Adumbrations
“In the morning of the eventful day,” it is set forth in the Histoire Intime , “I was in Khalid’s room writing a letter, when Ahmed Bey comes in to confer with him. They remain together for some while during which I could hear Khalid growl and Ahmed Bey gently whispering, ‘But the Dustur , the Unionists, Mother Society,’—this being the burden of his song. When he leaves, Khalid, with a scowl on his brow, paces up and down the room, saying, ‘They would treat me like a school boy; they would have me speak by rule, and according to their own dictation. They even espy my words and actions as if I were an enemy of the Constitution. No; let them find another. The servile spouters in the land are as plenty as summer flies. After I deliver my address today, Shakib, we will take the first train for Baalbek. I want to see my mother. No, billah ! I can not go any further with these Turks. Why, read this.’ And he hands me the memorandum, or outline of the speech given to him by Ahmed Bey.”
And this, we learn, is a litany of praises, beginning with Abdul Hamid and ending with the ulema of Damascus; which litany the Society Deputies would place in the mouth of Khalid for the good of all concerned. Ay, for his good, too, if he but knew. If he but looked behind him, he would have yielded a whit, this Khalid. The deep chasm between him and the Deputy, however, justifies the conduct of each on his side: the lack of gumption in the one and the lack of depth in the other render impossible any sort of understanding between them. While we recommend, therefore, the prudence of the oleaginous Ahmed, we can not with justice condemn the perversity of our fretful Khalid. For he who makes loud boast of spiritual freedom, is, nevertheless, a slave of the Idea. And slavery in some shape or shade will clutch at the heart of the