In Memory of Ameen Rihani

On the occasion of the fourteenth anniversary of the death of Ameen Rihani, the village of Freike in the Metn witnessed, on Saturday, September 4, a great crowd of people who had come to celebrate the opening of the museum of Rihani, the philosopher and man of letters, and the unveiling of the memorial plaque made by his friend the Lebanese artist Mr. Youssef Howayek.

The ceremony was under the patronage of His Excellency the President of the Republic, who was represented by His Excellency Mr. Nicolas Salem, Minister of National Education. He stepped forward and opened the museum, which holds Ameen's artistic relics, then unveiled the memorial plaque representing his head in bronze.

The master of ceremonies was Dr. Fouad Ghosn, who presented in succession Mr. Nicolas Salem, Mr. Salah Labaki, Dr. Ishaq Musa al-Husayni, Mrs. Edvick Shayboub, and Mr. Jamil Jabr; and finally the Minister of Education announced that the government had awarded Mr. Youssef Rihani, Ameen's elder brother, the gilded Order of Merit, and Mr. Albert Rihani, the younger brother, rose to thank the government, the committee, the speakers, and those present.

Truth be told, God bless the zeal Mr. Albert Rihani expends to keep alive the memory of his brother Ameen and to preserve his literary works — it deserves the fullest thanks and appreciation. And would that Gibran, and other men of letters, had devoted brothers like Mr. Albert!!

We recall, on this occasion, that the Syrian colony in Brazil has presented Syria and Lebanon with a statue of Ameen Rihani, and delegated Mr. Georges Elian to negotiate with the two governments on the occasion of the convening of the Arab Writers' Week in Beit Mery.

Mr. Elian has asked, in the name of the colony in Brazil, that the statue be placed on a hill overlooking the Syrian-Lebanese border.

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The following is the address delivered at the memorial ceremony by Mrs. Edvick Shayboub:

They Told Me of You

My eye never fell upon your eye, nor did your voice ever greet my ear, nor did any gathering ever bring me together with you; but they told me of you. They told me, and drew out the telling; and I listened, and drew out my listening; and the tales came one after another in the evenings of conversation, as if they were breaths from the world of legend.

This Freike told me of you. She said you were her dutiful son; a roamer of horizons you were, yet in your heart there remained for her a special tenderness that no spot on earth could steal from her. What steadfast, deep affection bound you to Freike, that you spurned glory in the far places of the world to return here to a contented life, than which nothing was dearer to your nature, nothing more beautiful...

And your love and loyalty to the soil of your country overflows and takes bodily shape — and behold, in our hands is "The Heart of Lebanon," the most precious of your literary works.

And what a tale your "Rihaniyyat" and "The Kings of the Arabs" carried to me — a famed sword in the face of injustice and enslavement, a revolt against every political, social, or religious crookedness, and a resounding voice for the truth, that guides and guides well, that counsels and counsels truly... And at times your revolt turns into an innocent, childlike love, like a ribbon of silk: you tie it, in purity of heart, around a discordant assortment of creeds and temperaments, spreading among them understanding and trust — how sorely we need your sword,

and your voice, and your innocent love, today and every day.

A country like ours, where sects and passions clash in perpetual wranglings, will have the secret of its affliction uncovered, and its condition mended, by none but a dauntless, daring writer. And where is that writer after you, O Ameen???

And a certain person told me a tale of suspicion about you. You deserted the house of God, he said, and neglected the duties of your religion, ever since there sprang from your childhood a youth of blazing intelligence, burning with ardor, whom they named an "atheist."

But the white marble on the terrace of this house denied that tale. She said that she had often felt, at every dusk of sundown, as the gray darkness crept its slow creeping into the valley — how often the great white marble felt your feet treading her gently, and listened to you chanting, in humble devotion, your whispered prayer to your Lord, your face turned toward Sannine:

"O Possessor of eternal majesty, wrap me in something of Your majesty.

O Possessor of everlasting light, supply me with a brand of Your light.

O Possessor of infinite power, breathe of it into my powers.

You are life in its entirety, first and last, and by You I live.

Help me, O God, to gather my spiritual and mental powers in the cause of truth and love and wisdom."

★

And the talk of the old women along the bends of these paths is not to be forgotten. How often did Ameen return from his walk with but some of his clothes upon his body, having given most of them, with a discreet love, to some needy soul. And how many a wretched, stricken man sought him out, and Ameen rescued him with

all that was in his pocket, murmuring his excuse...

And the white marble asks me still —

Can he be an atheist, undeserving of mercy, who understands his religion as conduct, not worship — as a direct spiritual communion, not prescribed rites??

★

And the tale of devoted friendship reached my ears on the tongue of your twin spirit, the artist Youssef Howayek. In it were lessons and sorrows. At one moment he would range through witty anecdotes until he drowned in laughter; at another, emotion and longing would wring him and he would choke with tears. You dwelt in the innermost core of his stalwart heart, and with your going the balance of his friendship was shaken and rocked, and his faith in the justice of the earth dwindled, so that he withdrew from his fellows to live with the earth in his village; and he vowed to himself that nothing would clear his conscience toward the dearest of his brothers save a monument to you, set above the entrance of the house, for your memory's sake. And the genius of his art revealed itself in this head of yours, which we have gathered today to unveil.

They told me of you, O Ameen, and drew out the telling; and I listened, and drew out my listening; and my heart was taken captive by tales upon tales that come in the evenings of conversation, bewitching and beguiling, as if from the world of legend.