Thrones of greatness on which sit enchanting, bewitching women. The memory of the great queens of the West may spring to your mind, or of the palace-bred ladies beyond the seas; there may pass before you the woman of the twentieth century — she who has risen to the highest political offices, or she who enlisted and fought — and you whisper, nodding your head in admiration: I believe in the greatness of woman, and that this is woman's age. For greatness, in the reckoning of the people of the twentieth century, is the exclusive property of the twentieth century. But were you to turn toward the East in its distant ages, you would see in woman a greatness before which every other greatness shrinks.
A women's renaissance... Perhaps the most complete women's renaissance history has known is the one that arose in the shade of the goat-hair tents scattered here and there across the desert — a renaissance adorned by firm character, character that was the most striking
ornament of the daughter of the desert. Woman in those days had her renaissance of learning: here is Sukayna bint al-Husayn making of her house a salon for the people of learning and letters, and reaching such a degree of maturity as fitted her to sit as arbiter among the giants of poetry, the likes of Jarir and al-Farazdaq... And here is Umm Kulthum bint Ali, called the oratress of Quraysh, improvising the long, powerful speech that shakes hearts to their depths; she never left the pulpit but the eyes of old men and young were blazing with sparks. As for the poetesses — how many they were, and how splendid and how delicate their verse!
Pride and disdain... Perhaps these twin elements — or more truly this single element — are among the most striking traits of the Arab woman. She knows no abasement, no rubbing of foreheads in the dust; she knows only how to lift her head high, and to lift it always. Have you not seen Hind bint Utba standing over the bodies of her two brothers, fallen on the day of Badr, chanting:
Two lions never to be humbled, whose sanctuary none dares assail; they won mastery without striving, freely, by the flood of their bounty.
Are these tears, one wonders, or disdain of tears?...
And that other woman, mourning
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