ones. Its sickness is for its
traits and the traits of its parts to be traits by which the soul does not do
its actions that come about by means of the body or its parts, or does
them in a more diminished manner than it ought or not1 as was its wont
to do them.

1. Reading aw la, for sense, rather than awwalan ("first").

11
12 Alfarabi, The Political Writings Selected Aphorisms 13

2. Aphorism. The traits of the soul by which a human being does good Therefore, the case of the kingly and the political art3 with respect to
things and noble actions are virtues. Those by which he does evil things the rest of the arts in cities is that of the master builder with respect to the
and base actions are vices, defects, and villainies. builders. For the rest of the arts in cities are carried out and practiced only
so as to complete by means of them the purpose of the political art and the
3. Aphorism. Just as the health of the body is an equilibrium of its tem- kingly art,4 just as the ruling art among the arts of the builders uses the
perament and its sickness is a deviation from equilibrium, so, too, are the rest of them in order to complete its intention by means of them.
health of the city and its uprightness an equilibrium of the moral habits of
its inhabitants and its sickness a disparity found in their moral habits. 5. Aphorism. The physician who cures bodies needs to be cognizant5 of
When the body deviates from equilibrium in its temperament, the one [26] the body in its entirety and of the parts of the body, of what sick-
who brings it back to equilibrium and preserves it there is the physician. nesses occur to the whole of the body and to each one of its parts, from
So, too, when the city deviates from equilibrium with respect to the moral what they occur, from how much of a thing, of the way to make them
habits of its inhabitants, the one who brings it back to uprightness and cease, and of the traits that when attained by the body and its parts make
preserves it there is the statesman. So the statesman and physician have the actions coming about in the body perfect and complete. Likewise, the
their two actions in common and differ with respect to the two subjects of statesman and the king who cure souls need to be cognizant of the soul in
their two arts. For the subject of the former is souls and the subject of the its entirety and of its parts, of what defects and vices occur to it and to
latter, bodies. And just as the soul is more eminent than the body, so, too, each one of its parts, from what they occur, from how much of a thing, of
is the statesman more eminent than the physician. the traits of the soul by which a human does good things and how many
they are, of the way to make the vices of the inhabitants of cities cease, of
4. Aphorism. The one who cures bodies is the physician; and the one the devices to establish these traits in the souls of the citizens, and of the
who cures souls is the statesman, and he is also called the king. However, way of governing so as to preserve these traits among them so that they
the intention of the physician in curing bodies is not to make its traits do not cease. And yet6 he ought to be cognizant of only as much about the
such that the soul does good things or wicked ones by means of them. soul as is needed in his art just as the physician needs to be cognizant of
Rather, he intends only to make its traits such that by means of them the only as much about the body as is needed in his art, and the carpenter
actions of the soul coming about by means of the body and its parts are with respect to wood or the smith with respect to iron only as much as is
[25] more perfect, whether those actions are wicked things or fine ones. needed in his art.
The physician who cures the body does so only to improve a human
being's strength, regardless of whether he uses that improved2 strength in
[B. THE HUMAN SOUL, ITS VIRTUES AND VICES]
fine things or wicked ones. The one who cures the eye intends thereby
only to improve sight, regardless of whether he uses that in what he ought 6. Aphorism. Some bodies are artificial and some are natural. The artifi-
and becomes fine or in what he ought not and becomes base. Therefore, to cial are like a couch, a sword, glass, and similar things. The natural are
look into the health of the body and its sickness from this perspective is
not up to the physician insofar as he is a physician, but up to the states-
3. Reading sinaat al-malik wa al-madaniyya, for sense, rather than sina'at al-mulk wa al-
man and the king. Indeed, the statesman by means of the political art and madina ("the art of kingship and of the city").
the king by means of the art of kingship determine where it ought to be 4. Reading wa bi-sina'at al-malik, for sense, rather than wa bi-sina'at al-mulk ("the art of
done, with respect to whom it ought to be done and with respect to whom kingship").
5. The term is 'arafa; here and in what follows I translate it and its substantive, ma'rifa,
not done, and what sort of health bodies ought to be provided with and as "to be cognizant of" or "to recognize," and "cognizance," in order to distinguish them
what sort they ought not to be provided with. from 'alima and 'Urn, which I translate as "to know," and "science" or "knowledge." The
goal of such a distinction is to preserve the difference between gignoskein and epistasthai
that these terms seem to reflect.
2. Literally, "excellent" (al-jayyid). 6. Reading wa lakin innama, with all the manuscripts except the Diyarbekir.
14 Alfarabi, The Political Writings Selected Aphorisms 15

like human beings and the rest of the animals. Every one of them is joined final, namely, the blood—makes another body similar in kind to the body
together from two things, one of which is matter and the other form. The from whose nutriment the surplus overflowed. These are of two sorts.
matter of an artificial body [27] is like the wood of a couch, and the form is One gives matter to what is procreated, namely, the female; and the other
like the shape of the couch, namely, its being square, round, or otherwise. gives it form, namely, the male. From these two, it comes to be that an ani-
Matter is potentially a couch; by means of the form it becomes a couch in mal coming into being from another is similar to it in kind.
actuality. The matter of a natural body is its elements, and the form is that The attracting is what attracts the nutriment from place to place until it
by which each becomes what it is. Genera are similar to matters, and dif- arrives at the body being nourished so as to come into contact with it and
ferentiae are similar to forms.7 blend with it.
The retentive is what preserves nutriment in the vessel of the body it
7. Aphorism. There are five major parts and faculties of the soul: the nutri- has reached.
tive; the sense perceptive; the imaginative; the appetitive; and the rational. The distinguishing is what distinguishes the surplus amounts of nutri-
[a] In general, the nutritive is the one that carries out a certain action ment and the sorts of nutriment, then distributes to every member what
upon, by means of, or from, nutriment. resembles it.
There are three types of nutriment: primary, intermediate, and final. The expelling is what expels the sorts of surplus amounts of nutriment
The primary is like bread, flesh, and all that has not yet begun to be from place to place.
digested. The final is that which has been completely digested until it has [bl The sense perceptive faculty is the one that perceives by means of
become similar to the member that is nourished by it: if the member is one of the five senses of which everyone is cognizant.
flesh, then insofar as that nutriment becomes flesh; and if it is bone, then [c] The imaginative is the one that preserves the traces of sense percep-
[by becoming] bone. The intermediate is of two types. One is that which is tions after their absence from the contact of the senses, brings about dif-
cooked in the stomach and intestines until it has become prepared for ferent combinations of some with others, and separates some from others
blood to come from it, and the second is blood. in many different ways—some of these being accurate and some being
Of the nutritive there are the digestive, growing, procreative, attract- false. And this occurs both in waking and in sleep. This and the nutritive,
ing, retentive, distinguishing, and expelling faculties. The more appropri- apart from the rest of the faculties, may be active in sleep.
ate way to speak about8 the nutritive is that it is what simmers the blood, [d] The appetitive faculty is that by which the appetition of an animal
reaching each and every member until it becomes similar to that member. for something comes about and by which there is longing for [29] some-
The digestive is what simmers the primary nutriment in the stomach and thing, loathing for it, seeking and fleeing, preference and avoidance, anger
intestines until it becomes prepared for blood to come from it, then what and contentedness, fear and boldness, harshness and compassion, love and
cooks this preparation—in the liver, for example—until it becomes blood. hatred,9 passion, desire, and the rest of the accidents of the soul. The tools
The growing is what, by means of nutriment, [28] increases the quan- of this faculty are all of the faculties by which the movements of every one
tity of the member in all its dimensions during development until each of the members and of the body in its entirety are facilitated, such as the
member reaches its ultimate possible size. faculty of the hands for strength, the legs for walking, and other members.
The procreative is what—from the surplus of nutriment close to the [e] The rational faculty is the one by which a human being intellects,
carries out deliberation, acquires the sciences and arts, and distinguishes
between noble and base actions. Of it, there is practical and theoretical. Of
7. Particular beings fit into broader classes such as body, self-nourishing, animal, and the practical, some involves skill and some calculation.
human. A genus is the more general class that encompasses the classes called species.
Thus, the species of human being, donkey, and horse all fall under the genera of animal,
self-nourishing, and the ultimate genus of body. To distinguish one species in a genus 9. There is no necessity that the affections enumerated here—that is, seeking and
from another species in the same genus, recourse is had .to the differentia, as when the fleeing, preference and avoidance, anger and contentedness, fear and boldness, harshness
human being is distinguished from the donkey and the horse by means of reason. and compassion, love and hatred—be read as pairs. The text permits reading them as indi-
8. Literally, "the more truthful way to call" (wa qhaqq ma yusammi). vidual affections.
16 Alfarabi, The Political Writings Selected Aphorisms 17

The theoretical is that by which a human being has knowledge of the 10. Aphorism. It is not possible for a human being to be endowed by
beings that are not such that we can act upon them or alter them from nature from the outset possessing virtue or vice, just as it is not possible
one condition to another. Three, for example, is an odd number and four for a human being to be endowed by nature as a weaver or a scribe. But it
an even number. It is not possible for us to alter three so that it becomes is possible for one to be endowed by nature disposed for virtuous or
even while remaining three, nor four so that it becomes odd while vicious actions in that such actions are easier for him than other actions,
remaining four, though it is possible for us to alter wood so that it just as it is possible to be disposed by nature for the actions of writing or
becomes round after having been square while remaining wood in both of another art in that its actions are easier for him than other actions. Thus
conditions. from the outset he is moved to do what is by nature easier for him when
The practical is what distinguishes the things such that we act upon he is not prompted to its contrary by some prompting from outside. That
them and alter them from one condition to another. What involves skill natural disposition is not said to be a virtue, just as the natural disposition
or art is that by which crafts such as carpentry, farming, medicine, and for the actions of an art is not said to be an art.
sailing are acquired. What involves calculation is that by which we delib- But when there is a natural disposition for virtuous actions and those
erate10 about [30] something we want to do when we want to do it, actions are repeated,13 a trait is established by custom in the soul, and
whether it is possible to do or not and, if it is possible, how that ought to those very actions issue forth from it, then the trait established by custom
be done. is what is said to be a virtue. The natural trait is not called a virtue nor a
defect even if one and the same action issues forth from it. [32] The natu-
8. Aphorism. The virtues are of two sorts, moral and rational. The ral ones have no name. If someone calls them a virtue or a defect, he calls
rational are the virtues of the rational part such as wisdom, intellect, clev- them so only due to homonymity, not due to the meaning of the latter
erness, quick-wittedness, and excellent understanding.11 The moral are being the meaning of the former. Those [actions] due to custom are those
the virtues of the appetitive part such as moderation, courage, liberality, for which a human being is praised or blamed, whereas a human being is
and justice. Likewise, the vices are divided in this manner and are, within not praised or blamed for the others.
the compass of each of the divisions, the contraries of these that have been
enumerated and of their purposes. 11. Aphorism. It is difficult and unusual that someone exist who is com-
pletely disposed by nature for all the virtues, moral and rational, just as it
9. Aphorism. The moral virtues and vices are attained and established in is difficult that someone exist who is naturally disposed for all the arts.
the soul only by repeating the actions coming about from that moral habit Similarly, it is difficult and unusual that someone exist who is naturally
many times over a certain time [period] and accustoming ourselves to disposed for all the evil actions. Yet neither matter is impossible. More
them. If those actions are good things, what we attain is virtue; and if they often, everyone is disposed for a certain virtue, virtues of a definite num-
are evil things, what we attain is vice. It is like this with arts such as writ- ber, a certain art, or a definite number of certain arts. So this [individual]
ing. For by our repeating the actions of writing many times and accus- is disposed for one thing,14 another disposed for another thing, and a third
toming ourselves to them, we attain the art of writing and it becomes [individual] disposed for some third virtue or art.
established in us. If the actions of writing we repeat and accustom our-
selves to are bad, wretched12 writing is established in us; and if they are 12. Aphorism. When to the natural traits and dispositions for virtue or
excellent actions, excellent writing is established in us. [31]" vice are added the moral habits resembling them and they are established

10. Reading nurawwT, with the Chester Beatty and Feyzullah manuscripts, rather than 13. Omitting wa u'tldat ("and are made customary"), with the University of Teheran,
yurawwT ("one deliberates") or yurawway ("it is deliberated"), with Najjar and the Faculty of Divinity manuscript.
Diyarbekir manuscript. 14. Reading nahwa shaV avowal (literally, "for a first thing"), with the Chester Beatty
11. These virtues will be discussed more fully below in aphorisms 33-49. and Feyzullah manuscripts, rather than nahwa. dha ("for that"), with Najjar and the other
12. Literally, "wicked" (sW). manuscripts.
•*•

18 Alfarabi, The Political Writings

by custom, that human being is [33] as complete as can be with respect to

r Selected Aphorisms

one who is virtuous follows what his trait and his yearning inspire him to
19

that thing. It is difficult for a trait established in a human being to be do. He carries out good things while having a passion and a longing for
removed, whether it be good or evil. them, and he is not irritated at [doing] them; rather, he takes pleasure in
When at some time someone exists who is completely disposed by them.
nature for all of the virtues and they are then established in him by cus- That is like the difference between the one who endures the severe
tom, this human being surpasses in virtue the virtues found among most pain he encounters and the one who is not pained and does not feel pain.
people to the point that he almost goes beyond the human virtues to a Similarly, there is the one who is moderate and the one who is self-
higher class of humanity. The Ancients used to call this human being restrained. The one who is moderate [35] does only what traditional law16
divine. The one contrary to him and disposed to all of the evil actions, in requires of him with respect to eating, drinking, and sexual intercourse,
whom the traits of those evils are established by custom, they almost without having a desire or a longing for what is in addition to what the
place beyond the human evils to what is even more evil. They have no traditional law requires. The longing of the one who is self-restrained is
name for the excess of his evil and sometimes call him a beast and similar excessive with respect to these things and other than what the traditional
names. law requires. He does the actions of the traditional law, while his yearn-
It is rare for these two extremes to be found in people. When the first ing is for their contrary. Yet the one who is self-restrained may take the
exists, he is of a higher rank according to them than being a statesman place of the one who is virtuous with respect to many matters.
who serves one of15 the cities. Rather he governs all cities and is the king
in truth. When the second happens to exist, he does not rule any city at all, 15. Aphorism. The person of praiseworthy moral [virtue] whose soul
nor does he serve it; rather, he goes away from all cities. inclines to no vice at all differs from the self-restrained person with
respect to the excellence to which each lays claim. If the governor of cities
13. Aphorism. Some natural traits and dispositions for virtue or vice possesses praiseworthy morals and his praiseworthy acts are states of
may be completely removed or altered by custom so that contrary traits character, then he is more excellent than if he were self-restrained.
are established in the soul in their stead. [34] With others, their power is Whereas if the citizen and the one by whom cities are made prosperous
broken, weakened, and made defective without their being completely restrains himself in accordance with what the nomos17 requires, he is
removed. And others are not removed or altered, nor is their power made more virtuous than if his virtues were natural.
defective; but they are resisted by endurance, by restraining the soul from The cause for that is that the self-restrained person and the one who
their actions, by contending, and by withstanding until a human being adheres to the nomos lay claim to the virtue of struggle. If he lapses as a
always does the contraries of their actions. Similarly, when bad moral citizen rather than as a ruler, the rulers will set him straight; his crime and
habits are established in the soul by custom, they are also divided in this corruption do not go beyond him. The righteousness of the ruler, how-
manner. ever, is shared by the inhabitants of his kingdom. So if he lapses at all, his
corruption extends to many besides him. His virtues must be natural and
14. Aphorism. There is a difference between the one who is self- be states of character, and a sufficient reward for him is what he erects in
restrained and the one who is virtuous. those whom he sets straight.
That is, even if the one who is self-restrained does virtuous actions, he
does good things while having a passion and a longing for evil. He con- 16. Aphorism. Evils are made to cease in cities either by virtues that are
tends against his passion and resists what his trait and his yearning established in the souls of the people or by their becoming self-restrained.
inspire him to do. He does good things and is irritated at doing them. The
16. The term is sunna.
15. Adding madina min before al-mudun, with the Feyzullah manuscript. 17. The term is namus.
20 Alfarabi, The Political Writings

Any human being whose evil cannot be made to cease by a virtue being
established in his soul or by self-restraint is to be put outside of cities.
r Selected Aphorisms

every number resembles this in the same way. This intermediate neither
increases nor decreases, for what is intermediate between ten and two is
at no moment other than six.
21

17. Aphorism. It is difficult, nay impossible, for a human being to be so What is intermediate in relation does increase and decrease at differ-
endowed as [36] to be disposed for actions, then to be unable to do the ent times and in accordance with the differing in the things to which it is
contraries of those actions. Yet any human being endowed with a trait related. For example, the equilibrated nutriment for a youth and that
and disposition for virtuous or vicious actions is able to resist and to do which is equilibrated for a completely industrious man differs in accor-
the action arising from the contrary of that disposition. But that is difficult dance with the difference in their bodies. What is intermediate for one of
for him until it becomes facilitated and easy through custom, as is the case the two is other than what is intermediate for the other with respect to
with what is established by custom. For abandoning what has become extent and number, thickness and softness, heaviness and lightness, and,
customary and doing its contrary is possible but difficult until it also in general, with respect to quantity and quality. Similarly, an equilibrated
becomes customary. climate is in relation to bodies. That condition of being equilibrated and
being intermediate with respect to nutriments and medicaments is only
18. Aphorism. Actions that are good are equilibrated actions intermedi- increased and decreased in [38] quantity and quality in accordance with
ate between two extremes, both of which are evil: one being an excess, the bodies that are being treated, in accordance with their power, in
and the other a deficiency. Similarly, virtues are traits of the soul and accordance with the art of the sick person,18 in accordance with the coun-
states intermediate between two traits both of which are vices, one of try he is in, in accordance with his previous customs, in accordance with
which is greater and the other lesser—like moderation, for it is intermedi- his age, and in accordance with the power of the medicament in itself—
ate between avidity and insensibility to pleasure. One of the two is so that with respect to a single ailing person the quantity of a single
greater—namely, avidity—and the other is lesser. medicament is made to differ in accordance with the difference of the
Liberality is intermediate between stinginess and wastefulness, and seasons.
courage is intermediate between rashness and cowardice. Wittiness is This intermediate is the intermediate that is used with respect to
intermediate between impudence and wantonness [on the one hand] and actions and with respect to moral habits, for the quantity of actions in
dullness [on the other] with respect to jesting, playfulness, and what is number and extent and their quality in intensity and lassitude ought to be
related to them. Humility is a moral habit intermediate between prideful- determined only in accordance with the relation to the one acting, the one
ness [on the one hand] and disparagement or familiarity [on the other]. to whom the action is [directed], and that for the sake of which the action
Respectfulness is a moral virtue intermediate between haughtiness, swag- is [done]; in accordance with the time; and in accordance with the place.
gering, or vainglory [on the one hand] and self-abasement [on the other]. With anger, for example, what is equilibrated with respect to it is in accor-
Gentleness is intermediate between [37] excessive anger and not becom- dance with the condition of the one at whom one is angry, in accordance
ing angry at anything at all. Modesty is intermediate between insolence with the thing for the sake of which there is anger, and in accordance with
and being tongue-tied. Friendliness is intermediate between surliness and the time and place in which it occurs. Similarly, the quantitative and qual-
flattery. And similarly for the rest of them. itative extent of the beating in19 punishments is in accordance with the one
beating and the one beaten, in accordance with the offense for which there
19. Aphorism. What is equilibrated and intermediate is spoken of in two is a beating, and in accordance with the instrument by which the beating
ways. One is what is intermediate in itself and the other what is interme- [is given]. It is similar with respect to the rest of the actions. For what is
diate in relation and by analogy to another.
What is intermediate in itself is like six being intermediate between ten 18. That is, in accordance with the art or trade the sick person pursues.
and two, for the increment of ten over six is like the increment of six over 19. Reading/?", with the Feyzullah manuscript, rather than wa ("and"), with Najjar and
two. This is what is intermediate in itself between two extremes. And the other manuscripts.
22 Alfarabi, The Political Writings

intermediate in every action is what is determined in relation to the things

the action encompasses. The things to which the different actions are com-
pared [39] so as to be determined are not the same in number for every
r Selected Aphorisms

obligatory for the governor to keep an eye on the dwellings. Yet that is
accidental and only for the sake of the morals of their inhabitants and as a
means of assistance.
23

action. Rather, this action is determined in relation to five things, for

example, and another action [in relation! to fewer or more than five things. 24. Aphorism. The household is joined together and made prosperous
from definite parts and partnerships. They are four: husband and wife,
20. Aphorism. What is intermediate with respect to nutriments and master and slave, father and child, property-holder20 and property. The
medicaments is what is intermediate and equilibrated for most of the peo- one who governs these parts and partnerships, brings some into concert
ple most of the time; sometimes it is what is equilibrated for one sect apart with others, and ties each to the other [41] so that from all of them there is
from another at a certain time and sometimes for a single body at a single a partnership with respect to actions and a mutual assistance in perfecting
time—either long or short. So, too, some of what is intermediate and equil- a single purpose and in completing the prosperity of the household
ibrated with respect to actions may be what is equilibrated for all of the through good things and preserving them for the members21 is the lord of
people or for most of them most or all of the time; some may be what is the household and its governor. He is called lord of the household and is
equilibrated for one sect apart from another at a certain time; and some in the household like the governor of the city is in the city.
is what is equilibrated for a single sect at a certain other time while some is
what is equilibrated for a single human being at a single time. 25. Aphorism. Both the city and the household have an analogy with the
body of the human being. The body is composed of different parts of a
21. Aphorism. The one who extrapolates and infers what is intermedi- definite number, some better and some baser, adjacent to one another in
ate and equilibrated with respect to nutriments and medicaments, how- rank, each doing a certain action, so that from all of their actions they
ever it occurs, is the physician. The art by which he extrapolates that is come together in mutual assistance to perfect the purpose of the human
medicine. The one who infers what is intermediate and equilibrated with being's body. In the same way, both the city and the household are com-
respect to moral habits and actions is the governor of cities and the king. posed of different parts of a definite number, some baser and some better,
The art by which he extrapolates that is the political art and the kingly adjacent to one another in a rank of different ranks, each performing on its
craft. [40] own a certain action, so that from their actions they come together in
mutual assistance to perfect the purpose of the city or the household.
Even though the household is a part of a city and households are in the
[C. HOUSEHOLDS, DWELLINGS, AND CITIES]
city, their purposes are nonetheless different. Yet there comes together
22. Aphorism. "City" and "household" do not mean merely the dwelling from those different purposes, when they are perfected and brought
for the Ancients. But they do mean those whom the dwelling surrounds, together, a mutual assistance for perfecting [42] the purpose of the city.
whatever the dwellings, of whatever thing they are, and whether they are That, too, has an analogy with the body. Indeed, the head, chest, stom-
beneath the earth or above it—being wood, clay, wool and hair, or any of ach, back, hands, and feet are to the body as the households of the city are to
the other things of which the dwellings that surround people are made. the city. The action of each of the large members is other than the action of
the other, yet the parts of each of these large members mutually assist one
23. Aphorism. Dwellings may engender different morals in their inhabi- another in their different actions for perfecting the purpose of that large
tants. For example, dwellings of hair and leather in the desert engender in member. Then, when the different purposes of the large members are
their inhabitants the states of character of alertness and resoluteness.
Sometimes the matter intensifies to the point that courage and boldness
20. Reading qanin, for sense, rather than qunya ("acquisition").
are engendered. Inaccessible and fortified dwellings engender in their 21. That is, the members of the household; but the text has merely the masculine plu-
inhabitants states of character of cowardice, security, and fright. So it is ral "for them" Calaihim).
•fp

24 Alfarabi, The Political Writings Selected Aphorisms 25

mutually perfected, there comes together from them and from their differ- the ability to infer what is intermediate and equilibrated among the nutri-
ent actions mutual assistance for perfecting the purpose of the whole body. ments by which he nourishes himself alone. His doing that is a medical
The case of the households with respect to themselves and that of the action, and he [thereby] has an ability concerning a part of the medical art.
households with respect to the city is similar. Thus it is that by coming Similarly, the one who infers what is equilibrated among moral habits and
together, all the parts of the city are useful to the city and are useful for con- actions as pertains to himself alone does that only insofar as he has an
stituting some by means of others, as it is with the members of the body. ability concerning a part of the political art.
However, when the one who has the ability to infer what is equili-
26. Aphorism. The physician treats each member that is ill only in accor- brated for one of his members is not heedful that what he infers be with-
dance with its relationship to the whole body and to the members adja- out harm for the rest of the parts of the body and does not set it down so
cent to it and tied to it. He does so by giving it a treatment that provides it as to be useful for the whole [body] and for its parts, his inferring that by
with a health by which it is useful to the whole of the body and is useful to means of a part of [the] medical art is corrupt. So, too, if a human being
the members adjacent to it and tied to it. In the same way ought the gov- who has the ability to infer what is equilibrated for himself in particular
ernor of the city to govern every one of the parts of the city, whether it is a from among the moral habits and actions does not endeavor in what he
small part such as a single human being or a large one like a single house- infers for what is useful to the city or to the rest of its parts, but pays no
hold. [43I He treats it and provides it with good in relation to the whole of attention to that or does pay attention to it but does not keep its harmful-
the city and to each of the rest of the parts of the city by endeavoring to ness to them in mind, his inferring that by means of a part of [the] politi-
make the good that part provides a good that does not harm the whole of cal art is corrupt. [45]
the city or anything among the rest of its parts, but rather a good useful to
the city in its entirety and to each of its parts in accordance with its rank of 28. Aphorism. The city may be necessary and may be virtuous. The nec-
usefulness to the city. essary city is the one whose parts mutually assist one another in obtaining
When the physician is not heedful of this, but is intent upon provid- only what is necessary for a human being's constitution, subsistence, and
ing one of the members with health and treats it without keeping in mind preservation of life. The virtuous city is the one whose inhabitants mutu-
the condition of the rest of the members adjacent to it, or treats it by ally assist one another in obtaining the best things for a human being's
means of what harms the rest of the other members, he provides it with a existence, constitution, subsistence, and preservation of life.
health by which it performs an action that is not useful to the body in its One group is of the opinion that that best is the enjoyment of pleas-
entirety or to the members adjacent to it and tied to it. That makes the ures, and others are of the opinion that it is wealth. And there is a group of
member and the members tied to it ill, and its harm is communicated to the opinion that the bringing together of both is what is best. Now
the rest of the members so that the body in its entirety becomes cor- Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle are of the opinion that human beings have
rupted. So, too, the city. two lives. One is constituted by nutriments and the rest of the external
When a single member [of the bodyl is touched by corruption of which things we require daily for our constitution, and it is the primary life. The
it is feared that it will be communicated to the rest of the other members other is the one whose constitution is in its essence without having need
adjacent to it, it is amputated and done away with for the sake of preserv- of external things for constituting its essence. Rather, it is sufficient unto
ing those others. So, too, when a part of the city is touched by corruption itself for maintaining [its] preservation and is the final life.
of which communication to others is feared, it ought to be ostracized and For human beings have two perfections, a primary one and a final one.
sent away for the improvement of those remaining. [44] Indeed, the final one is attained for us in this life and in the final life22

27. Aphorism. It is not unknown for a human being to have the ability to 22. Readingyuhsal lanafthadhihlal-haya waft al-hayaal-akhira, with the Diyarbekir, the
Chester Beatty, and both of the University of Teheran manuscripts. Najjar, following the
infer what is intermediate with respect to actions and moral habits as per- other manuscripts, adds la ("not") and lakin ("but") so as to read yuhsal lana la ft hadhihT al-
tains to himself alone, just as it is not unknown for a human being to have haya wa lakin ft al-haya al-akhira ("is attained for us not in this life but in the final life").
26 Alfarabi, The Political Writings Selected Aphorisms 27

when the primary perfection in this life of ours has preceded it. Primary
[D. ON THE KING IN TRUTH]
perfection [46] is that all of the actions of the virtues be done, not that a
human being merely possess virtue without doing its actions; and that 30. Aphorism. The king in truth is the one whose purpose and intention
perfection consists in doing, not in acquiring, the states of character by concerning the art by which he governs cities are to provide himself and
which the actions come to be. Similarly, the perfection of the scribe is to do the rest of the inhabitants of the city true happiness. This is the goal and
the actions of writing, not to acquire writing; and the perfection of the the purpose of the kingly craft. It necessarily follows that the king of the
physician is to do the actions of medicine, not merely to acquire medicine. virtuous city be the most perfect among the inhabitants of the city in hap-
And so, too, with every art. piness since he is the reason for their being happy.
By means of this perfection the final perfection is attained for us, and
that is ultimate happiness, which is the good without qualification. It is 31. Aphorism. One group is of the opinion that the goal intended in king-
what is preferred and yearned after for its own sake and is not—not at ship and the governance of cities is majesty; honor; domination; executing
any moment at all—preferred for the sake of something else. The rest of command and prohibition; and being obeyed, made great, and magnified.
what is preferred is preferred only for the sake of its usefulness for They prefer honor for its own sake, not for any other thing they might gain
obtaining happiness, and each thing becomes good only when it is useful by means of it. They set down the actions by which cities are governed as
for obtaining happiness. And whatever obstructs from it in some way is actions by which they arrive at this purpose, and they set down the tradi-
an evil. tional laws of the city as traditional laws by which they arrive at this pur-
So the virtuous city according to them is the one whose inhabitants pose through the inhabitants of the city. Some arrive at that by practicing
mutually assist one another in obtaining the final perfection, which is ulti- virtue [48] with the inhabitants of the city, acting well toward them, bring-
mate happiness. Therefore it follows that its inhabitants, as distinct from ing them to the good things that are good things according to the inhabi-
[those of] the rest of the cities, are particularly those possessing virtues. tants of the city, preserving these for them, and giving them preference in
For the city whose inhabitants are intent upon mutually assisting one these things over themselves. They gain great honor thereby, and these are
another to obtain wealth or to enjoy pleasures do not need all of the the most virtuous among the rulers of honor. Others are of the opinion that
virtues to obtain their goal. Rather, it might be that they need not even a they will become deserving of honor by means of wealth, and they
single virtue. That is because the concord and justice they sometimes use endeavor to be the wealthiest inhabitants of the city and to be themselves
among themselves are not virtue in truth; it is only something resembling unique in wealth so as to achieve honor. Some are of the opinion that they
justice and is not justice. So, too, with the rest of what they use among will be honored for descent alone. Others do that by conquering the inhab-
themselves in what is analogous to the virtues. [47] itants of the city, dominating them, humiliating them, and terrorizing them.
Others among the governors of cities are of the opinion that the pur-
29. Aphorism. In relation to the things they encompass, actions that are pose of governing cities is wealth. They set down as the actions by which
equilibrated, intermediate, and determined ought to be useful for obtain- they govern cities actions by which they arrive at wealth. And they set
ing happiness—along with the rest of their stipulations. And the one who down traditional laws for the inhabitants of the city by means of which
extrapolates them ought to set happiness before his eyes, then consider they arrive at wealth through the inhabitants of the city. If they prefer a
how he ought to determine the actions so that they emerge as useful either certain good or do anything, they prefer it and do it only so that they
to the inhabitants of the city in their entirety or to one or another of them attain wealth. It is known that there is a major difference between one
for obtaining happiness. So, too, does the physician set health before his who prefers wealth so as to be honored for it and one who prefers honor
eyes when he is intent upon inferring what is equilibrated with respect to and to be obeyed so that he will become affluent and arrive at wealth. The
the nutriments and medicaments by which he treats the body. latter are called the inhabitants of the vile rulership.
Others among the governors of cities are of the opinion that the goal of
governing cities is the enjoyment of pleasures.
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 CHAPTER XIX

T
he first sound she heard was a horse’s trotting as some one
rode away down the hill. There was a jumble of
interjections, groans, and arguments, amid which she
distinguished her vagabond’s voice. He was at least not slain! She
sent up a swift prayer of grateful joy, and called him again. He
replied with a guarded question.

“Who’s calling?”
“I—I,” she answered. “What is it?”
“An accident. Nobody hurt.”
Following the direction of his voice, she came upon him seated
on a stone, with another man standing beside him. He addressed
her formally.
“Madam, do not be alarmed. There has been an accident. This
gentleman is a constable. He was—er—under the impression that he
ought to shoot me, and did so without waiting for explanations.”
“Oh, dear—oh....”
He interrupted again, as quickly as he could get his breath.
“I presume the shots wakened you, or, if you were not asleep,
alarmed you. It was most charitable of you to run to the assistance
of the wounded.”
“Wounded!”
“Slightly. One favour only—let me ask. May we come in for a
moment and find out the extent of the damage? I am sure the
officer will assist in binding up the wounds he has made. We will
trouble you for only a few moments.”
She understood that she was to moderate her anxiety. Her
vagabond did not mean to let their former acquaintance be known to
the village sleuth who might gossip it about the valley.
“Can the constable carry you in?”
“No, ma’am! nor hi wouldn’t try it!” came out of the night, with
indignant emphasis and a cockney accent as thick as the darkness.
“No need, officer. It’s my shoulder that is hit. If I may come
in....”
“Hi might as well tell yer that, w’erever you go, Hi goes with yer,
as Ruth she says to Nay-homy in the Scriptur’; cos w’y? Cos you’re
hunder arrest, that’s w’y.”
“Thank you for the explanation. I might have thought you were
following me from sheer affection.”
“Oh, don’t jest!” Rosamond pleaded. “It may be dreadfully
serious. I will run in ahead and find some linen to make bandages—
and telephone for the doctor.” She ran up the road toward her gate,
not heeding his protests against the doctor.
Dr. Wells’s office- and horse-boy, Peter, answered the telephone
almost immediately. He slept in the office downstairs for that
purpose. Dr. Wells was wont to say that while Peter never woke up,
when the bell rang, he always got up and took the name fairly
correctly, stumbled to his master’s door and repeated it, and then,
after harnessing the horse, rolled back to bed without knowing that
he had been up. When vagabond and constable entered Villa Rose,
Peter was even then rapping on the doctor’s chamber door and
saying the name of “Mearely.”
Rosamond scurried hither and thither producing soft linen and
lotions, safety pins and needle and thread, cotton batting and
smelling salts, until the end of the big table looked like a peep into a
hospital. To all protests she answered:
 “Don’t talk! Don’t talk! Save your strength.”
The ball had furrowed the fleshy part of his left arm just below
the shoulder. Rosamond was obliged to remove his coat, cut the
sleeve of his shirt, and bathe and dress the wound herself without
assistance from the constable. That worthy stood by, twirling a
battered straw hat and staring open-eyed and open-mouthed at the
contents of the living room. He refused point blank to take any
surgical responsibility.
“Hi’m a constable, and Hi ain’t no bloomin’ doctor. Hi drills ’oles
in yer; Hi don’t stop ’em hup again,” was his pithy and definite
retort, when besought to put the pins in the bandage while Mrs.
Mearely held it secure. In the end she was obliged to tie it, achieving
quite a pretty bow-knot which she spread out daintily and patted
into place, feeling a natural pride in it which she was not inclined to
conceal.
While refusing to put a finger to the business, himself, the
constable was willing to make remarks and to offer criticisms, such
as:
“Hi’ve ’eard of gangrene a-settin’ in hafter a shot. Hi shouldn’t be
surprised if ’e’d take to gangrene, ’im bein’ of that dark, bilious
complexion. A dark-skinned man is bound to be a bilious man. Hi
never knowed it to fail.”
Or:
“If Hi’d ben doin’ the job, Hi’d ’ave done it very different. But
hit’s not my place to nuss. Wot’s your name (’nyme’ he called it), by
the w’y?”
“Mrs. Mearely.” shortly. She already detested that constable.
He was a broad, slow person of forty or more, with a dragging
walk that, at first sight, seemed to be lameness; but save for self-
importance and a weary disgust at the world, his limbs were whole.
His head was as large as the average headstone, and of somewhat
the same shape; and though it was not of the same material, it was
thicker and looked as hard. He wore a gray linen duster, soiled and
much crumpled, from which he occasionally filliped bits of dried mud
with his thumb nail. He spoke in the deliberate, very positive accents
of a man who knows he has never made a mistake of any kind, even
by accident, in all his life. He forbore to argue with Mrs. Mearely
when she accused him of a callous soul, anent the bandaging. He
simply put back the flap of his duster and polished his badge with
his cuff. The inference was plain. She might have riches; but he was
the Law.
“Why doesn’t Dr. Wells come? I am so frightened about you!”
She burst out presently, after the Law had expressed more of his
uncomforting views.
“But it’s nothing,” the victim protested.
“Oh, yes it is—it is! It’s a dreadful wound. It—it bled!”
“It’s only a graze on the shoulder. You have done everything
needful.”
“Oh, no—I don’t know how to attend to it properly. If only the
doctor would come! Don’t they c-cauterize—wounds?” She
stammered over the word, as she was not sure of it. “I—I—think I’ve
read of that. And sew them up with silk?—to—to prevent people
from bleeding to death?”
Her eyes were big and tearful with alarm.
“Please don’t be so troubled. It is only a trifle. You need not
have sent for the doctor at all.” He turned his head to hide the flicker
of amusement which he could not restrain.
“Oh, don’t talk!” she urged. “You haven’t the strength to waste.
Ought I to telephone again? Oh, dear! Dr. Wells’s boy is so stupid.
Perhaps he hasn’t told the doctor the right name—sent him off
somewhere else. And—and—you’ll bleed to death before he—he—
comes to sew you up with silk.” She wept.
“No—no, dear lady. Don’t be distressed. I’m all right.”
 “Aw! ’E’ll do, I guess. Nuthin’ more’n a scratch; but wot a goin’-
on habout it!” The constable was disgusted.
Rosamond turned on him, angrily.
“What do you know about it? It is all your fault! You might have
killed him!”
This had far from the desired effect.
The constable replied proudly, looking from one to the other for
admiration:
“Hif it was my juty Hi’d ’ave ’ad ter kill ’im.” He put the straw hat
on his head with an air.
“Duty! How dare you shoot a man just because you see him
alone on the road at night!”
“Yes, ma’am. But, you see, ma’am, constable Gardner and me,
we was sent out to-night to look for a tramp. That’s hon account of
some busybody thinkin’ they seen ’im ’ereabouts this very hevenin’.
So they tells the chief, and ’e sends us, me an’ Gardner,—my nyme
bein’ Marks, Halfred Marks, Halfred Marks” (he touched his hat-brim
to each in turn). “An’ so we comes beatin’ hit along hup the valley.
An’ w’en Hi seen ’im on the porch....”
Rosamond made an exclamation of alarm.
“You—you saw...?”
“Be careful,” her patient whispered.
“Yes, ma’am. I seen ’im standin’ on the railin’ as I come up the
road. And, considerin’ the time o’ night, hit looked queer—to me.”
His expression defied them to criticise his angle of vision.
“Why—why ...” Mrs. Mearely began, feeling for words that
eluded her. The vagabond came to her aid.
“Naturally—naturally—sergeant....”
The Law’s regard became more affable.
 “Hi hain’t the sergeant, sir—thankin’ you kindly jest the same.
Seein’ a man on the railin’ at that time o’ night....”
She interrupted, nervously:
“It couldn’t have been so very late....”
“Sh!” came the warning from behind her.
Slowly and laboriously, Mr. Marks took from his pocket a large,
open-faced silver watch, attached to a short loop and bow of bright,
cherry-coloured ribbon.
“Three-twelve; nigh on three-fifteen,” he said, after a prolonged
examination.
“But it was not three, then!”
“Hi didn’t say three, ma’am. Hi said three-twelve. Three-thirteen
it is now, bein’ as time an’ tide waits for no man. Must a’ben two-
thirty, any’ow—nearer two forty-five.” Preparing to return the watch
to his pocket, he noticed the other man gazing at its cherry bow. “Hi
see you’re hadmirin’ of this. It’s one of Mrs. Marks’s ’appy touches.
She ‘as a good bit of sentiment, Mrs. Marks ’as—on haccount of
marryin’ late in life. Hi recommends Mrs. Marks as a wife; or hany
spinster that’s standin’, so to speak, hon the doorsill of the lonesome
forties, for, w’en they gets took up by a man, they’re very grateful
an’ supine. So as Hi was sayin’, seein’ ’im on the railin’ at that time
of night, Hi thought Hi’d see wot was hup!”
“Naturally, officer: of course.”
“So Hi starts hup the bank with Gardner; an’ jest then—bump!—
the feller jumps an’ lands on my ’ead, and we goes down a-rollin’
into the road, with Gardner hafter us. Gardner, ’e picks ’isself hup an’
’oofs it for the station, never carin’ for me; but that’s hall reg’lar,
’cause ’e goes hoff juty at two-thirty. That’s ’ow Hi knowed wot time
it wos—haccount of Gardner leavin’ me in the ditch an’ ’oofin’ it for
the station. Hi’d jest come hon juty; so Hi ’as to pick myself hup—an’
make it ’ot for ’im,” indicating the wounded man in the chair. “So Hi
spits hout a mouthful of sand-pebbles back hon to the road (where
they’d houghter of stayed hin the first place) an’ I yells at ’im: ‘’Alt!’
says Hi. But off ’e goes,” His wooden face took on an aggrieved look
like a boy’s when left behind in a race.
Rosamond exclaimed angrily:
“You should have let him go. You had no right to shoot!”
“Hi’ll shoot hany man wot jumps on my ’ead—’specially at that
time o’ night!” He spoke as one positively within his rights. “’Ow was
Hi to know ’e was your ’usband, ma’am?”
“My—my...?” she gasped.
“’Specially as hit was in the dark. But hi wouldn’t a-knowed if hit
’ad ben in the light. Now, if you’ll give me the nyme, ma’am, Hi’ll be
hoff and make my report to the chief.” He brought a large tablet
notebook and pencil out of his pocket. Rosamond looked at the
vagabond, her face blank with dismay.
“Report? Oh-h—you mustn’t....”
“You needn’t report this, officer,”—quickly coming to her rescue
—“I have no complaint to make. It was purely an accident.”
“Oh yes! purely an accident; not of the least importance!” she
emphasized, snatching gratefully at the straw.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. Hi’ll take his nyme jes’ the syme, as a
matter of juty.”
There was a pause in which two disconcerted persons faced
each other with perplexed looks.
“Certainly—certainly—er—but I am not this lady’s husband....”
“Then—wot is she makin’ such a goin’ hon habout yer for?”
severely.
“Well—I—er—I’m—her chauffeur.”
“Yes!” she echoed, almost sobbing in her relief. “Yes! he’s the
chauffeur.”
 The impromptu motorist continued:
“You see—er—there was a party this evening and I drove some
of the guests home—er—I had just returned. So—er—that was how
it happened I was so late—two-forty-five I think you said, by the
cherry-ripe timepiece.”
“Yes! that was it,” Rosamond assisted cheerfully. Her chauffeur!
Wonderful vagabond! How cleverly he had extricated her from a
problem which, in Roseborough, could have had but one—and that a
fatal—termination.
“Wot Hi’d like to know is, w’y was you standin’ on the porch
railin’ w’en Hi was comin’ hup the road?” Mr. Marks, it appeared, had
an unfortunate memory for details.
“Oh, that?” with a dégagé air. “When you were coming up the
road?—er—. Was that what I heard? I was in here to—er—to get a
bite of supper—see, there are the plates on the table—when—hist!—
I heard something—something suspicious. I listened.” He paused
dramatically. Marks nodded, all agog. “Er—it was a noise!” He felt his
inventive powers weakening. Marks nodded again, wisely.
“’Earin’ a noise is wot makes hany man suspicious.”
“Er—I thought it might be a tramp. So I climbed on the railing—
er—to see better. I thought I saw a man—a tramp—climbing up the
bank. So—of course—I jumped on him!” His manner declared that to
leap from a high rail down upon the heads of tramps, was a tenet he
had held from childhood.
“W’en you saw hit were a horfcer of the law—w’y didn’t you ’alt
w’en Hi said ’alt?”
“Oh—that?” casually; he considered: “Well, you see, I was so
frightened when I saw that I had apparently attacked a constable—I
lost my head and....”
“You nearly lost me my ’ead—a-jumpin’ on it like a fancy ’igh
diver on a rollin’ wave.” He accosted Rosamond, formally, pointing
his pencil at her. “And your nyme’s ‘Mearely,’ you say, ma’am? Hi’d
oughter know but Hi hain’t been on the county force more’n three
years an’ it takes me a whiles to get hacquainted. My motto, as Hi
says hit to myself a ’undred times a day, is ‘Slow and careful,
Halfred.’ ‘Mrs. Mearely,’ you said?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mearely. Hawthorne Road.”
He bit his pencil carefully and indited.
“Hi knows the road hall right—an’ hafter this Hi’ll stick to it—if
hall the King’s ’orses an’ hall the King’s men is a-standin’ on the
porch railin’. Let ’em stand there, Hi say. And see ’ow they like it!
Good-night, ma’am.” He put away his note book and pencil and
started slowly toward the door. The vagabond waved him a pleasant
farewell.
“There’ll be no complaint from me. Good-night sergeant.”
Mr. Marks retraced his few deliberate steps.
“Hi hain’t the sergeant, thankin’ you kindly. Hi ought to be. But
to hought hain’t to is—as Hi tells Mrs. Marks—she bein’ hambitious.
Beggin’ your pardon, there’s a little matter Hi’d like to arsk your
hadvice about. An’ that his: Might you ’ave ’ad a confederate
houtside?” He gestured with his thumb.
“A confederate?” in surprise.
“No. Hi suppose not” disappointedly. “You bein’ the shoofer, Hi
couldn’t say wot you’d want of a confederate. But Hi could a-swore
Hi saw a ’eavy-set lookin’ man hon the ’illside habove me w’en Hi
started hup to inquire wot you was doin’ hon that there railin’. That’s
wot I fired the second shot for, w’en I got hup from hunder your
boots. But my eyes not bein’ the best, Hi couldn’t swear hif it was a
man hor a strayed cow, hor a juniper bush. But Hi took a pot shot at
wot Hi thought it was; and hit seemed to me like Hi ’eard a groan.
Hit might ’ave been a cow. Did you groan?”
“Moo—oo. Like that?”
Marks studied the sound.
 “Hi carn’t say Hi reco’nize hit. Hi do wish Hi was a better ‘and at
’ittin wot Hi shoots at. That’s halways been a failin’ o’ mine. Look, in
your hown case—just a bit of a scratch, that’s hall—and me a-’oldin’
on to your coat-tails at the time. It’ud count for a miss. Hit’s very
’umiliatin’ to a horfcer. At that, it might ’ave been a juniper bush.
Good-night, sir.”
He surveyed his victim from the doorway in a peevish fashion
and muttered:
“Hi do wish my aim was better. Hi do wish that.”
“Oh, good-night!” Rosamond cried in uncontrollable
exasperation.
Constable Marks took out his watch.
“Good-mornin’, Hi should say.” Without undue haste he put his
watch away, touched his hat, first to one, then to the other, and
moved off along the verandah.
“Thank heaven he’s gone! Oh Vagabond, I wish the doctor would
come! If only Blake were here to help you to bed.”
The vagabond was on his feet, rocking in a gale of laughter
which only main force had silenced until the constable’s exit.
“I’m not going to bed! For a bit of a scratch like this? Never.
Besides, I might miss something. Oh, human nature! How rich it is,
how glorious!”
“Oh! don’t laugh like that. It exerts you too much. You must be
so weak.” She tried to induce him to sit down again among the
pillows of the armchair.
“I’m not weak!”—he denied the charge as if it affronted him
—“only perishing for a drink of water.”
“There is ice-water in the cooler on the dining-room table. I’ll
bring you a glass.” She was flitting away to get it, but he intercepted
her.
 “Indeed, you shall not! You must not wait on me any more. I’m
neither a cripple—nor royalty. Oh, by the way”—he closed the dining
room door again and came back to her—“Who is Blake? You
mentioned a Blake just now.”
“He’s the coachman. Why?”
He laughed.
“You are sure he’s not the chauffeur?”
“No,” she smiled.
“To think I should have to be a chauffeur after all!” He threw out
his hands with the surrendering gesture of one who has ceased to
defy destiny. “Didn’t I tell you society’s greatest need was
chauffeurs? See how I arose, instinctively, to meet the demand. Your
chauffeur, madam—I mean ma’am.”
“It is so lucky that you thought of that!” she replied; then they
both laughed again, in delight, as well as mirth, because they shared
so entertaining a secret unknown to all the world.
“But I warn you, never let me drive your automobile if you value
your life. I am a chauffeur in name only.”
“Never fear,” she answered gaily. “I don’t require your services. I
have no automobile—except a little electric; and I drive that myself.”
“Wise woman! If you could only drive your ‘little electric’ of life
as cleverly!”
She tossed her head, spiritedly.
“I’ve never had an accident!”
He challenged this.
“Because you never turn any other roads than the smooth paths
of Mrs. Mearely’s walled enclosure—where there are no fascinating
dangers. At least, not for you.”
Though she smiled, her answer was only half humorous.
 “But what happens to people who try to escape from the safe
enclosures?—Those, I mean, who won’t live the way others want
them to?”
“Ah!” he cried. “They make one glorious blind leap for
freedom....”
“And land on—‘the ’ead of the Law,’” she retorted.
“Break its head! The sooner the better” smilingly.
“They can’t,” she replied, gravely; though the light his coming
had put into her eyes, like new candles, was still there. “The law is
too strong. It brings them back again—wounded!” She pointed to
the bandage.
When he answered, there was a defiant ring in his voice that
was not all pretence. All his gypsying past was calling to him to
guard himself against the unconscious power of the little lady of the
museum whose shining eyes told so frankly that her heart had set
out on the great search.
“A pin-scratch on the skin of my shoulder! That’s all that the
talons of social law have been able to do to this vagabond. I go to
drink to liberty—and the open road—in a bumper of ice-water.”
He departed with a dramatic flourish. As the door closed behind
him, Rosamond indulged in a long, delicious sigh, thinking what a
marvellous end her Wonderful Day was coming to, and slipped into
the big chair he had vacated. On the stand just beside the chair,
which was placed close to the end of the settee, the bowl and linen
strips were still in view. She rose and gathered them up. The bowl
still held some water. She ran to the verandah rail and emptied it.
Seeing a towel, another sponge and a roll of batting on the big
table, she picked up these various items, and patted them into the
bowl preparatory to putting them safely out of sight until the doctor
should arrive and perhaps need them.
 CHAPTER XX

S
uddenly she started, in alarm, and ran to the dining room door.
She had heard a loud groan. Even while she reached to turn
the handle she heard it again; but not from the direction of
the dining room. If sound indicated truly, there was someone outside
—someone in distress. Immediately, she heard a heavy tread on the
verandah and a large swarthy, black-whiskered man in black clothes
limped upon her horizon. She emitted a pathetic little moan of fright,
turned pale and dropped everything but the bowl. Her fingers clung
to that, mechanically.

The intruder removed his hat, and bowed very low.

“Guten Morgen, meine Dame. Verstehen Sie?”
“Oh—oh!” She breathed out her interjections as a sort of windy,
wordless prayer to be spared more excitement even on her
Wonderful Day. Until this day nothing had ever happened in
Roseborough. Now, too much was happening. The swarthy man
bowed again profoundly.
“J’espère que je ne vous dérange pas, madame. Comprenez-
vous?”
“Oh—h! What is he saying?” Then, losing the last remnants of
her poise she waved him off wildly, chattering: “I don’t wish any,
thank you. No, I don’t want anything to-day. Oh—h! go-o away.”
He was unmoved by her explosion. Bowing again, he said:
“Ah, you speak the English. I cannot complain. It is your
language. I also speak it perfectly—as you hear.”
 She did not venture to inform him that his accent was execrable.
She only stared, and her pale lips silently shaped the words “go
away.”
“I speak it perfectly, but I detest it. The whole world must speak
their abominable language because they will not learn any other.
Even the Irish must learn English before they can curse it for
sympathy. I detest the English. When I meet a stranger, I address
him first in German; next”—he enumerated them rapidly—“in the
French, Italian, Spanish, Russ, Magyar, Turkish and the Chinese.
Then if he will not....”—with a shrug—“I condescend to speak the
English—but always against my will. I detest the English.”
If Rosamond thought at all during this address, she must have
thought the man mad. She was afraid to speak or move; she stared,
hoping perhaps to conquer the maniac, if such he were, by the
power of her fixed eye.
“Ah!—pardon.” He gave the word the French pronunciation; and
stooping painfully, picked up the towel and handed it to her. Since
she did not take it, he draped it over her arm, seemingly unaware
that she backed away from him.
“Pardon.” He picked up the two sponges, one in each hand, and
put them into the bowl. “Pardon,” and the roll of batting followed the
sponges. “Pardon,” and “pardon,” et cetera, and one by one the linen
strips were hung over the towel on her arm. Then he withdrew a
few steps and bowed.
“What—what are you doing here?” She managed to ask at
length. “Who are you?”
“Madam, my mission in your detestable country, for a few hours
longer, is a secret. But my name I disclose: it is to comfort your
alarms. How can one better comfort the alarms than to introduce to
you Teodor Carl Peter Lassanavatiewicz, of the diplomatic secret
service of Woodseweedsetisky? I have been wounded in that
service. Not my word alone, but my murdered leg, introduces me to
you as a patriot.”
 “Wounded?” she repeated automatically.
“Ja, meine Dame. I have been execrably, abominably wounded
in the leg. My secret business—and, believe, it is of a most
international importance—has brought me to your country. I can
explain no more. I am a believer not in the discretion of woman.” He
bowed.
“What are you doing in my garden?” She demanded with an
effort to master her fears.
He bowed.
“Bitte. That is the concern of my secret business. I wish to meet
a certain person very quietly, and induce that person to return with
me very quietly—to—shall I say?—yes?—his family? Yes. I wish to
take a certain great person home. Why I now make myself known to
you, that I will explain. In the peaceful and very secret pursuit of my
duties, I have been perceived by a lady of some age and much
excitement, who screams like a parrot because she sees me looking,
very gently, over your balcony. I wish to give no alarms. Therefore I
look no more over your balcony. Instead, I hide in the river-grass till
the guests have departed and the lights you have put out. Then I
return. But it becomes unsafe in your garden. There are bandits. I
have been shot in the leg. Donnerwetter! I have been detestably
shot in the leg! Therefore, I make myself known and request your
permission to continue to watch, in the road below your garden, for
the arrival of a certain person—without attacks from bandits. I will
sit upon a stone under the cypress trees. I will alarm no one. I
request only that I be no more attacked.”
“Oh yes! oh, please go now. No one will attack you.”
He bowed again, twice.
“Grazia, grazia, signora. It is most important that my business
remain secret. Be at ease. You, also, are safe while Teodor Carl Peter
Lassanavatiewicz is in your garden. Comfort your alarms. I request it
as a charity, madam,—will you of your goodness give me of the
linen, with which you have doubtless tended the wounds of the man
of your household, who has been attacked by the violent savages
who infest this road. I heard the terrible battle in the darkness. I
tried to escape. Psst! I was shot!”
Holding out her arm on which he had hung the strips, and
keeping herself literally ’at arm’s length’ from his touch, she
indicated that he was to help himself. He took three pieces, bowed
after each taking, and thanked her in three languages.
“Danke schön. Grazia. Je vous remercie mille fois, madame.”
Then, with an expression and gesture of dislike, he added, “But I
forget! you speak only this desolating and dolorific English—which I
detest. Adios. Farewell.” On the verandah, he paused. “When my
secret business is accomplished, I rejoice to return to Europe and
my own country, where there are no dangers to the distinguished
official high in the secret police. I give a gold coin to the brigands of
Poland or to the anarchists of our Balkans. ‘¿De dónde bueno? Si,
Señor.’ So it is happily arranged. Here, no! They wait not for ‘good-
evening.’ They shoot—in the leg! Donnerwetter! I, who have fought
close to all the rebellions in Woodseweedsetisky without a match-
burn, I have here been execrably wounded in the leg. It is insult!”
His voice trembled and tears of humiliation wetted his cheeks.
Drawing himself up, he put on his hat and gestured to her with the
formality of a military salute. “Je vous rends grâces, madame.” He
limped out, with groans that grew fainter as he progressed into the
garden.
Mrs. Mearely stared after him, still in doubt that he had really
occurred. She tiptoed, fearfully, to the door and peeped out, to
satisfy herself that he was not loitering on her verandah. What had
he said in explanation of his presence? She tried to recall his words,
but remembered only the phrases about taking a certain great
person home, diplomatic service of some country, or city, hitherto
unheard of, and that he had looked over the balcony before and
been screamed at by a lady of some age and much excitement. So it
was he and not the vagabond who had looked over her balcony,
alarming Mrs. Witherby. Then who was the vagabond and why had
he also come to Villa Rose? Was there any connection between the
two? Were they both dark and secret “gentlemen burglars,” about to
strip Villa Rose of all its antiques? She rejected this suspicion firmly,
as soon as it rose. Romance forbade it.
In putting the bowl back on the stand she knocked off the Digest
and the Browning. Automatically, she picked them up. The caption
“A Runaway Prince” caught her eye and held it. Gradually her
expression changed. The colour burned in her cheeks again, as the
thrill of amazement and excitement palpitated through her. She
scanned the article feverishly, muttering snatches of it aloud.
“‘The Runaway Prince! Secret search through Europe, Britain,
and America.’ The Prince is ‘eccentric, romantic, artistic, a
connoisseur.’—Of course! He picked out the Turner at once! and the
Buddha! Oh, can it be...?” She consulted the paper again. “‘The
prince is fond of entering, incognito, the homes of humble folk—
frequently attired like a vagabond.’” The paper fell from her hand.
“‘Fond of entering the homes’—‘secret search’—‘to bring a certain
great person home’—? Oh, it is—it is the prince! A prince has come
to me, on my Wonderful Day!”
 CHAPTER XXI

A
voice broke in upon her blissful musings, in a strain both
matter-of-fact and gently reproachful.

“You never gave me any jelly. I found one out there; it was
delicious. Also a truly amazing cake. I think I may deduce from the
state of my appetite that I forgot to eat a dinner to-night. Yes, I
remember now. I wrote a poem instead. All but the last verse. That
didn’t seem to come. So I wound up with coffee and cheese.”
The Incognito sauntered in from the dining room with a
comforted look on his countenance.
“That farther compartment of your museum, the kitchen,
seemed familiar. I was led to explore it. I do not despise kitchens—
nor pantries. I have a fancy for them. Nothing delights me like
entering a pantry—unobserved.”
Noting Mrs. Mearely’s absorbed gaze, he became self-conscious.
He looked at her; then endeavoured, by looking directly from her
eyes to his own person, to discern what it was that had inspired her
fixed stare.
“Is anything the matter with me? I mean, anything more than
usual?”
“Oh no, Your Hi——” She checked the reverent utterance quickly.
“Oh—oh—no!”
“I thought, perhaps.... Never mind. What I was about to tell you
is, that I explored your pantry with better success than you did when
you prepared my supper. You overlooked a cake fit for a prince—Eh?
What? Oh, merely an exclamation? It is a miracle of beauty to look
at—and, to eat! Who made it? I ask, because the cooker of that cake
has the soul of an artist. I wish to spend my days in the shadow of
her wing.”
“I made it.” She blushed, happily, under the royal praise.
“You? Put a raisin in your diadem, as its central jewel!”
“You will not mock at the ‘museum’ any more when I tell you
that I found the recipe for that cake in an old parchment. The
Countess of Mountjoye invented the cake first in 1715 for the Prince
of Paradis: and history says she was the only one of his sweethearts
who never lost his affection. So, you see, it was always a ...” (she
paused, changed the phrase she was about to use, namely, “a
prince’s cake” into) “a cake fit for a prince.”
“And she never lost his affection? I can well believe it! For I feel
tender toward her, even two hundred years later. But, since I cannot
lay my royal heart at her feet, I consign it to that spot on the rug
just between your two silver-toed slippers. Ah!” he sighed.
“Are you feeling any pain now?” respectfully. He was vaguely
conscious of a change in her manner but, being ignorant of the
cause, attached no importance to it, as yet.
“From the cake? By no means!”
“From your wound.” Her manner reproached him for his
flippancy. Then she remembered that he did not know how close his
would-be captor lay; and that, even if he were not wounded, it
would be almost impossible for him to slip away from Villa Rose, to
pursue his glad, free wanderings, unless perhaps she could devise
some subtle disguise to aid him—even as the medieval ladies, in
Hibbert Mearely’s old books, passed their gentlemen, royal and
otherwise, out of compromising situations.
“Oh none,—none” he answered. “I’ve forgotten I was ever at the
wrong end of a gun.”
She pushed the big chair toward him.
 “Will you not sit down?”
“By no means. Allow me to place the chair for you.” He laid hold
of its other arm to push it toward her, and she resisted with all the
etiquette at her command.
“Oh no!” she was shocked. “You must allow me to place it for
you.” He, in his turn, resisted as firmly.
“Because I am a poor, sick, helpless creature? Is that why you
insist on waiting on me?” He had a sturdy masculine objection to
this view of him. She blushed.
“Oh, no! That is not the reason.”
The expression in her shining eyes contented him. He sank
among the cushions; and, closing his hand over hers, drew her to
the broad, square stool beside his chair.
“There! I will sit; and you shall sit beside me and tell me
wherefore you have changed your ways with me—holding chairs for
me and so forth.”
The whimsical air left him. His black eyes grew grave. He was
touched by the look of awe and wonder she turned up to him, and
his feeling for her was deepening and taking possession of him.
“One waits on—princes,” she said, with a little catch of her
breath. He laughed softly.
“Oh, Madam Make-Believe! Will you crown the vagabond now
and make a prince of him—thou cooker of prince’s cakes? If I were a
prince, do you know what my name would be? I’d be Prince Run-
Away.”
“Yes!” she cried. “Prince Run-Away!”
“There are several kinds of vagabonds, my dear; and neither
palace nor cottage walls can hold them! Nor catch and cage them
again, once they have escaped.” Even as he said it, he knew that it
was less true, at that moment, than it had been before he entered
the strange house and encountered the fairy princess in the
museum.
“If he knew that his own Secret Service is lurking just outside, to
snatch him back into his palace-prison!” she thought. Aloud she said,
timidly:
“But there’s the law.”
“What law is there that can’t be broken?” he demanded.
“Don’t you know,” she answered, “that there is a law that can’t
be broken? It was made for us, by something stronger than we are;
and it says that human beings must live together, in families and
groups. Because the need of brotherhood is the strongest thing in
them. And that need is the law. Have you never felt it, Prince Run-
Away?”
He looked at her in silence for a moment. Then he said,
seriously:
“There is always need of love—true love. But there is so much
counterfeit love in the world, Rosamond. To pass all the little waving
false hands safely—losing no grain of faith, nor drop of tenderness
by the way—and come, at last, and fold your heart’s wings softly in
two tender, loyal hands, which will never weary and never unclasp
——”
She surrendered her hands, willingly. It would be something
sweet to remember all her life, how a prince had held them tenderly.
“Do you know—in the twilight, as I came along through the
rushes of the river-path—I made a little poem to you? I did not know
it was to you.”
He drew a small note book from one of his pockets, and turned
its pages.
“There it is, you see—all zigzagged across the paper—like the
little zigzag path in the dusk. But both came straight to you.”
“Oh! is this your book of poems?” eagerly.
 “It is one of them. I have others. Six, to be exact. Two are with
a friend in St. Petersburg. He is translating them. One is in my hut.
Another is in London, where it will soon be published. And the best—
the first, the youngest, and dearest—the one I’m proudest of—is
buried in a biscuit tin in Idaho.”
“Oh!” she cried, thrilled. “To think you’ve wandered through all
those places—Prince Run-Away.”
“To come at last to you—Madam Make-Believe.”
He looked at her so long that her lashes drooped and her colour
came and went.
“Read it to me—my poem”—she said softly, and leaned over the
manuscript. Her hair touched his cheek, as he also leaned over to
descry the words he had pencilled in the dark.

“If I were a ship on the deep seas flowing,

If I were a ship on the waters blue,
I’d go sailing round the world of women
To the harbour lights and the ports of You.

“If I were a cloud in the high air blowing,

If I were a cloud in the sapphire skies,
Oh, I’d break my rest in the orbs of heaven,
To be the mist in your young, blue eyes.

“If I were the grass in the green earth growing,

If I were the grass where the wild flowers meet,
I would leave my peace in the morning meadows,
To deck life’s road for your eager feet.”

He ceased, and she looked up, wistfully.

“Isn’t there any more? Oh, make it up!” she pleaded. “Make it
up, now!” The book dropped back into the big pocket.
“Make it up now?” he echoed. He put his arm gently about her
shoulders, as if he meant to say that he would not hold her against
her wish. Then, hesitating, here and there, for the words, he went
on:
“Oh, would I were Love—Love’s true art knowing:
Would I were Love—I would wrap you round!
My faith for your home, and my songs for your wending,
And my heart, my heart, for your garden-ground.”

Then, since love and youth must have their way, he kissed her;
and found, with her, that her lips had waited for his. In that instant
principalities and powers—his kingdom and her village—melted into
mist. There were no countries, no degrees, no secret service nor
scandal-mongers, no differences of race and place: love had met
with love.
They were recalled to Roseborough by the noise of wheels on
the gravel drive. Rosamond sprang up in alarm.
“Someone coming here?” he queried. She stopped him.
“Don’t go to the verandah. If you should be seen! Oh, hide!” She
ran to the door. “Oh-h.” It was a gasp of relief. “Of course; it is the
doctor.” She smiled. Her smile faded, however, instantly; and she
interjected again.
“What’s the matter now?” the prince asked.
“You can’t tell Dr. Wells you are my chauffeur. He knows I
haven’t one!”
The doctor’s footsteps were coming along the porch.
“Leave it to me,” hastily. “I’ll tell him something.”
Dr. Wells, entering hurriedly, with his little black bag in his hand
and neighbourly anxiety in his heart, encountered Mrs. Mearely on
her threshold, and saw no farther. He was astounded.
“Mrs. Mearely!” he exclaimed. “You are able to be up?”
Rosamond was taken aback by this greeting, not understanding
for the moment that the doctor had come to her home under the
impression that she herself was ill.
“Yes, certainly.—Oh, I see. But it is not I who need your
services.”
“Well, I am glad of that! My boy, Peter, who answered the
telephone, said I must come to you at once. I feared you had been
taken seriously ill. So I hastened, as fast as possible—considering
that my own indigestion was acute. I delayed only to awaken Mrs.
Wells, and tell her that I had received an urgent call to your home.
Dear, dear! she was greatly alarmed. Indeed, she almost insisted on
coming with me, knowing that you are alone. But I couldn’t permit
it. She was seized with such a fit of hiccoughs and heart-burn, poor
thing, that I prevailed upon her to remain warmly in bed.”
Even his capacious lungs needed refilling with air at times, so
that his philippics must eventually come to a period. Rosamond had
made several useless efforts to interrupt him; now she said quickly,
to prevent him from launching another fleet of parentheses:
“How kind. But, as you see, I am perfectly well. It is this
gentleman who requires your services.” She led the way to the big
chair, where the vagabond had settled again, perhaps because he
thought that a wounded man should not appear too brisk,
considering the hour and place.
“The accident ...” she began.
“Accident?” Dr. Wells repeated. “Dear, dear. We have so few
accidents, fortunately. Is it a fracture?”
“Accidental shooting, doctor,” the prince informed him. “The
wound is in the shoulder.” He must have removed her bowknot
bandage in the dining room, because it was no longer there when he
slipped his coat off. Dr. Wells produced a huge pair of horn-rimmed
spectacles, which he put on over his small gold-rimmed ones.
“Tst—tst—tst,” he muttered, peering, first from one side, then
from the other; “dear, dear. Yes, yes. It might very well have caused
your death, if it had been in some other part of the body. Yes,
indeed, not so slight as it appears, Mr.—” He paused, looking from
one to the other, inquiringly. Thinking his tentative query had not
been heard he repeated it, loudly, “Mr. ——?”
“Er—Mr. ——” Rosamond stammered, quickly. “Dr. Wells didn’t
quite catch your name.”
“My name? Er—Mills. Yes. Mr. Mills. With two l’s,” he added; as
though to prove the name his own, by showing that he could spell it;
or, as inept liars always overdo matters, by adding a second fib to
throw suspicion on the first. “I was passing along the road from
Trenton. Some constables were out hunting a tramp who had
alarmed the neighbourhood. Some one shouted ‘halt.’ I supposed it
was an attempted hold-up. So I spurred on; and got a bullet in my
shoulder.”
In the pleasant relief of this plausible tale, Mrs. Mearely
embarked upon prevaricating ventures of her own.
“I—I had been sitting here reading, and just as I was—er—about
to retire—I heard voices—and a shot. So—so—I ran out. And when I
saw what had happened—er—I had Mr. Woods....”
“Mills,” he corrected her, quickly, “with two l’s.”
“Mr. Mills—with two l’s. Thank you. I had Mr. Mills brought here.
Then I sent for you.”
The vagabond prince added another touch of realism to the
fiction. He bowed formally, as if he had only now perceived that
there was a lady present, and said:
“I shall never forget your kindness, Mrs. ——?”
“Mrs. Mearely.” She took the cue promptly and, imitating his
method, painstakingly spelled the name out: “M-e-a-r-e-l-y.”
“Mrs. Mearely,” he repeated, and bowed again.
Even innocent-hearted Dr. Wells might have questioned the
wherefore of this spelling bee, if he had not been wholly occupied
with the contents of his bag.
 “Now, if Dr. Wells will kindly patch me up so that I can set out on
my way....”
“No, no! You daren’t go on now.” In spite of herself, her glance
went to the verandah. Had the Secret Service come creeping up
from the road again, to see that His Highness did not escape in the
doctor’s trap?
“Go on? To-night?” Dr. Wells shook his head. He never approved
of rapid convalescence. “Oh, dear no. I couldn’t advise it. Bed and
rest, my dear sir; bed and rest, till the shock is abated. Yes.”
“My sister’s room is ready,” Mrs. Mearely urged.
“Mrs. Mearely is kindness itself.” The vagabond bowed again.
“But I dare not lose the time. I am obliged to keep an appointment
to-morrow. Important business.”
“At least let me dress the wound properly—if we may use your
sister’s room for that purpose?”
“Certainly,” Rosamond said quickly, silencing the protest she saw
coming. “You must submit Mr. Wood—er—Mills. You know the way,
doctor?”
She opened the door, at the right of the music room, where the
stairs began their windings to the upper stories. The patient,
supported by the doctor, and still protesting about his appointment
elsewhere the next morning, mounted slowly. Rosamond waited to
gather up her bowl, linen and sponges; then she closed the door
behind her and ran up the stairs, to render aid in the bandaging, if
necessary.
 CHAPTER XXII

T
he room to which the wounded gentleman was conducted, was
at the back of the house looking toward the peak of the hill
and over a corner of the orchard. Ordinary sounds from the
road and the front of the house did not reach it.

Dr. Wells, washed, treated, and dressed the scratch, amid

dissertations and reminiscences, while Rosamond assisted in the
capacity of surgical nurse, and the patient stifled yawns and mirth
and the desire to embrace the beautiful nurse; all three being
blissfully unaware that there were anxious guests in the living room.
Mrs. Witherby, bearing all the marks of ‘half-asleep,’ sat in the
big chair, looking about from door to door with barely suppressed
excitement. Corinne stood near her, with gaping mouth and eyes,
and a restless alarm that kept her standing, first on one foot, then
on the other. Mrs. Witherby punched a cushion at her back, and said
in a gusty whisper:
“I suppose we’d better sit down and wait till the nurse comes.”
“Has she a nurse?” Corinne whispered back.
“Of course. Dr. Wells would see to that. I expect he brought Jane
Hinch with him. He always foists Jane Hinch on his patients. I
wouldn’t have her in the house. I don’t consider her efficient. The
fact that she is Mrs. Wells’s cousin is no recommendation to me.”
“Mrs. Wells didn’t seem to know what was the matter with Mrs.
Mearely, did she?”
 “How could she know till the doctor got here? How stupid you
are, Corinne!”
“I’m so sleepy.” The big, round eyes blinked.
“Well!” irritatedly. “Is your mother not sleepy too? I do think Mrs.
Wells might have waited till morning to telephone. It always upsets
me to be waked suddenly like that.”
“But she knew Mrs. Mearely was alone. It must be dreadful to be
ill and all alone.”
“You needn’t expatiate on it, Corinne,” sharply. “She has only
herself to thank for it. I did my best to prevent her from remaining
here alone. But she was ridiculously obstinate about it. She even
joined Dr. Wells and the rest of them, in jeering and snickering at my
caution. Well, you see what has come of it. That tramp returned and
half murdered her with fright. I hope she has learned her lesson.”
“But, mamma, Mrs. Wells, said it was something she ate. At
least, she thought it was.”
“Humph!” her mother interrupted. Her tone made “humph” a
silencing argument to most opponents.
“Yes, mamma. Because, she said Dr. Wells himself had an attack
of indigestion, when he came home; and he hardly ate anything—
only some salad and a cheese sandwich.”
Mrs. Witherby sniffed in a superior manner. This was a subject
on which she had opinions.
“My dear. The Wellses have dyspepsia on the brain—as well as
elsewhere. Ever since that cousin of Dr. Wells, Dr. Mayhew Pipp, in
London, discovered his famous cure for dyspepsia, the Wellses have
had nothing else, and talked of nothing else. If they aren’t careful,
they’ll die of it, just like Dr. Pipp did. I say that dyspepsia is not a
disease at all. It’s a habit. Whenever my mother saw any of us
looking yellow, she made us stick a feather down our throats—and
that was the end of it. I will say, though, that I never tasted worse
parsnip wine in my life. Such a slaughter of good parsnips. I had a
little salad—and I thought it tasted very peculiar, now I come to
think of it. Well—if it’s ptomaine poisoning, there’s probably very
little hope for her.”
Corinne, who had only partly persuaded herself that there was
nothing in the tramp theory, found herself unprepared for the even
more serious poison theory.
“Oh, mamma, don’t!” she wailed.
“We may as well face the worst, Corinne. Because, until her
sister can get back, we shall be obliged to stay here and oversee
things. I shall, at least. It’ll be my duty.”
Corinne stiffened with fright.
“I wonder whether they’ve sent for Mrs. Barton,” she whispered.
“I certainly hope so. Every moment counts in ptomaine
poisoning.”
Corinne recalled vaguely something she had read once about
bodies turning blue from poison; she thought of beautiful Mrs.
Mearely turning blue, and pleaded:
“But, mamma—it may not be ptomaine poisoning. Mrs. Wells
didn’t exactly know....”
Her mother sniffed again.
“Mrs. Wells never knows anything, my dear.” Feeling Corinne’s
fingers in her hair presently, she snapped:
“What are you doing?”
“You left some of your curl-papers in. They look so funny. And
your bonnet is crooked.”
“I don’t stop to think of my appearance when a friend needs my
help. But you can laugh in the house of a dying woman you pretend
to care for.”
This was so unjust that Corinne burst into tears.
 “She’s not dying! I just love Mrs. Mearely. She shan’t die,” she
cried, between her sobs; and threw herself face downward on the
settee to weep in comfort. Her mother was not disturbed by the salt
storm, but, on patting her hair and finding one curl-paper still there,
she became furious.
“Corinne! stop that nonsense and fix my hair. What in the world
are you crying about? Do be cheerful. Your mother has enough to
bear.”
Corinne, weeping heavily, dragged herself up from the settee
and went to her parent. She removed the last paper spiral obediently
and straightened the little turban, which had been sitting on its
wearer’s head at an impossible angle. Mrs. Witherby, meanwhile,
pursued her own train of thought.
“I do hope she has made her will.”
“She isn’t going to die!”
“I wonder if Wilton Howard will inherit much. I wish, sometimes,
we had made more of him. I dare say he’s not a bad fellow at heart;
but a man is very easily led astray by a silly girl. However, if he
inherits any of Rosamond’s money, it will put an end to that
nonsense.”
Corinne was so shocked by this allusion to her cousin’s love-
affair, which she herself felt to be a wonderful romance, that her
tears ceased.
“You mean Mabel? Why, Mamma! I should think, if Mr. Howard
ever gets any money, he’d want to marry Mabel. I’m sure Mabel
loves him terribly. I always wish she’d tell me about it. But she never
does.” She sighed.
Mrs. Witherby, furious at this sentimentality, slapped her
daughter.
“Corinne! be quiet! Do you suppose I could afford to have Mabel
leave me and marry? I need her. Who’d do the marketing and the
errands, and see to your clothes? After my giving her a home, too. I
hope she wouldn’t be so selfish and ungrateful. Besides she wouldn’t
be a suitable match at all for a man with money. If Mr. Howard does
inherit any of Rosamond’s money, he will be obliged to make a fitting
marriage. It will be his duty to all of us. Roseborough will expect it.
Oh, you make me furious! You’d give Mabel everything you own, or
that you might own, if your mother didn’t watch you.”
Subdued by her mother’s hand and her torrents of talk, Corinne
whispered:
“I wonder if he is upstairs? Do you think he could have got here
before we did?”
“I don’t know. He hadn’t heard anything about it till I telephoned
him. He has farther to come.” Then she added—to herself, rather
than to the daughter who seemed to have so little natural instinct for
the main chance—“I wonder if he knows what she has left him in
her will? Villa Rose, of course. Well, I’ve always wanted to take hold
of this room and make it....”
“Mamma! I hear wheels! It must be Mr. Howard.”
Mrs. Witherby rose importantly and went to meet Howard, who
came in swiftly, looking about him in apprehension.
“My dear Mr. Howard,” she said, emotionally, taking his hand in
both hers, “this is terribly sad for you.”
“How is she?” he queried, in a sick-room whisper. She patted his
hand.
“You must prepare yourself—we must all prepare ourselves. My
dear, sensitive, tender-hearted Corinne is beside herself.”
Corinne, feeling better now that her mother had discontinued
her theories and prophecies, said cheerfully:
“We don’t know anything. We haven’t seen anybody yet. We’ve
only just come. We hope it’s all right.”
Mrs. Witherby was annoyed.
 “Corinne! how you interrupt! Oh, I fear it is very serious, Mr.
Howard. The doctor is still with her. But of course, we hope....” She
broke off and murmured sentimentally: “Ah well, we always hope—
we always hope.”
Howard’s tone reflected hers.
“Yes, indeed. I can’t understand it. Rosamond has always been
the embodiment of health. For her to be struck down suddenly in
this way....”
“Dreadful! But rely on me, Mr. Howard. I shall remain here and
take charge of things, till her sister arrives.”
“Mrs. Barton has been sent for?” he asked, quickly.
“We suppose so. But, in the excitement, it is possible no one has
thought of it.”
He appeared to think rapidly.
“It should be done at once. I hardly know how. It will have to be
by telegraph in some way—because Mrs. Barton’s mother has no
telephone. Of course old Ruggle, of the telegraph office, is in bed,
and the office closed. The office in Poplars Vale will be closed too....”
He mused awhile. “Someone will have to get Ruggle up, and make
him telegraph to the station agent at Trenton Waters, to send a man
over to Poplars Vale, on horseback. Whom can we ask to wake
Ruggle?”
“Oh, Mabel will go!” Corinne said. “She’ll be sitting up all
dressed. She wanted to come, but Mamma wouldn’t let her.” She ran
to the door of the anteroom, where was the instrument which
afflicted His Friggets. “I’ll ’phone her.” She closed the door, so that
the bell should not be heard.
“If Mrs. Lee had a telephone, I’d have had her here by now. But
I’m certainly not going all that dark way to the cottage,” Mrs.
Witherby remarked, seating herself again. Howard had followed
Corinne to the door to impress on her the details of the message she
was to telephone. In returning, he arrived at the large table and,
almost immediately, discovered the supper-tray.
“I see you have had something to eat,” he said. “That was wise.
You’ll need all your strength.”
Mrs. Witherby, in great excitement, joined him at the table.
“No! I haven’t. I wonder who has been eating? Two persons
evidently. How odd!”
After a pause, Howard suggested:
“The doctor and the nurse, perhaps.”
“Well! It seems queer for Dr. Wells to sit down calmly and eat,
when poor Rosamond is dying! Still, as I always say, it is amazing
how much those dyspeptic people can eat, when there’s no one by
to see them stuff.”
In moving the tray, she, in her turn, made a discovery; it was
the pistol.
“Oh! Look! Oh! what does it mean?”
“What is it now, mamma?” Corinne asked, nervously, coming in
at the moment. Howard picked up the weapon.
“Rosamond’s pistol. That’s strange.”
“Is it loaded?” Mrs. Witherby asked.
“Yes, I expect so. No, it’s not.”
“Not loaded!”
“No. The chambers are empty.”
She caught at his arm.
“Do you suppose she could have been attacked—fought wildly to
protect herself—and then been overpowered?”
“No—no” he answered, not paying attention to her, but trying to
recall whether his cousin had reloaded the pistol before putting it
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebooknice.com