Has friendship ever blackened the pages? Passion may cool, and boredom may creep into it; but if we can turn it into a mutual friendship, there lies happiness... Yes, it is friendship, my friend, the book of living memories. The days of childhood pass, and between its two covers are recorded the sweet amusements of childhood; the days of youth pass, and it records the wishes and hopes and glories of youth; the family is founded, and there it stands between husband and wife — trust and mutual support, and standing shoulder to shoulder before the problems of married life; and the days carry us on toward middle age, and it records the fulfillment of the hopes pursued. Then comes old age, somber old age, and behold, the two heads that the years have bowed and gray hair has crowned open the book of their friendship, filled with its happenings, to delight together in reading it through hours that are all rapture and love — until the appointed hour falls, and they part, to meet again in a better world; and the half that remains feels the loss of the dearest thing it possessed, and whispers, while a hot tear runs down the wrinkled cheek: The world has become a desert.

My soul fell silent, and I fell silent, gazing at the splendid picture it had painted; but then I began to say: But you are asking for perfection in this world — perfection in woman. It said: Rather, I ask for some measure of perfection. And if it is beyond woman to take pride in character, what then has she gained from this renaissance of hers? She demanded liberty and won it; she demanded learning and became educated; but what I fear most for her is that she may have gained everything and lost her character — as though she had lost many times over what she gained... What is the worth of learning acquired, if it is not joined to good breeding?? What is the worth of liberty obtained, if sound character is not preserved along with it? What is the worth of the renaissance, if we look about us and see morals collapsed, and find ourselves wishing for the fetters once more??

What I fear most for woman is that she should content herself with the husks of learning, then melt into that same milieu with no care but visits and parties and frequenting the cinema houses; and the years pass, and there she is at the rear, and there we are, mourning for the foster-child of the desert, the dweller in tents, the flower of the literary gatherings.

What I fear most for her is that she should become a great talker — but like the new radio set that has suffered no breakdown or damage. Indeed the radio may be more faithful than she, for it broadcasts what is delivered to it letter for letter, while God alone knows how much faithfulness and exactness there is in her broadcasting.

What I fear most for her is that work should coarsen her and her feelings harden, so that she looks upon the pains of society as the soldier on the battlefield looks upon the corpses of the slain, moved by neither mercy nor pity.

What I fear most for her is that she should learn from the age its speed of movement, so that faithfulness becomes in her eyes an "old fashion" — so that when she sees two friends whose friendship has stood a long test, she wonders at their patience, and at boredom's failure to seep into their two souls, and tosses her head in mockery, saying: "Like folk of the old days."

And I fear, now that she has won her liberty, that she may be prodigal in the use of it, taking from the West everything it flings our way, forgetting that we are an Eastern nation which has its traditions and its virtues. And welcome to liberty, so long as it does not touch these traditions and these virtues.

My soul moans within me, asking for a friend... asking to find in her the wisdom of the old and their gravity, the delicacy of womanhood and its tenderness, the loyalty of faithful hearts, the culture of the twentieth century, the manners of the East and its virtues. Where, then, shall I find what my soul asks?

I looked about me and saw the people moving in the carnival of life — this one dancing the dance of the slaughtered, that one singing the song of the caged nightingale, this one guffawing and that one denying. So I searched for my laughing mask and masked myself with it, and walked on in the carnival of life, playful and dancing, with all that the soul holds within it...

Acre — Palestine

Social Research

Editor-in-Chief

Said Himadeh

Professor of Economics at the American University of Beirut

The Book Guide

"Social Research"

A free platform for original thought and profound criticism, its purpose the expression of the finest that social thinkers in the Arab world produce. Its annual subscription in Syria and Lebanon is 5 Lebanese liras; abroad, 60 Egyptian piasters.