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437 pages, Paperback
Published September 7, 1993
On both sides, mountains tumble down steeply and meet in the valley at a sharp angle, leaving barely enough room for a thin river and a road running beside it. It all reminds one of an oversize half-opened book, the pages of which, standing up stiffly on each side, are generously illustrated with gardens, streets, houses, fields, cemeteries, and mosques.
After his early quests and experiences, he was soon drawn to the Revolution, together with millions of other people; and the Revolution became his private, all-exclusive destiny. A volume of his verse and two or three ambitious flings at historical and social plays remained tucked in a drawer; he gave up his modest job of apprentice clerk in the government. Jean Daville became a journalist. He still published verses and literary articles, but now his main interest was the Constituent Assembly; he poured his youth and all the enthusiasm of which he was capable into exhaustive reports of its proceedings. But under the grindstone of the Revolution all things crumbled, changed their substance, and vanished, swiftly and without leaving a trace. It was like a dream. Men passed rapidly and directly from position to position, from honor to honor, from infamy to death, from poverty to fame, some moving in one direction, others in the opposite.
“I was not sent here to have wool pulled over my eyes, or to smoke chibouks with you, or lounge around on these cushions,� concluded the Vizier, “but to make order in this country which is famed all the way to Istanbul for taking pride in its disorder. There’s an axe for every head, even the hardest. Now you still have your heads, I have the axe in my hand, and the Sultan’s firman is under my cushion here. Let each man who wants to eat his bread and see the sun, behave and act accordingly. Make a note of this and then tell your people, so that together we can begin to do things which the Sultan wants us to do.�