Gibran Kahlil Gibran: The Man Versus The Legend
It is simply amazing how much has already been written about Kahlil Gibran and how much will be written in the coming decade. Some prominent writers have written noteworthy books and dissertations about his life and works. Nevertheless, the question remains: do we really know Gibran? How well do we know him as he was and not how we perceive him to have been? Gibran, the man without a mask, the true man who lived among us, is still a mystery. We probably know more about Gibran the legend, the character of our own creation, the beloved of millions or the “ false alarm” to many others, than we know about the real Gibran. For obvious reasons, critics from the East and the West think that “Gibranism” is a simple topic and that it is easier to write on Gibran and on his philosophy than on other poets and writers and their works. This is not necessarily the case. Is Gibran scholarship this easy? Does his appeal to many cause scholars to dismiss his writings and his message as shallow? Or is Gibran a genius with a unique individual talent that we have only begun to understand?
Gibran’s literary talent can be ascertained from the fact that he skillfully wrote in two different alphabets and was successful at gracefully blending the best that both the East and the West had to offer. In Arabic, he caused a stylistic and thematic revolution that revitalized Modern Arabic Literature, while in English, he created a unique and personal repertoire of vocabulary and imagery and a literary genre that can be compared to William Blake’s and the King James version of the Bible. From his earliest pieces “ On Music” to his latest works “The Garden of the Prophet” and “The Wanderer,” the breadth of his literary influences and scholarship was remarkable. Perhaps this is one reason why his writings appeal to so many. Notwithstanding, the host of researchers, translators and scholars who have strived to interpret and explain Gibran’s poetry and philosophy remain divided in their views concerning his literary genius. They even still debate which school of thought or literary movement Gibran should be associated with.
Volumes have been written about Gibran as a man, a poet, an artist, a philosopher, a politician, a Lebanese nationalist, and an immigrant. Gibran has been perceived by some to be a sage, a man of faith, and a saint, while others have viewed him to be a pretender, a lover, a womanizer, an impotent, and a heretic. Scholarly research continues to delve into various aspects of this man’s background from his childhood, family history, hometown, and travels to his life in his adopted country of residence. However, much is still left unsaid or unverified. Gibran’s birth and death, the legendary journey of his body back to Lebanon, his sacred burial ground and his museum in the heart of Becharre at the foot of the holy forest of the Cedars still remain shrouded with mystery and controversy.
Gibran lived in the twentieth century and in the bright light of recorded history. In Lebanon, he is synonymous with pride and national unity just like the great cedars of Biblical times. During his lifetime, Gibran was known to thousands and was a friend to many prominent personalities in both the East and the West. He traveled to world cities and capitals such as Beirut, Boston, Paris, London, and New York and to countries such as Greece and Egypt. He wrote volumes, left memoires, letters and paintings, and even a written Will. He had relatives and an entire village who knew his parents and ancestors. There are pictures, film strips, live interviews and personal stories by those who knew him. Yet, even today, what we have of Gibran is a diverse and contradictory picture of a man who was believed to be understood by so many. The personal accounts of his well-known contemporaries like Mikhail Naimy, Ameen Rihani, Yusouf Huwayyik, May Ziyadi, Mary Haskell and Barbara Young, to name but a few, are strikingly dissimilar. Various published biographies also differ from one extreme to the other. On the one hand, Gibran is idealized and loved or at least respected for his literary genius. On the other hand, he is depicted as being an opportunist, a fraud and a liar.
In addition to the first hand accounts, there are also many who surfaced after Gibran’s death to claim that they, too, knew Gibran. Although some of these people were genuine, there were a few among them who exploited Gibran’s fame to carve a place for themselves in his shadow, and who did not hesitate to subjectively interpret incidents, exaggerate and even fabricate stories that would secure their name in print. This is their claim to fame.
Opinions formed about Gibran from his own personal letters and writings can hardly be disputed. Of course, this cannot be said about memoires, diaries, and private journals that were written even by Gibran’s closest friends and associates. Such data abounds and is, without any doubt, an important source of information on Gibran, his life and world. Nevertheless, it is more than reasonable to question the overall and absolute objectivity of the authors of this data and their motives behind recording such details and stories. How much, and to what extent, can an investigative reporter or a serious critic depend on such accounts in formulating a historical judgment or in making an accurate conclusion? Would we today even be interested in reading these people’s opinions and accounts had it not been for the sole fact that we are studying Kahlil Gibran? Credit should be given to those people who invested the time and energy in recording these memoires, diaries, and private journals, but the fact remains that these are their words, their opinions, their impressions and their interpretation of what Gibran said or might have said. Another point of importance is that in most cases, Gibran did not know that such accounts were being recorded about him and that in all cases, he would have had no access whatsoever to read, verify or correct any such information.
In my estimation, any serious study of Gibran’s life, his world and works, is bound to encounter some serious difficulties due to the following:
1. Gibran was truly a unique genius whose complex personality, art and writings are not yet fully understood in their multifaceted dimension.
2. Gibran was a very private person and did not generously share or volunteer enough information about himself even with the people closest to him.
3. The wealth of details available through his correspondence and in the diary and private journal of Mary Haskell have not yet been fully published and analyzed.
4. Not all of Gibran’s works and manuscripts have been published or translated.
5. A tremendous amount of criticism and biographical information have been compiled throughout the years that is based on data that was unfortunately too subjective, incomplete, unverified and lacking in authenticity.
6. Gibran’s fame, his writings in both Arabic and English, and the popular topics that he addressed in his seemingly easy style, especially in Arabic, made him and his writings an easy and tempting target for numerous critics to write about and feel qualified to explain and interpret.
This summer while visiting Lebanon, I experienced three incidents related to Gibran that prompted me to question again how well we really know the man versus the legend and how much we take for granted simply because it appears to be so. Ironically one of these incidents is concerned with Gibran’s birth, another with his youth and the last with his death.
On my way to revisit (after many years) the Gibran Museum in his town of birth, I was pleased to notice the sign at the entrance to Gibran’s town that read in both Arabic and French, “Welcome to Becharre, the Village of Gibran.” This left no doubt in my mind that I had arrived and that the town, nestled in the clouds, is proud to be recognized for its most famous son. As I drove into the center of the village, I was greeted by a towering, modern, red-roofed, and spacious cathedral. Across the street from it, I noticed a small modest sign that read in Arabic “Bayt Gibran” or “Gibran’s House.” Gibran’s house is elegant, built of beautiful white stone and is small but tastefully restored. It boasts of a small yard with patches of green well-manicured grass, a couple of trees, a small garden and an elegant bust of Gibran. Entering the house, I was greeted by a smiling woman, dressed in traditional attire, who graciously ushered both me and my wife into, what looked like, a small bedroom adjacent to a long, old but visibly restored living room decorated with ancient rugs and pillows. A big round brass tray, supported by a wooden stem, stood in the middle of the room while a few old lamps and pottery jugs stared at us from the corners and the ceiling as we admired the old wood burning stove crouched against the lonely wall. The inside room was cordoned off.
When I asked if photographs were allowed inside, the attending lady motioned to me saying in Arabic, “You can step over the low chain that circles the room and sit on the pillows.” I thanked her and handed her the camera. She willingly took our picture.
“Is this really where Gibran lived?” I asked.
“Yes, yes,” she nodded and paused without offering any further details.
To sit in the house where Gibran was born and lived is a must for anyone who is fond of Gibran and certainly important for a Gibran scholar. However, I continued to ask myself: is this really Gibran’s house? Is this where he was born, where he grew up and lived with his family? Is this the place that would hold some of his fond childhood memories? There is much speculation among critics about Gibran’s early days in Lebanon and about where his residence was at that time. All agree that Gibran was from Becharre, yet most offer conflicting views concerning Gibran’s house. Some believe that Gibran’s original house collapsed due to disrepair. Others believe that the house was confiscated by the Ottoman authorities when Gibran’s father was arrested. Most critics seem to agree that Gibran’s family moved out of their original house and relocated somewhere else in Becharre. Some believe that Gibran’s family moved in with relatives, while others claim that Gibran and his family moved to a house owned by the village head and lived there free, exchanging loyalty for rent . Consequently, I wonder, which is this house that is now labeled “Bayt Gibran?” Is this the original house or is it a house that was rebuilt on the land where the original house stood? Could this be the relative’s house or is it the house of the village head? To carry the argument one step further, could this house be merely a symbolic gesture and not authentic at all? The unsuspecting tourist would not have had any reason to question any of this and would have naturally assumed that he had indeed been sitting in Gibran’s living room.
What struck me about “Bayt Gibran” is that nothing in this house speaks to the Gibran scholar or student of the authenticity of the experience of being with Gibran as the visit to the Museum does. I remember, for example, when visiting Naimy’s house in Baskinta or Rihani’s house and museum in Freike, that I was assured by the surroundings, contents and location that the experience was genuine and that indeed the houses bespeak of the presence of Naimy or Rihani. Of course, both of these two authors, who were Gibran’s contemporaries and friends in New York, returned to their homes and spent many years there writing, receiving visitors, and eventually dying there. Gibran, on the other hand, left his first home in Becharre sometime between the ages of eight and nine. When he was twelve years old, he left his second place of residence never to return to his hometown except for a brief summer excursion when he was studying at al-Hikma School in Beirut. During that time, he was at odds with his father and Gibran ended staying with relatives in Becharre instead of in his “father’s house.” Gibran never lived in his “father’s house” as a young man, as an adult or even later in life. Moreover, he was never close to his father. Even when the news of his father’s death reached him in Paris, Gibran never felt the need to return and bid a final farewell to him or to claim his inheritance. These could be some reasons, I suspect, why he never displayed any passion or interest in returning to “his house.” Furthermore, in many of his letters to his friends in which he continuously expressed an interest in returning to Becharre in particular, he never mentioned “my house” or “my father’s house.” His specific reference was always to the monastery of Mar Sarkis instead. All of Gibran’s belongings primarily from his Boston and New York City years are collected in his museum only a short distance away from “his house” in the center of the village. It is quite likely that Gibran’s family’s original furnishings have been lost or have never been preserved in the first place and that this house and its furnishings are simply an attempt to create a possible replica.
While in the vicinity, I feasted my eyes on the breathtaking scenery of Becharre, and strolled to the edge of the majestic Cedar Forest, which is literally a stone’s throw away. I then moved on to the Gibran Museum where I was looking forward to exchanging new ideas with the Museum’s Curator, Mr. Wahib Kayrouz. Meeting Wahib Kayrouz, having him autograph one of his latest books on Gibran, and taking a virtual guided tour with him before the normally designated tour, is really an exquisite opportunity. The man is no doubt knowledgeable, and like me, has his own reservations about a lot of what has been said and written about Gibran. The important news that he shared with me helps to shed light on another contradiction concerning Gibran. There are those who bitterly attack Gibran and accuse him of lying, cheating and fabricating stories about his childhood in order to take full advantage of Mary Haskell’s innocence and naiveté and Fred Holland-Day’s kindness. These critics claimed that Gibran falsely purported that his father had been wealthy and that Gibran had lived a privileged life in Lebanon during a certain phase of his childhood.
Wahib Kayrouz told me, as I am sure he has also told other students of Gibran who visit the Museum daily, that he has in his possession, certain documents, obtained by some village natives, that prove that Kahlil Gibran’s father, was well-to-do and a landowner in Becharre. According to Mr. Kayrouz, these documents indicate that the Ottoman authorities, during that time, had issued a summons for the heirs of Khalil Gibran (the father), citing a number of deeds of land in his name ( possibly thirteen deeds ). The summons went unanswered and the heirs, Gibran and his sisters, were listed as “majhouly al-Iqamat.” Their whereabouts as well as their place of residency was listed as “Unknown.” No wonder! The family was already in Boston. They would not have heard about this summons, and nobody in Becharre would have known their address in Boston or how to reach them at that time. Nevertheless, this certainly lends credibility to Gibran’s account that his father had been a man of means at a particular point during his early childhood. In spite of this, most critics today continue to believe that Gibran exaggerated these stories of wealth about his childhood.
In November of 1999, I was invited to participate in The First International Conference on Kahlil Gibran at the University of Maryland. Among the prominent scholars whom I had the good fortune of meeting was Mr. Farid Salman, who had been the Director-General of the Gibran National Committee between 1973 and 1989, and who had also been instrumental in designing and executing the intricate details of the Gibran Museum project in Becharre, Lebanon. Mr. Salman is a true scholar, a gifted writer, poet, thinker and a Gibran expert. We spent precious hours exchanging ideas on Gibran’s scholarship. I promised to visit Farid in Lebanon during my next trip there.
The last week of June of 2001, at 7:00 PM, I found myself standing at the door of Mr. Salman’s apartment in Beirut. He opened the door and greeted me with the same smiling face, long hair and beard and with the same deep voice as if it were coming from the Valley of Qadeesha. As I stepped forward and he closed the door behind me, I felt amazed and puzzled. Where was I? I thought that I was in Beirut in Mr. Salman’s quarters and not in Becharre, in Gibran’s Museum again. As if he read my bewilderment, his voice rang in my ear and asked me to proceed to the living room and take a seat. I should have guessed. Farid does not live in a regular apartment. Rather, this admirer of Gibran and lover of the arts dwells in an art gallery surrounded by numerous statues, paintings, engravings, collectibles, sculptures, antique items, books, manuscripts, pictures and rare and admirable art works.
Listening to Mr. Salman was a fascinating experience. We talked about Gibran and about literature, art, music, politics, Lebanon, the Lebanese situation and the Middle East crisis. We also spent some time reminiscing about the conference in Maryland where we had initially met.
Among the many things that I asked Farid about was to clarify for me certain questions that had been raised during my visit to Gibran’s museum a few days earlier, especially my observation about Gibran’s casket and the burial spot. I shared with him the story that I had personally heard from Mr. J. P. Dahdah while in Maryland for the conference, and I asked him whether he could confirm or deny that such an incident really happened. Mr. Dahdah had told me that a person from Gibran’s town had been enraged one night after a bitter village dispute over the proceeds from Gibran’s books, and he made his way into the Museum and set fire to Gibran’s casket, consequently distorting the preserved body as well. Because of this background knowledge, I paid particular attention to the casket and the burial spot when I was in the Museum. I noticed that the burial spot and the position of the casket had been changed from what I had recalled during previous visits, and that an obvious effort had been made to make the casket look as old and original as it was supposed to have been. Although some dirt and cobwebs had been cleverly used to camouflage its countenance, it still looked newer than it should have in spite of the honest and artistic effort made to cover it and tuck it under the rock where it now sat partially visible. I was not sure that my story made sense to him, so I boldly stated that I felt that Gibran’s casket had been removed from its original spot and put back somehow in a hurried manner since this was not how I remembered seeing it earlier, nor was this how it looked in pictures dating back to three decades ago. I asked him if I was imagining this.
All of a sudden, I could clearly see the pain, sadness and frustration on Mr. Salman’s face as he tried to recapture the nightmarish and surrealistic moment of the little-known tragedy that had occurred.
He recounted to me that he had been in his apartment in Beirut that particular night. It was late, and he was already in bed when the phone rang. The caller, in a frantic voice, told him of a fire burning in the Gibran Museum. The voice was not clear, and neither was the message. Mr. Salman thought the call was a bad joke and hung up. Minutes later, the phone rang again. This time the message was loud and clear. Farid understood that if he was to salvage the situation, he needed to hurry to Becharre. Moments later, he was in his car speeding on the winding roads leading to the Museum. As soon as he entered, he smelled the tragedy. He rushed down the stairs to the lower level that housed Gibran’s belongings from his New York Hermitage as well as his remains and his casket. On the way down, Mr. Salman realized the gravity of the situation as he started to pick up the remaining pieces of the casket as well as parts of the burned and deformed body which had been thrown in the open. He went on to confirm that the present casket is new, and that he personally had bought it from Becharre. He placed Gibran’s remains in it, and then notified the authorities asking them to keep the tragedy quiet and to avoid any leakage to the media. This was an unspoken tragedy that few would have known about or wanted to remember.
Just as biographical details of Gibran’s life are incomplete, inconsistent or misrepresented, so is the understanding of Gibran, the man, and his works. Much more scholarship needs to be done before scholars can truly claim to know “this man from Lebanon.”
It is simply amazing how much has already been written about Kahlil Gibran and how much will be written in the coming decade. Some prominent writers have written noteworthy books and dissertations about his life and works. Nevertheless, the question remains: do we really know Gibran? How well do we know him as he was and not how we perceive him to have been? Gibran, the man without a mask, the true man who lived among us, is still a mystery. We probably know more about Gibran the legend, the character of our own creation, the beloved of millions or the “ false alarm” to many others, than we know about the real Gibran. For obvious reasons, critics from the East and the West think that “Gibranism” is a simple topic and that it is easier to write on Gibran and on his philosophy than on other poets and writers and their works. This is not necessarily the case. Is Gibran scholarship this easy? Does his appeal to many cause scholars to dismiss his writings and his message as shallow? Or is Gibran a genius with a unique individual talent that we have only begun to understand?
Gibran’s literary talent can be ascertained from the fact that he skillfully wrote in two different alphabets and was successful at gracefully blending the best that both the East and the West had to offer. In Arabic, he caused a stylistic and thematic revolution that revitalized Modern Arabic Literature, while in English, he created a unique and personal repertoire of vocabulary and imagery and a literary genre that can be compared to William Blake’s and the King James version of the Bible. From his earliest pieces “ On Music” to his latest works “The Garden of the Prophet” and “The Wanderer,” the breadth of his literary influences and scholarship was remarkable. Perhaps this is one reason why his writings appeal to so many. Notwithstanding, the host of researchers, translators and scholars who have strived to interpret and explain Gibran’s poetry and philosophy remain divided in their views concerning his literary genius. They even still debate which school of thought or literary movement Gibran should be associated with.
Volumes have been written about Gibran as a man, a poet, an artist, a philosopher, a politician, a Lebanese nationalist, and an immigrant. Gibran has been perceived by some to be a sage, a man of faith, and a saint, while others have viewed him to be a pretender, a lover, a womanizer, an impotent, and a heretic. Scholarly research continues to delve into various aspects of this man’s background from his childhood, family history, hometown, and travels to his life in his adopted country of residence. However, much is still left unsaid or unverified. Gibran’s birth and death, the legendary journey of his body back to Lebanon, his sacred burial ground and his museum in the heart of Becharre at the foot of the holy forest of the Cedars still remain shrouded with mystery and controversy.
Gibran lived in the twentieth century and in the bright light of recorded history. In Lebanon, he is synonymous with pride and national unity just like the great cedars of Biblical times. During his lifetime, Gibran was known to thousands and was a friend to many prominent personalities in both the East and the West. He traveled to world cities and capitals such as Beirut, Boston, Paris, London, and New York and to countries such as Greece and Egypt. He wrote volumes, left memoires, letters and paintings, and even a written Will. He had relatives and an entire village who knew his parents and ancestors. There are pictures, film strips, live interviews and personal stories by those who knew him. Yet, even today, what we have of Gibran is a diverse and contradictory picture of a man who was believed to be understood by so many. The personal accounts of his well-known contemporaries like Mikhail Naimy, Ameen Rihani, Yusouf Huwayyik, May Ziyadi, Mary Haskell and Barbara Young, to name but a few, are strikingly dissimilar. Various published biographies also differ from one extreme to the other. On the one hand, Gibran is idealized and loved or at least respected for his literary genius. On the other hand, he is depicted as being an opportunist, a fraud and a liar.
In addition to the first hand accounts, there are also many who surfaced after Gibran’s death to claim that they, too, knew Gibran. Although some of these people were genuine, there were a few among them who exploited Gibran’s fame to carve a place for themselves in his shadow, and who did not hesitate to subjectively interpret incidents, exaggerate and even fabricate stories that would secure their name in print. This is their claim to fame.
Opinions formed about Gibran from his own personal letters and writings can hardly be disputed. Of course, this cannot be said about memoires, diaries, and private journals that were written even by Gibran’s closest friends and associates. Such data abounds and is, without any doubt, an important source of information on Gibran, his life and world. Nevertheless, it is more than reasonable to question the overall and absolute objectivity of the authors of this data and their motives behind recording such details and stories. How much, and to what extent, can an investigative reporter or a serious critic depend on such accounts in formulating a historical judgment or in making an accurate conclusion? Would we today even be interested in reading these people’s opinions and accounts had it not been for the sole fact that we are studying Kahlil Gibran? Credit should be given to those people who invested the time and energy in recording these memoires, diaries, and private journals, but the fact remains that these are their words, their opinions, their impressions and their interpretation of what Gibran said or might have said. Another point of importance is that in most cases, Gibran did not know that such accounts were being recorded about him and that in all cases, he would have had no access whatsoever to read, verify or correct any such information.
In my estimation, any serious study of Gibran’s life, his world and works, is bound to encounter some serious difficulties due to the following:
1. Gibran was truly a unique genius whose complex personality, art and writings are not yet fully understood in their multifaceted dimension.
2. Gibran was a very private person and did not generously share or volunteer enough information about himself even with the people closest to him.
3. The wealth of details available through his correspondence and in the diary and private journal of Mary Haskell have not yet been fully published and analyzed.
4. Not all of Gibran’s works and manuscripts have been published or translated.
5. A tremendous amount of criticism and biographical information have been compiled throughout the years that is based on data that was unfortunately too subjective, incomplete, unverified and lacking in authenticity.
6. Gibran’s fame, his writings in both Arabic and English, and the popular topics that he addressed in his seemingly easy style, especially in Arabic, made him and his writings an easy and tempting target for numerous critics to write about and feel qualified to explain and interpret.
This summer while visiting Lebanon, I experienced three incidents related to Gibran that prompted me to question again how well we really know the man versus the legend and how much we take for granted simply because it appears to be so. Ironically one of these incidents is concerned with Gibran’s birth, another with his youth and the last with his death.
On my way to revisit (after many years) the Gibran Museum in his town of birth, I was pleased to notice the sign at the entrance to Gibran’s town that read in both Arabic and French, “Welcome to Becharre, the Village of Gibran.” This left no doubt in my mind that I had arrived and that the town, nestled in the clouds, is proud to be recognized for its most famous son. As I drove into the center of the village, I was greeted by a towering, modern, red-roofed, and spacious cathedral. Across the street from it, I noticed a small modest sign that read in Arabic “Bayt Gibran” or “Gibran’s House.” Gibran’s house is elegant, built of beautiful white stone and is small but tastefully restored. It boasts of a small yard with patches of green well-manicured grass, a couple of trees, a small garden and an elegant bust of Gibran. Entering the house, I was greeted by a smiling woman, dressed in traditional attire, who graciously ushered both me and my wife into, what looked like, a small bedroom adjacent to a long, old but visibly restored living room decorated with ancient rugs and pillows. A big round brass tray, supported by a wooden stem, stood in the middle of the room while a few old lamps and pottery jugs stared at us from the corners and the ceiling as we admired the old wood burning stove crouched against the lonely wall. The inside room was cordoned off.
When I asked if photographs were allowed inside, the attending lady motioned to me saying in Arabic, “You can step over the low chain that circles the room and sit on the pillows.” I thanked her and handed her the camera. She willingly took our picture.
“Is this really where Gibran lived?” I asked.
“Yes, yes,” she nodded and paused without offering any further details.
To sit in the house where Gibran was born and lived is a must for anyone who is fond of Gibran and certainly important for a Gibran scholar. However, I continued to ask myself: is this really Gibran’s house? Is this where he was born, where he grew up and lived with his family? Is this the place that would hold some of his fond childhood memories? There is much speculation among critics about Gibran’s early days in Lebanon and about where his residence was at that time. All agree that Gibran was from Becharre, yet most offer conflicting views concerning Gibran’s house. Some believe that Gibran’s original house collapsed due to disrepair. Others believe that the house was confiscated by the Ottoman authorities when Gibran’s father was arrested. Most critics seem to agree that Gibran’s family moved out of their original house and relocated somewhere else in Becharre. Some believe that Gibran’s family moved in with relatives, while others claim that Gibran and his family moved to a house owned by the village head and lived there free, exchanging loyalty for rent . Consequently, I wonder, which is this house that is now labeled “Bayt Gibran?” Is this the original house or is it a house that was rebuilt on the land where the original house stood? Could this be the relative’s house or is it the house of the village head? To carry the argument one step further, could this house be merely a symbolic gesture and not authentic at all? The unsuspecting tourist would not have had any reason to question any of this and would have naturally assumed that he had indeed been sitting in Gibran’s living room.
What struck me about “Bayt Gibran” is that nothing in this house speaks to the Gibran scholar or student of the authenticity of the experience of being with Gibran as the visit to the Museum does. I remember, for example, when visiting Naimy’s house in Baskinta or Rihani’s house and museum in Freike, that I was assured by the surroundings, contents and location that the experience was genuine and that indeed the houses bespeak of the presence of Naimy or Rihani. Of course, both of these two authors, who were Gibran’s contemporaries and friends in New York, returned to their homes and spent many years there writing, receiving visitors, and eventually dying there. Gibran, on the other hand, left his first home in Becharre sometime between the ages of eight and nine. When he was twelve years old, he left his second place of residence never to return to his hometown except for a brief summer excursion when he was studying at al-Hikma School in Beirut. During that time, he was at odds with his father and Gibran ended staying with relatives in Becharre instead of in his “father’s house.” Gibran never lived in his “father’s house” as a young man, as an adult or even later in life. Moreover, he was never close to his father. Even when the news of his father’s death reached him in Paris, Gibran never felt the need to return and bid a final farewell to him or to claim his inheritance. These could be some reasons, I suspect, why he never displayed any passion or interest in returning to “his house.” Furthermore, in many of his letters to his friends in which he continuously expressed an interest in returning to Becharre in particular, he never mentioned “my house” or “my father’s house.” His specific reference was always to the monastery of Mar Sarkis instead. All of Gibran’s belongings primarily from his Boston and New York City years are collected in his museum only a short distance away from “his house” in the center of the village. It is quite likely that Gibran’s family’s original furnishings have been lost or have never been preserved in the first place and that this house and its furnishings are simply an attempt to create a possible replica.
While in the vicinity, I feasted my eyes on the breathtaking scenery of Becharre, and strolled to the edge of the majestic Cedar Forest, which is literally a stone’s throw away. I then moved on to the Gibran Museum where I was looking forward to exchanging new ideas with the Museum’s Curator, Mr. Wahib Kayrouz. Meeting Wahib Kayrouz, having him autograph one of his latest books on Gibran, and taking a virtual guided tour with him before the normally designated tour, is really an exquisite opportunity. The man is no doubt knowledgeable, and like me, has his own reservations about a lot of what has been said and written about Gibran. The important news that he shared with me helps to shed light on another contradiction concerning Gibran. There are those who bitterly attack Gibran and accuse him of lying, cheating and fabricating stories about his childhood in order to take full advantage of Mary Haskell’s innocence and naiveté and Fred Holland-Day’s kindness. These critics claimed that Gibran falsely purported that his father had been wealthy and that Gibran had lived a privileged life in Lebanon during a certain phase of his childhood.
Wahib Kayrouz told me, as I am sure he has also told other students of Gibran who visit the Museum daily, that he has in his possession, certain documents, obtained by some village natives, that prove that Kahlil Gibran’s father, was well-to-do and a landowner in Becharre. According to Mr. Kayrouz, these documents indicate that the Ottoman authorities, during that time, had issued a summons for the heirs of Khalil Gibran (the father), citing a number of deeds of land in his name ( possibly thirteen deeds ). The summons went unanswered and the heirs, Gibran and his sisters, were listed as “majhouly al-Iqamat.” Their whereabouts as well as their place of residency was listed as “Unknown.” No wonder! The family was already in Boston. They would not have heard about this summons, and nobody in Becharre would have known their address in Boston or how to reach them at that time. Nevertheless, this certainly lends credibility to Gibran’s account that his father had been a man of means at a particular point during his early childhood. In spite of this, most critics today continue to believe that Gibran exaggerated these stories of wealth about his childhood.
In November of 1999, I was invited to participate in The First International Conference on Kahlil Gibran at the University of Maryland. Among the prominent scholars whom I had the good fortune of meeting was Mr. Farid Salman, who had been the Director-General of the Gibran National Committee between 1973 and 1989, and who had also been instrumental in designing and executing the intricate details of the Gibran Museum project in Becharre, Lebanon. Mr. Salman is a true scholar, a gifted writer, poet, thinker and a Gibran expert. We spent precious hours exchanging ideas on Gibran’s scholarship. I promised to visit Farid in Lebanon during my next trip there.
The last week of June of 2001, at 7:00 PM, I found myself standing at the door of Mr. Salman’s apartment in Beirut. He opened the door and greeted me with the same smiling face, long hair and beard and with the same deep voice as if it were coming from the Valley of Qadeesha. As I stepped forward and he closed the door behind me, I felt amazed and puzzled. Where was I? I thought that I was in Beirut in Mr. Salman’s quarters and not in Becharre, in Gibran’s Museum again. As if he read my bewilderment, his voice rang in my ear and asked me to proceed to the living room and take a seat. I should have guessed. Farid does not live in a regular apartment. Rather, this admirer of Gibran and lover of the arts dwells in an art gallery surrounded by numerous statues, paintings, engravings, collectibles, sculptures, antique items, books, manuscripts, pictures and rare and admirable art works.
Listening to Mr. Salman was a fascinating experience. We talked about Gibran and about literature, art, music, politics, Lebanon, the Lebanese situation and the Middle East crisis. We also spent some time reminiscing about the conference in Maryland where we had initially met.
Among the many things that I asked Farid about was to clarify for me certain questions that had been raised during my visit to Gibran’s museum a few days earlier, especially my observation about Gibran’s casket and the burial spot. I shared with him the story that I had personally heard from Mr. J. P. Dahdah while in Maryland for the conference, and I asked him whether he could confirm or deny that such an incident really happened. Mr. Dahdah had told me that a person from Gibran’s town had been enraged one night after a bitter village dispute over the proceeds from Gibran’s books, and he made his way into the Museum and set fire to Gibran’s casket, consequently distorting the preserved body as well. Because of this background knowledge, I paid particular attention to the casket and the burial spot when I was in the Museum. I noticed that the burial spot and the position of the casket had been changed from what I had recalled during previous visits, and that an obvious effort had been made to make the casket look as old and original as it was supposed to have been. Although some dirt and cobwebs had been cleverly used to camouflage its countenance, it still looked newer than it should have in spite of the honest and artistic effort made to cover it and tuck it under the rock where it now sat partially visible. I was not sure that my story made sense to him, so I boldly stated that I felt that Gibran’s casket had been removed from its original spot and put back somehow in a hurried manner since this was not how I remembered seeing it earlier, nor was this how it looked in pictures dating back to three decades ago. I asked him if I was imagining this.
All of a sudden, I could clearly see the pain, sadness and frustration on Mr. Salman’s face as he tried to recapture the nightmarish and surrealistic moment of the little-known tragedy that had occurred.
He recounted to me that he had been in his apartment in Beirut that particular night. It was late, and he was already in bed when the phone rang. The caller, in a frantic voice, told him of a fire burning in the Gibran Museum. The voice was not clear, and neither was the message. Mr. Salman thought the call was a bad joke and hung up. Minutes later, the phone rang again. This time the message was loud and clear. Farid understood that if he was to salvage the situation, he needed to hurry to Becharre. Moments later, he was in his car speeding on the winding roads leading to the Museum. As soon as he entered, he smelled the tragedy. He rushed down the stairs to the lower level that housed Gibran’s belongings from his New York Hermitage as well as his remains and his casket. On the way down, Mr. Salman realized the gravity of the situation as he started to pick up the remaining pieces of the casket as well as parts of the burned and deformed body which had been thrown in the open. He went on to confirm that the present casket is new, and that he personally had bought it from Becharre. He placed Gibran’s remains in it, and then notified the authorities asking them to keep the tragedy quiet and to avoid any leakage to the media. This was an unspoken tragedy that few would have known about or wanted to remember.
Just as biographical details of Gibran’s life are incomplete, inconsistent or misrepresented, so is the understanding of Gibran, the man, and his works. Much more scholarship needs to be done before scholars can truly claim to know “this man from Lebanon.”
