Gibran and Howayek persuade Rosina to stay.
(Continuation of what appeared in the previous issue)
Rosina's eyes gleamed with the joy of a child surprised with a gift she loves. She made no attempt to hide her pleasure, and hurried to the string hanging from her neck to replace it with the new chain, and nervously slipped the bracelets onto her
wrist; then she took Gibran's hand and was about to kiss it. I said to her: "On his cheek!" Her cheeks flushed, and so did Gibran's, and he let her kiss him without daring to return the kiss! He was a lover who mastered the arts of courtship only in writing and in speech.
Gibran, during his time in Paris, was no "Don Juan," as some claim!...
Ameen Visits Paris
In the spring of 1910 Ameen Rihani arrived in Paris and lodged in the commercial quarter near the Gare du Nord. He
came to visit us, Gibran and me, in the Latin Quarter — the quarter of art and letters — and found us absorbed in painting "The Woman Borne on the Arms of the Angels." He began to joke with Gibran, now in Arabic and now in English, stealing glances at Rosina's bare body stretched out upon the table. Rosina had sensed the fall of his glances, and she rose, gathered up her clothes and dressed in haste, muttering in Italian: "This man is no artist, and I find myself ashamed in his presence!" In vain did Gibran and I try to persuade her that the visitor was a friend of ours, a man of letters and "a fledgling philosopher"; she was not convinced, and left after we had agreed on another appointment...
Gibran hired a horse-drawn carriage and the three of us went out for an excursion in the city. We passed first by the Palais "Bourbon," the Chamber of
Deputies, and barely spared it a fleeting glance, for local politics did not concern us... we... look upon the universe from on high... We crossed the bridge to the Place de la "Concorde" and began to climb — that is, the horse began to climb, pulling the carriage up the Avenue des "Champs-Élysées" — the most beautiful avenue in the world, without exaggeration!
Rihani was sitting on the right, Gibran on the left, and I in the middle. Ameen said: "Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!" — keeping for himself the title of "the Father," because he was seven years our senior; Gibran was "the Holy Ghost," because he had taken to fluttering his wings, trying to fly... and I "the Son," to complete the trinity! And "the Father" and "the Holy Ghost" straightway began to set right whatever had gone wrong in the universe — in their opinion — now in Arabic and now in English, while I spoiled it for them, saying: "Look, brothers, how beautiful this road is... and these palaces — this is
the Arc de Triomphe... long live the Emperor!"
Over the jolting of the carriage, from behind my shoulder, Gibran said: "Our brother Youssef is content with the universe as it is..." Ameen overwhelmed me with affection and said: "This is my beloved son... When the priests in Lebanon put me under the ban and the brethren deserted me, he came to visit me and look after me, and how glad I was of him!..."
We reached the Bois de "Boulogne," and the carriage went roaming with us through
all its parts until the horse tired and the coachman grew restless, so Gibran paid him the fare and dismissed him... We sat down to lunch, at Rihani's invitation, in a quiet restaurant on the bank of the lake... and we did not forget that "a little wine gladdens the heart of man!" And within hearing of the ducks floating coquettishly on the water, Rihani and Gibran poured out, with some harshness, the vials of their wrath on the heads of the exploiters of religions, and on religions in general, as "Voltaire and Diderot" and their companions had done 150 years before... in Paris, and perhaps on the very same spot!
And today, grieving, 46 years later, I ask: where is Gibran? And where is Ameen? "And this universe remains as it was... and as it will remain forever" (the words are Voltaire's).