tongues was published in France, which contains several pages in
Armenian.
In 1512 the first Armenian printed book was issued in Venice. After
that Armenians set up presses in various countries.
Notwithstanding the political position of the country, its poetry
continued to flourish and assumed a definite character; and the voices
of the poets rose continually louder and louder. This century, together
with the two preceding and the two following ones, forms a flourishing
age for poetry.
The chief poets of this century are:—Hovhannes Tulkourantzi, Mkrtich
Naghash, Grigoris of Aghtamar, Nahapet Kouchak, Arakel Sunetzi.
Hovhannes Tulkourantzi (1450–1525) was Catholicos of Sis. He is a
poet of the days of spring, flowers, beauty, love. He wrote also moral
and religious poems, besides other things. He cannot understand how it
is possible for one who loves a beautiful woman to grow old and die.
“Whosoever loves you, how can he die? How can his face grow pale in
death?”
He sings of the sanctity of family life, warning his readers against
the strange woman “who brings torment and grief. Even his lawful wife
brought trouble to Adam; what then is to be expected of the
stranger?”
He has a striking poem on Death, which he addresses thus:—
“There is nothing so bitter as thou, no venom is more bitter;
only Hell surpasseth thee, and it is thou who bringest Hell in thy
train. Solomon remembered thee, saying, ‘Of what profit is my
wisdom? Say not I am a King possessing gold and treasures.’
“Alas, O death! thou hast a grudge against the sons of Adam and
thou avengest thyself on them.
“Thou didst not consider that Moses was a prophet, nor art thou
ashamed of assaulting David; thou takest even Father Abraham; thou
draggest King Tiridates from his throne; and thou respectest not
the Emperor Constantine. [42]
“If a hero is attended by 1000 horsemen and arrayed in six coats
of armour, thou shootest thine arrows at him and bringest him down,
then thou castest him into prison and before the entrance thou
placest a great stone.”
The poem continues:—
“Like an eagle flying far,
Forth on wide-spread wings thou farest;
All the strong ones of the earth
In thy wing-tips rolled thou bearest.”
In other poems we see his susceptibility to passion and his sense of
love’s power. In one of these poems he depicts [43] a bishop of 100
years old whose beard had turned from white to yellow and who, when
officiating at the altar, suddenly uttered the name of a lady in his
invocation before the cross.
Mkrtich Naghash was Archbishop of Diarbekr. He lived when the country
was in difficult political circumstances. His talents were appreciated
not only by Armenians, but also by the Mohammedan rulers with whom,
thanks to his tact, he established friendly relations, whereby he was
able to protect his compatriots from many oppressions. He built a
church, which he adorned with beautiful pictures of his own painting.
But, after the death of the Mohammedan princes who were his patrons,
tyranny and oppression began again under their successors. He went to
Byzantium to solicit aid for his suffering countrymen, but returned
disappointed.
Besides his artistic skill, he was a poet of considerable merit. His
poems are generally on moral and religious themes—the vanity of the
world, avarice, and so forth; he also wrote songs of exile, and love
songs.
In his poem on avarice he says that that vice is the root of all evil:
“Kings and princes are continually fighting against one another,
watering the country with blood. They destroy flourishing towns; they
drive the inhabitants into exile; and spread desolation wherever they
go; and all this is through avarice.”
He goes on to specify other evils springing from this sin.
In the love songs of Mkrtich Naghash, the Rose and the Nightingale
whisper to each other fiery love speeches complaining of each other’s
cruelty. Then they admonish each other not to let their passion consume
them, and sing each other’s praises.
This is an extract from one of his songs of exile: “The thoughts of
an exile from his country are wanderers like himself. If his mind is
wiser than Solomon’s, if his words are precious pearls, in a foreign
land they bid him be silent and call him an ignorant fool. His death is
as bitter as his life; there is no one to cross his hands over his
heart; they laugh as they cover him with earth; no mourner follows him
to the grave. But I, Naghash, say that an exile’s heart is tender. In
a foreign land, what is sweet seems gall; the rose becomes a thorn.
Speak gently to an exile; give him a helping hand, and you will expiate
your sins which rankle like thorns.”
These songs of exile (or pilgrim songs) are a special feature of
Armenian poetry and for ages have been written by various poets. They
are original and often quaint and express the feelings of Armenians who
live far from their native mountains and fields, showing how they pine
for the land of their birth, reflecting the natural beauties of their
fatherland, and their yearning for their hearth and the dear faces of
home.
In 1469 in the town of Mardin there was an epidemic of smallpox, which
caused many deaths. He thus describes one of the victims: “A youth
beautiful to see, the image of the sun; his brows were arches; his eyes
like lamps guiding him by their light. This lovely child lay on the
ground, writhing piteously, looking to right and left, while the
terrible Angel of Death was busily engaged in loosing the cords of his
soul. Then the boy cried, saying: ‘Pity me and save me from the hands
of this holy angel, for I am young.’ Then he turned to his father,
and asking help from him, said: ‘There are a thousand desires in my
heart and not one of them fulfilled.’
“The father answered: ‘I would not begrudge gold and silver for thy
redemption; but these are of no avail. I would willingly give my life
for thine.’ In the end the light of the child’s life was
extinguished; the lovely hue of his face faded; his sea-like eyes lost
their lustre; the power of his graceful arm was cut off.”
Here is a translation in verse of a poem on a mysterious Flower:—
“All the lovely flowers that were
One by one have left and gone,
One Flower too there was that went
Mourned and wept by every one.
Sweetest fragrance had that Flower,
Scent that filled the earth and air,
So that all the flowers of earth
Sought in love this Blossom fair.
Some for this sweet Flow’ret’s sake
Paled and withered languidly;
Many for this Flow’ret’s sake
Blossomed like the almond tree.
God Himself had sent that Flower,
But all did not know its worth.
He that gave took back His own,
Many wept upon the earth.
And the Flower went to a place
Where all flowers rejoiced and smiled;
Flowers of many a brilliant hue
With its sweetness it beguiled.
From its beauty other flowers
Borrowed lustre, and they glowed;
Every blossom in its kind
To that Flower knelt and bowed.”
Grigoris of Aghtamar was born about 1418 and was Catholicos of
Aghtamar, an island in the Lake of Van, which has picturesque
surroundings fit to inspire a poet; so that it is not surprising that
our Catholicos became a singer animated by poetic fire, the exponent of
love and beauty—of the Nightingale and the Rose.
It is evident, from his works, that Grigoris had a great love of life.
We see this especially in a poem entitled The Gardener and his Garden.
The Gardener, says the poet, enters his garden every morning and hears
the sweet voice of the nightingale as he examines the newly planted
flowers of various colours. This beautiful spot he surrounds with a
hedge, bringing stones from the river, thorns from the mountain. He has
just built arbours, made a fountain, introduced little running brooks,
and planted vines, when, all of a sudden, a voice utters the command:
“Come out of thy garden.” It is Death who beckons him out. He
expostulates: “I have not yet seen life and light; I have not yet
seen the fruit of the garden; I have not yet smelt the rose; I have not
yet drunk my wine or filled my casks; I have not plucked flowers for a
nosegay. I have not yet rejoiced over my garden.”
But his prayers are not heeded; obedient to the unchangeable law of the
universe, he at last capitulates to the Angel of Death.
After describing the Gardener’s death and burial, the poet goes on to
tell what happens to the garden after its owner has left it; the rose
fades; the other flowers disappear; the hedge is broken down, and what
was once a lovely garden becomes a scene of desolation.
This is his description of the face of his lady-love. He likens her
eyebrows to a sword; the sparkle of her eyes to a sharp lance; her eyes
to the sunlit sea. She is, he says, as straight as a willow; her lips
are like harp strings; her teeth, a row of pearls; her tongue is sugar;
and, wherever she rests, the place becomes a garden. She has fragrance
sweeter than the violet of the spring; she is like a white rose, pure
and sweet, like a newly opened flower; a young almond plant. Her face
is red and white, like an apple of the forest. She soars high, like a
daring eagle. She is brilliant as a peacock with golden feathers.
We have in this volume (page 52) a translation of one of Grigoris’
longer poems, entitled “Concerning the Rose and the Nightingale,”
in which it is interesting to note that—quaintly enough—the poet
gives the text of a letter sent with great pomp, by special messengers,
to the Rose; adding the consequence which followed, and the verbal
answer returned.
The subject of the Rose and the Nightingale is a Persian one
originally, but the outstanding characteristics of the Armenian
versions consist in the refinements and subtleties of the feelings
described, the deference paid to the Rose, and the idea of continuity
and faithfulness in love. These feelings are minutely described in this
beautiful poem, and summed up in the Rose’s message to the
Nightingale on p. 56:—
“I cannot there return immediately;
A little he must wait, in patient wise:
But if his love is perfectly with me,
Tell him to look for it in Paradise.”
These ideals constitute the difference between the mentality of
Mohammedanism and Christianity.
Nahapet Kouchak was a fine poet of the seventeenth century. He is
called the Psalmist of Love. Although there is a slight resemblance in
style between his writings and those of the Persian poets, his poetry
is original. The works attributed to him have only recently been
published as a whole; they have been translated into French and other
languages, and greatly admired. Some critics have placed him higher
than Sadi and other Persian poets. (Examples of his work are given on
pages 4, 5, and 31.)
Arakel Sunetzi was the Metropolitan of the province of Suni. He appears
to have possessed a thorough acquaintance with the writings of his
time. His chief work is the Book of Adam, a long narrative poem,
telling the story of the Fall in the style of a romance in which
theology, lyrics, heroic lays, and folklore are all fused together.
Adam, though because of his great love for his wife he was inclined to
yield to her petition, yet wavered, not knowing whether to hearken to
his spouse or to his Creator. “But his mind went with his eyes; he
deserted God, but not the woman; for, without Eve, half of his body was
dead, and with the other half it was impossible to live.”
Among the lyrics in this book is one entitled The Rib, of which we
subjoin two stanzas:—
“The rib is bow-shaped, so her face,
Sped by her looks, is like a dart;
Who gazeth on a woman’s grace,
No salve or drug can cure his smart.
“And for the rib is high and low—
One side is vaulted, one is round,
Her face doth love and sweetness show
Whilst in her heart fierce hate is found.”
Here is a passage from another poem of Sunetzi’s entitled The Glory
of the Saints, describing the Resurrection:—
“Opened are the tombs;
Now rise the dead that long in dust have lain.
Decked with brilliant hues,
Bright as the sun, they cannot fade again.
While the earth, renewed,
Doth greet the Lord, all fresh and dazzling white;
And the heavens are decked
More richly than before, sevenfold more bright.
Then in heaven shines forth
With arms stretched out like rays, the Holy Rood.
With the Cross appear
The hosts of fire—a countless multitude.
Butterflies dance forth
Amongst the angels—none may mark them out.”
In the sixteenth century, Turkish and Persian wars became fiercer and
the Armenian history of this century becomes the record of the
sufferings of the country during these wars. Poets of this period were
Nerses Mokatzi, Minas Tokhatzi, Ghazar of Sebastia, Sarkavak Bertaktzi.
Nerses Mokatzi was an ecclesiastic and poet. Very few of his works have
come down to us. One of the poems we have—entitled The Dispute
between Heaven and Earth—is interesting. The poet begins by saying
that Heaven and Earth are brothers. One day these brothers disputed as
to which of them was the greater. “Of course,” says the poet,
“the Heaven is high, but the Earth is more fruitful.”
He then goes on to report a dialogue between the brothers in which each
enumerates his own possessions, declaring them superior to those of the
other. The following is a short prose summary of this dialogue:—
Heaven. Surely I possess more than you. The stars, with their
radiance, are all in my domain.
Earth. The flowers, with their six thousand colours, are in mine.
Heaven. If I withhold my dew, how will your flowers array
themselves?
Earth. You derive your dew from the sea, which originates in me. If
I cut off the source of the sea, how would you get your dew?
Heaven. I have something else that you have not: should I veil my
sun your flowers would fade.
Earth. Oh, I will bring forth waters from my abyss to keep my
flowers alive.
Heaven. The lightning and the hail could destroy your flowers if I
willed it so.
Earth. I have mountains and valleys that would intercept them and
shield the flowers.
Heaven. All brave and wise men are buried in your depths.
Earth. When God recalls the souls that are His, what is to be done?
If I did not receive and conceal their bodies, the angels would
flee from the deathly odour, and Heaven and Earth would be shaken.
Heaven. The Nine Orders of Angels are all here with me.
Earth. In my realm are the Apostles and Prophets.
Heaven. I am the Heaven of Seven Regions; the Sun, the Moon, and
the Creator-God sitting on His throne all have their abode in me.
Earth. Your Seven Regions will be shaken from their foundation. The
Sun, the Moon, and the Stars will be cast into the darkness and
your Creator-God, with His throne, will descend to me. The Judgment
will be held in my domain.
“Heaven then bent down its head
To the Earth in adoration,
You too, children of the Earth,
Bow to her in adoration.
What is higher than the Earth?
Praise and love bring to enwreathe her.
For to-day we walk on her
And to-morrow sleep beneath her.” [44]
This poem is interesting, as it breathes the spirit of the revival of
popular poetry, with its worship of nature, beauty, and love, of which
things the Earth is the personification. Hence the poet exalts Earth
above Heaven. Here we see also a change of ideas. The older Christian
poets were churchmen and sang contempt of the present world and
concentration on the joys of heaven. This new note, struck from the
beginning of the fifteenth century, gradually grows bolder, and sounds
forth daringly, as we hear it in this poem, which seems all the more
remarkable when we remember that its author was a priest. This is the
song, not of a lover of vanities, but, rather, of an enthusiast, who
loves beauty and has learnt that it is good to live on the earth,
because it also contains beautiful things that are worth living for.
This poem also shows the conquest of learning and science which, at the
time it was written, had found their way into Armenia as well as
elsewhere, perhaps through the new Armenian colonies formed in Europe
and other parts of the world.
Minas Tokhatzi, a humorous poet, lived in Poland. He wrote verses on
Toothache and on Tobacco (descanting on its objectionable odour and
showing how the smoker becomes its slave); also on Flies.
To convey an idea of his art, we give the substance of the last-named
work:—
“The flies,” says the poet, “for some reason or other, went forth
to combat against me. They also entered into a conspiracy with my
penknife. Knowing of this, I implored the knife not to listen to the
accursed insects, who had already caused me enough pain. The attack was
begun in a novel fashion; the flies came, buzzing, in gay and merry
mood, and settled on my hands and arms in a friendly manner, asking me
to write them something in red ink. At the same time, the penknife,
playing me a perfidious trick, cut my hand. I protested against this
treatment. The penknife justified itself by saying it had acted thus
because I had told a lie. I got a few moments’ rest, after this, from
the flies, till, at dinner-time, I met with three of them, who
announced that more were coming. The combat was renewed. During the
night, the flies were relieved by their allies, the fleas.”
Ghazar of Sebastia, an ecclesiastic, has fallen under the spell of some
eyes “as deep as the sea.” He describes the torment under which he
is pining away and his longing for his mistress’s arrival, like the
longing of a patient for his physician. The face of his love (he says)
is like glistening amber; her eyes are so bewitching, that
“The sun and moon have unto thee come down,
Lovingly on thy locks they hang, and gleam;
And clustering stars thy beauteous forehead crown,
Aflame and drunken with thy love they seem.”
There is nothing known of Sarkavak Bertaktzi, but this poem from his
pen is interesting:—
“O vine, you should commended be
For you are beautiful to see;
Your fruit is of all fruits most fair:—
The crown and diadem they wear.
Like strands of gold your branches spread,
Like ropes of pearl the grapes they thread.
For some are dark and some are white,
And some are red, transmitting light.
Some glow like amber in the dusk,
Perfumed with frankincense and musk.
Left us by the Creator’s care,—
From Eden’s fields a keepsake rare.
To us on earth you seem to be
The fruit of immortality.
To Noah you were by angels borne
His heart to gladden and adorn.
Your fruit when gathered from the vine
Unto the wine-press we assign;
Your juice like crimson roses glows
And through the press in torrents flows.
Then into jars we pour the meath,
There without fire to boil and seethe.
How many kings around you press,
Your name how many princes bless!
The Sovereign’s heart you fill with joy,
With power to conquer and destroy;
If he is wroth with any man,
And places him beneath his ban,
One drop of you immediately
Would move his heart to set him free.
The man that from his birth was blind,
Drinking of you, his sight doth find;
Of glorious cities he can tell,
Wherein his footsteps never fell.
The dumb, that halted in his speech,
To prate with fluency you teach.
More glibly than a parrot, he
Will jest and wanton dotingly.
At mass, within the sacred cup,
The holy priest doth raise you up.
Disease and pain through you will cease,
By you all sinners find release.
To town and village you are borne,
To convent, wilderness forlorn;
Where men do not your sparkle see,
No mass nor service can there be.”
The seventeenth century resembles its predecessor as regards the
political position of Armenia, except that the misery is even greater.
During the last years of the eighteenth century, the Russian conquest
of Armenia began.
At the end of the eighteenth century an Armenian monk named Mkhitar
Sepastatzi established at St. Lazare in Venice an Armenian Brotherhood,
who devoted themselves to literature. This Brotherhood is still in
existence, and has a branch in Vienna. During this period of more than
a century its members have printed hundreds of old MSS. of historical
value. They have also produced many works dealing with history and
other branches of learning, and translations of foreign classics, thus
rendering a great service to Armenian literature.
It will be remembered that Byron stayed at St. Lazare and studied
Armenian, He actually took part in the publication of an
Armenian-English dictionary and grammar.
For centuries music and song have become a joy to Armenians through
minstrels called ashoughs. Ashoughs are invited to all weddings and
other festivities, where they are the life of the party and the makers
of merriment. They sing also on the bridges and in the squares, and
wander from courtyard to courtyard. Their song is not always merry; it
is sometimes sad, sometimes even bitter. They always carry with them
their saz or tar or kamancha, oriental instruments, on which they
accompany their songs. Many of the ashoughs are blind. To be an ashough
is considered a high attainment. In order to acquire the art, any one
who aspires to become an ashough first observes a fast of seven weeks,
then goes to the monastery of Sourb Karapet, which is the Parnassus of
Armenian musicians. “Sourb Karapet” is John the Baptist, who is the
patron saint of Armenian minstrels. In the Near East, ashoughs (who are
mostly Armenians) are greatly admired not only by Armenians, but by
Persians, Turks, and other races, as some of them sing in other
languages besides Armenian. Some ashoughs sing their own verses, but as
a rule the songs are the composition of a special class of poets. The
songs of these other ashoughs often reveal deep feelings and many of
them are high-class poems.
As a typical ashough author, I will only mention Sayat Nova. His lyre
attained extreme sweetness; he combines all the vivid colouring of the
East with soft and refined shading. He was born in 1712. He was a
special favourite at the court of the Georgian king. In his own words,
he “sat in the palace among the beauties and sang to them,” but his
songs seem not merely to be poems in praise of court beauties, or for
their amusement; they seem an expression of the deep feelings of his
heart. A word-picture of his lady-love will be found on page 74 of this
volume (“Thy Voice is Sweet”).
His love is so intense that one sees at once that he is capable of deep
feelings and one is drawn to him; yet this love is pure and unselfish.
He describes his love as a sea and himself as a little barque floating
on it. For ten years he has wooed the lady as a prince, but without
success; he will not relinquish the pursuit of her, but resolves now
for seven years to pay court to her in the character of a
pilgrim-minstrel.
He is even content only to sleep on her doorstep. There is something
else that is a part of his life, namely, his kamancha. He threatens to
cut the strings of his instrument if he is a week without seeing his
beloved.
Once he comes face to face with his lady-love and says:—
“What avails me now a physician? The ointment burns, and does not
heal the wound, but your medicine is a different one.”
But she replies that she has no remedy for him. In another poem he is
in despair, and says:—
“Without thee, of what use is the world’s wealth? I will don the
habit of a monk and visit the monasteries one by one. Perhaps in one of
them I shall discover a way of redemption from my hopeless love.”
(See “Without Thee what are Song and Dance to Me?” on page 85 of
this volume.)
In another poem he expresses the wavering between earthly and heavenly
life, saying:—
“If one obeys the will of the soul, then the body is offended. How
shall I escape this sorrow?”
At last he carries out his declaration and becomes a monk. He secludes
himself from the world in a lonely monastery, far away from Tiflis; but
once he hears that a minstrel has come to that city whom none can
equal, whereupon he steals out of the monastery, disguised as a layman,
and taking his saz with him, goes to Tiflis, enters into contest with
the new minstrel, and conquering him, saves the honour of his native
town.
In 1795 Agha Mohammed Khan laid waste Tiflis and many other towns of
that region. His soldiers entered the monastery where Sayat Nova was
praying and commanded him to come out and become a Mohammedan if he
wished to save his life; but he replied, in verse, that he was an
Armenian and would not deny his Christ. He was therefore martyred on
the spot. Other poems of his appear on pages 35 (“I have a Word I
fain would say”), 14 (“I beheld my Love this Morning”), 110
(“Thou art so Sweet”).
We have given specimens of mediaeval Armenian poetry; we now proceed to
indicate in outline its most striking characteristics.
The theme of the Armenian pagan minstrels was the heroic deeds of their
country’s history. The adoption of Christianity imparted to Armenian
poetry a specific form and tone. At the same time it was the revival of
the old Armenian valour, which, strengthened by the circumstances in
which the Armenians lived, produced a religious poetry of great purity
of feeling, and of a depth and solemnity unequalled by any other poetry
of this class.
In the Middle Ages, the poetry gave expression to the love and other
emotions of the Armenian poets.
A new poetry of the now Mohammedan Persia written in modern Persian
came into being almost simultaneously with the Armenian poetry of the
Middle Ages.
Firdusi, Omar Khayyam, Sadi, Hafiz, with a splendid retinue of less
famed singers, made Persian the language of verse which, together with
Arabic poetry in its earlier stages, no doubt had some influence on the
Armenian poets of the Middle Ages; but this influence affected form
rather than spirit or character.
Armenian mediaeval poetry does not possess the burning hues of oriental
verse, and is perhaps less luxurious, but the grace, charm, ease, and
fancy of the Armenian lays are inimitable, and their originality and
occasional quaintness are so marked that one feels there is a magic in
them. These characteristics are the outcome of the mutual assimilation
of eastern and western art, so that the poetry of Armenia, like its
language, its art, its Church, stands by itself.
In comparing Armenian with Persian and Arabic poetry, one must remember
that the Armenians, as Christians, were not polygamists; and that, to
them, marriage was sanctified by the law of God and man. This is what
the great Persian poet Sadi says of women: “Choose a fresh wife every
spring, or every New Year’s day, for the almanac of last year is good
for nothing.” It would have been impossible for any Armenian poet to
entertain such an idea as that.
Whereas women are so cheap in the eyes of the Persian poet, Armenian
girls endowed with beauty were considered by their parents and the
community very precious possessions, to be zealously guarded, as they
were in constant danger of attracting the attention of their Mohammedan
lords and being forcibly carried off into harems. This fact had the
effect of mingling compassion with the Armenian poets’ admiration of
a girl’s beauty and made them write more feelingly of women.
It must also be remembered that, whereas Mohammedanism looks upon woman
as a soulless being, in the eyes of a Christian she possesses a soul as
precious as that of a man.
It is an interesting fact that love poems were written by the clergy,
often by ecclesiastics of high position, who, by the law of the
Armenian Church, are vowed to celibacy. One explanation of this is that
they were born poets, and only regarded love as one among many feelings
fitted to be the subject of verse. Their use of the first person is
only dramatic.
There are also many folksongs which differ, in style and character,
from the love-songs of poets. The spirit of these songs is that of
Armenian pagan poems. The following is an example of songs of this
class. It describes the adventure of a girl.
“I beheld a youth to-day
As at dawn I walked unheeding,
And the youth stopped on his way,
Struck my cheek, and left it bleeding.
Then my mother questioned me,
‘Who was it that struck you?’ saying,
‘’Twas a thorn, as near the tree
With the roses I was playing.’
‘May the tree turn dry and sear
Which thy pretty cheek left bleeding!’
‘Mother, dear, oh, do not speak,
’Twas a youth that stopped to kiss it.
’Twas for luck he kissed my cheek,
If thou curse him he will miss it!’”
Armenian religious and devotional poetry has characteristics of its
own. This class of literature falls into two divisions. In the first
division are works of a purely literary character written in old
Armenian; in the second, works meant for popular use, written in the
language of the people. These latter are written in a more familiar
style, proverbs and paraphrases being often introduced, in a
picturesque fashion, which appeals to the unlearned.
As an example of the popular class of literature we give an extract
from a poem about Gregory the Illuminator, who was cast by King
Tiridates into a well infested with serpents and other loathsome
creatures:—
“‘Take the saint and put him into the prison where
dragon-serpents are assembled.’
They took the saint and put him in the prison where the
dragon-serpents were assembled.
And the poisonous serpents inclined their tongues in worship.
And said: ‘Pity us, O Saint Gregory, and hearken to the complaint
of us, dragon-serpents.
It is many thousands of years since we drank water from the springs;
We have not drunk water from the springs, but only the blood of condemned men.
We have eaten no green herbs, but only the flesh of the condemned.’”
The poet goes on to tell how St. Gregory when he came out of the well
set free the dragon-serpents in answer to their prayer.
This poem is very old, being written in the fifth or sixth century at
the latest. The metre is that of the pagan poets.
We cite here another poem of this class—an allegorical description of
Christ on the Cross:—
“A little Bird I saw—a peerless One—
Upon the four-armed Sign, that peer hath none.
O Peerless One, who is like Thee, Thou Peerless One?
Thou alone.
“Its silvery wings were of a matchless white
More brilliant than the sun’s clear, matchless light.
O Matchless One, who is like Thee, Thou Matchless One?
Thou alone.
“Piteous Its voice—a great, transcendent sigh;
Mighty, as Gabriel’s transcendent cry.
Transcendent One, who is like Thee, Transcendent One?
Thou alone.
“Within Its eyes, gem-like, unrivalled tears;
Surpassing those the morn unrivalled wears;
Unrivalled One, who is like Thee, Unrivalled One?
Thou alone.”
A characteristic species of Armenian poetry is the lullaby. There are
hundreds of old Armenian cradle-songs which are still sung by mothers
to their infants, and they are exquisitely dainty and sweet.
Here are some stanzas from one of these songs:—
“Thou art lovely, feet and all,
Whom wouldst have to be thy playmate?
Hush, the silver moon I’ll call—
The bright star to be thy playmate.
“Crimson rose and petals wide,
Thou hast bloomed, our garden’s pride.
As many suns shine on thy years
As the leaves our garden bears.
“Oror, hush, the deer are here,
The deer have come from the hills so high,
Have brought sweet sleep to my baby dear,
And filled it in his deep, deep eye.”
There are series of Armenian folksongs for every event in life—birth,
marriage, death, and so on.
The following is a folksong of death, being the lament of a mother over
her dead son:—
“As to-night I walked alone
To the earth my ear inclining,
From the ground I heard a moan,—
My son’s voice I heard repining.
‘Do not leave me in the ground,
With the serpents round me crawling.
“Food in plenty we have found,”
To their young ones they are calling,
“From his ribs we’ll gnaw the flesh,
From his eyes drink water fresh.”’
All the night I found no rest,
I cried out, ‘Give me a knife,
I will plunge it in my breast,
I will have no more of life!’”
Yet another feature of the literature of this period is the
contemporary history in verse. We come across metrical narratives of
great events written by those who experienced them. There is a long and
vivid description in verse, by an eye-witness, of the siege of
Constantinople. The poet is Abraham Vardapet.
There are also agricultural and craft songs, which are sung by workmen
over their labour.
These songs are adapted to the movements necessitated by each
occupation.
Another marked difference between Armenian and Mohammedan literature is
that Armenians are entirely free from the fatalism which is a
distinctive feature of the Mohammedan view of life.
Sadi relates, in his Gulistan, the story of a fisherman that gives the
Mohammedan conception of Fate. This fisherman had caught a fish which
his strength did not allow him to drag to shore. Fearing to be drawn
into the river himself, he abandoned his line, and the fish swam away
with the bait in his mouth. His companions mocked him, and he replied:
“What could I do? This animal escaped because his last hour, fixed by
fate, was not yet come. Fate governs all, and the fisherman cannot
overcome it more than another, nor can he catch fish, if fate is
against him, even in the Tigris. The fish itself, even though dry,
would not die, if it were the will of fate to preserve its life.” The
poet adds: “O man! why shouldst thou fear? If thy hour is not come,
in vain would thy enemy rush against thee with his lance in rest: his
arms and his feet would be tied by fate, and the arrow would be turned
away, though in the hands of the most expert archer.”
The spirit of Armenian poetry is neither despondent nor fatalistic. Its
songs are of dawn, of spring, of sunrise, of struggle; not of sunset.
And perhaps this clinging to hope and this desire to live is the only
secret of the survival of the Armenian nation. Armenian poetry is the
product of dwellers in a hill country. To them mountains, deep valleys,
clear skies, running brooks are familiar every-day companions.
This brings us down to the Renaissance of Armenian literature which
took place almost simultaneously in Russia and Turkey, but the field of
modern Armenian literature is such a wide one that we cannot attempt an
analysis of it here. There are, however, some examples of modern
Armenian poetry in this volume.
The occupation of the Armenian provinces by Russia in 1828, with the
attendant emigration of thousands from Persia and Turkey into Russian
Armenia, strengthened the nation. National schools were soon opened,
supported by the Armenians themselves. An Armenian Academy was
established in Moscow in 1815 and a Seminary in Tiflis in 1826. Many
Armenians went to Moscow and Petrograd, and also to foreign
universities, especially to those of Germany, Switzerland, and France.
The educational revival produced a new era, and a new Armenian
literature came into being. Many Armenian newspapers and reviews were
founded and published in different places. Tiflis was the centre of the
literature and learning of Russian Armenia. A similar revival of
letters occurred in Turkish Armenia. In 1860 a national and
ecclesiastical constitution was granted to the Armenians in Turkey. For
Turkish Armenians the literary centres were Constantinople and Smyrna.
In the latter city, good work was done in translating western classics,
but Constantinople was the chief seat of Armenian culture in Turkey.
Thus Armenian literature became divided into two branches—Russian
Armenian and Turkish Armenian—each of which has its own peculiarities
of language, style, and tone. It was poetry that first burst into bloom
and reached maturity soonest. At first the motifs of the poems were
mainly national. The imagination of the poets was kindled by the past,
present, and future of Armenia, its sufferings, its national beauty,
its shortcomings. They looked forward to a national regeneration. They
were apostles of light, science, learning; and pointed out new paths of
national salvation. The result of all this was the production of some
beautiful national songs. These songs are not triumphant anthems like
those of other countries; they are songs of suffering, but with a note
of hope. Then Armenian poetry developed a truer relation with what had
been created in literature and art, and the poets looked at things in a
new way, and assumed new poetical forms. It combined poetry and
imagination with passionate feeling for life and truth. Some of the
poems of this period are of exquisite workmanship, breathing the very
spirit of the time.
As we have said, Armenian poetry of the nineteenth century is so full
of merit and of such intense interest that it would be impossible to do
it justice without writing at great length. We have already exhausted
the space at our disposal, and hope to devote a separate work to it.
Persian and Arabic poetry are things of the past, but Armenian poetry,
like the Armenian nation, has an unquenchable vitality, ever advancing
towards new horizons, and soaring to loftier heights.
CHRONOLOGICAL INDEX TO AUTHORS
Moses of Khorene, fifth century— PAGE
Vahagn, King of Armenia, 10
Ara and Semiramis, 23
The Founding of Van, 33
Artashes and Satenik, 48
Artavasd, 65
Christ and Abgarus, 75
Folk Songs—
The Exile’s Song, 1
The Apple Tree, 3
The Fox, the Wolf, and the Bear, 15
The Song of the Stork, 27
The Song of the Partridge, 36
The Hawk and the Dove, 63
Charm Verses, 67
O’er the Mountains High He went, 81
The Fox, 90
Dance Song (Haberban), 101
Author Unknown, mediaeval—
Yesternight I walked Abroad, 7
Saint Gregory of Narek, 951–1009—
The Christ-Child, 113
Saint Nerses Shnorhali, 1102–1173—
The Arrival of the Crusaders, 58
Hovhannes Erzingatzi, b. 1260—
Like an Ocean is this World 59
“Frik,” d. 1330—
Reproaches, xv
John Gower, d. 1408—
The Tale of Rosiphelee, 91
Hovhannes Tulkourantzi, 1450–1525—
Concerning Death, 119
Grigoris of Aghtamar, fifteenth century—
Concerning the Rose and the Nightingale, 52
Nahabed Kouchak, fifteenth century—
My Heart is turned into a Wailing Child, 4
O Night, be long, 5
Birthday Song, 31
Sayat Nova, 1713–1795—
I beheld my Love this Morning, 14
I have a Word I fain would say, 35
“Thy Voice is Sweet”, 74
Without Thee what are Song and Dance to Me?, 85
Thou art so Sweet, 110
Leo Alishan, 1820–1901—
The Lily of Shavarshan, 37
The Nightingale of Avarair, 108
Mikael Nalbandian, 1829–1866—
Liberty, 12
Muggurdich Beshigtashlian, 1829–1868—
Spring, 89
Raphael Patkanian, 1830–1892—
Cradle Song, 21
Cradle Song, 41
The Tears of Araxes, 69
Raffi, 1837–1888—
The Parrot’s Song, 78
The Lake of Van, 86
Ballad, 103
The Castle of Anoush, 114
Karekin Srvanstian, 1840–1892—
Lament over the Heroes fallen in the Battle of Avarair, 25
Smpad Shahaziz, 1840–1897—
The Dream, 46
Thomas Terzyan, 1842–1909—
The Chragan Palace, 44
Elia Demirjibashian, 1851–1908—
The Song of the Vulture 98
Bedros Tourian, 1852–1872—
The Little Lake, 18
My Death, 50
Complaints, 82
A Day after, 84
Love One Another, 121
William Watson, b. 1858—
A Trial of Orthodoxy, xvi
Hovhannes Hovhannessian, b. 1869—
Spring, 20
The Rock, 60
Araxes came devouringly, 77
Hovhannes Toumanian, b. 1869—
The Crane, 62
Earth and Sky, 79
Alexander Dzadourian, b. 1870—
The Armenian Poet’s Prayer, 43
Arschag Tchobanian, b. 1872—
Happiness, 118
Avetis Isahakian, b. 1875—
Black Eyes, 6
Huntsman, that on the Hills above, 11
Ye Mountain Bluebells, 29
The Sun went down, 30
The Wind is howling through the Winter Night, 42
Shushanik Gourghinian, b. 1876—
The Eagle’s Love, 51
Zabelle Essayan, b. 1878—
Incense, 17
C. A. Dodochian—
The Wandering Armenian to the Swallow, 111
Hovhannes Costaniantz—
No Bird can reach the Mountain’s Crest, 106
Derenik Demirjian—
The Eve of Ascension Day, 73
Haroutune Toumanian—
Morning, 32
Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj, d. 1910—
Pasqua Armena, 122
“Io Vidi”, 123
INDEX TO FIRST LINES
AUTHOR. TRANSLATED BY PAGE
Above the waters, like a hoary giant Hovhannes Hovhannessian Z. C. Boyajian 60
Accostarsi all’oscuro Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj 123
A great black bird like to a great black
cloud Elia Demirjibashian Z. C. Boyajian 98
An eagle sat upon the fell Shushanik Gourghinian Z. C. Boyajian 51
Araxes came devouringly Hovhannes Hovhannessian Z. C. Boyajian 77
Armenian maidens, come and view Leo Alishan Alice Stone Blackwell 37
Belovèd one, for thy sweet sake Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 1
Dark forests clothe the mountain-side Raffi Z. C. Boyajian 103
Day dawned. Bright tongues of scarlet
flame Haroutune Toumanian Z. C. Boyajian 32
Do not trust black eyes, but fear them Avetis Isahakian Z. C. Boyajian 6
Farewell, thou Sun, and Thou, O Power
Divine Bedros Tourian Z. C. Boyajian 82
Have you ever seen that wondrous
building T. Terzyan Alice Stone Blackwell 44
Huntsman, that on the hills above Avetis Isahakian Z. C. Boyajian 11
I beheld my love this morning Sayat Nova Z. C. Boyajian 14
If Goghtan’s bards no longer crown Karekin Srvanstian Z. C. Boyajian 25
I have a word I fain would say Sayat Nova Z. C. Boyajian 35
I have loved your winsome face Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 101
In many a distant, unknown land 47
I walk by Mother Arax Raphael Patkanian Alice Stone Blackwell 69
Like an ocean is this world Hovhannes Erzingatzi Z. C. Boyajian 59
My heart is turned into a wailing child Nahabed Kouchak Z. C. Boyajian 4
Nightingale, oh, leave our garden Raphael Patkanian Alice Stone Blackwell 41
Night with her ebon hair and starry Derenik Demirjian Z. C. Boyajian 73
crown
No bird can reach the mountain’s crest H. Costaniantz Z. C. Boyajian 106
None await thy smiling rays Hovhannes Hovhannessian Z. C. Boyajian 20
Non fu di fiele abbeverato? Il petto Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj 122
O’er the mountains high he went Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 81
O evil man, with passions fraught Hovhannes Tulkourantzi Z. C. Boyajian 119
Of Armenye, I rede thus John Gower 91
O God of righteousness and truth “Frik” xv
O God, ’tis not for laurel wreaths I
pray Alexander Dzadourian Z. C. Boyajian 43
O little breeze, how fresh and sweet Muggurdich Beshigtashlian Z. C. Boyajian 89
Once more God hither moves their course Saint Nerses Shnorhali Z. C. Boyajian 58
O Night, be long—long as an endless year Nahabed Kouchak Z. C. Boyajian 5
On the morning of thy birth Nahabed Kouchak Z. C. Boyajian 31
O swallow, gentle swallow C. A. Dodochian Alice Stone Blackwell 111
Slumbering darkly yesterday Bedros Tourian Z. C. Boyajian 84
Soft and low a voice breathed o’er me S. Shahaziz Z. C. Boyajian 46
Stork, I welcome thy return Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 27
Sweet slumber now creeps o’er thee slow Raphael Patkanian Z. C. Boyajian 21
The clinging children at their mother’s
knee William Watson xvi
The Crane has lost his way across the
heaven Hovhannes Toumanian Z. C. Boyajian 62
The door of Heaven open seemed Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 3
The fox ran up into the mill Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 90
The Hawk said to the Dove, “My dear” Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 63
The incense at the altar slowly burns Zabelle Essayan Z. C. Boyajian 17
The lips of the Christ-child are like to
twin leaves Saint Gregory of Narek Alice Stone Blackwell 113
The little fox, the wolf and bear made
peace Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 15
The Rose was gone. When to the empty
tent Grigoris of Aghtamar Z. C. Boyajian 52
The Sky bent down his piercing gaze one
day Hovhannes Toumanian Z. C. Boyajian 79
The sun has touched the mountain’s crest Folk Song Z. C. Boyajian 36
The sun went down behind the hill Avetis Isahakian Z. C. Boyajian 30
The wind is howling through the winter
night Avetis Isahakian Z. C. Boyajian 42
Thou art so sweet thou wilt not pain Sayat Nova Z. C. Boyajian 110
Thy voice is soft, thy speech all
sweetness flows Sayat Nova Z. C. Boyajian 74
Undying Love, Whose beams forever glow Bedros Tourian Z. C. Boyajian 121
Unutterable silence here is spread Raffi George M. Green 86
Weary of vainly seeking Happiness Arschag Tchobanian Z. C. Boyajian 118
Whence comest thou, my moon, gentle and
still Leo Alishan Z. C. Boyajian 108
When Death’s pale angel comes to me Bedros Tourian Z. C. Boyajian 50
When the God of Liberty Mikael Nalbandian Z. C. Boyajian 12
Why dost thou lie in hushed surprise Bedros Tourian Alice Stone Blackwell 18
With nuts and sweets and dainty fare Raffi Z. C. Boyajian 78
Without thee what are song and dance to
me? Sayat Nova Z. C. Boyajian 85
Ye mountain bluebells, weep with me Avetis Isahakian Z. C. Boyajian 29
Yesternight I walked abroad Author Unknown Z. C. Boyajian 7
Charm Verses Folk Songs Z. C. Boyajian 67
PROSE LEGENDS
Ara and Semiramis Moses of Khorene Z. C. Boyajian 23
Artashes and Satenik Moses of Khorene Z. C. Boyajian 48
Artavasd Moses of Khorene Z. C. Boyajian 65
Christ and Abgarus Moses of Khorene Z. C. Boyajian 75
The Castle of Anoush Raffi Z. C. Boyajian 114
The Founding of Van Moses of Khorene Z. C. Boyajian 33
Vahagn, King of Armenia Moses of Khorene Z. C. Boyajian 10
NOTES
[1] The “feast of Father Abraham” means plenty.
[2] An apple is the symbol of love.
[3] Armenian babies are tied tightly into their cradles when they are
put to sleep.
[4] This and the other translations by Miss Alice Stone Blackwell are
reprinted from Armenian Poems, by the translator’s kind permission.
[5] Oror—lullaby.
[6] Armenian babies have their eyes bandaged when they are put to
sleep, and they are tied into their cradles.
[7] Santoukhd was martyred by the order of her father, King Sanadroug,
for becoming a Christian.
[8] The late Hagop Bey Balian.
[9] A great number of these little poems exist. They are traditional,
and are used for fortune-telling. On the Eve of Ascension Day all those
who wish to have their fortunes told place some little trinket into a
bowl containing seven different kinds of flowers and water from seven
springs. The bowl is left open to the stars until dawn, when the party
assemble and select a child who cannot tell where the sun rises to take
the trinkets out as the verses are repeated. The owner of the token
takes the verse preceding its being brought out as his or her fortune.
[10] The Eve of Ascension Day is the time when betrothals are arranged
and destinies decided.
[11] The patron saint of lovers.
[12] The poem entitled “Complaints,” written a few days before his
death.
[13] “Ner”—the Antichrist, concerning whom the Armenians have
many traditions.
[14] Haberban.
[15] The Paradise of Mohammed, where the souls of the blest are waited
upon by beautiful houris, and fed with delicious fruits.
[16] Above the summit of Aragatz, the mountain that faces Ararat on the
far side of the plain, a weird light is sometimes visible,
traditionally called the Lamp of Saint Gregory the Illuminator.
[17] Anoush - sweet.
[18] This and the following poem are reprinted from Nuove Liriche, by
Vittoria Aganoor Pompilj, Roma. Nuova Antologia.
[19] Navasard fell, according to the later calendar of pagan Armenia,
in August.
[20] See Agathangelos (fourth century A.D.).
[21] Annual bonfires are kindled by Armenians on the festival of
Candlemas, or the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary (February
13/2).
[22] Agathangelos.
[23] Statues of massive gold were consecrated to her, one of which was
captured by the soldiers of Antony (Pliny, H. N., xxx. 24).
[24] At each festival, the Armenians had to show what progress they had
made during the past year, in art and in other occupations, and races
and other competitions took place, the victors being crowned with
wreaths of roses. When the doves were set flying the High Priest
sprinkled the people with the waters of the Aradzani—a tributary of
the Euphrates—and the people in their turn sprinkled each other. The
customs dated back to traditions of the deluge—that universal baptism
with which God cleansed all the sinful earth, and the same expression
of love and forgiveness is manifested in the presence of the dove at
the baptism of Jordan. See Raffi’s Samuel, chap. ix.
[25] Astghik means in Armenian “little star.”
[26] It is a curious coincidence that Venus, the Greek goddess of
beauty, was also the wife of a fire-god, Vulcan.
[27] Some say that Ammanor was an ancient Armenian god and not foreign.
[28] Kadjk means in Armenian “brave ones.”
[29] Zarmaïr, another king of this dynasty, took part in the defence
of Troy. The historian emphasises the fact that he was killed by
Achilles himself.
[30] It is interesting to recall, in this connection, some passages of
Strabo. Speaking of Armenia he says:—“It is said that people
passing by the foot of the mountains are often buried in the snow which
falls from the summits. In order to be prepared for such a mishap,
travellers carry with them two long sticks for the purpose of making
breathing places for themselves, should they be covered by the snow.
The sticks, at the same time, serve as signals to any other travellers
who may happen to be passing.”
[31] Cf. the original text of the Armenian poem which is as follows:—
Երգներ երգին և երգիր Erkner erkin ev erkir
Երգներ և ծիրանի ծով Erkner ev dzirani dzov
Երգն ի ծովուն ուներ Erkn i dzovun uner
Զգարմրիգ եղեկնիգն. Zkarmrik eghegnikn.
Ընգ եղեգան փող, ծուխ ելաներ Ŭnd eghegan pogh, dzukh elaner
Ընգ եղեգան փող, քոց ելաներ Ŭnd eghegan pogh, botz elaner,
Եվ ի քոցտին պատանեկիկ վազեր, Ev i botzuin patanekik vazer,
Նա հուր հեր ուեր, Na hur her uner,
Ապա թե բոց ուներ մօրուս Apa te botz uner morus
Եվ աչկունքն եին արեգակունք. Ev achkunkn ein aregakunk.
[32] The following lines from a Chaldean description of Ut-napisti, the
Chaldean Noah’s sacrifice after the Flood, furnish an example from
Assyrian poetry:—
“The gods smelled a savour,
The gods smelled a sweet savour,
The gods gathered like flies over the sacrifice.”
[33] Dziran in Armenian means “apricot,” therefore dzirani = “of
apricot colour.”
[34] Strabo says about Artaxata that it was built upon a design which
Hannibal gave to King Artaxes (Artashes), who made it the capital of
Armenia, and Tournefort, the famous French botanist, who travelled in
Armenia in the seventeenth century, exclaims, in reference to this
fact: “Who could have imagined that Hannibal would come from Africa
to Armenia to be engineer to an Armenian king? But so it is.”
[35] April, when the New Year commenced.
[36] The son of Tigranes the Great.
[37] “Armenios, one of the Argonauts, who was believed to have been a
native of Rhodes or of Armenion in Thessaly, and to have settled in the
country which was called after him, Armenia” (Strabo, xi. 530, etc.;
Justin, xlii. 2; Steph. Byz. S. V. Αρμενια).
[38] Translations of Moses of Khorene: Latin (with Armenian text),
Whiston (G. & G.), London, 1736; Italian, Cappelletti (G.), Venice,
1841; Tommaseo (H.), Venice, 1849–50; German, Lauer (M.), Regensburg,
1869; French (with Armenian text), Le Vaillant de Florivel (P. E.),
Paris, 1841 (2 vols.), and in Langlois’ Collection, vol. ii.;
Russian, M. Emin, Moscow.
[39] See Travel and Politics in Armenia, by Noel Buxton, M.P., and Rev.
Harold Buxton; with Introduction by Viscount Bryce and a Contribution
on Armenian History and Culture by Aram Raffi. Smith, Elder & Co. 1914.
[40] The history of this war is recorded by Eghishé, a contemporary
ecclesiastic, whose work is more widely read than any book except the
Bible. He is a poet rather than an historian.
[41] All the metrical translations quoted are by Miss Z. C. Boyajian.
Like her other translations in this volume they are almost literal
renderings; and the original metre has been kept.
[42] These monarchs are mentioned because they were the first Christian
sovereigns.
[43] In the Armenian Church there are two classes of clergy—the
higher order to which bishops belong and who do not marry, and the
lower order of parish priests who do marry.
[44] It is interesting to compare this with a Persian poem by Essedi of
Tus called a dispute between Day and Night. In the former the Earth is
victorious, in the latter the Day. The Persian is essentially
Mohammedan in spirit and conventional, whereas the Armenian is almost
modern.
Day. By day the pious fast and pray;
And solemn feasts are held by day.
Night. Day can but paint the skies with blue,
Night’s starry hosts amaze the view.
Day. ... I am a Moslem—white my vest,
Thou a vile thief, in sable drest.
Out, negro-face!—dar’st thou compare
Thy cheeks with mine, so purely fair?
... The Sun is ruddy, strong, and hale:
The moon is sickly, wan, and pale.
Methinks ’twas ne’er in story told
That silver had the worth of gold!
The moon, a slave, is bowed and bent,
She knows her light is only lent,
She hurries on, the way to clear,
Till the Great Shah himself appear.
From “The Rose Garden of Persia.”