A Page from the Life of Gibran and Howayek (10)

The beautiful spring days followed one upon another, and our life, Gibran's and mine, went on according to the plan we had laid down for it: we worked in the mornings, each in his own quarters, and in the afternoons and evenings we most often frequented the free academies. And since admission to the museums was free on Sundays, we consecrated that day to visiting the Louvre and the other museums and art exhibitions.

In this period the bonds of familiarity and friendship grew firm between us and the Misses Olga, Suzanne, and Léa, then Rosine and Marguerite... this besides our friends and acquaintances among the men as well!!

Whoever speaks of social life in the Latin Quarter in that era — that is, a few years before the First World War — must make mention of the Café du Dôme, standing at a corner between the Boulevard Raspail and the Boulevard Montparnasse, which enjoyed a popularity that made the people of that quarter prefer it to the other cafés, thanks to the unique character that distinguished it. It was the meeting place of writers, artists, and thinkers of every stripe; around its long tables gathered a strange mixture of the human races, discussing and disputing without truce over all manner of principles and philosophies, over the various kinds of literature and art, and over the newest of the new among the world's events... And to complete the show there would strut before the company, every now and then, a certain Moroccan in a red tarboush with a great tassel, wares for sale dangling from his shoulders: pieces of carpet, table covers, sashes, neckties and the like — and in his pockets forbidden things, to which he would allude with a veiled wink... He would sell some of his goods, or not sell, and pass us by as though he were of some strange world living on the margin of civilization...

Sitting at the Café du Dôme is an art in itself, not given to every man to find his way to and master, so as to enjoy its virtues and endure its faults — glory to Him who created the world in different tastes! Gibran, for example, disdained to sit there, and how often he would say to me: "This is a waste of time, Youssef!" He preferred the manner of American society, and quiet talk "head to head"; and it pleased him to walk along the banks of the Seine or through the streets of old Paris — in this like his "friend" Balzac..

Nor was Gibran given to late nights, whether in the night spots or elsewhere. He was of frail constitution, and preferred to go early to bed and give himself over to thinking... and writing.

And Miss Olga was like him. I tried once — a single time — to persuade her to come with me to the Café du Dôme by way of experiment; she was distressed, her breath came short in the noisy, smoke-laden atmosphere, and she did not repeat the experiment... She too had no fondness for sitting among the crowds...

As for us — our band made up of myself, Suzanne, Léa, Calmi, Dr. Caspar, the sculptor Cristesco and others — we had mastered the art of sitting at the "Dôme" and excelled at it. If one of us came early he reserved the table and paid a deposit, so that the rest, coming one after another, might be sure of finding places.. And I, after two hours' practice at drawing at the Académie "Colarossi," would look forward with longing to these delightful evenings..

The Académie "Colarossi" was run by an Italian lady named Caterina. In her youth she had worked as a "model," and when she was pensioned off — after having produced several "models" — the management of the academy was entrusted to her.

I remember how widely informed Madame Caterina was in everything connected with her profession; nor did any secret of what went on around her escape her, for the years had taught her the art of reading faces: from a mere look at the eyes and features of the students, men and women, she could divine all the intentions and thoughts that passed through their minds... and so she often anticipated events!!

The first time I heard her speak French with a peculiar accent, I did not doubt for a moment that she was Italian, and I addressed her in her own tongue... and so all formality fell away

and every path was smoothed before me...

There were four drawing halls in the academy. In one of them the "model" would sit for three quarters of an hour and rest a quarter hour; in the second the pose was changed every quarter hour... I would pay the fee or not pay it, and work when I pleased and where I pleased, with none to hinder me... And when Madame Caterina came to trust me, she granted me the authority to choose the model's pose, to keep an eye on things, and to see to the maintenance of order within the hall — gently, so as not to disturb my fellow students. Sometimes I would go to extremes in the use of my powers, making the work easy for the young ladies rather than the young men, favoring them with the preferred places, right as to distance and the fall of the light, and defying the young men's glances and their anger — had not Gibran and I agreed that they were tiresome bores!

The hours of attendance at the academy fell into three periods, ranging between nine in the morning and nine at night; Gibran preferred the last period, though he was not one to frequent the Académie Colarossi often.

It was my habit, as I have said, after finishing my drawing practice, to turn aside to the Café du Dôme, where I would find the companions waiting for me. I would distribute among them whatever of my drawings might please them... then before long I would plunge with them into a torrent of opinions — scientific, artistic, political, commercial — a drop from every sea: "How can sugar be extracted from coal... How did Gauguin and Van Gogh manage to change the course of art... How did the aviator Blériot fly over the Channel!... And how England is no longer an island!... And how the German people are energetic, but the Emperor Wilhelm is frightening... And how the French see their defeats as if they were victories!!!" — When I grew tired of all that, I would incline my head toward Miss Léa, touch her beautiful hair with my hand, and ask her: "Whose is this hair?" and she would answer: "À Léa" — and I would correct her answer: "Say rather only 'liyya' — then you will be speaking Arabic!!" Then there would begin between us an exchange of anecdotes and droll tales... It pleased her to tell comic stories about the Jews, and I would sometimes whisper in her ear: "And what if Abraham was not truthful in his promises?" and she would answer, laughing: "If Abraham was not truthful, everything 'goes topsy-turvy'"... and she would add, after a moment's reflection: "And the truth is, he was not truthful... what do you say?!.."

And she would draw me on with innocent inquiry and beg me for more stories of priests: "I implore you, my friend... just one more little story!!" And when she grew impatient with my dawdling and delay, she would set about easing my task, saying: "Once there was a respectable priest..." And I had learned the craft of Scheherazade to perfection, and had trained myself in improvisation, so I would finish the story by the easiest road

and we would laugh and guffaw together, and our clamor would rise until the rest of the companions envied us...

... That was with Léa. As for her elder sister Suzanne, whenever it fell to her to talk with me alone, she would whisper in my ear her private opinions on the nature of love and its philosophy. How often she wondered, perplexed: "I do not understand why people attach all this importance to love... They have made a god of it. They have built temples to it, sung the tenderest poetry, gone to war over it.. even killed themselves!!.. And in judging love they have concluded that it is 'a dram of honey on a hundredweight of firewood!' Strange, this philosophizing! For love, in truth, is one of the simplest of things... it is like a drink of water.. Don't you agree?"

And when I turned away from her opinions on love, she would soon change the subject with consummate skill, passing quickly to a new offer of its kind: a journey with her to... China!!.. A month going, a month returning, and a month in Peking and the other cities, where we would come to terms with the commercial houses specializing in handwork... which is in demand in Paris.. and afterward we could open a shop here in Paris... and if fate should join Léa and Gibran, we would leave her in the shop and travel, the two of us, roaming God's wide earth. I love travel and you love it too... is it not so? We shall visit India and Japan and conclude commercial agreements... and it will not be long before the shop becomes one of the greatest shops in Paris, with money in our hands by the hundredweight.. Believe me, my friend, the arts and letters put no bread on the table!!..

In this manner Suzanne would range through her private talks with me, with enthusiasm and enticement. Once a part of her commercial schemes reached the ears of Calmi; he shook his head and objected, laughing mockingly: "Don't tire yourself, Suzanne — the last thing our friend Joseph cares about is trade... Don't you see how he doesn't even know how to buy a pair of drinking glasses? And gets muddled — nay, lost — over a reckoning of five francs!!. It seems to me he flees from money as if there were a feud between them!!.. Instead of attending to his artistic work so that it might bring him a return — and that is possible, if he would listen to me — he goes off and amuses himself with barren studies of no profit: the history of humanity, the evolution of civilization, astronomy, the philosophy of religions. Is there anything in the universe of less material use than these studies?"

And whenever Gibran and I took up the subject, he would protest nervously, saying: "To China — and with a dark young Jewess whose eyes spin flirtation!! And for whom love is like a drink of water!! This, upon my life, is madness itself, Youssef! I forbid you with all my strength even to jest in this sense" — saying this with his finger raised in my face, threatening and warning... while I would go on: "and if fate should be fulfilled with Léa"... and Gibran would cut me short, laughing his nervous, mirthless laugh and shaking his head right and left: "Léa is all I needed!" Then he would add in his serious tone: "The matter is of the utmost importance, Youssef, and I marvel at you — how you squander your time in this fashion!.. We must strive to understand the meaning of the artistic movement in Paris.. this mad revolution in full career against drawing and beauty.. this violent battle between the imitation, or copying, of nature and the repudiation of it?!. This morning I saw some pictures.. they bewildered me, and I fell to asking myself: to what point, I wonder, are we to approve the copying of nature, or its imitation after the manner of Leonardo and Michelangelo, or the repudiation of nature after the manner of these... madmen?! If we neglect proportion and measure and precise observation... if we sacrifice the most striking manifestations of beauty, of line and form, as they appear to the sound eye, and strip art of its most important elements... These, Youssef, are the questions to which we must find the answers... not the questions of Suzanne and Léa.. and travel to China..."

After this sermon I would soon pass over into Gibran's atmosphere and fall in with him in deep, serious thought, as we strove with effort to analyze the manifestations of the development — nay, the artistic revolution — that had begun to sweep Paris, splitting the army of artists into ranks, and leaving in the minds of the conservatives among them a great question mark!..