Mariana Marrash, the Aleppine Poetess: The First Literary Salon in the Arab East

Women Who Succeeded

Few are the reports that have reached us about Mariana Marrash (*), even though she was the woman of letters of her age. For the intellectual and literary movement in Aleppo was, during the Hamidian era, stifled, unable to break free or express itself openly; and so the fame of the luminaries who shone in that period — I mean the second half of the nineteenth century — remained confined within narrow literary circles, whose heroes would meet in the salon of one of their number, reciting poetry to one another and exchanging talk and witticisms; and whenever their conversation strayed into political news, it turned to whispers wrapped in caution and dread.

In this stifled atmosphere Mariana Marrash grew up, and in her old and distinguished home study and learning were within her reach, between a father and two brothers who were among Aleppo's prominent philologists and poets. When they perceived in her that burning native intelligence, they sent her to Beirut to complete her studies.

She threw herself upon the books of thought and letters, drinking from them with the appetite of a hungry man who knows no satiety; then she turned to the masters of Arabic poetry, memorizing the best of their production, above all Umar ibn al-Farid and Umar ibn Abi Rabi'a, and these two great love poets left their mark upon her feeling, sensitive poet's soul. Nor was she content with this measure of reading in the poetry of the heart: she turned to the poets of French — a language she had mastered — and among them grew fond of the poetry of Lamartine and de Musset, for she found within herself a warm response to their tender, delicate sentiments.

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Mariana returned to Aleppo, her girlhood having blossomed into fresh, bright-faced youth and into an attractive personality adorned by wit, polish, and culture, together with an inclination to music that showed itself in her accomplished playing of the qanun. It was not long before the elite of Aleppo's men of letters and thought took notice of these rare qualities, all gathered in one refined and beautiful young woman — at a time when acquiring learning and defying tradition were hard even for men. It was natural that the men of letters should be drawn to her and gather around her, in her salon, in her father's house; and thus Mariana became the focus of every eye, and the luminaries of the age flocked to her gatherings — men such as Rizqallah Hassoun, Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi, Jibra'il al-Dallal, Sheikh Kamil al-Ghazzi, Qustaki al-Himsi, and others... Thus her salon became the meeting place of the people of letters, and it was perhaps the first literary salon the Arab East had known: delightful sessions were held, the evening gatherings ran long, and the conversation grew sweet and pleasant, in a genial atmosphere of poetry and music.

In our modern history we have known examples of literary salons

(*) This article was written by Edvick Jureidini Shayboub, drawing her information from a study of the Aleppine poetess that appeared in the magazine al-Hadith, whose proprietor is Mr. Sami al-Kayyali.

fostered by ladies of leisure and gifted women of letters, such as Princess Fatima Ismail, the leader Huda Shaarawi, and the writer "Mayy," whose salon was packed every Tuesday evening with the elite of Egypt's men of thought... But Mariana Marrash's merit lies in her having been the first to this innovation, daring to receive men of letters in an age dominated by rigid traditions — a boldness nourished by her travel to France and her acquaintance with the manifestations of modern civilization and culture and with the development of the intellectual and literary movement. Thus she joined her native gifts to a broad knowledge in which the keenness and warmth of the Eastern mind mingled with the learning and freedom of the Western.

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If we may call Aisha al-Taymuriyya the poetess of Egypt and Warda al-Yaziji the poetess of Lebanon, then Mariana Marrash was the poetess of Syria — the more so since her appearance in that pitch-dark stretch of time made her like a star gleaming in the black of night.

Mariana gathered her poems and verse pieces into a diwan, Bint Fikr, containing poems of praise, of passion, of wisdom, and of elegy. Among her famous poems of the heart:

Lovers find contentment in the decrees of passion — so do not, young man, raise the objections of ignorance.
My soul be ransom for my loved ones, though they broke that bond and thought love a passing whim.
They dealt unjustly, not fairly, in love, when they forsook the pledge of the faithful one who never broke a pledge.
Stop and hear the tale of the lovesick one they slew, who used to claim that death had been decreed.
An arrow of a glance struck him; he paid it no heed, and died in love of them, never reaching his goal.
He saw, then loved, then sought union, and they refused; yet he wished for no substitute for them, and no recompense.
His heart was worn to shreds waiting upon a "perhaps"; he slept in patience, and waking exhausted him, and he died.

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Her love poetry, as you see, bespeaks a deep and burning sensibility; and she has wisdom poetry as well, showing that she lived life's experiences with an enlightened mind and a discerning heart. For example, she says:

A young man's honor is a mind by which he rises above all creation and attains the furthest goals of desire.
And a man whose deeds bear witness to his virtue and refinement earns praise.
Not all who seek honor attain it: whoever aims to hunt the gazelle, hardship befalls him.
The man of wealth — his renown departs with his wealth; but the renown of the virtuous never perishes.

And her elegy for her brother Francis, the physician-poet, is no less heart-rent and sorrowful than al-Khansa's verse in mourning her brother Sakhr; we content ourselves with these two lines:

Why do I see the eyes of the flowers wilted, and the bough of their youth bowed in the treetops?
Why do I see the garden grief-stricken and in anguish, the water moaning, the air in gloom?

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Nor did Mariana confine herself, among the arts of letters, to the composing of poetry; she went beyond it to journalism. Viscount de Tarrazi says in his book The History of the Arab Press that she was the first Syrian woman of letters to write in the press: in 1870 she published several articles in the magazine al-Jinan and in the newspaper Lisan al-Hal, and in other Beirut papers and magazines. In one of her articles, entitled "The Madness of the Pen," she complains of the decline of writers and urges the improvement of composition and variety in subject matter.

Mariana Marrash lived in an atmosphere of music and letters; she lived among writers, poets, and men of art, for she found comfort in their company and in the breaths of poetry and music. And although she married and was blessed with children — and thus did not live in sexual repression, as "Mayy" did — she perished of the same stubborn disease that carried off the greatest woman of Arab letters. That was in 1919, when Mariana was nearing seventy years of age and had won literary and social glory, and a place in the hearts of the men of letters and thought which the women of her age envied her.