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The Armenian Weekly; Volume 73, No. 35; Sept. 1, 2007

Literature and Arts:

1. Ambassador Morgenthau’s Formal Dinner
By Kay Mouradian

2. Redemption’s `The Origins of Ruin’ Leaves You Wanting More
By Simon Beugekian

3. 3. Three Poems by Seta Krikorian
Translated by Tatul-Sonents
***

1. Ambassador Morgenthau’s Formal Dinner
By Kay Mouradian

Over the past two months, the Armenian Weekly has published a series
of short stories on U.S. Ambassador to Turkey Henry Morgenthau by Kay
Mouradian, the author of A Gift in the Sunlight. To watch an interview
with Mouradian, visit

(February , 1914)

Row upon row of carriages and automobiles lined the street by the
American embassy. Foreign ambassadors and ministers in full regalia
and accompanied by their wives walked up the marble stairs to the
embassy’s entrance. Turkish leaders, whose wives never appeared in
public, arrived with their bodyguards.

Feeling dapper in a new tuxedo, Henry Morgenthau stood with his wife,
Josie, and personally introduced the new Ambassadress to each
guest. After the last visitor was greeted, Morgenthau and his wife
walked into the dining room. A long elaborate table was set for
thirty-eight people. Fresh flowers and flickering light from candles
set in multi-tiered silver candelabra gave the room a warm and
inviting feeling.

Morgenthau stood at the center of the table and watched his staff seat
the Turkish officials according to strict protocol, starting with the
Grand Vizier, Halim Pasha, the Oxford educated Egyptian prince. Halim
was a handsome, slightly built man of sixty, notably the most refined
Ottoman leader, and many expected him to the most
powerful. Generalissimo Enver Pasha, the Minister of War, young,
dashing, delicately handsome and suave, his gait suggesting arrogance
and pride. Jemal Pasha, Minister of Marine, his ungroomed beard not
quite covering pocks, was in a friendly and cheerful mood. His eyes
were small and dark, and something about them made Morgenthau
uneasy. And Talaat, the real power in Turkey, was the last of the four
to be seated.

Morgenthau noted an unhappy Limon von Sanders hesitating to be
seated. The German General assigned to train the Turkish army was in
an animated disagreement with Schmavonian and Mr. Phillip. Finally,
Phillip coaxed the General to take the last seat, the least important
one at the table.

Morgenthau raised his glass of champagne and said, `As the personal
representative of President Wilson, I welcome you to the American
Embassy.’ He took a sip and everyone followed. When he sat down, an
army of waiters paraded into the room and served each guest a bowl of
steaming asparagus soup. He watched his wife, sitting opposite him and
sandwiched between Jemal and Sir Louis Mallet, the British Ambassador,
try to converse with Jemal in her limited French. He became amused
watching Ambassador Mallet continually putting down spoonfuls of soup
as he interpreted for her. Poor Mallet, he thought. His musing was
broken when Halim Pasha, sitting to his right, asked, `When are you
leaving for Egypt?’

`Perhaps the first week in April,’ Morgenthau answered. `Maybe
earlier. It depends upon when the repairs for our ship are
completed. The work is being done in Athens.’

`I will send a letter of introduction to my cousin, the Khedive.’ The
Grand Vizier’s aristocratic background rang through his cultured
speech.

`Thank you. Introductions always ease the required formality.’
Morgenthau hesitated and said, `Ambassador Mallet said he will also
alert the British Resident, Lord Kitchener, of my arrival.’ When Halim
did not immediately respond, Morgenthau realized he should have
followed his intuition and not mentioned Kitchener.

Then, a disturbed Halim said, `Mr. Ambassador, I have strong feelings
about the British. They came to Egypt, put down a rebellion and never
left. They have assumed the role as protectorate.’ His tone became
unusually cool. `But remember, Egypt is still part of the Ottoman
Empire.’

`Yes, of course,’ Morgenthau quickly responded as he remembered an
earlier conversation when Mallet revealed his suspicion that Halim’s
greatest ambition was to become Khedive. `I, too, look forward to the
day when your country is no longer dependent upon the Europeans,’
Morgenthau said. `I understand the immensity of your task and want to
be helpful whenever I can.’

`We appreciate your efforts,’ a recollected and poised Halim said.

Morgenthau was anxious to change the subject. He did not fully
understand the composition of the Ottoman Empire. It was
fragmented. Yemen acted as if it were autonomous. Likewise, the Jews
in Palestine longed for that same autonomy. Lebanon was autonomous,
had a Christian governor and was ruled by the six European
powers. Armenia was making demands, and Syria and other Arab
countries, with their numerous and dissident tribes, had no
aspirations for independence. They were non assimilated nations within
the empire.

Morgenthau looked over to his daughter, Helen, who was chatting in
German with Enver, the Minister of War. He suppressed a smile. If he
didn’t know better he would have thought his daughter was flirting
with the handsome Turk. Good thing her husband was sailing the
Atlantic on his way to New York and couldn’t see her behavior!

Several courses later dessert arrived. Hot apple pie with vanilla ice
cream. And American coffee. Morgenthau was not terribly fond of the
strong Turkish coffee.

Meanwhile another ninety guests, mostly high ranking embassy officials
and prominent businessmen, had gathered in the ballroom for a
post-dinner dance with the expectation of a midnight buffet. Most were
standing, chatting and drinking fine French champagne. A few danced to
the orchestra’s music.

After dinner Ambassador Morgenthau escorted his wife into the crowded
ballroom. He raised his arms high and the music stopped. `Ladies and
gentlemen, I’d like to introduce my wife, Josie, the American
Ambassadress.’

There was applause, the music picked up a fox trot beat, and
Morgenthau and Josie moved smoothly across the dance floor, showing
everyone their classy style. Still holding Josie in a dance position
as the music ended, he noticed Talaat walking toward them, his huge
bushy mustache and congenial lips widening into a smile.

`I enjoyed watching you move across the floor so gracefully,’ Talaat
said. He tilted his chin up. `Me, I’m clumsy on the dance floor.’ He
looked into Mrs. Morgenthau’s soft blue eyes and said, `I hope you
will enjoy your stay in our charming city.’

`I am already!’

`We are indebted to your husband.’ He turned to Morgenthau and said,
`I have good news. France agreed to the loan.’

Morgenthau smiled. `I’m glad I could help.’ He had advised Talaat on
some negotiating strategies.

`I want your husband to become part of our Cabinet,’ Talaat said to
Josie.

`He told me of your offer.’ She laughed. `Our friends at home are
calling him, Henry, the Pasha!’

Talaat gave Morgenthau a friendly slap on his back. `I can relax
around Morgenthau Pasha. I trust him.’ Then he noticed the German
ambassador motioning to him. Talaat bowed his head to Josie, `I am
always at your service, Mrs. Ambassador.’ With a self-assured stride,
he walked over to the German ambassador.

`He’s huge,’ Josie said. `I see why people think he’s intimidating.’

`Mrs. Morgenthau,’ a feminine voice called out. Two women, wives of
Russian diplomats, approached.

`You’re in demand,’ Morgenthau whispered to his wife. Introducing the
women to Josie, he said, `Mrs. Giers and Mrs. Ponafidine are prominent
members of the committee to abolish the white slave traffic in
Constantinople.’ He left them to their conversation and guessed that
before the evening was over Josie would be asked to join the
distinguished committee. Constantinople was the center for the
trafficking.

`Ambassador!’ It was Mr. Phillip rapidly approaching. `We have a
problem, Sir. General von Sanders was not pleased with his seat
assignment.’

`I wondered,’ Morgenthau said. `I thought he looked upset.’

`Yes, he was, to put it mildly. He felt his rank is higher than those
of the Ministers.’

`Thanks, Phillip. I will talk to him.’ Morgenthau quickly glanced
around the room. The German General was nowhere in sight. The
reception had broken up into small intimate groups, standing and
socializing or sitting on the gilt chairs in cozy corners. His eyes
fell on his daughter chatting with Ambassador Mallet and he walked
over to join them. `Have you seen General von Sanders?’

`I saw him earlier,’ his daughter replied.

`Is there a problem?’ Mallet asked, his subtle smile suggesting he
knew there was. `I suspected as much,’ the middle aged and balding
Mallet said and laughed. `If this had happened at my embassy the
headlines in tomorrow’s papers would claim strained relations between
Britain and Germany!’

`I’m not used to such inflexible protocol,’ Morgenthau said.

`The General is in the card room,’ Mallet said and with another subtle
smile said, `Good luck.’

Just as he was to leave, Morgenthau heard Enver Pasha call to him.

`Ambassador,’ the Turkish General said as he approached the trio. `I
so enjoyed talking with your daughter at dinner.’

`General, my daughter is the one who usually does the talking!’ he
said and heard Helen giggle. `I finally have an opportunity to tell
you how much my family enjoyed your wedding.’ Enver had married one of
the Sultan’s nieces three weeks earlier.

`Ah, yes,’ Mallet added. `Congratulations again on your marriage. Your
wife is lovely and charming.’

`Thank you.’ Enver turned to Morgenthau and said, `May I have a dance
with your daughter?’

Helen jumped up from her chair. `I would love to dance, General. Is
that a waltz I hear? I love the waltz.’

Enver said with a warm smile, `I learned to waltz in Berlin.’

Morgenthau grinned as he watched Enver take his daughter to the dance
floor. `I need to find von Sanders,’ he said to Mallet and hastily
left. He went to the smoke filled room where several guests were
playing bridge. The General was sitting at the chess table, alone,
smoking a cigar. He walked up behind him and asked, `Care for a game
of chess?’

The General turned toward the American ambassador and said, `Why not?’

Sitting opposite the blue eyed fifty-ish German General, Morgenthau
moved the white ivory king’s pawn forward two squares. `I observed
some confusion when my staff seated you. What happened?’

Von Sanders, reluctant to speak, made the same chess move with his
black pawn.

Morgenthau moved a knight, slowly raised his eyes from the chess
board, looked directly at the General and waited.

Von Sanders pushed his chair back, crossed his legs, took a long puff
on his cigar and said, `Do you have any idea how important my task
is?’

Morgenthau continued his look, still waiting.

`Kaiser Wilhelm spent hours convincing me to take this assignment. Me,
a successful career general, and tonight I am made to feel subordinate
to this youngster who is wet behind his ears. Enver has never even won
a battle!’ Von Sanders’ face was turning red and he slapped his hands
on the table. `And he thinks of himself as another Napoleon! Have you
been in his office? He doesn’t have a picture of the Sultan on his
wall. Only Napoleon and Frederick the Great! The only thing he has in
common with those conquerors is that he is built like them. He’s a
runt!’ The General squashed his cigar, rose from his chair and stalked
off.

Morgenthau rushed after him and caught up with him in the
foyer. `General,’ he said and put his hand on the General’s
shoulder. `I think you should know we were advised about the formality
of rank by the Austrian Ambassador. I personally apologize if you were
slighted. Your position here has confused the diplomatic corps. I will
suggest that your rank be considered higher than those of the
Ministers and more in line with the Turkish Cabinet.’

The General put on his hat and clicked his heels. `Good night,’ he
said and hurriedly walked down the stairs and entered a waiting
automobile. He did not look back.

`The problems of a diplomat,’ Morgenthau said to himself shaking his
head as he reentered the ballroom. The gala event ended at 3
a.m. Morgenthau was exhausted, his wife did volunteer to work toward
abolishing the white slave trade, and it was his daughter’s last
party. She and her children were leaving for New York at the end of
the week to join her husband.
—————————————– ————————-

2. Redemption’s `The Origins of Ruin’ Leaves You Wanting More
By Simon Beugekian

I still remember the closing door the night we said goodbye, and I still
Remember losing you for good and knowing that a part of me had died
And I still pray that things will be alright
and I pray you’ll think of me tonight
And I know somehow I’ll be alright
and I hope that you’re the same¦

‘from the song `Memory’

Redemption is a progressive metal band based in Los Angeles and has
been on the metal scene for a while, playing the seminal 2002
ProgPower Festival. Their first self-titled album was released in
2000, followed by the release of `The Fullness of Time’ in 2005. The
band’s lineup is rather impressive. Aside from Nicolas van Dyk, who is
the guitarist and lyricist of the band, Redemption includes vocalist
Ray Alder (of the band Fates Warning Fame), who joined the band in
2005. Redemption is currently touring with Dream Theater, and while on
tour, has have recruited Greg Hosharian to play the keyboard.

The guys of Redemption describe themselves as a `prog metal band’ on
their website. Progressive metal, though still very much a genre
rooted in the musical underground, is probably one of the
fastest-growing styles of music today.

But playing `prog metal’ is arguably more difficult than playing any
other kind of music. It is heavy metal that, aside from all the
elements of metal, also incorporates melody and other `old fashioned’
elements in music.

Until recently, American metal bands tended to be a lot more gritty,
playing the no-frills, in-your-face metal that makes guys in the mosh
pit kick and punch without even looking first at what they’re
hitting. Bands like Pantera, Lamb of God, Slayer, Metallica and others
are prime examples of `American metal.’

More recently, though, partly due to the influence of melodic heavy
metal bands from Europe (In Flames, Arch Enemy, Opeth), progressive
metal bands in the U.S. have catapulted themselves onto the scene.

There are now literally thousands of progressive/melodic metal bands,
and it is difficult to stand out. Redemption, it seems, is trying to
follow in the footsteps of bands like Tool, Trivium and Killswitch
Engage. Yet, somehow, Redemption does stand out. Listening to `The
Origins of Ruin’ and the eerie vocals of Ray Alder, one gets a feeling
of impending doom, a weary, paranoid sensation. Alder, however, does
not grow like most metal vocalists do. Instead, he sings. In the eyes
of some metal fans, this is a liability, but it also means Redemption
appeals to a wider audience. One particularly haunting song on the
album is `Memory,’ a 10-minute long track that combines the impressive
guitar skills of van Dyk, along with the powerful lyrics and an
emotional performance from Alder.

`Bleed Me Dry,’ the second track on the album, may be the most
marketable track, and the band has filmed a music video for the song,
which can be found on YouTube. `Man of Glass’ and `Blind My Eyes,’ on
the other hand, are the most `metal’ of the tracks, and are likely to
satisfy heavy metal fans.

`The Origins of Ruin,’ the title track, is a 3-minute long piano
composition accompanied by a rather gut-wrenching performance by
Alder. Unfortunately, most of the other tracks on the album’though not
all’fail to stand out in any substantial way.

`The Origins of Ruin’ is a paradox album. Serious fans of heavy metal
might feel that they’ve been ripped off’that throughout the album they
were on the verge but never fully crossed the threshold. This is the
biggest problem with the album: It feels tame and restrained, as if
the band members are trying hard not to disturb their neighbors,
forgetting that what their listeners want to feel is every ounce of
their energy coming through. On the other hand, and for exactly the
same reasons, `The Origins of Ruin’ has the potential to attract new
fans to the genre, fans that don’t necessarily want the hardcore heavy
metal and are comfortable with the haunting, eerie feeling they get
when they finish listening.
————————————— ————————————–

3. Three Poems by Seta Krikorian

I DISLIKE

I dislike Darkness
That cannot enslave me
The deception of light
I dislike the Light
That desires me not
The shadow of hope
I dislike Hope
That does not caress me
The fever of dream
I dislike the Dream
That does not embrace me
The rapture of love
I dislike the Love
That does not scorch me
The simmering of life¦

I love Life
Even as it brings
The sadness of Death¦

***

W A I T I N G

When the sun’s pandering
Makes the horizon blush
And my bleeding yearning
Flares forth in a blue bonfire
of a pearly see

I burst into tears¦

When the weight of waiting
Cloaks my soul with darkness
Before the shadows of the trees
lengthen
And before the wind grieves
The futility of the dying day
I weep¦

I drift in the dark
Groping for your essence¦

***

WHEN YOU SHOW UP

When you show up
In the solitude of my damp night
Meadow saffrons take shape¦

My dreams sport a body
And my yearnings ` visions of the soul `
Rock my distress with mellow whispers
You
On the trails of my blood
Erect domes of oblivion
Where our lovelorn souls
Leak blue flames
On the altar
Of mystery¦

Ether by ether
We offer Mass
To delusion’s parable

While our lips
Sublimating kisses
Sing the delivery of Light¦

Translated by Tatul Sonentz