(Literal Translation)
"Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,
To thee as thy page,
Thy most winning eyes
Did fill my soul with burning fire.
"Although I descend from a powerful Vladyka
And am now at least the Tsar's favorite knight,
Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to thee
Nor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.
"It is as though a mighty fortress was separating us
So fearfully high and immobile,
And my humble glance does not dare to penetrate
E'en to the grand old royal window.
"In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,
I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,
For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,
Nay, just as great a heart.
"Both of us are still in life's early stages
And the same blood runs in our veins,
And if I cannot boast of such great royal fame
I may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination."
And, as though wishing to give his powerful strength a fair trial,
the youth struck out with his fist against the stone and lo! the rock
began to shake and split. When he looked at his fist he noticed that
there was blood on it, and thereupon Mirian was more downcast and
depressed than ever before.
"What possible use can my hero prince's strength be to me when my
heart is harder than stone?" he exclaimed, and again tears flowed
down his face.
And so from the mixture of tears with dripping hero-blood, a little
spring formed itself, which flows at the edge of a precipice--then
again it makes its way through high, high stone blocks, like a wild
animal and, having successfully overcome them, it cries and hops
about like a child. Mikrandoukta did not at all share the intense
attachment of Mirian and took no notice of it. Attaining her growth she
married the Shah of Persia. On the day of her departure Mirian came
to his little spring, fixed the sword between two stones and threw
himself against it with such violence that the sharp blade went right
through him. His youthful body slipped into the water, but the burning
blood swelled the little rivulet and gave it a marvellous power of
resistance. To this well known spot from that time onward, all true
lovers streamed in, and if anybody has a really good chance over
the turbulent, fairy-like stream, he will take to writing excellent
verses and his love will be crowned with the most complete success;
if, however, he expects and awaits inspiration, he must certainly
give up all hope forever and his passion will, alas! slow down and
come to nothing.
The first man who experienced these strange feelings and went through
the whole thing was the negro Nebrotk. He fell deeply in love with
his mistress, and even went so far as to venture to open his secret
to her. The incensed and very frightened mistress immediately ordered
that he should be drowned. They threw the unhappy "darky" in the
stream of tears of the stremiannoy (body-knight) and went off; he at
first lost consciousness, but later came back to his senses and came
out on the opposite bank, completely cured of his useless passion. As
he still felt uneasy and could not think of daring to return to his
mistress, he built a little log house for himself on the bank of
that ghastly precipice near which flowed the rivulet, and not knowing
what to do with himself he wrote down the whole history of his life,
then investigated the source and course of the remarkable stream and
registered that too.
Having thoroughly established himself in this most interesting region,
he began to look after all those who happened to approach these
important domains of fate, invited the travellers and pilgrims to
his house, asked each one the story of his or her life and diligently
and carefully recorded them. Soon a whole bouquet of most varied and
entertaining tales was gotten up, reminding one of the all famous
Arabian stories, and I can only regret that my memory prevented me
from remembering but very few of them. I can understand very well all
that Nebrotk relates about himself. Once upon a time, in the night
he was awakened by some sweet, sweet singing, and having hastened
to rise and go out, he smelt a strong and remarkable fragrance. He
turned and peeped right into the precipice.
The moon was lighting up its bottom; the enormous rocks glistened
like pure silver and gold, while the water shone like the finest
diamonds. With great satisfaction--nay, delight--he glanced at this
heavenly picture, and suddenly his eyes were fixed on and could easily
distinguish two human heads on the surface of the water. He began
to pay more attention; a very handsome youth--a negro--and quite as
beautiful and splendid a white girl were standing in the water up to
their throats, and having lifted their arms high out of the water, they
were playing with some wonderful, bright, gleaming threads. Correctly
these nets were fastened and refreshed with clean, clear water,
and they seemed to stay in the air without any sign of motion.
Later he distinguished the following details: These nets of threads
were fastened to an immense leaf of some sea plant and in this massive,
fairy-like floor, which was all aglow with emeralds and gold, there
stood a figure exceeding all human beauty. The whole scene was wrapped
in a slight watery fog and a soft moonlight. The longer Nebrotk paid
attention and looked at the surprising spectacle the more easily he
succeeded in making out that all the charm of this extraordinary scene
was concentrated in the form of a perfectly magnificent woman. In
her hands there was some kind of a long feather, consisting entirely
of sun rays, with which in the course of her sweet swim she reached
and touched the different plants and flowers, and indeed, as though
subjected to her peremptory commands, they gave out an indescribable
fragrance and each little flower united with the marvellous choir which
had gently awakened Nebrotk and sang softly, sweetly, beautifully.
Nebrotk got perfectly passionate, so anxious was he to understand the
contents and exact meaning of this fragrant, flowery little song, and
holding his breath, he began to take the greatest pains and was enabled
to hear: "Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka!"
That struck him as most peculiar, and having once more fixed his
eyes on the head of the woman, he beheld a glistening, darling little
star. This was exactly Astkchicka, i.e., Venera, whom the Tsar Vachtang
the First had chased out of all his temples and houses of worship,
and her adorers as well as her sacrificers and those who had been
so benefited by her--all without exception had to abandon her in the
deepest grief and disappointment. Then, however, she found two tender
lovers. He was an adventurer, viz., a fisherman, but she the daughter
of a very wealthy gardener. The goddess promised them her complete
protection, and they without further reflections threw away their
only property, i.e., their garments, and naked they went into the
water in order to construct something for their kind benefactor. And
see! the expelled goddess decided to rise and establish herself
near the interesting "rivulet of the tears of the body-knight"
(stremiannoy), and to that spot she directed her numerous admirers.
Having seen Nebrotk, Astkchicka waved with her all shining feather, and
from the motions she made, a bridge really and truly formed itself. She
came down to earth, and having turned around to look, she again waved
with her feather. On one side there was a bush of yellow roses, on the
other side one of white roses. Their buds were instantly transformed
and actually turned out as garments for her loving servants who were
hastening after her. Thereupon she slowly returned to the hut of
humble Nebrotk and with a new motion of her bewitching feather changed
it into a perfectly marvellous, brilliant, nay, most elegant royal
palace. Nebrotk stood like one struck by lightning. With a clever but
sly smile upon her beautiful face, Astkchicka ordered her servants to
lead him off to the stream and put him down on the estrade abandoned
by her. But hardly had these orders been complied with and fulfilled
when the pillars of the estrade gave way and broke down together
with the negro. The terrible, yes frightful, cry of the drowning man
perfectly silenced the sweet chorus of the flowers. The servants were
frightened and anxiously looked at the water, and after a short time
a half god came out of it; he was white with a golden crown imperial,
in which only the fiery black eyes reminded one of the drowned negro.
All four settled down in the fairy-like palace and were blessed
with indescribable happiness. This was indeed a kingdom of love,
unhindered and unrestrained by any laws. Nebrotk perfectly adored
Astkchicka, and the fisherman Naboukodonozor the gardener woman
Roussoudanna. The host was quite in love with the goddess and the
servant with the gardenkeeper, although both were merely common
negro slaves. But even in the fairy-like palace under the protection
of the very goddess of love, there happened to be a spot especially
designed for animated secret conversations between lovers. In one of
these unhappy moments the conditions and peculiar qualities of the
stream became known to Naboukodonozor, and the fear that the magic
force of the water should influence Roussoudanna found a refuge in
his soul. It is of course well known to all of you that suspicion
is the enemy of love. Naboukodonozor seriously began to think that
Roussoudanna had fallen in love with him. Seeking the reason of
this imaginary adoration he suddenly came upon the idea that she
was occupied in involuntarily comparing his black skin with the most
godly white complexion of Nebrotk, and in consequence of this horrid
supposition his heart began to be filled with emotion and passion,
while after passion came ungratefulness to Astkchicka and a very
revolutionary spirit; afterwards she transformed Nebrotk, who had
really done absolutely nothing for her, into a half god, while the
latter, who had successfully brought her to this enchanting resort,
she simply abandoned and left a negro and slave.
And during the night he walked along the bank of the stream and sang a
song of his great grief, and suddenly the old cedars, the high, high
peach trees, the grand old nut trees composed a beautiful chorus and
an all powerful song, blowing everything before it like a huge wave,
reached the palace and suddenly awakened the goddess--but Nebrotk
quietly went on sleeping and heard nothing. Stepping lightly,
Astkchicka softly and cautiously went out to the rivulet, where
Naboukodonozor, with his back turned towards her, was bitterly crying,
and blushing terribly, she knocked him over and sent him flying into
the water.
Without a word or motion did Naboukodonozor enter the water, and just
so he came out--more magnificent even than Nebrotk, and throwing
himself at the lovely feet of the goddess he covered them with
kisses. Astkchicka did not at all object to such proceedings, but
did not let him get out of sight, and it seemed very evident that she
also was in love with him. The slave, encouraged by the concessions
of his mistress, seized the godly hands and began to kiss them just
so madly. Suddenly, however, Astkchicka roughly pulled them away,
passed them around his neck and having given him a kiss on his lips,
she instantly disappeared. Some wonderful extraordinary fire ran over
the whole body of poor Naboukodonozor from this rare, but dangerous
kiss. A new feeling got hold of him, viz., a boundless desire inspired
him to run off to the goddess, but the very thought that she was able
to treat, nay, caress, Nebrotk in the same affectionate way, completely
kept him from making a fool of himself. He threw himself on the ground
and tried with all his might and main to extinguish the burning fire
which was raging inside of him, rolling in the soft sweet grass and
mercilessly treading down the highly fragrant flowers, while the moon
seemed to be offended with its greatest favorite and bashfully hid
itself behind a massive cloud. The perfect and impenetrable darkness
at last forced the crank to come back to his senses; he then went
home exasperated, most dissatisfied, and wicked in his intentions.
Roussoudanna was quietly sleeping and knew of nothing that had taken
place in the night, and what must have been her astonishment, when in
the morning she beheld Naboukodonozor with a pure white complexion
and golden hair. Upon the question what had occurred to him, he
passionately replied that he had just gone to a stream, let himself
down into the water and had come out in the very state she saw him.
"Pay attention and be careful to remain faithful to me," she
jokingly said, and went out to gather fruit for the "dejeuner" of the
goddess. After a while Nebrotk also woke up and asked Naboukodonozor
the same question.
"I followed in thy steps and see! the result has proved to be the
same," was his short answer. Nebrotk looked at him rather suspiciously,
and unwilling to believe the truth of the story, he went to the goddess
to inquire about the affair and to see how matters were getting on
in general.
"I came to a decided conclusion that it was most unkind and unjust
not to do for my real savior what I had deigned to do for thee,"
was the godly reply, which made Nebrotk very uneasy and filled his
heart with renewed passion.
Roussoudanna wept and wept, Naboukodonozor got terribly provoked,
Nebrotk was deeply impressed and full of emotion, while Astkchicka
vainly exhausted all her eloquence in trying to explain that her
palace was a refuge for independent love, not subjected to any laws
whatsoever. General dissatisfaction, suspicion, grief, and tears
were alternately seen and heard in the fairy-like palace. Poor, poor
Roussoudanna could not dry her eyes. Once upon a time, going to look
for fruit, she went out of her way and got completely lost. The sun was
already quite red when she sat down to take a rest after such a hard,
steep walk. Her dark, undecided intentions and thoughts concerned
again Naboukodonozor and the magic conditions and qualities of the
rushing stream, and her grieved feelings turned against the goddess.
"Why under the sun do they call thee the benefactor of men?" she
passionately exclaimed. "Thou didst win and encourage us with the
promise of thy protection as long as thou didst need us, but now that
the situation has changed thou tookest my lover Naboukodonozor away
from me and thus why should we help thee to escape and lighten the
king's terrible wrath?
"In all probability his God is far stronger than thou, when thou
runnest away from him.
"O Christian God, save me!" rang out from the grieved soul of
Roussoudanna.
"O Lord Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy upon us!" Such was the
exclamation of an old man's voice, and indeed unhappy Roussoudanna
soon beheld an old man approaching her and making his way among the
trees and bushes.
"What is the matter with thee, my dear child?" he kindly asked, coming
up to her. Roussoudanna naturally said that she had lost her way, that
she was very much exhausted and did not know how to continue her route.
Thereupon the old man led her to his home. He lived somewhere in the
immediate neighborhood, not at all far off, in the grotto of a high,
high rock where he nourished himself with the milk of wild goats
and with dates. With the greatest pleasure he placed before her his
whole stock of provisions, brought her a pitcher of water, carefully
arranged the sofa of leaves and inviting her to take a good rest,
he went out. Having refreshed herself, Roussoudanna began to watch
him most attentively through the gate of the grotto and there she saw
that he had walked a little way off and then had fallen on his knees
and begun to pray. She witnessed how his good, kindly face suddenly
lit up with some marvellous, perfectly heavenly, happy, and joyful
expression, and she ardently desired to find out from the poor, but
grand old man, what this sudden, really indescribable joy meant in
the course of his long, laborious, honorable life.
At last the old man finished his fervent prayer and began to gather
dates; having got together a huge pile, he gayly carried them into
the grotto. The guest met him at the entrance.
"I thought that perhaps you would not have enough to eat with just
those dates which you found in my poor dwelling house," said the
kind-hearted host, turning to her, "and see here, I am bringing thee
some more still," and he put down the deliciously sweet fruits right
before her.
Roussoudanna, perfectly astounded by such unusual and unheard of
goodness and thoughtfulness, thanked the old man with tears in
her eyes.
"What does thy painful grief consist in?" he asked--and continued
thus: "It is possible that the needs of life have been weighing down
on thee?"
"Oh no, wise, dear old man, I have never known what it is to be
in need."
"Well then, did not some severe illness pull thee down and mercilessly
deprive thee of thy strength?"
"I am in perfect health and have a strong constitution."
"Perhaps some dreadful worries did not give thee rest."
A (the woman). B (the hermit).