Of course, rumors of the Turkish occupation of the Lebanon had
reached us a few weeks before, but we had not believed it, as we knew
that Germany and Austria were among those who guaranteed the autonomy of
the Lebanon. It was true, however; the scrap of paper that guaranteed
the freedom of the Lebanon had proved of no more value to the Lebanese
than had that other scrap of paper to Belgium. As I entered the
beautiful village of Ed-Damur, one of the most prosperous and enchanting
places on earth, I saw entire regiments of Turkish troops encamped in
and about the village.
While I was watering my horse, I tried to ask questions from a few
inhabitants. My fair hair and complexion and my khaki costume made them
take me for a German, and they barely answered me, but when I addressed
them in French their faces lit up. For the Lebanon, for all it is
thousands of miles away from France, is nevertheless like a French
province. For fifty years the French language and French culture have
taken hold of the Lebanon. No Frenchman has more love for and faith in
France than lie in the hearts of the Lebanese Christians. They have
never forgotten that when massacres were threatening to wipe out all the
Christians of the Lebanon, ten thousand French soldiers swept over the
mountains to spread peace, life, and French gayety.
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