The Khalil Gibran Megapack. Khalil Gibran
a rich man who was justly proud of his cellar and the wine therein. And there was one jug of ancient vintage kept for some occasion known only to himself.
The governor of the state visited him, and he bethought him and said, “That jug shall not be opened for a mere governor.”
And a bishop of the diocese visited him, but he said to himself, “Nay, I will not open that jug. He would not know its value, nor would its aroma reach his nostrils.”
The prince of the realm came and supped with him. But he thought, “It is too royal a wine for a mere princeling.”
And even on the day when his own nephew was married, he said to himself, “No, not to these guests shall that jug be brought forth.”
And the years passed by, and he died, an old man, and he was buried like unto every seed and acorn.
And upon the day that he was buried the ancient jug was brought out together with other jugs of wine, and it was shared by the peasants of the neighbourhood. And none knew its great age.
To them, all that is poured into a cup is only wine.
THE TWO POEMS
Many centuries ago, on a road to Athens, two poets met, and they were glad to see one another.
And one poet asked the other saying, “What have you composed of late, and how goes it with your lyre?”
And the other poet answered and said with pride, “I have but now finished the greatest of my poems, perchance the greatest poem yet written in Greek. It is an invocation to Zeus the Supreme.”
Then he took from beneath his cloak a parchment, saying, “Here, behold, I have it with me, and I would fain read it to you. Come, let us sit in the shade of that white cypress.”
And the poet read his poem. And it was a long poem.
And the other poet said in kindliness, “This is a great poem. It will live through the ages, and in it you shall be glorified.”
And the first poet said calmly, “And what have you been writing these late days?”
And the other another, “I have written but little. Only eight lines in remembrance of a child playing in a garden.” And he recited the lines.
The first poet said, “Not so bad; not so bad.”
And they parted.
And now after two thousand years the eight lines of the one poet are read in every tongue, and are loved and cherished.
And though the other poem has indeed come down through the ages in libraries and in the cells of scholars, and though it is remembered, it is neither loved nor read.
LADY RUTH
Three men once looked from afar upon a white house that stood alone on a green hill. One of them said, “That is the house of Lady Ruth. She is an old witch.”
The second man said, “You are wrong. Lady Ruth is a beautiful woman who lives there consecrated unto her dreams.”
The third man said, “You are both wrong. Lady Ruth is the holder of this vast land, and she draws blood from her serfs.”
And they walked on discussing Lady Ruth. Then when they came to a crossroad they met an old man, and one of them asked him, saying, “Would you please tell us about the Lady Ruth who lives in that white house upon the hill?”
And the old man raised his head and smiled upon them, and said, “I am ninety of years, and I remember Lady Ruth when I was but a boy. But Lady Ruth died eighty years ago, and now the house is empty. The owls hoot therein, sometimes, and people say the place is haunted.”
THE MOUSE AND THE CAT
Once on an evening a poet met a peasant. The poet was distant and the peasant was shy, yet they conversed.
And the peasant said, “Let me tell you a little story which I heard of late. A mouse was caught in a trap, and while he was happily eating the cheese that lay therein, a cat stood by. The mouse trembled awhile, but he knew he was safe within the trap.
“Then the cat said, ‘You are eating your last meal, my friend.’
“‘Yes,’ answered the mouse, ‘one life have I, therefore one death. But what of you? They tell me you have nine lives. Doesn’t that mean that you will have to die nine times?’”
And the peasant looked at the poet and he said, “Is not this a strange story?”
And the poet answered him not, but he walked away saying in his soul, “To be sure, nine lives have we, nine lives to be sure. And we shall die nine times, nine times shall we die. Perhaps it were better to have but one life, caught in a trap—the life of a peasant with a bit of cheese for the last meal. And yet, are we not kin unto the lions of the desert and the jungle?”
THE CURSE
And old man of the sea once said to me, “It was thirty years ago that a sailor ran away with my daughter. And I cursed them both in my heart, for of all the world I loved but my daughter.
“Not long after that, the sailor youth went down with his ship to the bottom of the sea, and with him my lovely daughter was lost unto me.
“Now therefore behold in me the murderer of a youth and a maid. It was my curse that destroyed them. And now on my way to the grave I seek God’s forgiveness.”
This the old man said. But there was a tone of bragging in his words, and it seems that he is still proud of the power of his curse.
THE POMEGRANATES
There was once a man who had many pomegranate trees in his orchard. And for many an autumn he would put his pomegranates on silvery trays outside of his dwelling, and upon the trays he would place signs upon which he himself had written, “Take one for aught. You are welcome.”
But people passed by and no one took of the fruit.
Then the man bethought him, and one autumn he placed no pomegranates on silvery trays outside of his dwelling, but he raised this sign in large lettering: “Here we have the best pomegranates in the land, but we sell them for more silver than any other pomegranates.”
And now behold, all the men and women of the neighbourhood came rushing to buy.
GOD AND MANY GODS
In the city of Kilafis a sophist stood on the steps of the Temple and preached many gods. And the people said in their hearts, “We know all this. Do they not live with us and follow us wherever we go?”
Not long after, another man stood in the market place and spoke unto the people and said, “There is no god.” And many who heard him were glad of his tidings, for they were afraid of gods.
And upon another day there came a man of great eloquence, an he said, “There is but one God.” And now the people were dismayed for in their hearts they feared the judgment of one God more than that of many gods.
That same season there came yet another man, and he said to the people, “There are three gods, and they dwell upon the wind as one, and they have a vast and gracious mother who is also their mate and their sister.”
Then everyone was comforted, for they said in their secret, “three gods in one must needs disagree over our failings, and besides, their gracious mother will surely be an advocate for us poor weaklings.”
Yet even to this day there are those in the city of Kilafis who wrangle and argue with each other about many gods and no god, and one god and three gods in one, and a gracious mother of gods.
SHE WHO WAS DEAF
Once there lived a rich man who had a young wife, and she was stone deaf.
And upon a morning when they were breaking their feast, she spoke to him and she said, “Yesterday I visited the market place, and there were exhibited silken raiment from Damascus, and coverchiefs from India, necklaces from Persia, and bracelets from