blame, if from sheer joy, I cheer those who are crowning her on a dunghill with wreaths of stable straw. It’s better, billah , than breaking the bottle on her head, is it not? And so, let the Spouters spout. And let the sheikh and the priest and the rabbi embrace on that very Stump and make up. Live the Era of Concord and peace and love! Live the Dustur ! Hurrah for the Union and Progress Heroes! Come down to Beirut and
No; I do not approve of your idea of associating with that young Mohammedan editor. You know what is said about the tiger and its spots. Besides, I had another offer from a Christian oldtimer; but you might as well ask me to 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?