Everything that a man does secretly in the 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 every street tomorrow.
Thus the ghosts of darkness revealed the purpose of Bishop Bulos Galib's meeting with Farris Effandi
Karamy, and his conversation was repeated all over the neighbourhood until it reached my ears.
The discussion that took place between Bishop Bulos 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
Galib.
Selma was the only child of the wealthy 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 an important man.
The heads of religion in the East are not 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 blood with numerous mouths.
Then the Bishop demanded Selma's hand for 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 has reared to young womanhood.
The sorrow of parents at the marriage of 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 marriage, is lost to them.
Farris Effandi perforce granted the Bishop's request, obeying his will unwillingly, because Farris Effandi
knew the Bishop's nephew very well, knew that he was dangerous, full of hate, wickedness, and corruption.
In Lebanon, no Christian could oppose his 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 off.
Suppose that Farris Effandi had resisted 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 reached are sour.
Thus destiny seized Selma and led her like a humiliated slave in the procession of miserable oriental 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 odour of flowers.
In some countries, the parent's wealth is 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 worship 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 been for her father's wealth, Selma would still be living happily.
A week had passed. The love of Selma was 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 heavenly love 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 splendour of humanity in the appearance of passers−by and movements of workers.
Those days passed like ghosts and disappeared like clouds, and soon nothing was left for me but sorrowful
memories. The eye with 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 vigour of mankind and the glory of the universe,
was tortured by the knowledge of disappointment and failure. Nothing was more beautiful than those days of
love, and nothing was more bitter than those horrible nights of sorrow.
When I could no longer resist the 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 hardship. 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 beginning of my happiness and sorrow.
She neither moved nor spoke as I 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 at me, my beloved... look at me, my brother."
I gazed at her intently and saw that those eyes, which a few days ago were smiling like lips and moving like
the wings of a nightingales, were already sunken and glazed with sorrow and pain. Her face, that had
resembled the unfolding, sun kissed leaves of a lily, had faded and become colourless. 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 could support the burden of grief in her head.
All these changes I saw in Selma's face, 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 beautiful, regardless of the symmetry of its features. The cup does not entice our lips unless the wine's
colour is seen through the transparent crystal.
Selma, on that evening, was like a cup 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,
enduring the harshness of her husband's mother.
I continued to look at Selma and listen 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, trembling hand holding mine.
I woke from my swoon hearing Selma saying 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, how
great this night is! And how deep is its mystery!"
Learning these words, I felt that dark 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 and becomes its prey."
She responded, "No, my beloved, this 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 my
heart.
When I whispered, "Selma, my beloved, thirst will exhaust him, and fear will kill him."
She replied immediately with trembling 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 man.
But you, my beloved, are still in the prime of life. You can walk freely upon life's spacious path, carpeted with
flowers. You are free to traverse 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 and
can exchange confidences without hindrances."
Silence prevailed for a moment, and Selma 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 spring and autumn come at their intervals and resume their work.
And now, my beloved, what shall we do? 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 departed when we awoke?
Shall we consider this week an hour of 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 wings to my soul? What will you be?"
Learning these words, my heart melted, and I answered her, " I will be as you want me to be, my beloved."
Then she said, " I want you to love me as a poet loves his sorrowful thoughts. I want you to remember me as a
traveller 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
soon and shall be a stranger to him.
I answered her, saying, " I will do all 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 spring, 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 a shepherd remembers the green prairies the sweet brooks."
Selma listened to my words with 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 dream?"
I answered her, "Tomorrow, destiny will 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 cover us as
we gaze at the stars and the moon.
In Autumn, Love and I will go to the 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 life, and after death the hand of God will unite us again."
All these words came from the depths of 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 answering me with tears.
Those whom love has not given wings 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 its course without going to the sea?
Selma raised her face toward the sky and 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, hopelessness, and pain. Then she cried, " Oh, Lord, what has a woman done that hath
offended 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 unknown man. So help
me, my Lord, to be strong in this deadly struggle and assist me to be truthful and virtuous until death. Thy will
be done. Oh , Lord God."
Silence continued. Selma looked down, 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 and perish.
I took her cold hand and kissed it, but 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 heartbeats. Neither of us said more.
Extreme torture is mute, and so we sat silent, petrified, like columns of marble buried under the sand of an
earthquake. Neither wished to listen to the other because our heart−threads had become weak and even
breathing would have broken them.
It was midnight, and we could see the 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 throne in the debris of his palace.
The mountains, trees, and rivers change 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 spirits were happy, looked sorrowful and lonesome that night.
We stood up and bade each other farewell, 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 laughing hideously.
As I took Selma's hand and put it to my 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, "Oh, Lord God, have mercy on me and
mend my broken wings!"
As I left Selma in the garden, I felt as if my senses were covered with a thick veil, like a lake whose surface is
concealed by fog.
The beauty of trees, the moonlight, the 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 clamour, more frightening than the roar of a
lion.
I reached my room, and like a wounded bird shot down by a hunter, I fell on my bed, repeating the words of
Selma: "Oh, Lord God, have mercy on me and mend my broken wings!"
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