Without Hope...

In a quiet dwelling, embraced by trees, Samir was born, grew up, and rose to brilliance. Samir was a gifted artist—if I do not say a genius—for he was born a musician and a poet, and his passion for these two arts was rooted in the depths of his soul, so that his talents grew as his body and mind grew.

From that melancholy dwelling issued plaintive melodies that delighted the very air, then reached listening ears, and the fame of the able composer spread abroad.

Samir was handsome of countenance, deep of gaze, brilliant in conversation. Fine expression and eloquence of tongue are truly among the great gifts, and what added to the sweetness of Samir's talk was the clarity of his voice, whose tones were like the rhythms of his magic violin. Samir gave his days and his nights to music, and it became everything in his world! He found some comfort in the admiration of high society for his melodies, and much solace in the charming letters that showered upon his desk from the women who acclaimed him and admired his art. But... but he felt a painful loneliness... His father and his friends longed to draw him out of this isolation, so they tried to merge him into society, then broached marriage to him, thinking he would find in it rest and stability. Samir welcomed the idea and began to search for the princess of his dreams, for the partner whom he called "the sister soul." He knew a great number of the girls of his generation—indeed he had subjected many of them to the dominion of art with his sweet melodies—yet he fell into the perplexity of choosing: which of them to choose? Rather, which one was fit to be a wife to him? There were Layla and Suad and Nahid and others, but he found in each one some fault... At last he made the acquaintance of a girl who pleased him, and the counsel of his family and friends impelled him to ask for her hand, and they married one month after the first meeting.

The honeymoon passed and the two settled in a pleasant house which Nadia proved herself able to run with skill. His wife was a beautiful girl, of good stock, of high culture, but she... but Nadia was not the "sister soul" whom Samir had taken as a bride for his music!! Poor Samir, wretched and ill-fated! For he began to feel a thirst for something he had not obtained through marriage, to thirst for things and yet more things, as does every artist in his private life. So he folded himself around his pain, and pallor returned to his face...

The years passed and Samir became the father of two children, yet he remained sad and thirsting! His friends wondered at him, and he wondered at himself, and often he would ask: "Why, O Lord, do I feel lonely beneath the sky of my flourishing home? What do I lack, when I have a good wife, two children, and a table bearing all that is delicious and fine?" How, then, to find an explanation for this dejection? Samir tried hard to forget this feeling of want, but he did not succeed! Were not those wicked illusions the source of his gloom and his unrest? No! No! He felt the need of some unknown thing whose essence he could not discover, and for its sake he wept, but without tears, and complained, but... without pain! In this state of anxiety he composed the piece he called "Without Hope," a sorrowful piece which no one can hear without weeping—unless his heart has been hewn of iron! In this piece are embodied the loftiest human feelings: it is a gathering of anguished cries and fervent prayers, joining strength with despair, and at the end of the piece the listener imagines that these prayers have been answered by the Creator, the Maker of all! The piece "Without Hope" is the language of every suffering spirit and the tongue of every wounded heart. And do not ask what it did to bolster this musician's fame.

Samir played his splendid piece over the radio station, and parties were held in his honor. He would excuse himself and try to escape most of these invitations; but when he was invited to attend the birthday party of Miss Randa, sister of his friend Fouad, he promised to attend, because Fouad was among his dearest intimates, and because he had heard from him of his sister's passion for painting and music.

Randa did in fact care greatly for the fine arts, and hated "jazz" music and the dancing parties that join cheap amusement with drink. As for her admiration of Samir and his melodies, it was the admiration of one artist for another. When she learned that he would attend the party for her nineteenth birthday, she began to leap for joy, kissing her brother Fouad and saying:

"A thousand thanks, Fouad! The coming of the artist Samir on my birthday is the most precious gift I shall receive this year! But I beg you not to introduce me to him as a violinist, for that might throw me into confusion."

Fouad answered her calmly:

"...Why not, Randa? Is it any cause for shame or confusion that you should be a musician? Samir knows things and yet more things about you, and he is delighted to make your acquaintance. And know from this moment that you shall play before him his latest piece, 'Without Hope.'"

"No! No, Fouad! Do not ask me to play a new piece before its composer. I am certain that my playing before him would be poor. So I beg you, leave me the pleasure of meeting him this time, and I promise to let him hear my violin playing later on."

Fouad answered, smiling, for he was proud of his sister and her gifts:

"We shall see, my dear... we shall see."

Randa awaited the day of her party with burning impatience, that she might enjoy shaking the hand of the great artist whom she knew through his melodies and through what she had read and heard of him. The clock struck six on the day of the party and Samir had not come; Randa felt the sting of disappointment—the disappointment of the great hope she had nourished with her soul and her wishes for four whole days—and she appeared before the guests lost to the world, bewildered... But Randa's anxiety did not last long, for sharp applause announced to her the entrance of the artist Samir. She turned her gaze toward the entrance and saw an elegant lady followed by a slender young man whose face bore a cast of dignity and gravity. Randa's mother advanced toward them in welcome, took her daughter's hand, and presented her to the artist with these words:

"..May I present to you, Ustad, my daughter Randa, one of the admirers of your lofty art; she plays some of your pieces well, I believe."

Samir replied, shaking her hand:

"The honor is mine to make your acquaintance, Miss, and I have a request which I hope will find your acceptance: that I may hear you play the violin this evening."

"With great pleasure—but after the guests have gone, if you permit."

So answered Randa, looking at the ground for fear her eye should fall upon his radiant face; then she greeted his wife and returned to her friends, flustered. And why flustered? Because she had now seen the man of her dreams, so she had every right to feel trembling and agitation!! And Samir likewise... he was not merely stirred at the sight of Randa; he was captivated by her pure beauty, by the gleam of her lustrous eyes, and he did not withdraw until late in the evening—after he had let them hear some of his pieces, and after he had heard the piece "Without Hope," which the budding musician played for him with skill. Her harmonious, mellow playing astonished him, and his admiration was great for the power of her ear, for she had been able to remember the passages of a piece as long as "Without Hope." Samir offered his congratulations to the girl and her family before leaving the house, and proposed to them that he come himself twice a week to give her just ten finishing lessons. The family accepted the proposal with thanks, and counted it a great honor. As for Randa, she resolved to redouble her musical efforts so as to win Samir's admiration and approval—not knowing that she was the "sister soul" he had so long sought and sung of...

A sincere affection reigned over the atmosphere of the lessons, drawing the two artists together and making them forget themselves and the passing of the hours; more than once Randa's mother was obliged to come in upon them to tell her that it was past one o'clock and time for lunch had come!

And one morning, Samir came as usual, overflowing with life and energy, and at the end of the seventh lesson, which he tried to make short, he took the hand of his innocent pupil and kissed it with longing and tenderness. Randa was at a loss—indeed she was alarmed at this sudden gesture from her teacher; but he began to picture to her his burning torments, then said in a quavering voice:

"Randa, my idol! I cannot hide from you my great love, for I have surrendered to it! O bride of my poetry, wellspring of my revelation and my inspiration—since the day I came to know you I have felt myself changed in mind and spirit, created anew; how then can I think of our lessons ending soon?"

The girl was stunned and remained rooted in her place without motion; then she drew her hand quietly from Samir's hands, and after moving a little away she said, her voice touched with the hoarseness of emotion:

"What are you saying, Ustad? And what then? You are far from reality, in a world of illusions! Do you not think of your children? Have you forgotten your wife? I love you and esteem you greatly, but... not in the sense that you understand."

Then she said in a less severe tone:

"I think you are tired this morning; please go and rest—and until Wednesday, if you wish."

"I shall come Wednesday without fail, and I beg you not to be so cruel with me. Think a little, Randa, and forgive me if I was hasty with this confession. I could not keep silent while I was at your side and something heavy was pressing upon my breast. Forgive me, and until we meet again soon."

Randa followed her teacher to the outer door, then went up to her room to set free the tears she had held captive, having reined them in before him. Randa was lovestruck; she loved the spirit of the artist Samir. If only he had kept silent, and their companionship had gone on without declaration or words! It was enough for her to see him, to hear his voice, and to feel his affection—that was all she asked of the one she loved, since there was no way to live with him. But his confession offended her and made her shrink from him. Randa was a dreamer in her love, like most girls of her age. But though she was modern in her dress and her way of life, she was in truth sober and reserved, and she loathed that kind of love which leads where the end is not good. At ten o'clock on Wednesday morning the maid received Samir and handed him a letter, saying:

— "Miss Randa left with her parents yesterday."

Samir took the letter with a trembling hand and opened it in the street, to learn the cause of this sudden departure. This is its text:

My dear Ustad,

It was necessary for me to leave the city for a few weeks, for the sake of your happiness and mine. I can almost hear you say: "You do not understand me, my little Randa, for my happiness lies in your hands." But believe me, I understand you perfectly, and I know that this journey of mine will pain you and pain me; but the days will play their numbing part, and you shall see!

The prolonging of our lessons, had it come to pass, would inevitably have led to the shattering of my reputation, which I am anxious to keep clean and pure; it would also have led to the collapse of your family happiness—and that I will not accept, for you or for your wife. And now I take leave of you, offering my sincere gratitude for the pleasant hours I spent in your company: Your devoted pupil: Randa.

And here the big child folded the letter that had broken his heart, and returned to his house defeated, for his first and last love remained thus, forever, without hope!

Damascus: Salma al-Haffar al-Kuzbari