A RICH LEVI IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF NAZARETH
A RICH MAN
A SHEPHERD IN SOUTH LEBANON
A WIDOW IN GALILEE
A WOMAN ONE OF MARY’S NEIGHBOURS
A YOUNG PRIEST OF CAPERNAUM
AHAZ THE PORTLY
AMBITION
AND WHEN MY JOY WAS BORN
ANDREW
ANNA THE MOTHER OF MARY
ANNAS THE HIGH PRIEST
ASSAPH CALLED THE ORATOR OF TYRE
AT THE FAIR
BARABBAS
BARCA A MERCHANT OF TYRE
BARTHOLOMEW IN EPHESUS
BEAUTY
BENJAMIN THE SCRIBE
BEYOND MY SOLITUDE
BIRBARAH OF YAMMOUNI
BODY AND SOUL
BUILDERS OF BRIDGES
BUYING AND SELLING
CAIAPHAS
CHILDREN
CLAUDIUS A ROMAN SENTINEL
CLEOPAS OF BETHROUNE
CLOTHES
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
CRITICS
CRUCIFIED
CYBOREA
DAVID ONE OF HIS FOLLOWERS
DEATH
DEFEAT
DREAMS
DYNASTIES
EATING AND DRINKING
ELMADAM THE LOGICIAN
EPHRAIM OF JERICHO
FACES
FINDING GOD
FREEDOM
FRIENDSHIP
GARMENTS
GEORGUS OF BEIRUT
GIVING
GOD
GOD AND MANY GODS
GOD’S FOOL
GOOD AND EVIL
HANNAH OF BETHSAIDA
HOUSES
JAMES THE BROTHER OF THE LORD
JAMES THE SON OF ZEBEDEE
JEPHTHA OF CAESAREA
JOANNA THE WIFE OF HEROD’S STEWARD
JOHN AT PATMOS
JOHN THE BAPTIST
JOHN THE BELOVED DISCIPLE
JOHN THE SON OF ZEBEDEE
JONATHAN
JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA
JOSEPH OF ARIMETHEA
JOSEPH SURNAMED JUSTUS
JOTHAM OF NAZARETH TO A ROMAN
JOY AND SORROW
JUDAS THE COUSIN OF JESUS
KNOWLEDGE AND HALF-KNOWLEDGE
LADY RUTH
LAWS
LAWS AND LAW-GIVING
LEVI A DISCIPLE
LOVE
LOVE
LOVE AND HATE
LUKE
MANASSEH
MANNUS THE POMPEIIAN TO A GREEK
MARRIAGE
MARY MAGDALEN THIRTY YEARS LATER
MARY MAGDALENE
MARY MAGDALENE
MATTHEW
MATTHEW
MELACHI OF BABYLON AN ASTRONOMER
MY FRIEND
NAAMAN OF THE GADARENES
NATHANIEL
NICODEMUS THE POET
NIGHT AND THE MADMAN
ON GIVING AND TAKING
ON THE STEPS OF THE TEMPLE
ONE OF THE MARYS
OTHER SEAS
OUT OF MY DEEPER HEART
PAIN
PEACE AND WAR
PEACE CONTAGIOUS
PETER
PETER
PHILEMON A GREEK APOTHECARY
PHILIP
PHUMIAH THE HIGH PRIESTESS OF SIDON
PILATE’S WIFE TO A ROMAN LADY
PLEASURE
POETS
PONTIUS PILATUS
PRAYER
RACHAEL A WOMAN DISCIPLE
RAFCA
REASON AND PASSION
RELIGION
REPENTANCE
RUMANOUS A GREEK POET
SABA OF ANTIOCH
SAID A BLADE OF GRASS
SAID A SHEET OF SNOW-WHITE PAPER....
SALOME TO A WOMAN FRIEND
SAND AND FOAM
SARKIS AN OLD GREEK SHEPHERD CALLED THE MADMAN
SELF-KNOWLEDGE
SEVENTY
SHE WHO WAS DEAF
SIMON THE CYRENE
SIMON WHO WAS CALLED PETER
SUZANNAH OF NAZARETH
TALKING
TEACHING
TEARS AND LAUGHTER
THE ASTRONOMER
THE BLESSED CITY
THE CAST
THE COMING OF THE SHIP
THE CURSE
THE DANCER
THE DYING MAN AND THE VULTURE
THE EAGLE AND THE SKYLARK
THE EARTH GODS
THE EXCHANGE
THE EYE
THE FAREWELL
THE FIELD OF ZAAD
THE FORERUNNER. HIS PARABLES AND POEMS
THE FOX
THE FROGS
THE FULL MOON
THE GARDEN OF THE PROPHET
THE GOLDEN BELT
THE GOOD GOD AND THE EVIL GOD
THE GRAVE-DIGGER
THE GREAT LONGING
THE GREATER SEA
THE GREATER SELF
THE HERMIT AND THE BEASTS
THE HERMIT PROPHET
THE KING
THE KING OF ARADUS
THE KING-HERMIT
THE LAST WATCH
THE LIGHTNING FLASH
THE LION’S DAUGHTER
THE LOVE SONG
THE MADMAN
THE MADMAN. HIS PARABLES AND POEMS
THE MAN FROM THE DESERT
THE MOUSE AND THE CAT
THE NEW PLEASURE
THE OLD, OLD WINE
THE OTHER LANGUAGE
THE OTHER WANDERER
THE PATH
THE PEARL
THE PERFECT WORLD
THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE COBBLER
THE PLAY
THE PLUTOCRAT
THE POMEGRANATE
THE POMEGRANATES
THE PROPHET AND THE CHILD
THE QUEST
THE RED EARTH
THE RIVER
THE SAINT
THE SCARECROW
THE SCENE
THE SCEPTRE
THE SCHOLAR AND THE POET
THE SEVEN SELVES
THE SHADOW
THE SLEEP-WALKERS
THE STATUE
THE THREE ANTS
THE THREE GIFTS
THE TWO CAGES
THE TWO GUARDIAN ANGELS
THE TWO HERMITS
THE TWO HUNTERS
THE TWO LEARNED MEN
THE TWO POEMS
THE TWO PRINCESSES
THE WANDERER
THE WEATHER-COCK
THE WHALE AND THE BUTTERFLY
THE WISE DOG
THE WISE KING
THE WOMAN OF BYBLOS
THOMAS
TIME
TYRANNY
UPON THE SAND
URIAH AN OLD MAN OF NAZARETH
VALUES
WAR
WAR AND THE SMALL NATIONS
WHEN MY SORROW WAS BORN
WORK
YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW
ZACCHAEUS
The Play
Gibran’s home in Bsharri
LAZARUS AND HIS BELOVED
CONTENTS
SAND AND FOAM
THE EARTH GODS
THE GARDEN OF THE PROPHET
THE CAST
THE SCENE
THE PLAY
THE CAST
Lazarus
Mary, his sister
Martha, his sister
The mother of Lazarus
Philip, a disciple
A Madman
THE SCENE
The garden outside of the home of Lazarus and his mother and sisters in Bethany
Late afternoon of Monday, the day after the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth from the grave.
At curtain rise: Mary is at right gazing up towards the hills. Martha is seated at her loom near the house door, left. The Madman is seated around the corner of the house, and against its wall, down left.
THE PLAY
&n
bsp; Mary: (Turning to Martha) You do not work. You have not worked much lately.
Martha: You are not thinking of my work. My idleness makes you think of what our Master said. Oh, beloved Master!
The Madman: The day shall come when there will be no weaver, and no one to wear the cloth. We shall all stand naked in the sun.
(There is a long silence. The women do not appear to have heard The Madman speaking. They never hear him.)
Mary: It is getting late.
Martha: Yes, yes, I know. It is getting late.
(The mother enters, coming out from the house door.)
Mother: Has he not returned yet?
Martha: No, mother, he has not returned yet.
(The three women look towards the hills.)
The Madman: He himself will never return. All that you may see is a breath struggling in a body.
Mary: It seems to me that he has not yet returned from the other world.
Mother: The death of our Master has afflicted him deeply, and during these last days he has hardly eaten a morsel, and I know at night that he does not sleep. Surely it must have been the death of our Friend.
Martha: No, mother. There is something else; something I do not understand.
Mary: Yes, yes. There is something else. I know it, too. I have known it all these days, yet I cannot explain it. His eyes are deeper. He gazes at me as though he were seeing someone else through me. He is tender but his tenderness is for someone not here. And he is silent, silent as if the seal of death is yet upon his lips.
(A silence falls over the three women.)
The Madman: Everyone looks through everyone else to see someone else.
Mother: (Breaking the silence) Would that he’d return. Of late he has spent too many hours among those hills alone. He should be here with us.
Mary: Mother, he has not been with us for a long time.
Martha: Why, he has always been with us, only those three days!
Mary: Three days? Three days! Yes, Martha, you are right. It was only three days.
Mother: I wish my son would return from the hills.
Martha: He will come soon, mother. You must not worry.
Mary: (in a strange voice) Sometimes I feel that he will never come back from the hills.
Mother: If he came back from the grave, the surely he will come back from the hills. And oh, my daughters, to think that the One who gave us back his life was slain but yesterday.
Mary: Oh the mystery of it, and the pain of it.
Mother: Oh, to think that they could be so cruel to the One who gave my son back to my heart.
(A silence)
Martha: But Lazarus should not stay so long among the hills.
Mary: It is easy for one in a dream to lose his way among the olive groves. And I know a place where Lazarus loved to sit and dream and be still. Oh, mother, it is beside a little stream. If you do not know the place you could not find it. He took me there once, and we sat on two stones, like children. It was spring, and little flowers were growing beside us. We often spoke of that place during the winter season. And each time that he spoke of that place a strange light came into his eyes.
The Madman: Yes, that strange light, that shadow cast by the other light.
Mary: And mother, you know that Lazarus has always been away from us, though he was always with us.
Mother: You say so many things I cannot understand. (Pause) I wish my son would come back from the hills. I wish he would come back! (Pause) I must go in now. The lentils must not be overcooked.
(The mother exits through the door)
Martha: I wish I could understand all that you say, Mary. When you speak it is as though someone else is speaking.
Mary: (Her voice a little strange) I know, my sister, I know. Whenever we speak it is someone else who is speaking.
(There is a prolonged silence. Mary is faraway in her thoughts, and Martha watches her half-curiously. Lazarus enters, coming from the hills, back left. He throws himself upon the grass under the almond trees near the house.)
Mary: (Running toward him) Oh Lazarus, you are tired and weary. You should not have walked so far.
Lazarus: (Speaking absently) Walking, walking and going nowhere; seeking and finding nothing. But it is better to be among the hills.
The Madman: Well, after all it is a cubit nearer to the other hills.
Martha: (After brief silence) But you are not well, and you leave us all day long, and we are much concerned. What you came back, Lazarus, you made us happy. But in leaving us alone here you turn our happiness into anxiety.
Lazarus: (Turning his face toward the hills) Did I leave you long this day? Strange that you should call a moment among the hills a separation. Did I truly stay more that a moment among the hills?
Martha: You have been gone all day.
Lazarus: To think, to think! A whole day among the hills! Who would believe it?
(A silence. The mother enters, coming out from the house door.)
Mother: Oh, my son, I am glad you have come back. It is late and the mist is gathering upon the hills. I feared for you my son.
The Madman: They are afraid of the mist. And the mist is their beginning and the mist is their end.
Lazarus: Yes, I have come back to you from the hills. The pity of it, the pity of it all.
Mother: What is it Lazarus? What is the pity of it all?
Lazarus: Nothing, mother. Nothing.
Mother: You speak strangely. I do not understand you, Lazarus. You have said little since your home-coming. But whatever you have said has been strange to me.
Martha: Yes, strange.
(There is a pause.)
Mother: And now the mist is gathering here. Let us go into the house. Come, my children.
(The mother, after kissing Lazarus with wistful tenderness, enters the house.)
Martha: Yes, there is a chill in the air. I must take my loom and my linen indoors.
Mary: (sitting down beside Lazarus on the grass under the almond trees, and speaking to Martha) It is true the April evenings are not good for either your loom or your linen. Would you want me to help you take your loom indoors?
Martha: No, no. I can do it alone. I have always done it alone.
(Martha carries her loom into the house, then she returns for the linen, taking that in also. A wind passes by, shaking the almond tree, and a drift of petals falls over Mary and Lazarus.)
Lazarus: Even spring would comfort us, and even the trees would weep for us. All there is on earth, if all there is on earth could know our downfall and our grief, would pity us and weep for us.
Mary: But spring is with us, and though veiled with the veil of sorrow, yet it is spring. Let us not speak of pity. Let us rather accept both our spring and our sorrow with gratitude. And let us wonder in sweet silence at Him who gave you life yet yielded His own life. Let us not speak of pity, Lazarus.
Lazarus: Pity, pity that I should be torn away from a thousand thousand years of heart’s desire, a thousand thousand years of heart’s hunger. Pity that after a thousand thousand springs I am turned to this winter.
Mary: What do you mean, my brother? Why do you speak of a thousand thousand springs? You were but three days away from us. Three short days. But our sorrow was indeed longer than three days.
Lazarus: Three days? Three centuries, three aeons! All of time! All of time with the one my soul loved before time began.
The Madman: Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales.
Mary: (In amazement) The one you soul loved before time began? Lazarus, why do you say these things? It is but a dream you dreamed in another garden. Now we are here in this garden, a stone’s throw from Jerusalem. We are here. And you know well, my brother, that our Master would have you be with us in this awakening to dream of life and love; and He would have you an ardent disciple, a living witness of His glory.
Lazarus: There is no dream here and the
re is no awakening. You and I and this garden are but an illusion, a shadow of the real. The awakening is there where I was with my beloved and the reality.
Mary: (Rising) Your beloved?
Lazarus: (Also rising) My beloved.
The Madman: Yes, yes. His beloved, the space virgin, the beloved of everyman.
Mary: But where is your beloved? Who is your beloved?
Lazarus: My twin heart whom I sought here and did not find. Then death, the angel with winged feet, came and led my longing to her longing, and I lived with her in the very heart of God. And I became nearer to her and she to me, and we were one. We were a sphere that shines in the sun; and we were a song among the stars. All this, Mary, all this and more, till a voice, a voice from the depths, the voice of a world called me; and that which was inseparable was torn asunder. And the thousand thousand years with my beloved in space could not guard me from the power of that voice which called me back.
Mary: (Looking unto the sky) O blessed angels of our silent hours, make me to understand this thing! I would not be an alien in this new land discovered by death. Say more, my brother, go on. I believe in my heart I can follow you.
The Madman: Follow him, if you can, little woman. Shall the turtle follow the stag?
Lazarus: I was a stream and I sought the sea where my beloved dwells, and when I reached the sea I was brought to the hills to run again among the rocks. I was a song imprisoned in silence, longing for the heart of my beloved, and when the winds of heaven released me and uttered me in that green forest I was recaptured by a voice, and I was turned again into silence. I was a root in the dark earth, and I became a flower and then a fragrance in space rising to enfold my beloved, and I was caught and gathered by hand, and I was made a root again, a root in the dark earth.
The Madman: If you are a root you can always escape the tempests in the branches. And it is good to be a running stream even after you have reached the sea. Of course it is good for water to run upward.
Mary: (To herself) Oh strange, passing strange! (To Lazarus) But my brother it is good to be a running stream, and it is not good to be a song not yet sung, and it is good to be a root in the dark earth. The Master knew all this and He called you back to us that we may know there is no veil between life and death. Do you not see how one word uttered in love may bring together elements scattered by an illusion called death? Believe and have faith, for only in faith, which is our deeper knowledge, can you find comfort.
Lazarus: Comfort! Comfort the treacherous, the deadly! Comfort that cheats our senses and makes us slaves to the passing hour! I would not have comfort. I would have passion! I would burn in the cool space with my beloved. I would be in the boundless space with my mate, my other self. O Mary, Mary, you were once my sister, and we knew one another even when our nearest kin knew us not. Now listen to me, listen to me with your heart.
Collected Poetical Works of Kahlil Gibran Page 32
