The beauty and tragedy of Lebanon

I was thinking about tragedy. Could one use the term ‘chronically tragic’? My first instinct is against. Tragedy is the soul-ravaging final scene of Othello or King Lear, when hope is overpowered by implacable despair. In Kent’s words: ‘Break, heart; I prithee, break.’ Flesh and blood could not withstand such emotional intensity in chronic form. Then again, how else can we describe the modern history of Lebanon?

I have just heard of the passing of a splendid old girl. Yvonne Sursock was caught up in the terrible explosion which shattered Beirut at the start of August. Being a tough old bird, she lived for more than two weeks. Being 98, she succumbed. Yvonne could claim kinship with most of the Christian great and good along the Mediterranean littoral. I first met her 30 years ago, in her small palace in Ashrafieh, just before a further phase in the Lebanese civil war.