In Sister Thérèse's hands was a little box tied with a blue ribbon. She presented it to me, and I heard the Mother Superior say: "In truth we do not know how to reward you except with our abundant thanks and our fervent prayers for your success..." After that she invited me to hear Mass the following Sunday, and to see the two pictures in their place upon the altar... Then she stood to take her leave, and Sister Thérèse carried one picture and the second nun the other... and they went off in a halo of holiness and purity... I untied the blue ribbon from the velvet box, and there met my eyes a rosary of fine ivory beads, from which hung a small silver cross, and, on a card, "An indulgence from the hand of the Most Holy Father," and a dozen linen handkerchiefs embroidered at the edges with the first letter of my name... and a written note of thanks signed by the Superior. I still keep all these things as a beautiful memento...
Gibran would listen to me as I recounted my news of Olga and Suzanne and of the Sisters of Charity, and he would analyze, and soar in his analysis, then presently come down... then drift away... only to return and ask me with all simplicity and naivety: "Do you love Miss Olga?" "That is prying on your part, Gibran — into the very heart of my private affairs!... Have I ever asked you such a question?... And in truth I do not know whether what I feel toward her is the love you mean..." "Love is love, Youssef... An intoxication that runs with the blood in the veins... and its kinds are many beyond counting, so that there is almost a special kind for every man
and every woman, determined by chance and luck... and perhaps by height and the color of the eyes!! It is true that man no longer lives in caves and forests... but his life has evolved with time, and so has his thinking... and the religious factor has had its potent effect... The priests laid down laws for love which my soul detests... because they are inspired by ignorance and pride and injustice and bondage... The poor woman is forced to submit... They did not consult her on the morrow they laid down the statutes and the laws... in a matter that concerns her more than it concerns them... Then they went on attributing their laws to the Creator, and the Creator is innocent of them... for when you analyze them you find them far from the spirit of divine justice..." Gibran was speaking with great fervor and feeling... as though the subject had long occupied his mind... Then he returned to his question: "Tell me, Youssef, what do you feel toward Miss Olga?"
And so as not to rebuff him a second time, I answered: "I wish her every good... and happiness. I have built her, in the depths of my heart, an altar, and I do not want it cracked or torn down... even if she herself should wish it..." He said testily, having lost all patience with me: "And since when do you talk in poetry?!... If love is mutual and the lovers are free... what is there to prevent them from being happy??" I answered, objecting: "Am I to understand from your words that you agree with Miss Suzanne that love is like a drink of water?... No, Gibran... I can never be at ease with that kind of carnal, selfish, vulgar love... Something in the depths of my heart protests violently... something stronger than reason and logic... Tell me, my friend: to what does love come in
the end, if we strip it of the beauty of its soul?!"
"The beauty of its soul?" said Gibran, laughing. "You talk like a Sister of Charity... It seems to me there are still active deposits of the priesthood in your being!"
The blood rose to my head on hearing Gibran's remark, and I felt something like an insult... It was the first time the argument between us had grown so heated... But instead of flaring up — and flaring up is not in my nature — I repeated the question: "To what does the love you mean come in the end? Tell me. Is it not to something cheap and paltry, almost a disgrace and a shame?!..." He asked me sarcastically:
"And to what would you have it come?!" "To a high station... one that raises man to the rank of the gods, enables him to fathom the deepest and most wondrous feelings, and impels him to the noblest and most honorable deeds..."
"Fine words, no doubt," said Gibran in a gentler tone... "I shall study this subject; it deserves study..." "You write... and I will put the 'writing' into practice..."
Thus the talk between Gibran and me came to an end, without the quarrel over "Cupid," the god of love, son of the beloved "Venus," reaching a crisis... and without our arriving at any agreed decision... In these subjects, almost every person has an opinion of his own.