my eyes with its magic rays and touched my spirit for the first time

with its fiery fingers, and Selma Karamy was the first woman who

awakened my spirit with her beauty and led me into the garden of high

worship beauty by the example of her own beauty and revealed to me the

secret of love by her affection; se was the one who first sang to me the

and tries to recapture that strange hour, the memory of which changes

his deepest feeling and makes him so happy in spite of all the

“Selma” who appears to him suddenly while in the spring of life and

transforms his solitude into happy moments and fills the silence of his

contemplation and seeking to understand the meaning of nature and the

revelation of books and scriptures when I heard LOVE whispered into my

ears through Selma’s lips. My life was a coma, empty like taht of Adam’s

in Paradise, when I saw Selma standing before me like a column of light.

She was the Eve of my heart who filled it with secrets and wonders and

her own will, while Selma made me enter willingly into the paradise of

pure love and virtue by her sweetness and love; but what happened to the

first man also happened to me, and the firey word which chased Adam out

of Paradise was like the one which frightened me by its glittering edge

and forced me away from paradise of my love without having disobeyed any

have nothing left out of that beautiful dream except painful memories

flapping like invisible wings around me, filling the depths of my heart

with sorrow, and bringing tears to my eyes; and my beloved, beautiful

Selma, is dead and nothing is left to commemorate her except my broken

heart and tomb surrounded by cypress trees. That tomb and this heart are

reveal God’s secret in the obscurity of the coffin, and the rustling of

the branches whose roots suck the body’s elements do not tell the

mysteries of the grave, by the agonized sighs of my heart announce to

in the city of Beirut, when you pass by the cemetery near the pine

forest, enter it silently and walk slowly so the tramping of your feet

will not disturb the slumber of the dead, and stop humbly by Selma’s

tomb and greet the earth that encloses her corpse and mention my name

with deep sigh and say to yourself, “here, all the hopes of Gibran, who

is living as prisoner of love beyond the seas, were buried. On this spot

cypress trees, and above the tomb his spirit flickers every night

commemorating Selma, joining the branches of the trees in sorrowful

wailing, mourning and lamenting the going of Selma, who, yesterday was a

beautiful tune on the lips of life and today is a silent secret in the

in the names of those virgins whom your hearts have loved, to lay a

wreath of flowers on the forsaken tomb of my beloved, for the flowers

you lay on Selma’s tomb are like falling drops of dew for the eyes of

with pleasure and regret its passing; but I remember it like a prisoner

who recalls the bars and shackles of his jail. You speak of those years

between infancy and youth as a golden era free from confinement and

cares, but I call those years an era of silent sorrow which dropped as a

seed into my heart and grew with it and could find no outlet to the

world of Knowledge and wisdom until love came and opened the heart’s

doors and lighted its corners. Love provided me with a tongue and tears.

You people remember the gardens and orchids and the meeting places and

street corners that witnessed your games and heard your innocent

whispering; and I remember, too, the beautiful spot in North Lebanon.

Every time I close my eyes I see those valleys full of magic and dignity

and those mountains covered with glory and greatness trying to reach the

sky. Every time I shut my ears to the clamour of the city I hear the

murmur of the rivulets and the rustling of the branches. All those

beauties which I speak of now and which I long to see, as a child longs

for his mother’s breast, wounded my spirit, imprisoned in the darkness

of youth, as a falcon suffers in its cage when it sees a flock of birds

flying freely in the spacious sky. Those valleys and hills fired my

imagination, but bitter thoughts wove round my heart a net of

disappointed, without understanding the cause of my disappointment.

Every time I looked at the grey sky I felt my heart contract. Every time

I heard the singing of the birds and babbling of the spring I suffered

without understanding the reason for my suffering. It is said that

unsophistication makes a man empty and that emptiness makes him

carefree. It may be true among those who were born dead and who exist

like frozen corpses; but the sensitive boy who feels much and knows

little is the most unfortunate creature under the sun, because he is

torn by two forces. the first force elevates him and shows him the

beauty of existence through a cloud of dreams; the second ties him down

to the earth and fills his eyes with dust and overpowers him with fears

strong fingers it grasps the heart and makes it ache with sorrow.

Silitude is the ally of sorrow as well as a companion of spiritual

of sorrow is like a white lily just unfolding. It trembles before the

breeze and opens its heart to day break and folds its leaves back when

the shadow of night comes. If that boy does not have diversion or

friends or comapnions in his games his life will be like a narrow prison

in which he sees nothing but spiderwebs and hears nothing but the

youth was not caused by lack of amusement, because I could have had it;

neither from lack of friends, because I could have found them. That

sorrow was caused by an inward ailment which made me love solitude. It

killed in me the inclination for games and amusement. It removed from my

shoulders the wings of youth and made me like a pong of water between

mountains which reflects in its calm surface the shadows of ghosts and

the colors of clouds and trees, but cannot find an outlet by which to

age of eighteen. That year is like a mountain peak in my life, for it

awakened knowledge in me and made me understand the vicissitudes of

mankind. In that year I was reborn and unless a person is born again his

life will remain like a blank sheet in the book of existence. In that

year, I saw the angels of heaven looking at me through the eyes of a

beautiful woman. I also saw the devils of hell raging in the heart of an

evil man. He who does not see the angels and devils in the beauty and

malice of life will be far removed from knowledge, and his spirit will

was in Beirut. The gardens were full of Nisan flowers and the earth was

carpeted with green grass, and like a secret of earth revealed to

Heaven. The orange trees and apple trees, looking like houris or brides

sent by nature to inspire poets and excite the imagination, were wearing

most beautiful in Lebanon. It is a spirit that roams round the earth but

hovers over Lebanon, conversing with kings and prophets, singing with

the rives the songs of solomon, and repeating with the Holy Cedars of

Lebanon the memory of ancient glory. Beirut, free from the mud of winter

and the dust of summer, is like a bride int he spring, or like amerjmaid

sitting by the side of a brook drying her smooth skin inteh rays of the

visit a friend whose home was at some distance from the glamorous city.

As we were conversing, a dignified man of about sixty-five entered the

house. As I rose to greet him, my friend introduced him to me as Farris

Effandi Karamy and then gave him my name with flattering words. The old

man looked at me a moment, touching his forehead with the ends of his

fingers as if he were trying to regain his memory. Then he smilingly

approached me saying, ” You are the son of a very dear friend of mine,

attracted to him like a bird whose instinct leads him to his nest before

the coming of the tempest. As we sat down, he told us about his

friendship with my father, recalling the time which they spent together.

An old man likes to return in memory to the days of his youth like a

strainger who longs to go back to his own country. He delights to tell

stories of the past like a poet who takes pleasure in reciting his best

poem. He lives spiritually in the past because the present passes

swiftly, and the future seems to him an approach to the oblivion of the

grave. An hour full of old memories passed like the shadows of the trees

over the grass. When Farris Effandi started to leave, he put his left

hand on my shoulder and shook my right hand, saying, ” I have not seen

your father for twenty years. I hope you will l take his place in

frequent visits to my house.” I promised gratefully to do my duty toward

my friend to tell me more about him. He said, “I do not know any other

man in Beirut whose wealth has made him kind and whose kindness has made

him wealthy. He is one of the few who come to this world and leave it

without harming any one, but people of that kind are usually miserable

and oppressed because they are not clever enough to save themselves from

the crookedness of others. Farris Effandi has one daughter whose

character is similar to his and whose beauty and gracefulness are beyond

description, and she will also be miserable because her father’s wealth

his face clouded. Then he continued, “Farris Effandi is a good old man

with a noble heart, but he lacks will power. People lead him like a

blind man. His daughter obeys him in spite of her pride and

intelligence, and this is the secret which lurks in the life of father

and daughter. This secret was discovered by an evil man who is a bishop

and whose wickedness hides in the shadow of his Gospel. He makes the

people believe that he is kind and noble. He is the head of religion in

this land of the religions. The people obey and worship him. he leads

them like a flock of lambs to the slaughter house. This bishop has a

nephew who is full of hatefulness and corruption. The day will come

sooner or later when he will place his nephew on his right and Farris

Effandi’s daughter on this left, and, holding with his evil hand the

wreath of matrimony over their heads, will tie a pure virgin to a filthy

the window as if he were trying to solve the problems of human existence

I was going to visit Farris Effandi in a few days for the purpose of

fulfilling my promise and for the sake of the friendship which had

joined him and my father. He stared at me for a moment, and I noticed a

change in his expression as if my few simple words had revealed to him a

new idea. Then he looked straight through my eyes in a strange manner, a

look of love, mercy, and fear — the look of a prophet who foresees what

no one else can divine. Then his lips trembled a little, but he said

nothing when I started towards the door. That strange look followed me,

the meaning of which I could not understand until I grew up in the world

of experience, where hearts understand each other intuitively and where

I tired of the grim faces of books; I hired a carriage and started for

the house of Farris Effandi. As i reached the pine woods where people

went for picnics, the driver took a private way, shaded with willow

trees on each side. Passing through , we could see the beauty of the

green grass, the grapevines, and the many colored flowers of Nisan just

before a solitary house in the midst of a beautiful garden. The scent of

roses, gardenia, and jasmine filled the air. As I dismounted and entered

the spacious garden, I saw Farris Effandi coming to meet me. He ushered

me into his house with a hearty welcome and sat by me, like a happy

father when he sees his son, showering me with questions on my life,

future and eduction. I answered him, my voice full of ambition and zeal;

for I heard ringing in my ears the hymn of glory, and I was sailing the

calm sea of hopeful dreams. Just then a beautiful young woman, dressed

in a gorgeous white silk gown, appeared from behind the velvet curtains

of the door and walked toward me. Farris Effandi and I rose from our

man. Then he introduced me to her, saying, “Fate has brought back to me

a dear old friend of mine in the person of his son.” Selma stared at me

a moment as if doubting that a visitor could have entered their house.

Her hand, when I touched it, was like a white lily, and a strange pang

into the room with her heavenly spirit worthy of mute respect. As she

felt the silence she smiled at me and said,” Many a times my father has

repeated to me the stories of his youth and of the old days he and your

father spent together. If your father spoke to you in the same way, then

daughter talking in such a manner and said, “Selma is very sentimental.

She sees everything through the eyes of the spirit.” Then he resumed his

converstion with care and tact as if he had found in me a magic which

later years, he looked upon me, as a lofty old tree that has withstood

storms and sunshine throws its shadow upon a small sapling which shakes

looked first at me and then at her father as if reading the first and

last chapters of life’s drama. The day passed faster in that garden, and

I could see through the window the ghostly yellow kiss of sunset on the

mountains of Lebanon. Farris Effandi continued to recount his

experiences and I listened entranced and responded with such enthusiasm

sorrowful eyes and not speaking, although beauty has its own heavenly

language, loftier thant he voices of tongues and lips. It is a timeless

language, common to all humanity, a calm lake that attracts the singing

or live and grow with it. It puzzles our minds; we are unable to

describe it in words; it is a sensation that our eyes cannot see,

derived from both the one who observes and the one who is looked upon.

Real beauty is a ray which emanates from the holy of holies of the

spirit, and illuminates the body, as life comes from the depths of the

eaach other that day when we met, and did that yearning make me see her

as the most beautiful woman under th sun? Or was I intoxicated with the

make me imagine the brightness of her eyes, the sweetness of her mouth,

and the grace of her figure? Or was it that her brightness, sweetness,

I say truly that in that hour I felt an emotion that I had never felt

before, a new affection resting calmly in my heart, like the spirit

hovering over the waters at the creation of the world, and from that

affection was born my happiness and my sorrow. Thus ended the hour of my

first meeting with Selma, and thus the will of Heaven freed me from the

because it so elevates the spirit that the laws of humanity and the

Effandi came close to me and said soberly, “Now my son, since you know

your way to this house, you should come often and feel that you are

coming to your father’s house. Consider me as a father and Selma as a

sister.” Saying this, he turned to Selma as if to ask confirmation of

his statement. She nodded her head positively and then looked at me as

Karamy placed me side by side with his daughter at the altar of love.

Those words were a heavenly song which started with exaltation and ended

with sorrow; they raised our spirits to the realm of light and searing

me to the edge of the garden, while my heart throbbed like the trembling

continued to visit the home of Farris Effendi and to meet Selma in that

beautiful garden, gazing upon her beauty, marveling at her intelligence,

and hearing the stillness of sorrow. I felt an invisible hand drawing me

beauty and a new insight into her sweet spirit, Until she became a book

whose pages I could understand and whose praises I could sing, but which

I could never finish reading. A woman whom Providence has provided with

beauty of spirit and body is a truth, at the same time both open and

secret, which we can understand only by love, and touch only by virtue;

beauty, but how can I describe her to one who never knew her? Can a dead

man remember the singing of a nightingale and the frangrance of a rose

and the sigh of a brook? Can a prisoner who is heavily loaded with

shackles follow the breeze of the dawn? Is not silence more painful than

death? Does pride prevent me from descibing Selma in plain words since I

cannot draw her truthfully with luminous colors? A hungryman in a desert

will not refuse to eat dry bread if Heaven does not shower him with

slender as a ray of moonlight coming through the window. She walked

gracefully and rhythmically. Her voice was low and sweet; words fell

from her lips like drops of dew falling from the petals of flowers when

its expression, reflecting first great internal suffering, then heavenly

classic; it was like a dream of revalation which cannot be measured or

bound or copied by the brush of a painter or the chisel of a sculptor.

Selma’s beauty was not in her golden hair, but in the virtue of purity

which surrounded it; not in her large eyes, but in the light which

emanated from them; not in her red lips, but in the sweetness of her

words; not in her ivory neck, but in its slight bow to the front. Nor

was it in her perfect figure, but in the nobility of her spirit, burning

like a white torch between earth and sky. her beauty was like a gift of

poetry. But poets care unhappy people, for, no matter how high their

talkative, and her silence was a kind of music that carried one to a

world of dreams and made him listen to the throbbing of his heart, and

see the ghosts of his thoughts and feelings standing before him, looking

her life, which increased her strange beauty and dignity, as a tree in

each saw in the other’s face what the heart was feeling and heard the

echo of a hidden voice. God had made two bodies in one, and separation

united with a similar one. They join affectionately, as a stranger is

cheered when he sees another stranger in a strange land. Hearts that are

united through the medium of sorrow will not be separated by the glory

of happiness. Love that is cleansed by tears will remain externally pure

at his home. I accepted, my spirit hungry for the divine bread which

Heaven placed in the hands of Selma, the spiritual bread which makes our

hearts hungrier the more we eat of it. It was this bread which Kais, the

Arabian poet, Dante, and Sappho tasted and which set their hearts afar;

the bread which the Goddess prepares with the sweetness of kisses and

I saw Selma sitting on a bench in the garden resting her head against a

tree and looking like a bride in her white silk dress, or like a

sat by her. I could not talk; so I resorted to silence, the only

language of the heart, but I felt that Selma was listening to my

greeted me as usual. When he stretched his hand toward me, I felt as if

he were blessing the secrets that united me and his daughter. Then he

said, “Dinner is ready, my children; let us eat. “We rose and followed

him, and Selma’s eyes brightened; for a new sentiment had been added to

sipping the old wine, but our souls were living in a world far away. We

but united in love; three innocent people with much feeling but little

knowledge; a drama was being performed by an old man who loved his

daughter and cared for her happiness, a young woman of twenty looking

into the future with anxiety, and a young man, dreaming and worrying,

who had tasted neither the wine of life nor its vinegar, and trying to

reach the height of love and knowledge but unable to life himself up. We

three sitting in twilight were eating and drinking in that solitary

home, guarded by Heaven’s eyes, but at the bottoms of our glasses were

announced the presence of a man at the door who wished to see Farris

Effandi. “Who is he?” asked the old man. “The Bishop’s messanger,” said

the maid. There was a moment of silence during which Farris Effandi

stared at his daughter like a prophet who gazes at Heaven to divine its

oriental uniform and with big mustache curled at the ends, entered and

greeted the old man, saying “His Grace, the Bishop, has sent me for you

with his private carriage; he wishes to discuss important business with

you.” The old man’s face clouded and his smile disappeared. After a

moment of deep thought he came close to me and said in a friendly voice,

“I hope to find you here when I come back, for Selma will enjoy your

smiling, asked if she agreed. She nodded her head, but her cheeks became

red, and with a voice sweeter than the music of the lyre she said, “I

her father and the Bishop’s messenger until it disapperaed. Then she

came and sat opposite me on a divan covered with green silk. She looked

like a lily bent to the carpet of green grass by the breeze of dawn. It

was the will of Heaven that I should be with Selma alone, at night, in

her beautiful home surrounded by trees, where silence, love, beauty and

other to speak, but speech is not the only means of understanding

between two souls. It is not the syllables that come from the lips and

what the mouth utters. Silence illuminates our souls, whispers to our

hearts, and brings them together. Silence separates us from ourselves,

makes us sail the firmament of spirit, and brings us closer to Heaven;

it makes us feel that bodies are no more than prisons and that this

the secret of her heart. Then she quietly said, “Let us go to the garden

and sit under the trees and watch the moon come up behind the

until the moon has risen and illuminates the garden?” And I continued,

she turned her eyes and looked through the window. I remained silent,

pondering her words, weighing the true meaning of each syllable. Then

she looked at me as if she regretted what she had said and tried to take

away those words from my ears by the magic of her eyes. But those eyes,

instead of making me forget what she had said, repeated through the

depths of my heart more clearly and effectively the sweet words which

is created by a single thought or emotion inside a man. Every thing we

see today, made by past generation, was, before its appearance, a

thought in the mind of a man or an impulse in the heart of a woman. The

revolutions that shed so much blood and turned men’s minds toward

liberty were th idea of one man who lived in the midst of thousands of

men. The devastating wars which destroyed empires were a thought that

existed in the mind of an individual. The supreme teachings that changed

the course of humanity were the ideas of a man whose genius separated

him from his environment. A single thought build the Pyramids, founded

which will elevate you to glory or lead you to asylum. One look from a

woman’s eye makes you the happiest man in the world. One word from a

arrested me between my past and future, as a boat which is anchored in

the midst of the ocean. That word awakened me from the slumber of youth

and solitude and set me on the stage where life and death play their

breeze as we came into the garden and sat silently on a bench near a

jasmine tree, listening to the breathing of sleeping nature, while in

Sunnin and shone over the coast, hills, and mountains; and we could see

the villages fringing the valley like apparitions which have suddenly

been conjured from nothing. We could see the beauty of Lebanon under the

legendary place, forgotten since the passing of David and Solomon and

the Prophets, as the Garden of Eden became lost after the fall of Adam

and Eve. To those Western poets, the word “Lebanon” is a poetical

expression associated with a mountain whose sides are drenched with the

incense of the Holy Cedars. It reminds them of the temples of copper and

marble standing stern and impregnable and of a herd of deer feeding in

the valleys. That night I saw Lebanon dream-like with the eyes of a

according to the emotions, and thus we see magic and beauty in them,

face, neck, and arms of Selma, she looked like a statue of ivory

sculptured by the fingers of some worshiper of Ishtar, goddess of beauty

and love. As she looked at me, she said, “Why are you silent? Why do you

not tell me something about your past?” As I gazed at her, my muteness

vanished, and I opened my lips and said, “Did you not hear what I said

when we came to this orchard? The spirit that hears the whispering of

flowers and the singing of silence can also hear the shrieking of my

said in a trrembling voice, “Yes, I heard you — I heard a voice coming

everything but Selma — I answered her, saying, “And I heard you, too,

Selma. I heard exhilarating music pulsing in the air and causing the

eyes and her lips I saw a smile of pleasure mingled with sadness. She

whispered softly, “Now I know that there is something higher than heaven

and deeper than the ocean and stranger than life and death and time. I

friend and closer than a sister and more beloved than a sweetheart. She

became a supreme thought, a beautiful, an overpowering emotion living in

long companionship and persevering courtship. Love is the offspring of

spiritual affinity and unless that affinity is created in a moment, it

the horizon where Mount Sunnin meets the sky, and said, “Yesterday you

were like a brother to me, with whom I lived and by whom I sat calmly

under my father’s care. Now, I feel the presence of something stranger

and sweeter than brotherly affection, an unfamiliar commingling of love

and which shakes us when it passes through our hearts is the law of

nature that guides the moon around the earth and the sun around the

fingers throught my hair. Her face brightened and tears came out of her

eyes like drops of dew on the leaves of a lily, and she said, “Who would

believe our story — who would believe that in this hour we have

surmounted the obstacles of doubt? Who would believe that the month of

Nisan which brought us together for the first time, is the month that

spoke, and I would not have preferred a royal crown or a wreath of glory

believe our story because they do not know what love is the only flower

that grows and blossoms without the aid of seasons, but was it Nisan

that brought us together for the first time, and is it this hour that

has arrested us in the Holy of Holies of life? Is it not the hand of God

that brought our souls close together before birth and made us prisoners

of each other for all the days and nights? Man’s life does not commence

in the womb and never ends in the grave; and this firmament, full of

moonlight and stars, is not deserted by loving souls and intuitive

felt a kind of electrical vibration at the roots of my hair mingled with

the night breeze. Like a devoted worshiper who receives his blessing by

kissing the altar in a shirne, I took Selma’s hand, placed my burning

lips on it, and gave it a long kiss, the memory of which melts my heart

a year of love. The silence of the night, moonlight, flowers, and trees

made us forget all reality except love, when suddenly we heard the

galloping of horses and rattling of carriage wheels. Awakened from our

pleasant swoon and plunged from the world of dreams into the world of

perplexity and misery, we found that the old man had returned from his

the garden, Farris Effandi dismounted and slowly walked towards us,

bending forward slightly as if he were carrying a heavy load. He

approached Selma and placed both of his hands on her shoulders and

stared at her. Tears coursed down his wrinkled cheeks and his lips

trembled with sorrowful smile. In a choking voice, he siad, “My beloved

Selma, very soon you will be taken away from the arms of your father to

the arms of another man. Very soon fate will carry you from this lonely

home to the world’s spacious court, and this garden will miss the

pressure of your footsteps, and your father will become a stranger to

and her eyes froze as if she felt a premonition of death. Then she

screamed, like a bird shot down, suffering, and trembling, and in a

choked voice said, “What do you say? What do you mean? Where are you

trying to discover his secret. In a moment she said, “I understand. I

understand everything. The Bishop has demanded me from you and has

prepared a cage for this bird with broken wings. Is this your will,

led Selma into the house while I remained standing in the garden, waves

of perplexity beating upon me like a tempest upon autumn leaves. Then I

followed them into the living room, and to avoid embarrassment, shook

the old man’s hand, looked at Selma, my beautiful star, and left the

heard the old man calling me and turned to meet him. Apologetically he

took my hand and said, “Forgive me, my son. I have ruined your evening

with the sheding of tears, but please come to see me when my house is

deserted and I am lonely and desperate. Youth, my dear son, does not

combine with senility, as morning does not have meet the night; but you

will come to me and call to my memory the youthful days which I spent

with your father, and you will tell me the news of life which does not

count me as among its sons any longer. Will you not visit me when Selma

silently shook his hand, I felt the warm tears falling from his eyes

upon my hand. Trembling with sorrow and filial affection. I felt as if

my heart were choked with grief. When I raised my head and he saw the

tears in my eyes, he bent toward me and touched my forehead with his

that of a young man because it is the residuum of life in his weakening

body. A young man’s tear is like a drop of dew on the leaf of a rose,

while that of an old man is like a yellow leaf which falls with the wind

Karamy, Selma’s voice still rang in my ears, her beauty followed me like

Paradise, but the Eve of my heart was not with me to make the whole

world an Eden. That night, in which I had been born again, I felt that I

darkness of night will be clearly revealed in the daylight. Words

uttered in privacy will become unexpectedly common conversation. Deed

which we hide today in the corners of our lodgings will be shouted on

purpose of Bishop Bulos Galib’s meeting with Farris Effandi Karamy, and

his conversation was repeated all over the neighborhood until it reached

Bishop Buols Galib and Farris Effandi that night was not over the

problems of the poor or the widows and orphans. The main purpose for

sending after Farris Effandi and bringing him in the Bishops’ private

carriage was the betrothal of Selma to the Bishop’s nephew, Mansour Bey

Farris Effandi, and the Bishop’s choice fell on Selma, not on account of

her beauty and noble spirit, but on account of her father’s money which

would guarantee Mansour Bey a good and prosperous fortune and make him

satisfied with their own munificence, but they must strive to make all

members of their families superiors and oppressors. The glory of a

prince goes to his eldest son by inheritance, but the exaltation of a

religious head is contagious among his brothers and nephews. Thus the

Christian bishop and the Moslem imam and the Brahman priest become like

sea reptiles who clutch their prey with many tentacles and suck their

his nephew, the only answer that he received from her father was a deep

silence and falling tears, for he hated to lose his only child. Any

man’s soul trembles when he is separated from his only daughter whom he

a daughter is equal to their happiness at the marriage of a son, because

a son brings to the family a new member, while a daughter, upon her

Bishop’s request, obeying his will unwillingly, because Farris Effandi

knew the Bishop’s nephew very well, knew that he was dangerous, full of

bishop and remain in good standing. No man could disobey his religious

head and keep his reputation. The eye could not resist a spear without

being pierced, and the hand could not grasp a sword without being cut

the Bishop and refused his wish; then Selma’s reputation would have been

ruined and her name would have been blemished by the dirt of lips and

tongues. In the opinion of the fox, high bunches of grapes that can’t be

like a humiliated slave in the procession of miserable oriantal woman,

and thus fell that noble spirit into the trap after having flown freely

on the white wings of love in a sky full of moonlight scented with the

a source of misery for the children. The wide strong box which the

father and mother together have used for the safety of their wealth

becomes a narrow, dark prison for the souls of their heirs. The Almighty

Dinar which the people worhsip becomes a demon which punished the spirit

and deadens the heart. Selma karamy was one of those who were the

victims of their parents’ wealth and bridegrooms’ cupidity. Had it not

my sole entertainer, singing songs of happiness for me at night and

waking me at dawn to reveal the meaning of life and the secrets of

nature. It is a heavenlylove that is free from jealousy, rich and never

harmful to the spirit. It is deep affinity that bathes the soul in

contentment; a deep hunger for affection which, when satisfied, fills

the soul with bounty; a tenderness that creates hope without agitating

the soul, changing earth to paradise and life to a sweet and a beautiful

dream. In the morning, when I walked in the fields, I saw the token of

Eternity in the awakening of nature, and when I sat by the seashore I

heard the waves singing the song of Eternity. And when I walked in the

streets I saw the beauty of life and the splendor of humanity in the

disappeared like clouds, and soon nothing was left for me but sorrowful

memories. The eye whith which I used to look at the beauty of spring and

the awakening of nature, could see nothing but the fury of the tempest

and the misery of winter. The ears with which I formerly heard with

delight the song of the waves, could hear only the howling of the wind

and the wrath of the sea against the precipice. The soul which had

observed happily the tireless vigor of mankind and the glory of the

unvierse, was tortured by the knowledge of disappointment and failure.

Nothing was more beautiful than those days of love, and nothing was more

impulse, i went, on the weekend, once more to Selma’s home — the shrine

which Beauty had erected and which Love had blessed, in which the spirit

could worship and the heart kneel humbly and pray. When I entered the

garden I felt a power pulling me away from this world and placing me in

a sphere supernaturally free from struggle and harship. Like a mystic

who receives a revelation of Heaven, I saw myself amid the trees and

flowers, and as I approached the entrance of the house I beheld Selma

sitting on the bench in the shadow of a jasmine tree where we both had

sat the week before, on that night which Providence had chosen for the

approached her. She seemed to have known intuitively that I was coming,

and when I sat by her she gazed at me for a moment and sighed deeply,

then turned her head and looked at the sky. And, after a moment full of

magic silence, she turned back toward me and tremblingly took my hand

and said in a faint voice, “Look at me, my friend; study my face and I

read in it that which you want to know and which I can not recite. Look

those eyes, which a few days ago were smiling like lips and moving like

the wings of a nightingaleyes, were already sunken and glazed with

sorrow and pain. Her face, that had resembled the unfolding, sunkissed

leaves of a lily, had faded and become colorless. Her sweet lips were

like two withering roses that autumn has left on their stems. Her neck,

that had been a column of ivory, was bent forward as if it no longer

but to me they were like a passing cloud that covered the face of the

moon and makes it more beautiful. A look which reveals inward stress

adds more beauty to the face, no matter how much tragedy and pain it

bespeaks; but the face which, in silence, does not announce hidden

mysteries is not beauitiful, regardless of the symmetry of its features.

The cup does not entice our lips unless the wine’s color is seen through

full of heavenly wine concocted of the bitterness and sweetness of life.

Unaware, she symbolized the oriental woman who never leaves her parents’

home until she puts upon her neck the heavy yoke of her husband, who

never leaves her loving mother’s arms until she must live as a slave,

to her depressed spirit and suffer with her until I felt that time has

ceased and the universe had faded from existence. I could see only her

two large eyes staring fixedly at me and could feel only her cold,

quietly, “Come by beloved, let us discuss the horrible future before it

comes, My father has just left the house to see the man who is going to

be my companion until death. My father, whom God chose for the purpose

of my existence, will meet the man whom the world has selected to be my

master for the rest of my life. In the heart of this city, the old man

who accompanied me during my youth will meet the young man who will be

my companion for the coming years. Tonight the two families will set the

marriage date. What a strange and impressive hour! Last week at this

time, under this jasmine tree, Love embraced my soul for the first

time,okay. While Destiny was writing the first word of my life’s story

at the Bishop’s mansion. Now, while my father and my suitor are planning

the day of marriage, I see your spirit quivering around me as a thirsty

bird flickers above a spring of water guarded by a hungry serpent. Oh,

ghost of complete despondency was seizing our love to choke it in its

infancy, and I answered her, “That bird will remain flickering over that

spring until thirst destroys him or falls into the grasp of a serpent

nightingale should remain alive and sing until dark comes, until spring

passes, until the end of the world, and keep on singing eternally. His

voice should not be silenced, because he brings life to my heart, his

wings should not be broken, because their motion removes the cloud from

lips, “The thirst of soul is sweeter than the wine of material things,

and the fear of spirit is dearer than the security of the body. But

listen, my beloved, listen carefully, I am standing today at the door of

a new life which I know nothing about. I am like a blind man who feels

his way so that he will not fall. My father’s wealth has placed me in

the slave market, and this man has bought me. I neither know nor love

him, but I shall learn to love him, and I shall obey him, serve him, and

make him happy. I shall give him all that a weak woman can give a strong

prime of life. You can walk freely upon life’s spacious path, carpeted

with flowers. You are free to tranverse the world, making of your heart

a torch to light your way. You can think, talk, and act freely; you can

write your name on the face of life because you are a man; you can live

as a master because your father’s wealth will not place you in the slave

market to be bought and sold; you can marry the woman of your choice

and, before she lives in your home, you can let her reside in your heart

continued, “But, is it now that Life will tear us apart so that you may

attain the glory of a man and I the duty of a woman? Is it for this that

the valley swallows the song of the nightingale in its depths, and the

wind scatters the petals of the rose, and the feet tread upon the wind

cup? Were all those nights we spent in the moonlight by the jasmine

tree, where our souls united, in vain? Did we fly swiftly toward the

stars until our wings tired, and are we descending now into the abyss?

Or was Love asleep when he came to us, and did he, when he woke, become

angry and decide to punish us? Or did our spirits turn the nights’

breeze into a wind that tore us to pieces and blew us like dust to the

depth of the valley? We disobeyed no commandment, nor did we taste of

forbidden fruit, so what is making us leave this paradise? We never

conspired or practised mutiny, then why are we descending to hell? No,

no, the moments which united us are greater than centuries, and the

light that illuminated our spirits is stronger than the dark; and if the

tempest separates us on this rough ocean, the waves will unite us on the

calm shore; and if this life kills us, death will unite us. A woman’s

heart will change with time or season; even if it dies eternally, it

will never perish. A woman’s heart is like a field turned into a

battleground; after the trees are uprooted and the grass is burned and

the rocks are reddened with blood and the earth is planted with bones

and skulls, it is calm and silent as if nothing has happened; for the

How shall we part and when shall we meet? Shall we consider love a

strange visitor who came in the evening and left us in the morning? Or

shall we suppose this affection a dream that came in our sleep and

intoxication to be replaced by soberness? Raise your head and let me

look at you, my beloved; open your lips and let me hear your voice.

Speak to me! Will you remember me after this tempest has sunk the ship

of our love? Will you hear the whispering of my wings in the silence of

the night? Will you hear my spirit fluttering over you? Will you listen

to my sighs? Will you see my shadow approach with the shadows of dusk

and disappear with the flush of dawn? Tell me, my beloved, what will you

be after having been magic ray to my eyes, sweet song to my ears, and

a poet loves his sorrowful thoughts. I want you to remember me as a

traveler remembers a calm pool in which his image was reflected as he

drank its water. I want you to remember me as a mother remember her

child that died before it saw the light, and I want you to remember me

as a merciful king remembers a prisoner who died before his pardon

reached him. I want you to be my companion, and I want you to visit my

father and console him in his solitude because I shall be leaving him

you have said and will make my soul an envelope for your soul, and my

heart a residence for your beauty and my breast a grave for your

sorrows. I shall love you , Selma, as the prairies love the spirng, and

I shall live in you in the life of a flower under the sun’s rays. I

shall sing your name as the valley sings the echo of the bells of the

village churches; I shall listen to the language of your soul as the

shore listens to the story of the waves. I shall remember you as a

stranger remembers his beloved country, and as a hungry man remembers a

banquet, and as a dethroned king remembers the days of his glory, and as

a prisoner remembers the hours of ease and freedom. I shall remember you

as a sower remembers the bundles of wheat on his threshing flour, and as

palpitating heart, and said “Tomorrow the truth will become ghostly and

the awakening will be like a dream. Will a lover be satisfied embracing

a ghost, or will a thirsty man quench his thirst from the spring or a

put you in the midst of a peaceful family, but it will send me into the

world of struggle and warfare. You will be in the home of a person whom

chance has made most fortunate through your beauty and virtue, while I

shall be living a life of suffering and fear. You will enter the gate of

life, while I shall enter the gate of death. You will be received

hospitably, while I shall exist in solitude, but I shall erect a statue

of love and worship it in the valley of death. Love will be my sole

comforter, and I shall drink love like wine and wear it like garment. At

dawn, Love will wake me from slumber and take me to the distant field,

and at noon will lead me to the shadows of trees, where I will find

shelter with the birds from the heat of the sun. In the evening, it will

cause me to pause before sunset to hear nature’s farewell song to the

light of day and will show me ghostly clouds sailing in the sky. At

night, Love will embrace me, and I shall sleep, dreaming of the heavenly

world where the spirits of lovers and poets abide. In the Spring I shall

walk side by side with love among violets and jasmines and drink the

remaining drops of winter in the lily cups. In Summer we shall make the

bundles of hay our pillows and the grass our bed, and the blue sky will

vineyard and sit by the wine press and watch the grapevines being

denuded of their golden ornaments, and the migrating flocks of birds

will wing over us. In Winter, we shall sit by the fireside reciting

stories of long ago and chronicles of far countries. During my youth,

Love will be my teacher; in middle age, my help; and in old age, my

delight. Love, my beloved Selma, will stay with me to the end of my

my heart like flames of fire which leap raging from the hearth and then

disappear in the ashes. Selma was weeping as if her eyes were lips

cannot fly the cloud of appearances to see the magic world in which

Selma’s spirit and mine existed together in that sorrowfully happy hour.

Those whom Love has not chosen as followers do not hear when Love calls.

This story is not for them. Even if they should comprehend these pages,

they would not be able to grasp the shadowy meanings which are not

clothed in words and do not reside on paper, but what human being is he

who has never sipped the wine from the cup of love, and what spirit is

it that has never stood reverently before that lighted altar in the

temple whose pavement is the hearts of men and women and whose ceiling

is the secret canopy of dreams? What flower is that on whose leaves the

dawn has never poured a drop of dew; what streamlet is that which lost

gazed at the heavenly stars which studded the firmament. She stretched

out her hands; her eyes widened, and her lips trembled. On her pale

face, I could see the signs of sorrow, oppression, hoplessness, and

pain. Then she cried, ” Oh, Lord, what has a woman done that hath

offedend Thee? What sin has she committed to deserve such a punishment?

For what crime has she been awarded everlasting castigation? Oh, Lord,

Thou art strong, and I am weak. Why hast Thou made me suffer pain? Thou

art great and almighty, while I am nothing but a tiny creature crawling

before Thy throne. Why hast Thou crushed me with Thy foot? Thou art a

raging tempest, and I am like dust; why, my Lord, hast Thou flung me

upon the cold earth? Thou art powerful, and I am helpless; why art Thou

fighting me? Thou art considerate, and I am prudent; why art Thou

destroying me? Thou hast created woman with love, and why, with love,

dost Thou ruin her? With Thy right hand dost Thou lift her, and with Thy

left hand dost Thou strike her into the abyss, and she knows not why. In

her mouth Thou blowest the breath of Life, and in her heart Thou sowest

the seeds of death. Thou dost show her the path of happiness, but Thou

leadest her in the road of misery; in her mouth Thou dost place a song

of happiness, but then Thou dost close her lips with sorrow and dost

fetter her tongue with agony. With Thy mysterious fingers dost Thou

dress her wounds, and with Thine hands Thou drawest the dread of pain

round her pleasures. In her bed Thou hidest pleasure and peace, but

beside it Thou dost erect obstacles and fear. Thou dost excite her

affection through Thy will, and from her affection does shame emanate.

By Thy will Thou showest her the beauty of creation, but her love for

beauty becomes a terrible famine. Thou dost make her drink life in the

cup of death, and death in the cup of life. Thou purifiest her with

tears, and in tears her life streams away. Oh, Lord, Thou hast opened my

eyes with love, and with love Thou hast blinded me. Thou hast kissed me

with Thy lips and struck me with Thy strong hand. Thou has planted in my

heart a white rose, but around the rose a barrier of thorns. Thou hast

tied my present with the spirit of a young man whom I love, but my life

with the body of an unknow man. So help me, my Lord, to be strong in

this deadly struggle and assist me to be truthful and virtuous until

pale and frail; her arms dropped, and her head bowed and it seemed to me

as if a tempest had broken a branch from a tree and cast it down to dry

when I attempted to console her it was I who needed consolation more

than she did. I kept silent, thinking of our plight and listening to my

silent, petrified, like columns of marble buried under the sand of an

earthquake. Neither wished to listen to the other because our

crescent moon rising from behind Mount Sunnin, and it looked in the

midst of the stars, like the face of a corpse, in a coffin surrounded by

the dim lights of candles. And Lebanon looked like an old man whose back

was bent with age and whose eyes were a haven for insomnia, watching the

dark and waiting for dawn, like asking sitting on the ashes of his

their appearance with the vicissitudes of times and seasons, as a man

changes with his experiences and emotions. The lofty poplar that

resembles a bride in the daytime, will look like a column of smoke in

the evening; the huge rock that stands impregnable at noon, will appear

to be a miserable pauper at night, with earth for his bed and the sky

for his cover; and the rivulet that we see glittering in the morning and

hear singing the hymn of Eternity, will, in the evening, turn to a

stream of tears wailing like a mother bereft of her child, and Lebanon,

that had looked dignified a week before, when the moon was full and our

but love and despair stood between us like two ghosts, one stretching

his wings with his fingers over our throats, one weeping and the other

lips, she came close to me and placed a kiss on my forehead, then

dropped on the wooden bench. She shut her eyes and whispered softly,

if my senses were covered with a thick veil, like a lake whose surface

deep silence, everything about me looked ugly and horrible. The true

light that had showed me the beauty and wonder of the universe was

converted to a great flame of fire that seared my heart; and the Eternal

music I used to hear became a clamor, more frightening than the roar of

bird shot down by a hunter, I fell on my bed, repeating the words of

management is in the hands of young men and parents. In most countries

the young men win while the parents lose. The woman is looked upon as a

commodity, purchased and delivered from one house to another. In time

her beauty fades and she becomes like an old piece of furniture left in

little wiser, but it has increased her suffering because of man’s

convetousness. The woman of yesterday was a happy wife, but the woman of

today is a miserable mistress. In the past she walked blindly in the

light, but now she walks open-eyed in the dark. She was beautiful in her

ignorance, virtuous in her simplicity, and strong in her weakness. Today

she has become ugly in her ingenuity, superficial and heartless in her

knowledge. Will the day ever come when beauty and knowledge, ingenuity

and virtue, and weakness of body and strength of spirit will be united

spiritual progress is a rule of human life, but the approach to

perfection is slow and painful. If a woman elevates herself in one

respect and is retarded in another, it is because the rough trail that

leads to the mountain peak is not free of ambushes of thieves and lairs

sleeping and waking. It holds in its hands the soil of the past and the

seeds of the future. However, we find in every city a woman who

the symbol of the future Oriental woman, but, like many who lie ahead of

their time, she became the victim of the present; and like a flower

snatched from its stem and carried away by the current of a river, she

and lived together in a beautiful house at Ras Beyrouth, where all the

wealthy dignitaries resided. Farris Effandi Karamy was left in his

solitary home in the midst of his garden and orchards like a lonely

passed, but the honeymoon left memories of times of bitter sorrow, as

wars leave skulls and dead bones on the battlefield. The dignity of an

Oriental wedding inspires the hearts of young men and women, but its

termination may drop them like millstones to the bottom of the sea.

Their exhilaration is like footprints on sand which remain only till

autumn, but my love for Selma increased day by day until it became a

kind of mute worship, the feeling that an orphan has toward the soul of

his mother in Heaven. My yearning was converted to blind sorrow that

could see nothing but itself, and the passion that drew tears from my

eyes was replaced by perlexity that sucked the bolld from my heart, and

my sighs of affection became a constant prayer for the happiness of

because Selma’s misery was an internal malady that nothing but death

luxuries of life came easily; but, in spite of that, he was dissatisfied

and rapacious. After marrying Selma, he neglected her father in his

loneliness and prayed for his death so that he could inherit what was

his uncle’s; the only difference between the two was that the Bishop got

everything he wanted secretly, under the protection of his

ecclesiastical robe and the golden cross which he wore on his chest,

while his nephew did everything publicly. The Bishop went to church in

the morning and spent the rest of the day pilfering from the widows,

orphans, and simple minded people. But Mansour Bey spent his days in

pursuit of sexual satisfaction. On sunday, Bishop Bulos Galib preached

his Gospel; but during weekdays he never practiced what he preached,

occupying himself with political intrigues of the locality. And, by

means of his uncle’s prestige and influence, Mansour Bey made it his

business to secure politcal plums for those who could offer a sufficient

under the cover of night, while his nephew, Mansour Bey, was a swindler

who walked proudly in daylight. However, the people of Oriental nations

place trust in such as they–wolves and butchers who ruin their country

about the betrayers of poor nations instead of reserving all the space

for the story of a miserable woman with a broken heart? Why do I shed

tears for oppressed peoples rather than keep all my tears for the memory

that such a woman is like a nation that is oppressed by priests and

rulers? Don’t you believe that thwarted love which leads a woman to the

grave is like the despair which pervades the people of the earth? A

woman is to a nation as light is to a lamp. Will not the light be dim if

yellow leaves form the trees, making way for winter, which came howling

and crying. I was still in the City of Beirut without a companion save

my dreams, which would lift my spirit to the sky and then bury it deep

solitude. It abhors people, as a wounded deer deserts the herd and lives

left my solitary abode and walked to his home, taking a new route, a

lonely path between olive trees, avoiding the main road with its

entered and found Farris Effandi lying on his bed, weak and pale. His

eyes were sunken and looked like two deep, dark valleys haunted by the

ghosts of pain. The smile which had always enlivened his face was choked

with pain and agony; and the bones of his gentle hands looked like naked

branches trembling before the tempest. As I approached him and inquired

as to his health, he turned his pale face toward me, and on his

trembling lips appeared a smile, and he said in a weak voice, “Go — go,

my son, to the other room and comfort Selma and bring her to sit by the

Selma lying on a divan, covering her head with her arms and burying her

face in a pillow so that her father would not hear her weeping.

Approaching slowly, I pronounced her name in a voice that seemed more

like sighing than whispering. She moved fearfully, as if she had been

interrupted in a terrible dream, and sat up, looking at me with glazed

eyes, doubting whether I was a ghost or a living being. After a deep

silence which took us back on the wings of memory to that hour when we

were intoxicated with wine of love, Selma wiped away her tears and said,

“See how time has changed us! See how time has changed the course of our

lives and left us in these ruins. In this place spring united us in a

bond of love, and in this place has brought us together before the

throne of death. How beautiful was spring, and how terrible is this

with her hands as if she were shielding her eyes from the specter of the

past standing before her. I put my hand on her head and said, “Come,

Selma, come and let us be as strong towers before the tempest. Let us

stand like brave soldiers before the enemy and face his weapons. If we

are killed, we shall die as martyrs; and if we win, we shall live as

heroes. Braving obstacles and hardships is nobler than retreat to

tranquility. The butterfly that hovers around the lamp until it dies is

more admirable than the mole that lives in a dark tunnel. Come, Selma,

let us walk this rough path firmly, with our eyes toward the sun so that

we may not see the skulls and serpents among the rocks and thorns. if

fear should stop us in middle of the road, we would hear only ridicule

from the voices of the night, but if we reach the mountain peak bravely

we shall join the heavenly spirits in songs of triumph and joy. Cheer

up, Selma, wipe away your tears and remove the sorrow from your face.

Rise, and let us sit by the bed of your father, because his life depends

me and said, “Are you asking me to have patience, while you are in need

of it yourself? Will a hungry man give his bread to another hungry man?

and we walked to the old man’s room and sat by the side of his bed.

Selma forced a smile and pretended to be patient, and her father tried

to make her believe that he was feeling better and getting stronger; but

both father and daughter were aware of each other’s sorrow and heard the

unvoiced sighs. They were like two equal forces, wearing each other away

silently. The father’s heart was melting because of his daughter’s

plight. They were two pure souls, one departing and the other agonized

with grief, embracing in love and death; and I was between the two with

my own troubled heart. We were three people, gathered and crushed by the

hands of destiny; an old man like a dwelling ruined by flood, a young

woman whose symbol was a lily beheaded by the sharp edge of a sickle,

and a young man who was a weak sapling, bent by a snowfall; and all of

his weak hand toward Selma, and in a loving and tender voice said, “Hold

my hand, my beloved.” Selma held his hand; then he said, “I have lived

long enough, and I have enjoyed the fruits of life’s seasons. I have

experienced all its phases with equanimity. I lost your mother when you

were three years of age, and she left you as a precious treasure in my

lap. I watched you grow, and your face reproduced your mother’s features

as stars reflected in a calm pool of water. Your character,

intelligence, and beauty are your mother’s, even your manner of speaking

and gestures. You have been my only consolation in this life because you

were the image of your mother in every deed and word. Now, I grow old,

and my only resting place is between the soft wings of death. Be

comforted, my beloved daughter, because I have lived long enough to see

you as a woman. Be happy because I shall live in you after my death. My

departure today would be no different from my going tomorrow or the day

after, for our days are perishing like the leaves of autumn. The hour of

my days are perishing like the leaves of autumn. The hour of my death

approaches rapidly, and my soul is desirous of being united with your

lovingly, his face was radiant. Then he put his hand under his pillow

and pulled out a small picture in a gold frame. With his eyes on the

little photograph, he said, “Come, Selma, come and see your mother in

gazing long at the picture, she kissed it repeatedly and cried, “Oh, my

beloved mother! Oh, mother!” Then she placed her trembling lips on the

mankind is the word “Mother,” and the most beautiful call is the call of

“My mother.” it is a word full of hope and love, a sweet and kind word

coming from the depths of the heart. The mother is every thing — she is

our consolation in sorrow, our hope in misery, and our strength in

weakness. She is the source of love, mercy, sympathy, and forgiveness.

He who loses his mother loses a pure soul who blesses and guards him

mother. The sun is the mother of earth and gives it its nourishment of

hear; it never leaves the universe at night until it has put the earth

to sleep to the song of the sea and the hymn of birds and brooks. And

this earth is the mother of trees and flowers. It produces them, nurses

them, and weans them. The trees and flowers become kind mothers of their

great fruits and seeds. And the mother, the prototype of all existence,

because she had died when Selma was an infant, but Selma wept when she

saw the picture and cried, “Oh, mother!” The word mother is hidden in

our hearts, and it comes upon our lips in hours of sorrow and happiness

as the perfume comes from the heart of the rose and mingles with clear

and said, “I have shown you, my dear child, a picture of your mother on

‘Your mother was nursing you when she lost her father; she cried and

wept at his going, but she was wise and patient. She sat by me in this

room as soon as the funeral was over and held my hand and said, ‘Farris,

my father is dead now and you are my only consolation in this world. The

heart’s affections are divided like the branches of the cedar tree; if

the tree loses one strong branch, it will suffer but it does not die. It

will pour all its vitality into the next branch so that it will grow and

fill the empty place.’ This is what your mother told me when her father

died, and you should say the same thing when death takes my body to its

broken heart, “When Mother lost her father, you took his place; but who

is going to take yours when you are gone? She was left in the care of a

loving and truthful husband; she found consolation in her little

daughter, and who will be my consolation when you pass away? You have

at me, and, holding the side of my garment, said, “This is the only

friend I shall have after you are gone, but how can he console me when

he is suffering also? How can a broken heart find consolation in a

disappointed soul? A sorrowful woman cannot be comforted by her

neighbor’s sorrow, nor can a bird fly with broken wings. He is the

friend of my soul, but I have already placed a heavy burden of sorrow

upon him and dimmed his eyes with my tears till he can see nothing but

darkness. he is a brother whom I dearly love, but he is like all

brothers who share my sorrow and help me shed tears which increase my

felt that I could bear no more. The old man listened to her with

depressed spirit. The old man listened to her with depressed spirit,

trembling like the light of a lamp before the wind. Then he stretched

out his hand and said, “Let me go peacefully, my child. I have broken

the bars of this cage; let me fly and do not stop me, for your mother is

calling me. The sky is clear and the sea is calm and the boat is ready

to sail; do not delay its voyage. Let my body rest with those who are

resting; let my dream end and my soul awaken with the dawn; let your

soul embrace mine and give me the kiss of hope; let no drops of sorrow

or bitterness fall upon my body lest the flowers and grass refuse their

nourishment. Do not shed tears of misery upon my hand, for they may grow

thorns upon my grave. Do not draw lines of agony upon my forehead, for

the wind may pass and read them and refuse to carry the dust of my bones

to the green prairies… I love you, my child, while I lived, and I

shall love you when I am dead, and my soul shall always watch over you

eyes half closed and said, “My son, be a real brother to Selma as your

father was to me. Be her help and friend in need, and do not let her

mourn, because mourning for the dead is a mistake. Repeat to her

pleasant tales and sing for her the songs of life so that she may forget

her sorrows. Remember me to your father; ask him to tell you the stories

of your youth and tell him that I loved him in the person of his son in

pallor of death on the old man’s face. Then he rolled his eyes and

looked at us and whispered, “Don’t call the physician, for he might

extend my sentence in this prison by his medicine. The days of slavery

are gone, and my soul seeks the freedom of the skies. And do not call

the priest to my bedside, because his incantations would not save me if

I were a sinner, nor would it rush me to Heaven if I were innocent. The

will of humanity cannot change the will of God, as an astrologer cannot

change the course of the stars. But after my death let the doctors and

priest do what they please, for my ship will continue sailing until it

reaches its destination.”

tired eyes for the last time and focused them on Selma, who was kneeling

by his bedside. He tried to speak, but could not, for death had already

choked his voice; but he finally managed to say, “The night has

passed… Oh, Selma…Oh…Oh, Selma…” Then he bent his head, his face

turned white, and I could see a smile on his lips as he breathed his

cold. Then she raised her head and looked at his face. It was covered

with the veil of death. Selma was so choked that she could not shed

tears, nor sigh, nor even move. For a moment she stared at him with

fixed eyes like those of a statue; then she bent down until her forehead

touched the floor, and said, “Oh, Lord, have mercy and mend our broken

embraced by Eternity, and his body was returned to the earth. Mansour

Bey Galib got possession of his wealth, and Selma became a prisoner of

and nights preyed upon me as the eagle ravages its victim. Many a time I

tried to forget my misfortune by occupying myself with books and

scriptures of past generation, but it was like extinguishing fire with

oil, for I could see nothing in the procession of the past but tragedy

and could hear nothing but weeping and wailing. The Book of Job was more

fascinating to me than the Psalms and I preferred the Elegies of

Jeremiah to the Song of Solomon. Hamlet was closer to my heart than all

other dramas of western writers. Thus despair weakens our sight and

closes our ears. We can see nothing but specters of doom and can hear

connect the city of Beirut with Lebanon there is a small temple, very

ancient, dug out of white rock , surrounded by olive, almond, and willow

trees. Although this temple is a half mile from the main highway, at the

time of my story very few people interested in relics and ancient ruins

had visited it. It was one of many interesting places hidden and

forgotten in Lebanon. Due to its seclusion, it had become a haven for

wall at the east side an old Phoenician picture, carved in the rock

depicting Ishtar, goddess of love and beauty, sitting on her throne,

surrounded by seven nude virgins standing in different posses. The first

one carries a torch; the second, a guitar; the third, a censer; the

frouth a jug of wine; the fifth, a branch of roses; the sixth, a wreath

of laurel; the seventh, a bow and arrow; and all of them look at Ishtar

picture, more modern than the first one, symbolizing Christ nailed to

the cross, and at His side stand His sorrowful mother and Mary Magdalene

and two other women weeping. This Byzantine picture shows tht it was

transits through which the sun’s rays enter the temple and strike the

pictues and make them look as if they were painted with gold water

color. In the middle of the tmeple there is a square marble with old

paintings on its sides, some of which can hardly be seen under the

pertified lumps of blood which show that the ancient people offered

temple except deep silence, revealing to the living the secrets of the

goddess and speaking worldlessly of past generations and the evolution

of religions. Such a sight carries the poet to a world far away from the

one in which he dwells and convinces the philosopher that men were born

religious; they felt a need for that which they could not see and drew

symbols, the meaning of which divulged their hidden secrets and their

every month and spent the hours with her, looking at those strange

pictures, thinking of the crucified Christ and pondering upon the young

Phoenician men and women who lived, loved and worshipped beauty in the

person of Ishtar by burning incense before her statue and pouring

perfume on her shrine, people for whom nothing is left to speak except

memories of those hours when I met Selma — those heavenly hours, filled

remembering the old days, discussing our present, fearing our future,

and gradually bringing out the hidden secrets in the depths of our

hearts and complaining to each other of our misery and suffering, trying

to console ourselves with imaginary hopes and sorrowful dreams. Every

now and then we would become calm and wipe our tears and start smiling,

forgetting everything except Love; we embraced each other until our

hearts melted; then Selma would print a pure kiss on my forehead and

fill my heart with ecstasy; I would return the kiss as she bent her

ivory neck while her cheeks became gently red like the first ray of dawn

on the forehead of hills. We silently looked at the distant horizon

every now and then we drifted on to current topics and exchanged ideas.

During the course of conversation Selma spoke of woman’s place in

society, the imprint that the past generation had left on her character,

the relationship between husband and wife, and the spiritual diseases

and corruption which threatened married life. I remember her saying:

“The poets and writers are trying to understand the reality of woman,

but up to this day they have not understood the hidden secrets of her

heart, because they look upon her from behind the secual veil and see

nothing but externals; they look upon her through the magnifying glass

the carved pictures on the walls of the temple, “In the heart of this

rock there are two symbols depicting the essence of a woman’s desires

and revealing the hidden secrets of her soul, moving between love and

sorrow — between affection and sacrifice, between Ishtar sitting on the

throne and Mary standing by the cross. The man buys glory and

except God and the flock of birds which flew over the temple. Selma used

to come in her carriage to a place named Pasha park and from there she

neither did our consciences bother us; the spirit which is purified by

fire and washed by tears is higher than what the people call shame and

disgrace; it is free from the laws of slavery and old customs against

the affections of the human heart. That spirit can proudly stand

centuries to corrupted laws until it cannot understand the meaning of

the superior and eternal laws. A man’s eyes have become accustomed to

the dim light of candles and cannot see the sunlight. Spiritual disease

is inherited from one generation to another until it has become a part

of people, who look upon it, not as a disease, but as a natural gift,

showered by God upon Adam. If those people found someone free from the

because she left her husband’s home and met me in the temple are the

diseased and weak-minded kind who look upon the healthy and sound as

rebels. They are like insects crawling in the dark for fear of being

away from his jail and does not do so, is a coward. Selma, an innocent

and oppressed prisoner, was unable to free herself from slavery. Was she

to blame because she looked through the jail window upon the green

fields and spacious sky? Will the people count her as being untruthful

to her husband because she came from his home to sit by me between

Christ and Ishtar? Let the people say what they please; Selma had passed

the marshes which submerge other spirits and had landed in a world that

could not be reached by the howling of wolves and rattling of snakes.

People may say what they want about me, for the spirit who has seen the

spectre of death cannot be scared by the faces of thieves; the soldier

who has seen the swords glittering over his head and streams of blood

under his feet does not care about rocks thrown at him by the children

people left the city for the mountain to avoid the heat of summer, I

went as usual to the temple to meet Selma, carrying with me a little

book of Andalusian poems. As I reached the temple I sat there waiting

for Selma, glancing at intervals at the pages of my book, reciting those

verses which filled my heart with ecstasy and brought to my soul the

memory of the kings, poets, and knights who bade farewell to Granada,

and left, with tears in their eyes and sorrow in their hearts, their

palaces, institutions and hopes behind. In an hour I saw Selma walking

in the midst of the gardens and I approaching the temple, leaning on her

parasol as if she were carrying all the worries of the world upon her

shoulders. As she entered the temple and sat by me, I noticed some sort

and she put her hand on my head and said, “Come close to me, come my

beloved, come and let me quench my thirst, for the hour of separation

about our meeting her?” She reponded, “My husband does not care about

me, neither does he know how I spend my time, for he is busy with those

poor girls whom poverty has driven into the houses of ill fame; those

coming to this temple and sitting by me reverently before God? Is your

my beloved, my spirit did not ask for separation, for you are a part of

me. My eyes never get tired of looking at you, for you are their light;

but if destiny ruled that I should walk the rough path of life loaded

with shackles, would I be satisfied if your fate should be like mine?”

Then she added, “I cannot say everything, because the tongue is mute

with pain and cannot talk; the lips are sealed with misery and cannot

move; all I can say to you is that I am afraid you may fall in the same

and of whom are you afraid?” She covered her face with her hands and

said, “The Bishop has already found out that once a month I have been

about our mettings here?” She answered, “If he did, you would not see me

here sitting by you, but he is getting suspicious and he informed all

his servants and guards to watch me closely. I am feeling that the house

I live in and the path I walk on are all eyes watching me, and fingers

added, with tears pouring down her cheeks, “I am not afraid of the

Bishop, for wetness does not scare the drowned, but I am afraid you

might fall into the trap and become his prey; you are still young and

free as the sunlight. I am not frightened of fate which has shot all its

arrows in my breast, but I am afraid the serpent might bite your feet

and detain you from climbing the mountain peak where the future awaits

the serpents of light and snapped at by the wolves of darkness will

always be deceived by the days and nights. But listen, Selma, listen

carefully; is separation the only means of avoiding people’s evils and

meanness? Has the path of love and freedom been closed and is nothing

and said excitedly, “We have yielded to the people’s will for a long

time; since the time we met until this hour we have been led by the

blind and have worshipped with them before their idols. Since the time I

met you we have been in the hands of the Bishop like two balls which he

has thrown around as he pleased. Are we going to submit to his will

until death takes us away? Did God give us the breath of life to place

it under death’s feet? Did He give us liberty to make it a shadow of

slavery? He who extinguishes his spirit’s fire with his own hands is an

infidel in the eyes of Heaven, for Heaven set the fire that burns in our

spirits. He who does not rebel against oppression is doing himself

injustice. I love you, Selma, and you love me, too; and Love is a

precious treasure, it is God’s gift to sensitive and great spirits.

Shall we throw this treasure away and let the pigs scatter it and

trample on it? This world is full of wonder and beauty. Why are we

living in this narrow tunnel which the Bishop and his assistants have

dug out for us? Life is full of happiness and freedom; why don’t we take

this heavy yoke off our shoulders and break the chains tied to our feet,

and walk freely toward peace? Get up and let us leave this small temple

for God’s great temple. Let us leave this country and all its slavery

and ignorance for another country far away and unreached by the hands of

the thieves. Let us go to the coast under the cover of night and catch a

boat that will take us across the oceans, where we can find a new life

full of happiness and understanding. Do not hesitate, Selma for these

minutes are more precious to us than the crowns of kings and more

sublime than the thrones of angels. Let us follow the column of light

that leads us from this arid desert into the green fields where flowers

invisible on the ceiling of the temple; a sorrowful smile appeared on

her lips; then she said, “No, no my beloved. Heaven placed in my hand a

cup, full of vinegar and gall; I forced myself to drink it in order to

know the full bitterness at the bottom until nothing was left save a few

drops, which I shall drink patiently. I am not worthy of a new life of

love and peace; I am not strong enough for life’s pleasure and

sweetness, because a bird with broken wings cannot fly in the spacious

sky. The eyes that are accustomed to the dim light of a candle are not

stong enough to stare at the sun. Do not talk to me of happiness; its

memory makes me suffer. Mention not peace to me; its shadow frightens

me; but look at me and I will show you the holy torch which Heaven has

lighted in the ashes of my heart — you know that I love you as a mother

loves her only child, and Love only taught me to protect you even from

myself. It is Love, purified with fire, that stops me from following you

to the farthest land. Love kills my desires so that you may live freely

and virtuously. Limited love asks for possession of the beloved, but the

unlimited asks only for itself. Love that comes between the naivete and

awakening of youth satisfies itself with possessing, and grows with

embraces. But Love which is born in the firmament’s lap and has

descended with the night’s secrets is not contended with anything but

Eternity and immortality; it does not stand reverently before anything

stop me from leaving his nephew’s house and to take my only pleasure

away from me, I stood before the window of my room and looked toward the

sea, thinking of the vast countries beyond it and the real freedom and

personal independence which can be found there. I felt that I was living

close to you, surrounded by the shadow of your spirit, submerged in the

ocean of your affection. But all these thoughts which illuminate a

woman’s heart and make her rebel against old customs and live in the

shadow of freedom and justice, made me believe that I am weak and that

our love is limited and feeble, unable to stand before the sun’s face. I

cried like a king whose kingdom and treasure have been usurped, but

immediately I saw your face through my tears and your eyes gazing at me

and I remembered what you said to me once (Come, Selma, come and let

hardships is nobler than retreat to tranquility.) These words, my

beloved, you uttered when the wings of death were hovering around my

father’s bed; I remembered them yesterday when the wings of despair were

hovering above my head. I strengthened myself and felt, while in the

darkness of my prison, some sort of precious freedom easing our

difficulties and diminshing our sorrows. I found out that our love was

as deep as the ocean and as high as the stars and as spacious as the

sky. I came here to see you, and in my weak spirit there is a new

strength, and this strength is the ability to sacrifice a great thing in

order to obtain a greater one; it is the sacrifice of my happiness so

that you may remain virtuous and honroable in the eyes of the people and

felt as if heavy chains were pulling down on me, but today I came here

with a new determiantion that laughs at the shackles and shortens the

way. I used to come to this temple like a scared phantom, but today I

came like a brave woman who feels the urgency of sacrifice and knows the

value of suffering, a woman who likes to protect the one she loves from

the ignorant people and from her hungry spirit. I used to sit by you

like a trembling shadow, but today I came here to show you my true self

today I stretched my branches to tremble for a while in the daylight. I

came here to tell you good-bye, my beloved, and it is my hope that our

farewell will be great and awful like our love. Let our farewell be like

protest, but she looked at me, her eyes glittering, her face retaining

its dignity, seeming like an angel worthy of silence and respect. Then

she flung herself upon me, something which she had never done before,

and put her smooth arms around me and printed a long, deep, fiery kiss

rays from those gardens and orchards, Selma moved to the middle of the

temple and gazed along at its walls and corners as if she wanted to pour

the light of her eyes on its pictures and symbols. Then she walked

forward and reverently knelt before the picture of Christ and kissed His

feet, and she whispered, “Oh, Christ, I have chosen Thy Cross and

deserted Ishtar’s world of pleasure and happiness; I have worn the

wreath of thorns and discarded the wreath of laurel and washed myself

with blood and tears instead of perfume and scent; I have drunk vinegar

and gall from a cup which was meant for wine and nectar; accept me, my

Lord, among Thy followers and lead me toward Galilee with those who have

chosen Thee, contended with their sufferings and delighted with their

“Now I shall return happily to my dark cave, where horrible ghosts

reside, Do not sympathize with me, my beloved, and do not feel sorry for

me, because the soul that sees the shadow of God once will never be

frightened, thereafter, of the ghosts of devils. And the eye that looks

place of worship; and I remained there lost in a deep sea of thoughts,

absorbed in the world of revelation where God sits on the throne and the

angels write down the acts of human beings, and the souls recite the

tragedy of life, and the brides of Hevean sing the hymns of love, sorrow

from my swoon and found myself bewildered in the midst of the gardens,

repeating the echo of every word uttered by Selma and remembering her

silence, ,her actions, her movements, her expression and the touch of

her hands, until I realized the meaning of farewell and the pain of

lonesomeness. i was depressed and heart-broken. It was my first

discovery of the fact that men, even if they are born free, will remain

slaves of strict laws enacted by their forefathers; and that the

firmament, which we imagine as unchanging, is the yielding of today to

the will of tomorrow and submission of yesterday to the will of today —

Many a time, since the night, I have thought of the spiritual law which

made Selma prefer death to life, and many a time I have made a

comparison between nobility of sacrifice and happiness of rebellion to

find out which one is nobler and more beautiful; but until now I have

distilled only one truth out of the whole matter, and this truth is

sincerity, which makes all our deeds beautiful and honorable. And this

without bringing children to stengthen the ties of spiritual relation

disdain everywhere because of most men’s desire to perpetuate themselves

childless wife as an enemy; he detests her and deserts her and wishes

her death. Mansour Bey Galib was that kind of man; materially, he was

like earth, and hard like steel and greedy like a grave. His desire of

having a child to carry on his name and reputation made him hate Selma

bear fruit; and Selma, who lived in the shade of life, did not bear

nest in a cage lest slavery be the lot of its chicks…. Selma was a

prisoner of misery and it was Heaven’s will that she would not have

another prisoner to share her life. The flowers of the field are the

children of sun’s affection and nature’s love; and the children of men

never dominated Selma’s beautiful home at Ras Beyrouth; nevertheless,

she knelt down on her knees every night before Heaven and asked God for

a child in whom she would find comfort and consolation… She prayed

bear fruit at last. The nightingale in the cage commenced making its

toward Heaven to receive God’s precious gift and nothing in the world

days and looking forward to the time when Heaven’s sweetest melody, the

Selma was streched on the bed of pain and labor, where life and death

were wrestling. The doctor and the midwife were ready to deliver to the

world a new guest. Late at night Selma started her successive cry… a

cry of life’s partition from life… a cry of continuance in the

firmament of nothingness.. a cry of a weak force before the stillness of

great forces… the cry of poor Selma who was lying down in despair

boy. When she opened her eyes she saw smiling faces all over the room,

then she looked again and saw life and death still wrestling by her bed.

She closed her eyes and cried, saying for the first time, “Oh, my son.”

The midwife wrapped the infant with silk swaddles and placed him by his

mother, but the doctor kept looking at Selma and sorrowfully shaking his

neighbors, who rushed into the house to felicitate the father upon the

birth of his heir, but the doctor still gazed at Selma and her infant

good news to mansour Bey, but the doctor stared at Selma and her child

infant to her breast; he opened his eyes for the first time and looked

at his mother; then he quiverd and close them for the last time. The

doctor took the child from Selma’s arms and on his cheeks fell tears;

neighbors were celebrating with the father in the big hall at the house

and drinking to the health of their heir; and Selma looked at the

night and ended at the beginning of the day, like a drop of few poured

doctor and cried, “Give me my child and let me embrace him; give me my

announcement, Selma uttered a terrible cry. Then she was quiet for a

moment and smiled happily. Her face brightened as if she had discovered

something, and quietly she said, “Give me my child; bring him close to

to Selma and placed him between her arms. She embraced him, then turned

her face toward the wall and addressed the dead infant saying, “You have

come to take me away my child; you have come to show me the way that

leads to the coast. Here I am my child; lead me and let us leave this

penetrated the window curtains and fell upon two calm bodies lying on a

bed, guarded by the profound dignity of silence and shaded by the wings

of death. The doctor left the room with tears in his eyes, and as he

reached the big hall the celebrations was converted into a funeral, but

Mansour Bey Galib never uttered a word or shed a tear. He remained

standing motionless like a statue, holding a drinking cup with his right

with her white wedding dress and laid in a coffin; the child’s shroud

was his swaddle; his coffin was his mother’s arms; his grave was her

calm breast. Two corpses were carried in one coffin, and I walked

reveretnly with the crowd accompanying Selma and her infant to their

Galib commenced chanting while the other priests prayed, and on their

bystanders whispered, “This is the first time in my life I have seen two

corpses in one coffin.” Another one said, “It seems as if the child had

Bey: he is gazing at the sky as if his eyes were made of glass. He does

not look like he has lost his wife and child in one day.” A fourth one

added, “His uncle, the Bishop, will marry him again tomorrow to a

singing and chanting until the grave digger was through filing the

ditch. Then, the people, individually, approached the Bishop and his

nephew and offered their respects to them with sweet words of sympathy,

but I stood lonely aside without a soul to console me, as if Selma and

cemetery; the grave digger stood by the new grave hilding a shovel with

pointed at Selma’s grave and said, “Right here; I placed his daughter

upon him and upon his daughter’s breast rests her child, and upon all I

behind the poplar trees, I could not resist anymore; I dropped down on