Works:
• Orchestral music, including over 239 violin concertos, including Le quattro stagioni (The Four Seasons, Op.8, Nos.1-4, c.1725), other solo concertos (bassoon, cello, oboe, flute, recorder), double concertos, ensemble concertos, sinfonias
• Chamber music, including sonatas for violin, cello and flute, trio sonatas
• Vocal music, including oratorios (Juditha triumphans, 1716), Mass movements (Gloria), Magnificat, psalms, hymns and motets
• Secular vocal music, including solo cantatas and operas
ANTONIO VIVALDI
ANTONIO VIVALDI
Born: March 4, 1678. Venice, Italy
Died: July 28, 1741. Vienna, Austria
Italian composer of instrumental music and opera. He was important in the development of the concerto.
Visitors to Venice in the early eighteenth century often made a point of attending one of the regular concerts given by the orchestra of the Ospedale della Pietà. Here they would hear a group of girls and young women (orphans supported by the organization) playing with "all the gracefulness and precision imaginable." The concerts would spotlight various members of the orchestra (sometimes highlighting unusual combinations of instruments) and the music would often be by the leading composer of the city, Antonio Vivaldi.
Vivaldi began serving the Ospedale in 1703, soon after being ordained a priest, and he held various positions there almost all his life. An important part of his duties was to supply concertos for the orchestra; over the course of his career he composed over five hundred concertos, both for solo instruments (principally violin) and for combinations of instruments. Although Vivaldi wrote a great deal of music in other genres, including more than fifty operas, it is his concertos that have granted him a lasting place in musical history.
The concertos that Vivaldi wrote helped define the genre in the Baroque and into the Classical era. These normally comprised three movements (fast, slow, fast); the fast movement regularly employed a ritornello form. In this form, an orchestral melody alternates with the freer sections that feature the soloist or soloists. The repetition of the ritornello provides a point of reference for the listener, allowing the soloist to stand out. It also allows the composer a greater degree of freedom in how the soloist's material is treated.
Vivaldi's concertos also stand out for the degree of inventiveness that he brought to them. While challenging the player, they also engage the listener. One of his most famous groups of concertos, The Four Seasons, demonstrates this well, and shows the more dramatic and colorful potential of the genre. Each concerto represents a different season, and the music illustrates in sound a picture created by an accompanying poem. Vivaldi uses his ingenuity to take the mundane sounds of daily life (the barking of a dog, the buzzing of flies), along with more dramatic sounds (a violent spring storm), and portray them in purely musical language that stands on its own merit. These early examples of program music well deserve their place in the popular canon of classical music.
Born: March 4, 1678. Venice, Italy
Died: July 28, 1741. Vienna, Austria
Italian composer of instrumental music and opera. He was important in the development of the concerto.
Visitors to Venice in the early eighteenth century often made a point of attending one of the regular concerts given by the orchestra of the Ospedale della Pietà. Here they would hear a group of girls and young women (orphans supported by the organization) playing with "all the gracefulness and precision imaginable." The concerts would spotlight various members of the orchestra (sometimes highlighting unusual combinations of instruments) and the music would often be by the leading composer of the city, Antonio Vivaldi.
Vivaldi began serving the Ospedale in 1703, soon after being ordained a priest, and he held various positions there almost all his life. An important part of his duties was to supply concertos for the orchestra; over the course of his career he composed over five hundred concertos, both for solo instruments (principally violin) and for combinations of instruments. Although Vivaldi wrote a great deal of music in other genres, including more than fifty operas, it is his concertos that have granted him a lasting place in musical history.
The concertos that Vivaldi wrote helped define the genre in the Baroque and into the Classical era. These normally comprised three movements (fast, slow, fast); the fast movement regularly employed a ritornello form. In this form, an orchestral melody alternates with the freer sections that feature the soloist or soloists. The repetition of the ritornello provides a point of reference for the listener, allowing the soloist to stand out. It also allows the composer a greater degree of freedom in how the soloist's material is treated.
Vivaldi's concertos also stand out for the degree of inventiveness that he brought to them. While challenging the player, they also engage the listener. One of his most famous groups of concertos, The Four Seasons, demonstrates this well, and shows the more dramatic and colorful potential of the genre. Each concerto represents a different season, and the music illustrates in sound a picture created by an accompanying poem. Vivaldi uses his ingenuity to take the mundane sounds of daily life (the barking of a dog, the buzzing of flies), along with more dramatic sounds (a violent spring storm), and portray them in purely musical language that stands on its own merit. These early examples of program music well deserve their place in the popular canon of classical music.
Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
Eloisa to Abelard
1In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
2Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
3And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
4What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
5Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
6Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
7Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came,
8And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
9 & nbsp; Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
10Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.
11Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
12Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
13O write it not, my hand--the name appears
14Already written--wash it out, my tears!
15In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
16Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
17 & nbsp; Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
18Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
19Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
20Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
21Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
22And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
23Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
24I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
25All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
26Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
27Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
28Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.
29 & nbsp; Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
30That well-known name awakens all my woes.
31Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
32Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
33I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
34Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
35Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
36Led through a sad variety of woe:
37Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
38Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
39There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
40There died the best of passions, love and fame.
41 & nbsp; Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
42Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
43Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
44And is my Abelard less kind than they?
45Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
46Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
47No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
48To read and weep is all they now can do.
49 & nbsp; Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
50Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
51Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
52Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
53They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
54Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
55The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
56Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
57Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
58And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
59 & nbsp; Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
60When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
61My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
62Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
63Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
64Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
65Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
66And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
67From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
68Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
69Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
70Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
71Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
72Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.
73 & nbsp; How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
74Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
75Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
76Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
77Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
78August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
79Before true passion all those views remove,
80Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
81The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
82Those restless passions in revenge inspires;
83And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
84Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
85Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
86Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all:
87Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
88No, make me mistress to the man I love;
89If there be yet another name more free,
90More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
91Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
92When love is liberty, and nature, law:
93All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
94No craving void left aching in the breast:
95Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
96And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
97This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
98And once the lot of Abelard and me.
99 & nbsp; Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
100A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
101Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
102Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command.
103Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
104The crime was common, common be the pain.
105I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
106Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.
107 & nbsp;Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
108When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
109Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
110When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
111As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
112The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale:
113Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd,
114And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
115Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
116Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
117Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
118And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
119Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
120Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
121Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
122Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
123Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
124Give all thou canst--and let me dream the rest.
125Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
126With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
127Full in my view set all the bright abode,
128And make my soul quit Abelard for God.
129 & nbsp;Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
130Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
131From the false world in early youth they fled,
132By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
133You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
134And Paradise was open'd in the wild.
135No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
136Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
137No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
138Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
139But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
140And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
141In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
142These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,
143Where awful arches make a noonday night,
144And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
145Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
146And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
147But now no face divine contentment wears,
148'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
149See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,
150(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)
151But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
152Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
153Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
154And all those tender names in one, thy love!
155The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
156Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
157The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,
158The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
159The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
160The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
161No more these scenes my meditation aid,
162Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
163But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
164Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
165Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
166A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
167Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
168Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
169Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
170And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
171 & nbsp;Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
172Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
173Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
174And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
175Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
176And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.
177 & nbsp;Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
178Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
179Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
180Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
181Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
182Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
183I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
184I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
185I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
186Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
187Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
188Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
189Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
190'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
191How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
192And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
193How the dear object from the crime remove,
194Or how distinguish penitence from love?
195Unequal task! a passion to resign,
196For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
197Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
198How often must it love, how often hate!
199How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
200Conceal, disdain--do all things but forget.
201But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
202Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
203Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
204Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.
205Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
206Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
207 & nbsp;How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
208The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
209Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
210Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
211Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
212"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
213Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
214Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
215Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
216And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
217For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
218And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
219For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
220For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
221To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
222And melts in visions of eternal day.
223 & nbsp;Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
224Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
225When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
226Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
227Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
228All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
229Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
230How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
231Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
232And stir within me every source of love.
233I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
234And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
235I wake--no more I hear, no more I view,
236The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
237I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
238I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
239To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
240Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
241Alas, no more--methinks we wand'ring go
242Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
243Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
244And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
245Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
246Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
247I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
248And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
249 & nbsp;For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
250A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
251Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose;
252No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
253Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
254Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
255Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,
256And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.
257 & nbsp;Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
258The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
259Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;
260Ev'n thou art cold--yet Eloisa loves.
261Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
262To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
263 & nbsp;What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
264The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
265Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
266Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
267I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
268Thy image steals between my God and me,
269Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
270With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
271When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
272And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
273One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
274Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
275In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
276While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.
277 & nbsp;While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
278Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye,
279While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
280And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul:
281Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
282Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
283Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
284Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
285Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
286Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
287Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
288Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!
289 & nbsp;No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
290Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
291Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
292Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
293Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
294Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
295Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
296Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
297Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
298Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
299Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
300And faith, our early immortality!
301Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
302Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!
303 & nbsp;See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
304Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
305In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
306And more than echoes talk along the walls.
307Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
308From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
309"Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seem'd to say)
310"Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
311Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
312Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid:
313But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
314Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
315Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
316For God, not man, absolves our frailties here."
317 & nbsp;I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
318Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
319Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
320Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
321Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
322And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
323See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
324Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
325Ah no--in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
326The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
327Present the cross before my lifted eye,
328Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
329Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
330It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
331See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
332See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
333Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
334And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
335O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
336What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.
337 & nbsp;Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy,
338(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
339In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
340Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round,
341From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine,
342And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
343 & nbsp;May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
344And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
345Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
346When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
347If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
348To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
349O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
350And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
351Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
352"Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!"
353From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
354And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
355Amid that scene if some relenting eye
356Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
357Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
358One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n.
359And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
360In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
361Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
362And image charms he must behold no more;
363Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
364Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
365The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
366He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.
Notes
1] Published in 1717 in Pope's Works. The subject was partially selected because John Hughes, an acquaintance of Pope's, had published an English translation. The Latin text had originally been published in 1616 and had been translated into French in 1697. Hughes translated the French version. Pope's poem draws heavily on Hughes' translation. The poem is an example of a genre represented in Latin by Ovid's Heroides. These heroic epistles are always addressed by a woman to a man who has abandoned her. The situations require an "heroic" treatment because they involved important personages. The heroes represent what one critic has described as "sorrowing or rebellious love." Peter Abailard (1079-1142), at thirty-eight a famous scholar, became at this time the tutor of Eloisa, the eighteen-year-old niece of Fulbert, the canon of Paris. Their passionate secret love resulted in Eloisa's conceiving, whereupon Abelard removed her to Brittany. After refusing to agree to marriage for a long time because it would ruin Abelard's career in the church, Eloisa finally consented and the couple returned to Paris for a secret wedding. But the uncle's anger revived. Abelard took Eloisa to a convent at Argenteuil where she was professed as a novice. Her uncle then paid ruffians to attack Abelard in his lodgings and castrate him. After his various attempts at monastic life, students again gathered about Abelard and built him the halls and church of the Paraclete, sixty miles from Paris. Further persecution by his enemies or fear of them eventually led him to accept the Abbey of St. Gildeas in Brittany. When Eloisa's nuns were expelled from Argenteuil, he offered them the Paraclete and visited them as a spiritual director, until his visits caused scandal. Eloisa began the correspondence after a letter, addressed to an unfortunate friend, describing his adversities as a means of comforting the friend, fell into her hands.
12] idea: image; cf. Rape of The Lock, 1, note to line 83.
20] Cf. Milton's Comus, line 429: "By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades." "horrid" is from Latin horridus (bristling).
24] Cf. Milton's Il Penseroso, line 42: "Forget thy self to marble."
40] Fame: used here in the sense of ambition.
104] pain: in the Latin sense poena (punishment), as well as the usual meaning.
107] day: the day of Eloisa's profession as a religious. Abelard was present.
129] thy flock: i.e., Abelard, as spiritual director and founder of the monastery.
133] "[Pope] He [Abelard] founded the monastery."
136] irradiate: "to adorn with splendour."
emblaze: "to light up, cause to glow" (OED).
142] domes: see Rape of the Lock, IV, note to line 18.
152] father, brother: i.e., as her priest and her religious brother. This follows the original correspondence where Eloisa writes: "To her Lord, her Father, her Husband, her Brother; his Servant, his Child, his Wife, his Sister."
184] fault: see Essay on Criticism, 170.
191] sense: both the notion of sensation and the notion of perception are involved here.
212] "[Pope] Taken from Crashaw [description of a Religious House, line 16]."
229] all-conscious. To the usual sense of intense awareness, the Latinate sense (conscius) sharing knowledge, usually of a guilty kind, should be added.
254] "The spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters" (Gen. 1:2). This refers to Abelard's dead calm (251).
258] Pope suppressed the following couplet, following line 258, after 1720: "Cut from the roots my perish'd joys I see,/And love's warm tide forever stopp'd in thee."
298] low thoughted care: see Comus, 6. 343. "[Pope] Abelard and Eloisa were interred in the same grave, or in monuments adjoining in the Monastery of the Paraclete. He died in the year 1142, she in 1163."
Eloisa to Abelard
1In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
2Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
3And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
4What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
5Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
6Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
7Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came,
8And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
9 & nbsp; Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
10Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd.
11Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise,
12Where mix'd with God's, his lov'd idea lies:
13O write it not, my hand--the name appears
14Already written--wash it out, my tears!
15In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays,
16Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeys.
17 & nbsp; Relentless walls! whose darksome round contains
18Repentant sighs, and voluntary pains:
19Ye rugged rocks! which holy knees have worn;
20Ye grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid thorn!
21Shrines! where their vigils pale-ey'd virgins keep,
22And pitying saints, whose statues learn to weep!
23Though cold like you, unmov'd, and silent grown,
24I have not yet forgot myself to stone.
25All is not Heav'n's while Abelard has part,
26Still rebel nature holds out half my heart;
27Nor pray'rs nor fasts its stubborn pulse restrain,
28Nor tears, for ages, taught to flow in vain.
29 & nbsp; Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
30That well-known name awakens all my woes.
31Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
32Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
33I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
34Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
35Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
36Led through a sad variety of woe:
37Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
38Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
39There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
40There died the best of passions, love and fame.
41 & nbsp; Yet write, oh write me all, that I may join
42Griefs to thy griefs, and echo sighs to thine.
43Nor foes nor fortune take this pow'r away;
44And is my Abelard less kind than they?
45Tears still are mine, and those I need not spare,
46Love but demands what else were shed in pray'r;
47No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
48To read and weep is all they now can do.
49 & nbsp; Then share thy pain, allow that sad relief;
50Ah, more than share it! give me all thy grief.
51Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
52Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
53They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
54Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
55The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
56Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
57Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
58And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
59 & nbsp; Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
60When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
61My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
62Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
63Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
64Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
65Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
66And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
67From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
68Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
69Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
70Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
71Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
72Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.
73 & nbsp; How oft, when press'd to marriage, have I said,
74Curse on all laws but those which love has made!
75Love, free as air, at sight of human ties,
76Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies,
77Let wealth, let honour, wait the wedded dame,
78August her deed, and sacred be her fame;
79Before true passion all those views remove,
80Fame, wealth, and honour! what are you to Love?
81The jealous God, when we profane his fires,
82Those restless passions in revenge inspires;
83And bids them make mistaken mortals groan,
84Who seek in love for aught but love alone.
85Should at my feet the world's great master fall,
86Himself, his throne, his world, I'd scorn 'em all:
87Not Caesar's empress would I deign to prove;
88No, make me mistress to the man I love;
89If there be yet another name more free,
90More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
91Oh happy state! when souls each other draw,
92When love is liberty, and nature, law:
93All then is full, possessing, and possess'd,
94No craving void left aching in the breast:
95Ev'n thought meets thought, ere from the lips it part,
96And each warm wish springs mutual from the heart.
97This sure is bliss (if bliss on earth there be)
98And once the lot of Abelard and me.
99 & nbsp; Alas, how chang'd! what sudden horrors rise!
100A naked lover bound and bleeding lies!
101Where, where was Eloise? her voice, her hand,
102Her poniard, had oppos'd the dire command.
103Barbarian, stay! that bloody stroke restrain;
104The crime was common, common be the pain.
105I can no more; by shame, by rage suppress'd,
106Let tears, and burning blushes speak the rest.
107 & nbsp;Canst thou forget that sad, that solemn day,
108When victims at yon altar's foot we lay?
109Canst thou forget what tears that moment fell,
110When, warm in youth, I bade the world farewell?
111As with cold lips I kiss'd the sacred veil,
112The shrines all trembl'd, and the lamps grew pale:
113Heav'n scarce believ'd the conquest it survey'd,
114And saints with wonder heard the vows I made.
115Yet then, to those dread altars as I drew,
116Not on the Cross my eyes were fix'd, but you:
117Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call,
118And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
119Come! with thy looks, thy words, relieve my woe;
120Those still at least are left thee to bestow.
121Still on that breast enamour'd let me lie,
122Still drink delicious poison from thy eye,
123Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press'd;
124Give all thou canst--and let me dream the rest.
125Ah no! instruct me other joys to prize,
126With other beauties charm my partial eyes,
127Full in my view set all the bright abode,
128And make my soul quit Abelard for God.
129 & nbsp;Ah, think at least thy flock deserves thy care,
130Plants of thy hand, and children of thy pray'r.
131From the false world in early youth they fled,
132By thee to mountains, wilds, and deserts led.
133You rais'd these hallow'd walls; the desert smil'd,
134And Paradise was open'd in the wild.
135No weeping orphan saw his father's stores
136Our shrines irradiate, or emblaze the floors;
137No silver saints, by dying misers giv'n,
138Here brib'd the rage of ill-requited heav'n:
139But such plain roofs as piety could raise,
140And only vocal with the Maker's praise.
141In these lone walls (their days eternal bound)
142These moss-grown domes with spiry turrets crown'd,
143Where awful arches make a noonday night,
144And the dim windows shed a solemn light;
145Thy eyes diffus'd a reconciling ray,
146And gleams of glory brighten'd all the day.
147But now no face divine contentment wears,
148'Tis all blank sadness, or continual tears.
149See how the force of others' pray'rs I try,
150(O pious fraud of am'rous charity!)
151But why should I on others' pray'rs depend?
152Come thou, my father, brother, husband, friend!
153Ah let thy handmaid, sister, daughter move,
154And all those tender names in one, thy love!
155The darksome pines that o'er yon rocks reclin'd
156Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind,
157The wand'ring streams that shine between the hills,
158The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
159The dying gales that pant upon the trees,
160The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze;
161No more these scenes my meditation aid,
162Or lull to rest the visionary maid.
163But o'er the twilight groves and dusky caves,
164Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves,
165Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws
166A death-like silence, and a dread repose:
167Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,
168Shades ev'ry flow'r, and darkens ev'ry green,
169Deepens the murmur of the falling floods,
170And breathes a browner horror on the woods.
171 & nbsp;Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
172Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
173Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
174And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
175Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
176And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.
177 & nbsp;Ah wretch! believ'd the spouse of God in vain,
178Confess'd within the slave of love and man.
179Assist me, Heav'n! but whence arose that pray'r?
180Sprung it from piety, or from despair?
181Ev'n here, where frozen chastity retires,
182Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.
183I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought;
184I mourn the lover, not lament the fault;
185I view my crime, but kindle at the view,
186Repent old pleasures, and solicit new;
187Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past offence,
188Now think of thee, and curse my innocence.
189Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
190'Tis sure the hardest science to forget!
191How shall I lose the sin, yet keep the sense,
192And love th' offender, yet detest th' offence?
193How the dear object from the crime remove,
194Or how distinguish penitence from love?
195Unequal task! a passion to resign,
196For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine.
197Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
198How often must it love, how often hate!
199How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
200Conceal, disdain--do all things but forget.
201But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd;
202Not touch'd, but rapt; not waken'd, but inspir'd!
203Oh come! oh teach me nature to subdue,
204Renounce my love, my life, myself--and you.
205Fill my fond heart with God alone, for he
206Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.
207 & nbsp;How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
208The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
209Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
210Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
211Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
212"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
213Desires compos'd, affections ever ev'n,
214Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to Heav'n.
215Grace shines around her with serenest beams,
216And whisp'ring angels prompt her golden dreams.
217For her th' unfading rose of Eden blooms,
218And wings of seraphs shed divine perfumes,
219For her the Spouse prepares the bridal ring,
220For her white virgins hymeneals sing,
221To sounds of heav'nly harps she dies away,
222And melts in visions of eternal day.
223 & nbsp;Far other dreams my erring soul employ,
224Far other raptures, of unholy joy:
225When at the close of each sad, sorrowing day,
226Fancy restores what vengeance snatch'd away,
227Then conscience sleeps, and leaving nature free,
228All my loose soul unbounded springs to thee.
229Oh curs'd, dear horrors of all-conscious night!
230How glowing guilt exalts the keen delight!
231Provoking Daemons all restraint remove,
232And stir within me every source of love.
233I hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy charms,
234And round thy phantom glue my clasping arms.
235I wake--no more I hear, no more I view,
236The phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
237I call aloud; it hears not what I say;
238I stretch my empty arms; it glides away.
239To dream once more I close my willing eyes;
240Ye soft illusions, dear deceits, arise!
241Alas, no more--methinks we wand'ring go
242Through dreary wastes, and weep each other's woe,
243Where round some mould'ring tower pale ivy creeps,
244And low-brow'd rocks hang nodding o'er the deeps.
245Sudden you mount, you beckon from the skies;
246Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise.
247I shriek, start up, the same sad prospect find,
248And wake to all the griefs I left behind.
249 & nbsp;For thee the fates, severely kind, ordain
250A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain;
251Thy life a long, dead calm of fix'd repose;
252No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
253Still as the sea, ere winds were taught to blow,
254Or moving spirit bade the waters flow;
255Soft as the slumbers of a saint forgiv'n,
256And mild as opening gleams of promis'd heav'n.
257 & nbsp;Come, Abelard! for what hast thou to dread?
258The torch of Venus burns not for the dead.
259Nature stands check'd; Religion disapproves;
260Ev'n thou art cold--yet Eloisa loves.
261Ah hopeless, lasting flames! like those that burn
262To light the dead, and warm th' unfruitful urn.
263 & nbsp;What scenes appear where'er I turn my view?
264The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
265Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
266Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
267I waste the matin lamp in sighs for thee,
268Thy image steals between my God and me,
269Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear,
270With ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear.
271When from the censer clouds of fragrance roll,
272And swelling organs lift the rising soul,
273One thought of thee puts all the pomp to flight,
274Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my sight:
275In seas of flame my plunging soul is drown'd,
276While altars blaze, and angels tremble round.
277 & nbsp;While prostrate here in humble grief I lie,
278Kind, virtuous drops just gath'ring in my eye,
279While praying, trembling, in the dust I roll,
280And dawning grace is op'ning on my soul:
281Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art!
282Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my heart;
283Come, with one glance of those deluding eyes
284Blot out each bright idea of the skies;
285Take back that grace, those sorrows, and those tears;
286Take back my fruitless penitence and pray'rs;
287Snatch me, just mounting, from the blest abode;
288Assist the fiends, and tear me from my God!
289 & nbsp;No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
290Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
291Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
292Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.
293Thy oaths I quit, thy memory resign;
294Forget, renounce me, hate whate'er was mine.
295Fair eyes, and tempting looks (which yet I view!)
296Long lov'd, ador'd ideas, all adieu!
297Oh Grace serene! oh virtue heav'nly fair!
298Divine oblivion of low-thoughted care!
299Fresh blooming hope, gay daughter of the sky!
300And faith, our early immortality!
301Enter, each mild, each amicable guest;
302Receive, and wrap me in eternal rest!
303 & nbsp;See in her cell sad Eloisa spread,
304Propp'd on some tomb, a neighbour of the dead.
305In each low wind methinks a spirit calls,
306And more than echoes talk along the walls.
307Here, as I watch'd the dying lamps around,
308From yonder shrine I heard a hollow sound.
309"Come, sister, come!" (it said, or seem'd to say)
310"Thy place is here, sad sister, come away!
311Once like thyself, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
312Love's victim then, though now a sainted maid:
313But all is calm in this eternal sleep;
314Here grief forgets to groan, and love to weep,
315Ev'n superstition loses ev'ry fear:
316For God, not man, absolves our frailties here."
317 & nbsp;I come, I come! prepare your roseate bow'rs,
318Celestial palms, and ever-blooming flow'rs.
319Thither, where sinners may have rest, I go,
320Where flames refin'd in breasts seraphic glow:
321Thou, Abelard! the last sad office pay,
322And smooth my passage to the realms of day;
323See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll,
324Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul!
325Ah no--in sacred vestments may'st thou stand,
326The hallow'd taper trembling in thy hand,
327Present the cross before my lifted eye,
328Teach me at once, and learn of me to die.
329Ah then, thy once-lov'd Eloisa see!
330It will be then no crime to gaze on me.
331See from my cheek the transient roses fly!
332See the last sparkle languish in my eye!
333Till ev'ry motion, pulse, and breath be o'er;
334And ev'n my Abelard be lov'd no more.
335O Death all-eloquent! you only prove
336What dust we dote on, when 'tis man we love.
337 & nbsp;Then too, when fate shall thy fair frame destroy,
338(That cause of all my guilt, and all my joy)
339In trance ecstatic may thy pangs be drown'd,
340Bright clouds descend, and angels watch thee round,
341From op'ning skies may streaming glories shine,
342And saints embrace thee with a love like mine.
343 & nbsp;May one kind grave unite each hapless name,
344And graft my love immortal on thy fame!
345Then, ages hence, when all my woes are o'er,
346When this rebellious heart shall beat no more;
347If ever chance two wand'ring lovers brings
348To Paraclete's white walls and silver springs,
349O'er the pale marble shall they join their heads,
350And drink the falling tears each other sheds;
351Then sadly say, with mutual pity mov'd,
352"Oh may we never love as these have lov'd!"
353From the full choir when loud Hosannas rise,
354And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
355Amid that scene if some relenting eye
356Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
357Devotion's self shall steal a thought from Heav'n,
358One human tear shall drop and be forgiv'n.
359And sure, if fate some future bard shall join
360In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
361Condemn'd whole years in absence to deplore,
362And image charms he must behold no more;
363Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
364Let him our sad, our tender story tell;
365The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
366He best can paint 'em, who shall feel 'em most.
Notes
1] Published in 1717 in Pope's Works. The subject was partially selected because John Hughes, an acquaintance of Pope's, had published an English translation. The Latin text had originally been published in 1616 and had been translated into French in 1697. Hughes translated the French version. Pope's poem draws heavily on Hughes' translation. The poem is an example of a genre represented in Latin by Ovid's Heroides. These heroic epistles are always addressed by a woman to a man who has abandoned her. The situations require an "heroic" treatment because they involved important personages. The heroes represent what one critic has described as "sorrowing or rebellious love." Peter Abailard (1079-1142), at thirty-eight a famous scholar, became at this time the tutor of Eloisa, the eighteen-year-old niece of Fulbert, the canon of Paris. Their passionate secret love resulted in Eloisa's conceiving, whereupon Abelard removed her to Brittany. After refusing to agree to marriage for a long time because it would ruin Abelard's career in the church, Eloisa finally consented and the couple returned to Paris for a secret wedding. But the uncle's anger revived. Abelard took Eloisa to a convent at Argenteuil where she was professed as a novice. Her uncle then paid ruffians to attack Abelard in his lodgings and castrate him. After his various attempts at monastic life, students again gathered about Abelard and built him the halls and church of the Paraclete, sixty miles from Paris. Further persecution by his enemies or fear of them eventually led him to accept the Abbey of St. Gildeas in Brittany. When Eloisa's nuns were expelled from Argenteuil, he offered them the Paraclete and visited them as a spiritual director, until his visits caused scandal. Eloisa began the correspondence after a letter, addressed to an unfortunate friend, describing his adversities as a means of comforting the friend, fell into her hands.
12] idea: image; cf. Rape of The Lock, 1, note to line 83.
20] Cf. Milton's Comus, line 429: "By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shades." "horrid" is from Latin horridus (bristling).
24] Cf. Milton's Il Penseroso, line 42: "Forget thy self to marble."
40] Fame: used here in the sense of ambition.
104] pain: in the Latin sense poena (punishment), as well as the usual meaning.
107] day: the day of Eloisa's profession as a religious. Abelard was present.
129] thy flock: i.e., Abelard, as spiritual director and founder of the monastery.
133] "[Pope] He [Abelard] founded the monastery."
136] irradiate: "to adorn with splendour."
emblaze: "to light up, cause to glow" (OED).
142] domes: see Rape of the Lock, IV, note to line 18.
152] father, brother: i.e., as her priest and her religious brother. This follows the original correspondence where Eloisa writes: "To her Lord, her Father, her Husband, her Brother; his Servant, his Child, his Wife, his Sister."
184] fault: see Essay on Criticism, 170.
191] sense: both the notion of sensation and the notion of perception are involved here.
212] "[Pope] Taken from Crashaw [description of a Religious House, line 16]."
229] all-conscious. To the usual sense of intense awareness, the Latinate sense (conscius) sharing knowledge, usually of a guilty kind, should be added.
254] "The spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters" (Gen. 1:2). This refers to Abelard's dead calm (251).
258] Pope suppressed the following couplet, following line 258, after 1720: "Cut from the roots my perish'd joys I see,/And love's warm tide forever stopp'd in thee."
298] low thoughted care: see Comus, 6. 343. "[Pope] Abelard and Eloisa were interred in the same grave, or in monuments adjoining in the Monastery of the Paraclete. He died in the year 1142, she in 1163."
INTRODUCTION
INTRODUCTION
As a bridge between Asia and Europe, with its straits connecting The Black Sea with the Mediterranean and its geopolitical situation at a point where the Central Asian, Caucasian and Middle Eastern natural energy sources intersect, Turkey draws the attention of the entire world.
The Ottoman Empire in the past and Turkey at present has always been an arena for which intrigues were incessantly designed. The colonialist superpowers wishing to eradicate the Ottoman Empire from the world by dividing it did not fail to use in their schemes also the Armenians who coexisted in peace with the Turks for so many centuries.
There are today just like in the past, several countries striving to secure themselves political and economic benefits at the expense of Armenian community. Monuments accusing Turks and Turkey of having committed genocide are being erected in some countries; decisions intending to recognise the so called genocide are brought into the parliamentary agenda in several countries and even voted for in some others. Issues that need to be left to historians are turned into means of self interest by the politicians.
The Armenians who were ousted from one place to the other, pushed into wars, and treated as third rate citizens throughout the history by the Romans, Persians and Byzantines. After the advent of Turks into Anatolia, they benefited from the just, humane, tolerant and unifying traditions and beliefs of their new neighbours. The period that lasted until the end of the nineteenth century when the apogee of these developments and relations was attained, was the golden age of Armenians. In fact, the Armenians were by far the greatest beneficiaries of the opportunities offered by the Ottoman Empire to all industrious, capable, honest and straightforward citizens of the non-Moslem communities. Being exempted from the military service and to a large extent from taxation, they had the opportunity to excel themselves in trade, agriculture, craftsmanship and administration and therefore were rightly called the “loyal nation” because of their loyalty and ability to interact with the Ottomans. There were so many Armenians who spoke Turkish, who even conducted their rites in this language , who rose to topmost public service posts such as the Ministries and Under-Secretariats of State for the Public Works, Navy, Foreign Affairs, Finance, Treasury, Posts and Telegraph and Minting. There were some who even wrote books in Turkish and foreign languages on the Problems of the Ottoman Empire .
With the start of the decline of the Ottoman Empire, the European powers began to intervene in its affairs and degeneration became evident in the peaceful Turkish-Armenian relations. Great effort was displayed by the instigators whom the Western powers planted into the Ottoman Empire under clerical guise, to create a schism between Turks and Armenians in the religious, cultural, commercial, political and social fields. Thus, bloody clashes arose, in which the blunt of pain was borne by the Turks, and thousands of Armenians and Turks lost their lives in the revolts that broke out in Eastern Anatolia and spread all the way to Istanbul.
Though there were many Armenians fighting in the Ottoman armies against the enemy or serving in the rear ranks during the World War I, a considerable number had sided with the foes on the battlefronts and launched massacres against the population without distinction of women, children and the aged. Their toll was hundreds of thousands of Moslems and ruin in Eastern Anatolia.
The measures adopted by the Ottoman Empire to stop this violence were presented to the rest of the world under a completely different light and the Armenians, misguided by the promises and instigation of the Western Powers started to undermine the country where they had led a privileged life more than a thousand years.
The Hinchak, Tashnak, Toward Armenia, Young Armenians, Union and Salvation, Ramgavar, Paramilitaries, Black Cross societies and Hinchak Revolutionary Committee, which were established out of Anatolia, formed organisations urging the people for an armed revolt. These activities were the bloody uprisings that cost thousands of Turkish and Armenian lives.
During World War I, the Ottoman Empire was fighting against Russian armies in Eastern Anatolia, where the Armenian revolt was at its peak; and also against Armenian forces which supported the Russians. On the other hand, behind the lines it had to continue to fight against Armenian guerrillas that were burning Turkish villages and towns and attacking military convoys and reinforcements. In spite of this violence, the Ottoman Empire tried to solve the Armenian problem for months by taking local measures. Meanwhile, an operation was made against the Armenian guerillas and 2345 rebels were arrested for high treason. When it became evident that the Armenian community was also in rebellion against the state, the Ottoman Empire proceeded with the last resort of replacing only those Armenians in the region who actively participated in the rebellion. With this measure, the Ottoman Empire also intended to save the lives of the Armenians who were living in a medium of civil war because Turks started to counter-attack the Armenians who had performed bloody atrocities against Turkish communities.
Today, Armenia and some states using Armenians for their economic and political benefits have launched a massive propaganda campaign to present the replacement decision and the 24 April arrests as genocide to the world public opinion.
At the end of the World War I, when the armies of Allied States occupied The Ottoman Empire and the British officials among them arrested 143 Ottoman political and military leaders and intellectuals for “having committed war crimes toward Armenians” and exiled them to Malta where a trial was launched. However, the massive scrutiny made on the Ottoman, British, American archives in order to find evidence to incriminate these 143 persons failed to produce even the least iota of proof against them. In the end, the detainees in Malta were released without trial and even any indictment in 1922.
The United States archives contain an interesting document sent to Lord Curzon on 13 July 1921 by Mr. R.C. Craigie, the British Ambassador in Washington. The message was as follows: “I regret to state that there is nothing that may be used as evidence against the Turkish detainees in Malta. There are no events that may constitute adequate proofs. The said reports do not appear to contain even circumstantial evidence that could be useful to reinforce the information held by His Majesty’s Government against the Turks.”
On 29 July 1921, the legal advisers in London decided that the intended indictments drawn up against the persons on the British Foreign Ministry’s list were semi-political in nature and therefore these individuals should be treated separately from the Turks detained as criminals of war.
They also stated the following: “No statements were hitherto received from the witnesses to the effect that the indictments intended against the detainees are correct. Likewise it does not need to be restated that finding witnesses after so long a time is highly doubtful in a remote country like Armenia which is accessible only with great difficulties.” This statement was made also by none other than the legal advisers in London of His Majesty’s Government.
Yet, the efforts to smear the image of Turks with genocide claims did not come to an end as the British press published certain documents attempting to prove the existence of a massacre claimed to have been perpetrated by the Ottoman Empire while efforts were being made to start a lawsuit in Malta. It was stated that the documents were found by the British occupation forces in Syria, led by General Allenby. The inquiries subsequently made by the British Foreign Office revealed, however, that these documents were fakes prepared by the Armenian Nationalist Delegation in Paris and distributed to the Allied representatives.
The Armenian Diaspora, who left no stone unturned to keep the genocide claims on the agenda despite all these facts, resorted to terrorism in the end. The so-called Armenian issue, which started to attract the attention of the world and Turkish public opinion through the smearing campaign launched by the Armenians against Turkey after 1965, in the ‘70s turned into terrorist attacks directed against the Turkish representations abroad. In Santa Barbara on January 27, 1973, the first individual terrorist attack was launched by an aged Armenian named Gurgen (Karekin) Yanikian. He murdered Mehmet Baydur and Bahadir Demir, the Turkish Consul General and Vice Consul in Los Angeles, and these murders turned into an organised campaign after 1975. The attacks against Turkish embassies, officials and institutions abroad gradually intensified.
A major increase in the attacks was noted after 1979 when an internal unease started in Turkey. The Armenian terrorists staged a total of 110 attacks at 38 cities of 21 countries. 39 of these acts were committed by small arms, 70 of them were realised by bombs and one was an outright occupation. 42 Turkish diplomats and 4 foreigners were killed and 15 Turks and 66 foreigners were wounded in these incidents.
As these actions received a strong reaction from the world public opinion, the Armenian terrorist organisations changed their tactics in 1980 and began to co-operate with the PKK terrorist group which was pushed into the scene by the Eruh and ªemdinli attacks as the ASALA and Armenian operations were stopped. The documents and evidence from Beqaa and Zeli camps show that the PKK and ASALA militants were trained there together.
The success achieved by the Turkish security forces made the Armenian terrorism pursue the so called genocide claims through the Armenian Diaspora and attempt to make the world believe in the existence of such an event by inducing several parliaments to adopt resolutions and laws which recognise it.
The goal of these terrorists is to plant into minds of people the existence of a genocide, to force Turkey to recognise it, to receive indemnity from Turkey and, finally, to snatch from Turkey the land needed for realising the dream of Great Armenia
PARIS
PARIS
Paris
A wonderful city
A place for lovers
Paris
A city to dream wild
Paris
In that river the boats are moving with lovers inside
Watch that beautiful sky above the river
That moon shining
In the river
Paris
There are two lovers in another boat deep in love
Paris a city that never sleeps
Paris
The romance is in the air
Paris
The lovers feel the love in the air
Paris
That smell of the roses the lovers can smell
Paris
This is the sign that spring is here
Paris
Spring is the most beautiful time of the year
Now that winter has finally gone to sleep
Paris
The lover’s welcome spring with open arms
Spring fill's the lovers hearts with passion and joy
aldo kraas
Paris
A wonderful city
A place for lovers
Paris
A city to dream wild
Paris
In that river the boats are moving with lovers inside
Watch that beautiful sky above the river
That moon shining
In the river
Paris
There are two lovers in another boat deep in love
Paris a city that never sleeps
Paris
The romance is in the air
Paris
The lovers feel the love in the air
Paris
That smell of the roses the lovers can smell
Paris
This is the sign that spring is here
Paris
Spring is the most beautiful time of the year
Now that winter has finally gone to sleep
Paris
The lover’s welcome spring with open arms
Spring fill's the lovers hearts with passion and joy
aldo kraas
MUSIC
MUSIC
I hear the music
The music is playing
The music is soft
The music is now fading
The music is gone
Which means so is my life
No music means no life
The music is gone
Come back to me music
The Music is begining
I have a life
The music is pretty
The Music is wonderful
Oh no
The music is fading again
I love the music
The music is gone
Good bye music
Kathryn Thompson
I hear the music
The music is playing
The music is soft
The music is now fading
The music is gone
Which means so is my life
No music means no life
The music is gone
Come back to me music
The Music is begining
I have a life
The music is pretty
The Music is wonderful
Oh no
The music is fading again
I love the music
The music is gone
Good bye music
Kathryn Thompson
WOMEN OF COURAGE
WOMEN OF COURAGE
Women of courage, women of strength ,
Women of faith and devotion.
Mothers of children with spirits so strong
Who may have unbridled imaginations. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ ring His love on all those they greet. Women with losses, women who love,
Whose strength and whose courage comes from above,
Whether they're mothers; or loving Aunties,
It's plain to see Jesus’ love shines through them. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ring His love on all those they greet. Women I work with, women I know,
Whether at church, or other places I go.
Women whose spirits are battered by pain,
But Christ lifts them up, and they go on again. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ring His love on all those they greet.
Women of courage, women of strength ,
Women of faith and devotion.
Mothers of children with spirits so strong
Who may have unbridled imaginations. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ ring His love on all those they greet. Women with losses, women who love,
Whose strength and whose courage comes from above,
Whether they're mothers; or loving Aunties,
It's plain to see Jesus’ love shines through them. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ring His love on all those they greet. Women I work with, women I know,
Whether at church, or other places I go.
Women whose spirits are battered by pain,
But Christ lifts them up, and they go on again. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ring His love on all those they greet.
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About Me
- poem
- poems