Читать книгу The Origins of the Lebanese National Idea - Carol Hakim - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE	·	The 1860 Massacres and Their Aftermath
		A Map for Lebanon

The massacres of 1860 in Mount Lebanon and Damascus represent a watershed in the history of the Syrian provinces in general, and of Mount Lebanon in particular. Their scope and magnitude ended a long period of crisis and instability that had marked the region since its occupation by Ibrahim Pasha in 1831, its reintegration into the Ottoman Empire in 1840, and the subsequent movement of reforms initiated by the Ottoman government. Underlying fears, expectations, tensions, and contradictions that had been building throughout this troubled period were brought to such an extreme limit, and expressed in such an appalling way during the events of 1860, that they left all involved in a state of shock and dismay. These prevailing feelings, as well as the ensuing stern repressive measures adopted by the Ottoman authorities, facilitated the reassertion of Ottoman control and reform in the Syrian provinces, which were henceforth accepted in a more conciliatory spirit by their inhabitants.

At the same time, the events of 1860 represent a momentous episode in the collective memory of the people of the region. They symbolize a rupture in the history of Syria, a moment when the normal order of things broke down, when underlying animosities and fervor were violently exposed and tested. In this sense, they remained thereafter a continual point of reference for local inhabitants, representing their most intimate fears and anxieties and a somber emblem of potential upheavals.

Moreover, the significance of these momentous events reaches beyond their factual dimension. The thorough consideration they generated of the fate of the Syrian provinces had a direct bearing on the future development of nationalist ideas in the region. The diverse solutions considered in the wake of these events helped to shape future local nationalist claims and assertions and set the terms of nationalist thought and debate throughout the following century.

The massacres and the Western and Ottoman reaction they provoked raised anew the issue of the Syrian and Lebanese provinces, first opened by the Egyptian crisis. Intense negotiations followed between the main European powers and the Sublime Porte in order to devise guarantees against the recurrence of such events. An impressive variety of political and administrative projects were envisioned or contemplated by local and foreign, official, and unofficial circles. In the case of Lebanon, the joint Ottoman–European search for a political solution involved a thorough inquiry, with a special commission convening in Beirut. The commission took particular pains to examine the economic, social, and political issues that led to the crisis and made genuine efforts to address all sides of the question. However, the final solution consisted, as usual, in a general compromise between the diverging views and interests of the powers concerned, who sought to defend the conflicting interests of the local population as they thought best.

Alongside this official and diplomatic activity, several French agents and publicists promoted projects for the future of Lebanon articulated around the establishment of an independent Christian principality. Many local parties and personalities from the Mountain became involved in this activity. Thus, the “Franco-Lebanese dream” was revived, and, in this new episode, gained much in consistency and scope. The frontiers of the projected Christian principality were extended by its proponents well beyond the confines of Mount Lebanon. A detailed map was drawn by the headquarters of the French army, and historical, political, economic, and communal justifications were advanced to sustain these magnified pretensions.

In short, a project for the establishment of a Greater Lebanon avant l'heure took form. And, if this whole project did not materialize at the time, its significance should not be measured by this failure, or by the apparent oblivion into which it fell for the rest of the century. Some decades later, Lebanese nationalists and the Maronite Patriarch claimed an identical entity in 1919, before the Paris Peace Conference, making use of the map drawn by the French army in 1860 to vindicate and impart legitimacy on the enlarged “natural and historical” frontiers of Lebanon that they demanded. And the Greater Lebanon that ultimately emerged in 1920 looked strangely in shape like the one already devised in 1860.

The present chapter reviews the intense diplomatic, as well as unofficial, activity triggered by the 1860 massacres and the impact of all these factors on the development of the Lebanist ideal.

THE 1860 MASSACRES

By the end of the 1850s, Mount Lebanon was again in a state of turmoil. The 1845 Shakib Effendi Règlement had imposed an unpalatable political system on all parties in the Mountain, who hardly concealed their ill will toward any genuine implementation of its terms.¹ The new representative institutions designed to regulate and deflate the prevailing tensions in the mixed sectors—the councils and wakils—failed in their task in view of the irreconcilable claims of the Druze muqaqata'jis who sought to reassert their authority over Christian tenants, villagers, and townsmen and the blunt refusal of the latter to yield to their former overlords, thus accentuating communal tensions in the Mountain. At the same time, the Druze notables and their Christian counterparts did their best to prevent a fairer redistribution of taxes, thus disappointing peasants in the Druze and the Christian sectors alike, and exacerbating the horizontal tensions in society. Things came to a head in the Christian sector when a peasant revolt against the Maronite Khazin shaykhs broke out in 1858. Soon, the whole Christian central sector was in a state of turmoil, with an angry and unchecked peasantry in arms.

Unrest eventually reached the Christians of the mixed sectors. The latter resumed their complaints about the intolerable tyranny of the Druzes.² At the same time, the Maronites of the central districts, driven by an overconfident enthusiasm following the success of their movement against their own muqata'jis, "dispatched letters couched in the most inflated and bombastic terms to the great Christian centres calling on them to rise fearlessly against their oppressors, and promising them immediate assistance.”³ They incited their Christian brethren in the mixed districts to rise against their own shaykhs, boasting of their 50,000-man force. In the mixed sectors, therefore, the social dimension of the conflict intertwined with the ongoing battle for political dominance in the Mountain.

These Maronite designs prompted the indignant reaction of the Druzes. The Druze muqata'jis, determined to come to terms with a question that had plagued relations with their Christian tenants for the past twenty years, began to mobilize their own Druze tenants and followers. Christian boisterous threats against the Druze population in general facilitated this process, the social dimension of the conflict becoming totally overshadowed by the more essential struggle for mere existence. “The Druzes, in fact, felt it to be a struggle for successful and lasting ascendancy, or irremediable ruin and humiliation. And they declared war to the knife.”⁴

In such an explosive atmosphere, trying to determine who fired the first bullet that inflamed the whole Mountain is a futile exercise. The seeds of the conflict were sown some two decades earlier, and by 1860 both parties were equally determined to come to blows. The 1860 conflagration was a repetition and sequel to the inconclusive 1841 and 1845 contests, “distinguished by circumstances of more than usual brutality.”⁵ The contradictory logic of the two parties had only been exacerbated by the failure of either to impose its own views, leading each party, imbued with a feeling of self-righteousness, to perceive the “Other” as an aggressor, and its fight as a legitimate act of self-defense.

The exceptional ferocity of the ensuing fight can be attributed to the force each party drew from these intense perceptions of the conflict. “To depict therefore the quarrel between the Druzes and the Maronites as an onslaught of savage heathens on the inoffensive followers of Christian religion is a simple misinterpretation. It was a feud between two equally barbarous tribes in which the victors inflicted on their enemies the fate with which they themselves had been threatened.”⁶ Only total victory could satisfy the ambitions of either side.

Hostilities in Dayr-al-Qamar, Zahla, Rashaya, and Hasbaya led to the massacre of some 6,000 Christians, the displacement of 20,000 others, and the devastation of 200 villages, including the two most prosperous Christian towns, Dayr-al-Qamar (8,000 inhabitants) and Zahla (7,000–10,000 inhabitants).⁷ It was the Christians of the mixed districts who paid the heaviest price. Abandoned by their brethren in the north, they had once more taken the brunt of the Druze attack. The northern Christian sector was spared any military confrontation, and the contribution of its Maronite inhabitants was limited to one or two unsuccessful sallies at the start of the conflict. Thereafter, the young popular leader, Yusuf Karam, gathered a small force and rushed to the Matn, but he confined himself to a policy of cautious expectation and procrastination. The Comte de Paris, who was visiting the northern regions of Mount Lebanon at the time, described the bellicose preparations and demonstrations of the Maronites of this sector, but he regretted that they did not make use of their ardor under the walls of Zahla and Dayr-al-Qamar. In his view, they were “thoughtless and light-minded,” and totally oblivious of “the duties that in a nation each should observe in order to ensure the welfare of all" [my italics].⁸

This lack of determination to defend the “Maronite cause” among the Christians of the north was aggravated by the absence of any generally recognized leadership and total disorganization. The Christian troops consisting, as in 1841 and 1845, of small bands organized along parochial lines by village, family groups, or region balked at any sort of coordination of their efforts around some basic strategy. During one of their first assaults they were even reported to have shot at each other. As for the traditional political and military leaders of the community—the Emirs, shaykhs, and muqata'jis, many of whom had already been expelled from the Mountain by their peasants—they remained mostly aloof, secretly hoping for a Druze victory, which in their eyes represented the triumph of the old order of things.⁹ The clergy tried as hard as it could to organize and unify the efforts of their flock. But, the Church was apparently overwhelmed by the disunity and anarchy prevailing in the Christian camp, and soon after the first military reverses it tried as hard as it could to seek peace.¹⁰

Nor were the Christians in the heat of battle more united. The Maronites of Dayr-al-Qamar, who had been the most vociferous in denouncing the intolerable tyranny of Druze dominance, “found themselves perplexed and utterly at variance with each other on how to act . . . when . . . the storm suddenly gathered round them. . . . Thus, even in the extremity of their distress, the Christians were wavering and divided.”¹¹

Hence, in 1860 as in 1841 and 1845, it was in great part the divisions of the Maronites and their conflicting interests, their lack of solidarity and concern for an alleged Maronite cause that accounted for their military defeat. This time, though, their military rout was decisive and their presence almost obliterated from the mixed districts. The hope of the Christians of these regions, vainly encouraged by their northern brethren and the clergy, to abolish Druze dominance had totally miscarried, and the project of the Church to establish Christian ascendancy over the whole Mountain had seemingly received a deadly blow. The disunity of the Maronites once more demonstrated the discrepancy between the ambitious plans of the clergy and concrete realities. Expressing this general conclusion, the French consul in Beirut, Bentivoglio, wrote on July 15: “The time to dream of unattainable independence has passed. The Christians have suffered a major setback and have to start over. But it is to be hoped that they will be wiser in the future and that they will not be forced to wage pointless, ruinous wars.”¹²

Paradoxically, however, it was to their devastating defeat and the consequent general Western outrage aroused by the massacres perpetrated by the Druzes that the Maronites owed their rescue. Once more, Maronite military reverses were turned into qualified political victory by Western, and especially French, intervention.

THE INTERNATIONAL RESPONSE

News of events in Lebanon began to reach Europe in the first days of July 1860, arousing the indignation of the Western public, the press, and official circles. The French government, which acted as the motor for European intervention during the whole crisis, quickly took the initiative. On July 6, the French minister for foreign affairs, Edouard Thouvenel, suggested setting up a European commission that would meet to reexamine and eventually revise the 1842–45 arrangements for Mount Lebanon and adopt measures guaranteeing against the recurrence of hostilities.¹³ This first limited proposal of Thouvenel was, however, quickly overshadowed by a much bolder one following reports of massacres in Damascus, which occurred shortly thereafter, between July 9 and 12.

The Damascus massacres altered the scale and significance to the whole crisis. Matters were no longer confined to a small portion of the Ottoman Empire, where the trials of two warring factions had formerly warranted the intervention of the European powers and the formulation of a special kind of administration. This time the tranquil and unarmed Christian population of one of the main towns of the Ottoman Empire had been slain without warning. The European reaction, public opinion and official circles alike, was at first indignant. Doubts were raised about the ability of the Ottoman authorities to govern these provinces, and indeed about the viability of the whole Ottoman Empire. The awakening of Muslim fanaticism was loudly denounced and its consequences feared.

The French minister again took the initiative, proposing the dispatch of a joint European military force to protect the Christian presence, contain the perceived Muslim fever, and restore order. With a deep sense of urgency and a hint of panic, he wrote to the other European courts: “At this time, do we know whether the carnage . . . will extend farther and whether Christian blood may be flowing in Aleppo, Diarbekir, Jerusalem, everywhere, in a word, where populations are confronted by fanaticism, stirred up by what has happened in Damascus and in Lebanon?”¹⁴

In such an inflamed atmosphere, Thouvenel was able to gain consent for his two proposals, albeit with serious misgivings by some, from the five European powers and the Porte for the establishment of a European Commission entrusted with the task of investigating the causes of the latest events and proposing measures guaranteeing against their recurrence, as well as for the dispatch of a French force to Syria to help the Ottoman authorities restore order and security. A convention for the deployment of a French force for a limited duration of six months was signed in Paris on August 3, and some 6,000 French soldiers left France for Syria.¹⁵ The Porte gave its consent to the convening of the commission on the condition that its deliberations be confined to revisions of the status of the Mountain. At the same time, the Ottoman government dispatched Fuad Pasha, minister for foreign affairs, as special envoy to Syria with full powers to adopt any measure he deemed fit in order to restore order and peace in the hope that such measures would undercut European intervention. He would fulfill this task impeccably.

The Damascus massacres had an equally critical effect on a more conceptual level. They altered and blurred the general perception of the events of 1860 in Mount Lebanon. The specific causes and origins of the latter became identified with those of Damascus and were solely attributed to an outburst of Muslim fanaticism aiming at eradicating the Christian presence in the region. In other words, the Damascus massacres obscured the specific political and socioeconomic factors of the outbreak of hostilities in Lebanon and vindicated the view attributing them exclusively to the baleful designs of an inflamed Muslim fanaticism. In simple terms, this view translated, in the case of Lebanon, into an Ottoman–Druze conspiracy to slay the innocent Maronites in the Mountain. Many French circles and publicists adopted this interpretation of events, conjecturing about the main intricacies and instigators of this baleful Muslim plot.¹⁶

These perceptions of the nature of the Syrian—Lebanese events altered accordingly the formulation of a solution for Lebanon. The ill-defined privileges of the Mountain, which some European powers, and especially France, had striven to defend in the early 1840s as a safeguard to the Lebanese or as an acquired right warranted by alleged historical antecedents,¹⁷ were now vindicated by new factors requiring more radical solutions. These alleged privileges were presented by many in Europe, and especially in France, as an essential guarantee against the failures of the Ottoman administration and a necessary protection for the Christians of this region against the perceived fanatical Muslim population. Their confirmation was not only solicited, but claims for their extension formulated, often reaching fantastic dimensions, such as the establishment of a Christian kingdom governed by a European prince.¹⁸ Naturally, the question arose as to why the Christians of Mount Lebanon alone should benefit from these guarantees and privileges, since the same causes and origins were attributed to the Damascus massacres. But for considerations soon to be examined, the solutions devised under the specter of these latter massacres were adopted only for Mount Lebanon. Thus, the Lebanese alone ultimately reaped the fruits of the horror provoked by the Damascene Vespers.

Yet, it is important when dealing with contemporary perceptions of the Lebanese and Syrian crisis to distinguish among the differing approaches and conclusions drawn in Europe by unofficial circles and by governments. If, very often, officials shared the general public outrage and its dismal views with regard to the ability of the Ottoman government to regenerate the Empire, their official stances were much more reserved and cautious. Edified by their former experience, and cognizant of the complexity of the issue, they realized that no simple solution existed to the Ottoman predicament. The essence of the problem lay in the fact that the fate of the Syrian provinces was closely linked to that of the Ottoman Empire as a whole. Any misstep could risk opening the whole Eastern Question, a prospect that all the European powers preferred to avoid.

These kinds of considerations constrained the action of the European governments, compelling them to avoid confrontations and seek compromises. Their basic determination to hold on to the principle of the integrity of the Ottoman Empire, the only and best guarantee against their own conflicting ambitions and aspirations and a potential European war, led them to water down initial proposals to restructure the whole Syrian province and to agree on a more limited and conciliatory objective. The 1861 Règlement for Mount Lebanon was the result of this general compromise.

In contrast, European unofficial circles were less sensitive to the petty constraints of international politics, which were quite often misunderstood and denounced by the press, especially so in France. French commentators and publicists who had extolled the bold and firm measures adopted by its government at the beginning of the crisis were eventually disappointed by their poor results. High expectations of a decisive and comprehensive solution for the Christians of Lebanon contrasted sharply with the semi-autonomous status stipulated by the Règlement of 1861, which was thus perceived as a French defeat and a joint Turkish—British victory. Several commentaries and pamphlets appeared condemning the dictates of the diplomats and their lack of discernment. In short, they were accused of having failed the Christians of the Levant.¹⁹

The differing approaches of the French official and unofficial circles to the crisis once more had immediate repercussions in Mount Lebanon, which were, in turn, further complicated by the fact that local French officials on the spot were themselves at variance with one another. Local parties discerned with difficulty these nuances and variations in French attitudes, which they often confused, thus generating many misunderstandings and disappointments. The following sections follow the impact in Mount Lebanon proper of official and unofficial French views and their interaction with those of the Lebanese themselves, focusing on three different but interlinked types of activities, which distinguished official French action: the working of the European Commission in Beirut, the action and impact of the French Expeditionary Force, and the policy adopted by the French government. Although all three were supposed to translate one same orientation, they differed in approach and conclusions.

THE WORKINGS OF THE EUROPEAN COMMISSION

The European Commission began its work in Beirut on October 5, 1860.²⁰ The five European commissioners,²¹ who had received similar instructions from their governments, were directed, first, to determine the causes and origins of the latest events in Syria, to ascertain the responsibility of the chiefs of the insurrection and of the Ottoman officials and bring the culprits to justice; second, to determine the extent of the losses of the Christian population and to devise the appropriate means to indemnify the victims; and, finally, to prevent the recurrence of such events, through whatever modifications deemed necessary to the organization of the Mountain.²² Furthermore, they were enjoined to devise a common final report, thus encouraging some conciliation and cooperation in their work.²³ At the same time, they had to defend the contradictory views and policies of their governments and the interests of their local protégés, which limited flexibility in their delicate negotiations.

By the end of the day, serious disagreements among all parties and especially France, on the one hand, and Great Britain and the Ottoman government, on the other, obstructed the formulation of one common report. This situation compelled the commissioners to present to their ambassadors and to the officials of the Porte, who were to have the final say on the issue, two different projects for the reorganization of Lebanon, each one accompanied by the particular reservations of the French and British commissioners. The first, based on the 1842–45 arrangements, provided for the establishment of three separate districts, one for each of the Maronite, Druze, and Greek Orthodox communities, and the segregation of the populations of the Mountain in order to fit these new administrative units. It was opposed by the French commissioner, Leon Béclard. The second one, inspired by the pre-1840 situation, stipulated a reunified Mount Lebanon administered by a Christian governor. It was strongly criticized by the British commissioner, Lord Dufferin.

These two plans did not represent the option favored by the European representatives, who aimed at a complete reorganization of the Syrian provinces. But, they were brought, against their own better judgment, to abandon this initial stance and to fall back reluctantly on the two projects designed for Lebanon alone.

Therefore, the significance of the workings of the European Commission should not be judged solely on the basis of the two resulting projects presented to Istanbul. A fair assessment of its labors should rather include the representatives’ analysis of the situation and the different alternatives they considered, which represented a unique attempt at the definition, analysis, and solution of problems of the region. The meetings of the commission also had a critical impact on the local population and a significant effect on the subsequent development of local nationalist ideas.

Indeed, the meeting of the commission in Beirut was in itself an unprecedented occurrence for the local inhabitants. They were aware of the purpose of its mission, and they indirectly joined in its workings. Even though the commissioners did not try to consult them, local parties closely followed the various alternatives proposed, which were apparently widely circulated; they carefully considered them, and rejected or supported them, to the best of their abilities. All kinds of projects were circulated, ranging from some minor reforms in the Ottoman administration of Syria to the virtual independence of this province from the Ottoman Empire. Imaginary prospective maps were drawn and redrawn. Several candidates were examined to fill in the eventual positions of prince, viceroy, governor. The question of Mount Lebanon and the issue of its closer assimilation with the other Syrian provinces, or the extension of its administrative autonomy and boundaries, were closely scrutinized.

If we take into consideration the diverse alternatives examined by the commissioners, those suggested by the press and the pamphleteers, and those that circulated among the inhabitants, it is remarkable to note that all the nationalist ideas and options that would be adopted by some local party or other, from 1860 until 1920, were formulated and examined at this time. A regenerated and strengthened Ottoman Empire, a semi-independent Greater Syria or Greater Lebanon, an independent or only autonomous Smaller Lebanon within a Greater Syria, an Arab kingdom in the whole of Syria or a Muslim Arab kingdom in the interior, and a Christian principality on the coast: all of these alternatives, to mention only the most prominent, surfaced then.²⁴

The terms of the nationalist quest and debate that occupied the elites of this region until the outbreak of World War I were thus all set during the two decisive years of 1860 and 1861. Future Arab, Syrian, Lebanese, and Ottoman nationalists did not develop any new alternatives out of those that had been elaborated then, and only fell back upon, pondered, and developed the ones already at hand during the half-century that separated them from the date when their ultimate fate was decided. Similarly, the European powers often recalled the options examined then, when subsequent crises led them to envisage alternatives to the Ottoman Empire.

Thus, the impact and significance of the meeting of the European Commission for the future of the region largely transcend its mere workings or its final conclusions. It represented the first serious examination of the Syrian and Lebanese questions and served as a source of inspiration and reference for the future. Its deliberations deserve, therefore, close scrutiny.

Initially, the European representatives devoted a considerable time—twenty-five out of twenty-nine sessions—to determining the responsibility for the latest events and the retribution and indemnities to be assigned.²⁵ They did not formally begin their examination of the reorganization of Lebanon before March 1861. However, during that time, important informal negotiations did take place between the commissioners on the future of Syria and Lebanon.

The tone was set in the first days of November by the British commissioner, Lord Dufferin, who elaborated a plan for the reorganization of the whole of Syria.²⁶ Attributing the causes of the events first and foremost to a deficient and weak Ottoman administration in Syria, linked to a sorry state of things in Istanbul, Dufferin's project confronted this issue outright. He proposed the establishment of a strong and centralized administration in Syria, virtually independent from Istanbul, and under the supervision of the European powers. The whole of Syria was to be unified into a single administrative district and entrusted to one governor-general chosen by the Porte in conjunction with the great powers. In order to shoulder his responsibilities, the governor-general of Syria would have to be empowered with adequate means to fulfill his mission. The financial policy of the administration would need to be locally determined and controlled and sufficient troops permanently quartered in this province. The Ottoman minister for foreign affairs, Fuad Pasha, Dufferin believed, represented the most appropriate candidate for the position of governor-general.²⁷

Rightly suspecting that the main objection to his plan lay in the fact that the reorganization of Syria into a single province and the investment of the governor-general with such extraordinary prerogatives might be construed as inaugurating the dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire, the British commissioner emphasized the fact that the new governor of Syria was to remain “the servant of the Sultan, and the governor, not the viceroy of the Province.” Furthermore, he added, with a touch of skepticism, “the disconnection of Syria from the Porte ought to be of a nature to admit . . . its reincorporation in the Empire, should the day arise when a strong and capable government shall be established at Constantinople” [my italics]. At any rate, this solution, Dufferin asserted, was the best suited to ensure the welfare and security of the Syrian population, consisting of “ten distinct and uncivilized races . . . again split into very fanatical sects.”²⁸

Dufferin's proposal, as he explained, stemmed from his basic belief that the principle of fusion of these diverse populations was the proper panacea to their former divisions and trials: “As a general rule when you have to deal with a large population differing in their religious opinions, but perfectly assimilated in language, manners and habits of thought, the principle of fusion rather than that of separation is the one to be adopted. Religious beliefs ought not be converted into a geographical expression, and a wise government would insist upon the various subject sects subordinating their polemical to their civil relations with one another.”²⁹ Gradually, he added in his distinctive style, the “barbarous distinctions which have hitherto divided its inhabitants into innumerable tribes and sects, may be expected to soften down; differences of race and of religion will to a certain extent become subordinate to those social relations, which a community of interests will establish.”³⁰ The establishment of a strong and centralized government in Syria, Dufferin concluded, was the most appropriate arrangement to reach such a state of things.

Tackling the delicate issue of Lebanon, Dufferin identified two causes for its latest disturbances: the ambition of the Maronite clergy to establish Christian supremacy in the Mountain, which provoked the animosity of the other sects and especially that of the Druzes, as well as the dissatisfaction of the Ottoman authorities with the partial autonomy of Mount Lebanon and their continual schemes to stimulate the animosity of the Maronites and the Druzes in order to discredit the government of the Mountain. Furthermore, looking back at the regulations of 1845, Dufferin determined that both the Druzes and the Maronites had proven incapable of governing either themselves or each other. Therefore, he added: “If we had before us a tabula rasa, I would be inclined to say that the simplest and most practical arrangement would be to assimilate the Mountain to the rest of the pashalik and entrust its administration to the governor of the region.”³¹

Indeed, the British commissioner saw no reason to exempt Lebanon from what he believed to be a generally beneficial administration. Such a system, he contended, represented a better guarantee for the security of its Christian populations—and the Druzes for that matter—than their former “anomalous” and “ill-defined” privileges. “Such privileges are at best a bad expedient invented to protect those who enjoy them against the ill effects of a worse government. When a good government is in operation, they are an embarrassment to the rulers, and a disadvantage to the ruled.”³²

However, Dufferin clearly saw that France would never consent to despoil the Christian sector of Mount Lebanon of its former privileges, and that European public opinion would view with indignation any European intervention leading to a deprivation of former Christian privileges and the reestablishment of a reinforced Ottoman rule, a fact that might be construed as “handling them over in a still more defenceless condition to the tender mercies of their persecutors.” Therefore, he observed, a compromise must be sought “reconciling the practical with the sentimental exigencies of the situation.”³³ He thus advanced the idea of allowing the northern sector of Mount Lebanon, inhabited mainly by Christians, to retain its former relative autonomy under its qaimaqam, while leaving the rest of the Mountain under the same government as the remaining Syrian provinces. In order to mitigate the inconvenience of this necessary imperium into imperio, the British commissioner insisted that the qaimaqam should be appointed by the governor-general of Syria. Later on, at the request of the French commissioner, Béclard, he conceded the reunification of the whole Mountain, including the mixed sectors, on the condition that its administration be entrusted to a Christian non-native governor, who should differ in no respect from any other pasha of the province.

Dufferin's project, once disclosed, exerted a “real fascination”³⁴ over most people in Beirut. Its impact on some local groups and personalities, and its repercussions on the simultaneous emergence of the Syrianist ideal, expressed at the time by Butrus Bustani, is examined in chapter 5.³⁵ Just as important, however, was its effect on the workings of the European Commission.

When Dufferin revealed his plan to the European commissioners in a private meeting at his house on December 20, it rallied the unanimous approval of all of his colleagues.³⁶ Until February 1861, when peremptory instructions from the European courts, following strong protests from the Porte, enjoined the commissioners to confine their labors strictly to the reorganization of Lebanon, Dufferin's plan seemed to have won the day. At any rate, it remained the sole common denominator among all of the commissioners and the most complete and coherent project presented.

Surprisingly enough, the French commissioner was easily won over by the plan of his British colleague in this first phase of the negotiations. He has often been accused by contemporary publicists and many historians of having been a poor defender of French and Maronite interests, and of having been totally subjugated by the personalities of Dufferin and Fuad Pasha. In fact, this perceived weakness stemmed from the fact that, as time passed, his original convictions were shaken by his immediate experience of concrete realities. Moreover, Béclard seemed to have been genuinely swayed by the views of his British colleague. As a result, he acquired many doubts as to the propriety of the project that his government had asked him to defend.

Upon his arrival, Béclard was considering other alternatives. Influenced by the special instructions of his minister, who had enjoined him to defend as best as he could the interests of the Maronites,³⁷ and by some recurrent themes in traditional French policy, he intended to propose to the Commission the establishment of an independent Christian principality extending over Mount Lebanon and the adjoining seacoast.³⁸ After some time in Beirut, Béclard began to question some of his original views and to develop other opinions.

Shortly after the informal agreement of the European representatives to Dufferin's plan, Béclard sent a report to his minister in Paris, on December 28, 1860, arguing in favor of such a project. A total reorganization of Syria, he asserted, was “the only way to follow if we want to build something durable and serious.” Moreover, this idea did not disagree with the principle of the maintenance of the ancient privileges of the Christians of the Mountain to which his government seemed so attached. It presented the advantage of extending to the Christians of the Syrian province as a whole the privileges formerly enjoyed by those of Lebanon only. This combination, he went on, had a better chance of guaranteeing the security and happiness of the inhabitants of the Mountain than their alleged traditional privileges, which were, when closely examined, “almost illusory,” and apart from some rare occasions, “have not in the least guaranteed the security and the development of the interests of the [local] populations.”

The real banes of the Mountain, Béclard asserted, were the “feudal and the theocratic” systems, and their abolition would be much more beneficial to the Mountain than their confirmation. For that reason, the French commissioner spurned the restoration of a Shihabi prince, the embodiment of this abhorred “feudal” system, and representative of the old order.

It was therefore reluctantly that Béclard was brought, on the express injunctions of his minister, to abandon a plan he favored and to defend another about which he held grave reservations. His mission in this sense was facilitated by the fact that in the last phase of the negotiations, when the commission had put aside the plan for Syria and was working on one for Lebanon only, Béclard was not as isolated as he originally had been. Indeed, an intense diplomatic offensive by the French minister for foreign affairs had in the meantime laid the ground for acceptance by the Austrian, Prussian, and Russian governments of the principle of the establishment of a unitary Christian government over the entire Mountain. His British colleague was then outnumbered and unwillingly rallied to the last plan devised, providing for a semi-autonomous united Lebanon administered by a Christian governor. The question of whether the governor should be a native or not was left open for negotiations in Istanbul between the European ambassadors and the Porte. But, even after the commission's adoption of this last option, favored by his government, Béclard remained of opinion that “establishing a strong government for the Mountain is possible—I can say with complete assurance—only if Syria is administratively detached from the rest of the empire. Only a strong central authority in Damascus can guarantee that the new situation in Lebanon will be maintained.”³⁹

The setting of the Lebanese question within the general Syrian context had therefore imparted an altogether different scope to the problem. It brought the two leading commissioners to seriously question the opportunity of confirming the so-called privileges of the Mountain. Béclard and Dufferin were of the opinion that an improvement in the administration of the entire Syrian province represented the appropriate formula to guarantee a better and more secure future for the Christians of this region in general, and those of Lebanon in particular.⁴⁰ The two commissioners perceived the main danger facing the Christians of the province as stemming from a deficient administration, detrimental to its Christian and Muslim populations alike, rather than from the presumed fanaticism of its Muslim population. They believed that an improvement in living conditions under a strong and secular government, which would endeavor to assimilate them on the basis of equal civil and political rights, regardless of religious differences, would gradually and necessarily attenuate the current tensions and animosities and eventually ensure the emergence of a harmonious polity. This solution sought to ensure the security of all of the Christians of the region through the welfare of all of its inhabitants.

In other words, this view posited that the security of the Christians could not be guaranteed against, but in conjunction with, that of the Muslim population. Religious differences should not be accentuated but toned down through the application of the principle of the assimilation of the diverse populations under one beneficial government, whereas the confirmation of religious differences, through their institutional and geographical sanction, would only lead to more conflicts and wars. Moreover, the establishment of a separate Christian entity along the coast could not solve the problem. It could only pit the Christians living in this new state against those of the Muslim interior and endanger the fate of those living inside and outside that state.⁴¹ In addition, it begged the question as to why the Christians of the interior should not benefit from the guarantees and privileges granted to those on the coast.

In contrast, the establishment of an independent Christian Greater Lebanon, disconnected from its Muslim Syrian interior, was then energetically defended by the commander-in-chief of the French Expeditionary Force, by most French publicists, and by the Maronite clergy. It was based on another perception of the Lebanese and Syrian questions that commanded a different sort of solution. Its emergence at that time opened up another episode in the development of the “Franco-Lebanese dream” that had fascinated certain Maronite and French circles for years past.

THE FRENCH EXPEDITION

The first detachments of the French Expeditionary Force reached Beirut at the beginning of August 1860. Officially, its mission consisted of helping the Ottoman authorities reestablish law and order, in coordination with the special representative of the Sultan, Fuad Pasha. From the start, however, this specific and straightforward task was shrouded in ambiguity and misunderstandings. The novelty of the force's role, consisting of a sort of peace-keeping mission avant l'heure, was quite perplexing for this epoch. The force was not sent to wage war against any enemy. Nor was it to intervene in or stop any ongoing fighting since hostilities had already ended by the time of its landing. Military speaking, its presence was therefore unnecessary. It was only meant to assist the repressive and pacificatory efforts of the Ottoman authorities, if and where need be. Ultimately, given the reluctance of Fuad Pasha to allow it to play any significant role, the French force proved redundant.

The mission of the French force was essentially moral and preventive. Its dispatch was understood by its proponents as a symbolic warning from Europe to the perceived fanatical population and a sort of guarantee against the recurrence of new massacres. But, the mere presence of these French troops, as well as the political activity of its commander-in-chief, General Beaufort d'Hautpoul, conferred much more significance to this unprecedented European military enterprise in the Asiatic provinces of the Ottoman Empire than its limited character warranted. Local Maronite circles and French officials and publicists also contributed to the enhancement of the import of this experiment.

For many Frenchmen, the dispatch of French forces augured a more interventionist French policy in the Levant. Catholic circles, outraged by the massacre of Christians by perceived fanatical Muslims, cried out for vengeance. For them, retribution was to be twofold. It would avenge the blood of the recently slain Christians and would by the same token allow redress for the Crusaders’ debacle. Their views hardly disguised their feeling that a new round in the long-standing conflict between Christian and Muslim worlds had been opened. They hinted at the persistence of a certain Western historical vision and worldview imparting a religious character to the conflict between West and East and to the renewed appeal of the Crusader episode. The French press, as well as many contemporary pamphlets and narratives, were full of these kinds of allusions. Hence, the renowned Orientalist and future ambassador to Istanbul, Melchior de Vogüé, wrote on the eve of the arrival of the French forces in Syria: “It is as Christians, as adversaries of Islamism, that the Maronites, the peaceful residents of Damascus and other places, were massacred; it is as Christians that we must avenge them. The Cross has been deeply wronged; now it is the Crescent's turn. The whole of Christian civilization has been challenged; let it show its power.”⁴² As for the publicist Baptistin Poujoulat, the analogy between the departing French forces and the Crusaders, was crystal clear: “What did our ancient Crusaders intend to do in the East? Exactly what the expeditionary army of 1860 is going to do: wage war against Muslim barbarity. Let there be no mistake, then: the French soldiers . . . are also Crusaders. The aim of the West's expedition to the East in the Middle Ages was no different from the aim of today's expedition: to drive Islamism back into the desert, where it should always have remained.”⁴³ With more verve still, some were dreaming of a new Godeffroy de Bouillon who would soon enter Ste. Sophie,⁴⁴ or of the revival of the Frankish kingdom in the Levant and the restoration of the Byzantine Empire in Constantinople.⁴⁵

Even Napoleon III, who did not share the blind enthusiasm of Catholic circles, for whose satisfaction he had mainly undertaken this adventure in the Levant, could not prevent himself from alluding to these glorious and momentous historical events in an address to the departing French soldiers: “You are not going to wage war against any nation but to help the Sultan bring back to obedience subjects blinded by a fanaticism from another century. You will do your duty in this land far away, rich in memories, and you will show yourselves the dignified children of those heroes who gloriously brought the banner of Christ to that land.”⁴⁶ Beaufort, for his part, admonished his soldiers at the beginning of their mission, reminding them that in “these famous lands Christianity was born, and Godeffroy de Bouillon and the Crusaders, General Bonaparte, and the heroic soldiers of the Republic honored themselves. There you will find again glorious and patriotic memories.”⁴⁷

For their part, some French liberal circles, less sensitive to these overwrought religious sentiments, were advocating an emancipation of the Christians of the Ottoman Empire from the Ottoman hold in the name of civilization and the then-popular principle of nationalities. In their view, the end of the Ottoman Empire was inevitable and the diverse Christian nationalities that inhabited it were the legitimate and rightful heirs to its provinces. Such an option also had the advantage of avoiding a perilous annexation of Ottoman territories by foreign countries, and especially Russia. Expressing such an opinion, the French former deputy, Saint Marc Girardin, asserted: “Neither the Turks nor the Russians! . . . There is in the Orient others than the Russians to replace the Turks: There are the Christian of the Orient . . . since the principle of nationalities, if it is bound to prevail somewhere, must prevail above all in the Orient.”⁴⁸

French nationalist circles, finally, more concerned about the prestige of France and its international influence, extolled the firm policy of their government in 1860, secretly anticipating a reassertion of France's former supremacy in the Levant and a revival of its international glory. The French expedition of 1860 presented an opportunity to reverse the effects of 1840, when a coalition of four European powers and the Ottomans had ousted France's protégé, Muhammad Ali, from Syria and, indeed, to reverse the whole balance of power established in Europe in 1815. At any rate, the nationalists argued, since the expansionist drive of the West “had become the main characteristic of our epoch,” France had to follow an aggressive policy in the Levant if it wanted to retain its prestige and position as a great power.⁴⁹ Finally, in this same expansionist spirit, certain business and financial circles were beginning to perceive the potential of the Syrian market and welcomed an initiative that should reassert France's political, economic, and trading position.⁵⁰

For the Maronite clergy, and indeed for many Maronites, the French expedition represented the realization of an unhoped-for salvation. Though it came too late to save the Maronites from their crushing military defeat and tragedy, it was welcomed as an unanticipated event that would allow them to compensate for their military setbacks. The landing of the French forces bolstered the position of the Maronites, and, as a token of his deep gratitude, the Maronite Patriarch, Mgr Boulos Mas'ad, wrote a letter to Napoleon III, underlining the fact that the manifestation of his interest for the Maronites had “saved them from the abyss” and occurred just at “the moment when despair was filling our heart.” He also expressed his confidence that the emperor would press for the adoption of the appropriate measures to ensure the security of the Maronites and the Christians in all Syria.⁵¹

BEAUFORT'S PLAN

In this emotionally charged atmosphere, it is not surprising that the commander-in-chief of the French force forgot the strictly limited terms of his mission. At its start, General Beaufort d'Hautpoul had wished for the direct participation of his forces in the repressive and pacificatory efforts of Fuad Pasha.⁵² He had secretly aspired to make massive arrests among the Druze population, if not to engage them militarily, and to deploy the French forces in Damascus and the Syrian interior.⁵³ He was thwarted by Fuad Pasha, who did his utmost to prove the presence of the French Expeditionary Force redundant, if not detrimental. As a result, the contribution of the French force was limited to deployment in the mixed districts and the Bekaa Valley, after the flight of most of the Druze warriors, as a moral guarantee to the returning Christians; for lack of any military task, they acted as masons and carpenters, helping the Christians of these sectors to rebuild their houses.

The frustrated general consequently endeavored to meddle in political affairs. He was dissatisfied with the European Commission's approach to the Lebanese question and was anxious to press for a solution more congenial to his own views. Writing to the French minister of foreign affairs, he began to assert that his mission was really “more political than military.”⁵⁴ As he understood it, his mission and that of the French forces was to ensure a secure future for the Christians of Lebanon, and he made it his responsibility to achieve this aim before leaving the region.

The commander-in-chief of the French expedition had some clear ideas about the future of Lebanon and of the region. He knew Syria well, having joined the Egyptian army in the 1830s, when he acted as aide-de-camp to the commander of the Egyptian forces, Sulayman Pasha, and participated in his Syrian campaigns.⁵⁵ At that time, he had also visited the late Emir Bashir II in his palace in Bayt al-Din and was apparently quite impressed by his personality. Beaufort was therefore inclined from the start toward a restoration of the Shihabi Emirate on a more sound and firm basis.

Map of Lebanon from a survey by the topographical service of the 1860-61 French Expeditionary Force for Syria, deposited in the archives of the war ministry. Paris: Lemercier, 1862.

Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France

All along, Beaufort's views remained articulated around this same premise. In his opinion, the European Commission's favored plan aiming at a complete restructuring of Syria and a reorganization of Lebanon within the framework of the other Syrian provinces was unacceptable and, at any rate, inopportune. To begin with, the idea of restoring any sort of Ottoman authority over the Christians of Lebanon seemed totally abhorrent to him: “While the necessities of the political entente in Europe require that the integrity of the Ottoman Empire be preserved, humanity and civilization require that the Christians of the East, whose ancient privileges give them indisputable rights, be delivered once and for all from the incessant dangers of the Muslim fanaticism fostered by the interference of Porte agents in the country's administration.”