V

become a Jesuit as to became a Journalist. I wrote last week a political article, in which I criticised Majesty’s Address to the Parliament, and mauled those oleaginous, palavering, mealymouthed Representatives, who would not dare point out the lies in it. They hear the Chief Clerk read of “the efforts made by the Government during the past thirty years in the interest of education,” and applaud; while at the Royal Banquet they jostle and hustle each other to kiss the edge of Majesty’s frock-coat. The abject slaves! The article was much quoted and commented upon; I was flouted by many, defended by a few, these asked: “Was the Government of Abdul Hamid, committing all its crimes in the interest of education, were we being trained by the Censorship and the Bosphorus Terror for the Dustur ?” “But the person of Majesty, the sacredness of the Caliphate,” cried the others. And a certain one, in the course of his attack, denies the existence of Khalid, who died, said he, a year ago. And what matters it if a dead man can stir a whole city and blow into the nostrils of its walking spectres a breath of life? I spoke last night in one of the music halls and gave the Mohammedans a piece of my mind. The poor Christians!⁠—they feared the Government in the old regime; they cower before the boatmen in this. For the boatmen of Beirut have not lost their prestige and power. They are a sort of commune and are yet supreme. Yes, they are always riding the whirlwind and directing the storm. And who dares say a word against them? Every one of them, in his swagger and bluster, is an Abdul Hamid. Alas, everything is yet in a chaotic state. The boatman’s shriek can silence the Press and make the Spouters tremble.