Will Gibran ever be able to deflect the people’s eyes from the skulls and thorns towards the light and the truth? Or will Gibran be like so many others who returned from this world to Eternity without leaving behind any reminders of their existence? I do not know, but I feel that there is a great power in the depth of my heart that wishes to come out, and it is going to come out some day with the help of God.
I have an important news for you. On the first day of the coming June I will be leaving for Paris to join a committee of artists, and I shall remain there a whole year after which I shall return to this country. My stay there will be filled with study and research and hard work; at the same time it will be the beginning of a new life.
Remember me when you and the family gather at the table to partake of your meals, and tell your wife and the children that a certain relative, whose name is Gibran, has a loving place in his heart for every one of you.
My sister Miriana joins me in sending her regards. When I read your letter to her, it made her so happy that she was unable to hold back her tears when I ran across certain phrases. May God bless you and give you the best of health and keep you as a dear brother to
GIBRAN
TO AMEEN GURAIEB
Boston
March 28, 1908
Dear Ameen:
I have just locked myself up in my room behind a screen of cigarette smoke mingled with aromatic scent of Yamanite coffee to spend one hour talking to you. I am now enjoying my coffee and my smoke as well as our conversation.
You are now in the other part of the great, but small, globe, while I am still here. You are now in beautiful and peaceful Lebanon and I am in clamorous and noisy Boston. You are in the East and I am in the West, but no matter how far away you are from me, I feel that you are closer to me than ever. Man finds the expatriation of his beloved friends difficult to bear because his pleasure comes through the five senses. But Gibran’s soul has already grown beyond that to a plane of higher enjoyment which does not require the mediation of the five senses. His soul sees, hears, and feels, but not through the medium of eyes, ears, and fingers. His soul roams the whole world and returns without the use of feet, cars, and ships. I see Ameen far and near and I perceive everything around him as the soul regards many other invisible and voiceless objects. The subtlest beauties in our life are unseen and unheard.
How did you find Lebanon? Is it as beautiful as your yearnings promised? Or is it an arid spot where slothfulness dwells? Is Lebanon the same glorious Mountain whose beauty was sung and praised by poets like David, Isaiah, Farhat, Lamartine, and Haddad? Or is it a chain of mountains and valleys empty of geniality, aloof from beauty, and surrounded by loneliness?
Undoubtedly you shall answer all these questions in long articles to Almuhager and I shall read every word. But if there is something that you do not feel can be discussed publicly, tell it to me in a personal letter so that I may share your thoughts and see the reality of Lebanon through your eyes.
I am in these days like a man observing Lent and awaiting the coming of the dawn of the feast. My planned trip to Paris causes my dreams to hover around the great achievements I hope will be mine during my year in the City of Knowledge and Arts. I told you ere your departure to Lebanon that I would spend a whole year in Paris, and now I have also decided to visit Italy after the expiration of my time in Paris. I intend to spend another year visiting Italy’s great museums and ruins and cities. I shall visit Venice, Florence, Rome, and Genoa; then I will return to Naples and board a boat to the United States. It will be a wonderful journey, for it will forge a golden chain connecting Gibran’s sorrowful past with his happy future.
I am sure that you will pass through Paris on your way back to the United States. In Paris we shall meet and be merry; in Paris we shall quench our soul’s thirst for beautiful things created by famous artists. In Paris we shall visit the Panthéon and stop for a few minutes by the tombs of Victor Hugo, Rousseau, Chateaubriand, and Renan. In Paris we shall roam the Palace of the Louvre and look upon the paintings of Raphael, Michelangelo, and Da Vinci. In Paris we shall go to the Opera and hear songs and hymns revealed by the deity to Beethoven, Wagner, Mozart, and Rossini…. These names, whose pronunciation is rather difficult to an Arabic-speaking person, are names of great men who founded the civilization of Europe; these are the names of men whom the earth has swallowed, but whose deeds it could not fold or engulf. The tempest is capable of laying waste the flowers but unable to harm the seeds. This is the consolation that heaven delivers to the hearts of great men who love great deeds, and this is the light which causes us—the sons of knowledge—to walk proudly upon the path of life.
I was thrilled to receive your letter from Alexandria, Egypt, and I was proud to read in Almuhager about the reception you and our brother Assad Rustum met in Cairo. My heart and soul rejoice every time I hear a word from you or about you. But tell me, Ameen, did you mention my name when you met with the intelligentsia of Lebanon and Egypt? Did you speak of the third name in the Trinity who is still behind the ocean? I believe that my friend Saleem Sarkis had told you about the criticism I had received from Lutfi Al-Manfaluti concerning my story about Madame Rose Hanie. It was published in Al Muayad. I was well pleased with the criticism because I feel that such persecution is a diet for new principles, especially when it comes from a learned man like Al-Manfaluti.
My work in these days is like a chain of many rings connected with one another. I have changed my way of living and I miss some of the joys of loneliness that embraced my soul before I dreamed about going to Paris. Yesterday I was contented with playing minor parts upon the limited stage of life, but today I have realized that such contentment is a sort of sluggishness. I used to look upon life through tears and laughter, but today I see life through golden and enchanting rays of light that impart strength to the soul and courage to the heart and motion to the body. I used to be like a bird imprisoned in a cage, contenting myself with seeds dropped down to me by the hands of Destiny. But today I feel like a free bird who sees the beauty of the fields and prairies and wishes to fly in the spacious sky, mingling its affections, its fancy and its hopes with the ether.
There is something in our life which is nobler and more supreme than fame; and this something is the great deed that invokes fame. I feel, within me, a hidden power that wishes to dress its nakedness with a beautiful garment of great deeds. This makes me feel that I came to this world to write my name upon the face of life with big letters. Such emotion accompanies me day and night. It is this sort of sentiment that causes me to see the future surrounded by light and encircled by rapture and triumph which I have been dreaming about since I was fifteen years of age. My dreams have just begun to be realized, and I feel that my trip to Paris is going to be the first step on a ladder that reaches to heaven. I am intending to publish my book The Broken Wings next summer. This book is the best one I have ever written. But the one that is going to create a great movement in the Arabic-speaking world is a book of philosophy named Religion and Religiousness,* which I started more than a year ago, and whose place to my heart is as the center to the circle. I shall finish this book in Paris, and probably will have it published at my own expense.
When you are in a beautiful spot or among learned people, or by the side of old ruins, or on the top of a high mountain, whisper my name so that my soul will go to Lebanon and hover around you and share with you the pleasure of life and all life’s meanings and secrets. Remember me when you see the sun rising from behind Mount Sunnin or Fam El Mizab. Think of me when you see the sun coming down toward its setting, spreading its red garment upon the mountains and the valleys as if shedding blood instead of tears as it bids Lebanon farewell. Recall my name when you see the shepherds sitting in the shadow of the trees and blowing their reeds and filling the silent field with soothing music as did Apollo when he was exiled to this world. Think of me when you see the damsels carrying their earthenware jars filled with water upon their shoulders. Remember me when you
see the Lebanese villager plowing the earth before the face of the sun, with beads of sweat adorning his forehead while his back is bent under the heavy duty of labor. Remember me when you hear the songs and hymns that Nature has woven from the sinews of moonlight, mingled with the aromatic scent of the valleys, mixed with the frolicsome breeze of the Holy Cedars, and poured into the hearts of the Lebanese. Remember me when the people invite you to their festivities, for your remembrance of me will bring to you pictures of my love and longing for your person and will add spiritual overtones and deeper meaning to your words and your speeches. Love and longing, my dear Ameen, are the beginning and the end of our deeds.
Now that I have written these lines to you, I feel like a child who wants to scoop the ocean water with a sea shell and place it in a small ditch he has dug in the sand of the shore. But do you not see between these lines other lines whose secrets you should inquire? They were written with the finger of the soul and the ink of the heart upon the face of love that hangs between the earth and the stars and hovers between the East and the West.
Remember me to your father, whom I admire and respect, and give my regards to your respected mother—that dear mother who gave the Arabic-speaking world a powerful figure, and bestowed upon Lebanon a brillant torch, and enriched Gibran with a very dear and beloved brother. Kindly spread my salaam among your brothers, neighbors and admirers like the frolicsome breeze of Lebanon spreads its blossoms upon the apple trees in the month of Nisan.
Miriana greets you from behind the ocean and wishes you the best of health. My relative Melhem and his daughter Zahieh asked me to send you their regards. Everybody misses you and longs to see you, oh beloved brother of
GIBRAN
* This book was never finished or published.
TO NAKHLI GIBRAN
Paris, France,
Sept. 27, 1910
My Beloved Brother Nakhli:
Do you recall those interesting tales we used to hear during the cold rainy days while sitting around the hearth with the snow falling outside and the wind blowing between the dwellings? Do you still remember the story about the gorgeous garden with beautiful trees bearing delicious fruits? Do you also remember the end of the story which tells how those bewitched trees turned into young men whom destiny had brought into the garden? I am sure you remember all these things even without knowing that Gibran is like those bewitched young men tied with unseen chains and ruled by invisible power.
I am, my dear, Nakhli, a bewitched tree, but Sid Aladin has not yet come from behind the Seven Seas to unshackle me and loosen the magic ties and make me free and independent.
On the 14th day of the coming month I shall leave Paris, but now I am busy arranging my work and planning for the future. I am like a spinning wheel turning day and night. God only knows how busy I am. Thus heaven directs my life, and thus destiny rotates me around a certain point from which I cannot get away.
Your letter just reached me this morning, and since then I have been thinking and thinking, but I do not know what to do. Do you believe that you can help me with your thoughts and affections? Can you look into the depth of my heart and understand the misery which God has placed in it? All I ask of you is to feel with me and have faith and believe me when I tell you that I am a prisoner of time and circumstances. I am not lamenting my luck because I prefer to be like I am, and I refuse to exchange my plight for another one because I have chosen the literary life while being aware of all the obstacles and pains surrounding it.
Just think, my dear Nakhli, and ponder upon Gibran’s life, for it reveals to you a sort of struggle and strife. It is a chain of connected links of misery and distress. I can say these things to you because I am very patient and glad of the existence of hardships in my life, for I hope to overcome all these difficulties. Had it not been for the presence of calamities, work and struggle would not have existed, and life would have been cold, barren and boresome.
GIBRAN
The ties of friendship were developed between Kahlil Gibran and the Lebanese artist, Yousif Howayek while they were studying art in Paris. Gibran was Howayek’s inseparable friend who accompanied him to the opera, theatres, museums, galleries and other places of interest. Howayek was a great admirer of Gibran, and as a token of his admiration for the Prophet of Lebanon he worked several months on a beautiful oil portrait of Gibran and presented it to him.
TO YOUSIF HOWAYEK
Boston, 1911
Although this city is full of friends and acquaintances, I feel as if I had been exiled into a distant land where life is as cold as ice and as gray as ashes and as silent as the Sphynx.
My sister is close by me, and the loving kinfolks are around me everywhere I go, and the people visit us every day and every night, but I am not happy. My work is progressing rapidly, my thoughts are calm, and I am enjoying perfect health, but I still lack happiness. My soul is hungry and thirsty for some sort of nourishment, but I don’t know where to find it. The soul is a heavenly flower that cannot live in the shade, but the thorns can live everywhere.
This is the life of the oriental people who are afflicted with the disease of fine arts. This is the life of the children of Apolon who are exiled into this foreign land, whose work is strange, whose walk is slow, and whose laughter is cry.
How are you, Yousif? Are you happy among the human ghosts you witness every day on both sides of the road?
GIBRAN
In the preface of his Arabic book May and Gibran, Dr. Jamil Jabre wrote: “It is difficult to imagine a man and a woman falling in love without having known or met one another except by correspondence. But artists have their own unusual way of life which they themselves can only understand. This was the case of the great Lebanese woman writer, May Ziadeh and Kahlil Gibran.
“The literary and love relationship between Kahlil Gibran and May Ziadeh was not a myth or presumption, but a proven fact which was revealed to the public through some letters published by May Ziadeh after Gibran’s death.”
When The Broken Wings made its first appearance in Arabic, Gibran presented May Ziadeh with a copy of his novel and asked her to criticize it. Complying with his request, she wrote him the following letter:
FROM MAY ZIADEH
Cairo, Egypt,
May 12, 1912
… I do not agree with you on the subject of marriage, Gibran. I respect your thoughts, and I revere your ideas, for I know that you are honest and sincere in the defense of your principles that aim at a noble purpose. I am in full accord with you on the fundamental principle that advocates the freedom of woman. The woman should be free, like the man, to choose her own spouse guided not by the advice and aid of neighbors and acquaintances, but by her own personal inclinations. After choosing her life partner, a woman must bind herself completely to the duties of that partnership upon which she has embarked. You refer to these as heavy chains fabricated by the ages. Yes, I agree with you and I say that these are heavy chains; but remember that these chains were made by nature who made the woman what she is today. Though man’s mind has reached the point of breaking the chains of customs and traditions, it has not yet reached the point of breaking the natural chains because the law of nature is above all laws. Why can’t a married woman meet secretly with the man she loves? Because by thus doing she will be betraying her husband and disgracing the name she has willingly accepted, and will be lowering herself in the eyes of the society of which she is a member.
At the time of marriage the woman promises to be faithful, and spiritual faithfulness is as important as physical faithfulness. At the time of matrimony she also declares and guarantees the happiness and well-being of her husband; and when she meets secretly with another man, she is already guilty of betraying society, family and duty. You may counter with, “Duty is a vague word that is hard to define in many circumstances.” In a case like this we need to know “what is a family” in order to be able to ascertain the duties of its members. The roll which the woman plays in the family is the most difficult,
the most humble, and the most bitter.
I myself feel the pangs of the strings that tie the woman down—those fine silky strings are like those of a spider’s web, but they are as strong as golden wires. Suppose we let Selma Karamy,* the heroine of your novel, and every woman that resembles her in affections and intelligence, meet secretly with an honest man of noble character; would not this condone any woman’s selecting for herself a friend, other than her husband, to meet with secretly? This would not work, even if the purpose of their secret meeting was to pray together before the shrine of the Crucified.
MAY
* The beautiful girl of Beirut in Gibran’s The Broken Wings.
Sarkis Effandi, one of Gibran’s best friends, was considered a scholar among the intelligentsia of Lebanon. He owned a publishing house and a daily Arabic newspaper called Lisan-Ul-Hal. In the year 1912 the Arab League of Progress, an organization composed of many literary figures joined together for the purpose of promoting Arab unity and culture, decided to honor the great Lebanese poet Khalil Effandi Mutran, who a few years later became the poet laureate of Egypt and Syria.
Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran Page 44
