A little taste and a great deal of elegance will make you the first lady of society...
• Sit calmly in your salon as you await your guests, after you have finished all your tasks.
• No doubt you will be receiving certain personages not previously acquainted with one another; do not forget to introduce them.
• Pronounce the names clearly... and have ready at once a topic of conversation that can strengthen the bonds of acquaintance.
• When the circle of guests is complete, lead them yourself into the dining room and seat each one in his place.
• On you depends the course of conversation at the table.
• Do not call on your husband to help you with anything if some mishap occurs... everything should pass without anyone noticing.
• Keep an eye on your guests, in case they should lack anything...
• If you are obliged to answer a tele-phone call, be very quick about it.
• Do not see a guest to the door when he withdraws. Your place is in the salon.
• Do not leave any of the guests by himself; sit near him and talk with him, and let no one feel that he is a stranger.
At the Table
Place a knife to the right of each plate, its edge toward the plate, and to the left place the fork.
• Set the glasses in front of the plates, and let the wine glasses stand to the right of the water glasses.
There in Nablus, in what remains to us of that lost paradise, are two poet siblings: Ibrahim and Fadwa Abd al-Fattah Tuqan. The first has passed on to the courts of eternity, leaving behind him a poetic afterglow that will not fade. The second is a poet's soul chanting on a lyre of surging passion and longing immortal hymns and masterpieces whose melodies never end.
And in this poem, which The Woman's Voice is proud to recite for the inspired poetess, are the upheavals of a heart whose stirrings the watchful eye of its surroundings observes, curbing its brooding eagerness.
You have gone?! Whither? Will you not come back—
Your mercy! I am straitened, and my life is straitened—
With my violent longings there whirs—
Your mercy! My heart melts behind—
It turned to look, and took fright as its remnants withered—
—to me, to my burning soul?!
—by this scorching, blazing echo.
—my breast, in their clamorous violence.
—you; ah, alas for my melting heart!
—and perished with the setting hope.
You have gone? And how?! Is there no returning—
The universe has grown desolate in my eyes—
And how shall I savor the beauty of existence—
How ugly is living, O you who left me desolate!—
And you far, far away, there...—
—to bring back to the heart the world of its visions?
—and darkness has veiled the fields of its light...
—when your face has hidden its radiance from me!
—and oh, how black life is!
—while my heart, alone, suffers its sorrow...
You have gone? Oh, my longing for you—
A while I pass along the road of the vineyards—
And my gaze strays, and traverses the distance—
And in my heart a fire of unruly fuel—
And my eye content with that straying...—
—and alas for my yesterday, so near, so far,
—and the road holds the breath of the gardens of eternity!
—and meeting you is the goal of my straying gaze.
—longing cries out to it: O fire, blaze higher!
—and my heart happy with that burning...
And the fall of a distant footstep startles me—
And my heart cries out: these are his steps...—
Steps of vigor, steps of pride—
And a swoon snatches the soul away...—
And I drown in an enchanting dream—
—behind me; I listen to it long...
—I see in their echo a sign of him,
—pointing to him, great and noble,
—while you drew nearer, little by little,
—that turned my life into a beautiful art!...