THE ARMENIANS.
Among the pleasantest friends we made in Venice were the monks of the
Armenian Convent, whose cloistral buildings rise from the glassy lagoon,
upon the south of the city, near a mile away. This bulk
“Of mellow brick-work on an isle of bowers”
is walled in with solid masonry from the sea, and encloses a
garden-court, filled with all beautiful flowers, and with the memorable
trees of the East; while another garden encompasses the monastery
itself, and yields those honest fruits and vegetables which supply the
wants of the well-cared-for mortal part of the good brothers. The island
is called San Lazzaro, and the convent was established in 1717 by a
learned and devoted Armenian priest named Mechithar, from whom the
present order of monks is called Mechitharist. He was the first who
formed the idea of educating a class of priests to act as missionaries
among the Armenian nation in the East, and infuse into its civil and
religious decay the life of European piety and learning. He founded at
Sebaste, therefore, a religious order of which the seat was presently
removed to Constantinople, where the friars met with so much persecution
from Armenian heterodoxy that it was again transferred, and fixed at
Modone in Morea. That territory falling into the hands of the Turks,
the Mechitharists fled with their leader to Venice, where the Republic
bestowed upon them a waste and desolate island, which had formerly
been used as a place of refuge for lepers; and the monks made it the
loveliest spot in all the lagoons.
The little island has such a celebrity in travel and romance, that I
feel my pen catching in the tatters of a threadbare theme. And yet I
love the place and its people so well, that I could scarcely pass it
without mention. Every tourist who spends a week in Venice goes to see
the convent, and every one is charmed with it and the courteous welcome
of the fathers. Its best interest is the intrinsic interest attaching
to it as a seat of Armenian culture; but persons who relish the
cheap sentimentalism of Byron’s life, find the convent all the more
entertaining from the fact that he did the Armenian language the favor
to study it there, a little. The monks show his autograph, together with
those of other distinguished persons, and the Armenian Bible which
he used to read. I understood from one of the friars, Padre Giacomo
Issaverdanz, that the brothers knew little or nothing of Byron’s
celebrity as a poet while he studied with them, and that his proficiency
as an Armenian scholar was not such as to win high regard from them.
I think most readers who have visited the convent will recall the
pleasant face and manners of the young father mentioned, who shows the
place to English-speaking travelers, and will care to know that Padre
Giacomo was born at Smyrna, and dwelt there in the family of an English
lady, till he came to Venice, and entered on his monastic life at San
Lazzaro.
He came one morning to breakfast with us, bringing with him Padre
Alessio, a teacher in the Armenian College in the city. As for the
latter, it was not without a certain shock that I heard Mesopotamia
mentioned as his birthplace, having somehow in childhood learned to
regard that formidable name as little better than a kind of profane
swearing. But I soon came to know Padre Alessio apart from his
birthplace, and to find him very interesting as a scholar and an artist.
He threw a little grace of poetry around our simple feast, by repeating
some Armenian verses,--grace all the more ethereal from our entire
ignorance of what the verses meant. Our breakfast-table talk wrought to
friendship the acquaintance made some time before, and the next morning
we received the photograph of Padre Giacomo, and the compliments of the
Orient, in a heaped basket of ripe and luscious figs from the garden
of the Convent San Lazzaro. When, in turn, we went to visit him at
the convent, we had experience of a more curious oriental hospitality.
Refreshments were offered to us as to friends, and we lunched fairily
upon little dishes of rose leaves, delicately preserved, with all
their fragrance, in a “lucent sirup.” It seemed that this was a common
conserve in the East; but we could hardly divest ourselves of the notion
of sacrilege, as we thus fed upon the very most luxurious sweetness
and perfume of the soul of summer. Pleasant talk accompanied the dainty
repast,--Padre Giacomo recounting for us some of his adventures with
the people whom he had to show about the convent, and of whom many
were disappointed at not finding a gallery or museum, and went away in
extreme disgust; and relating with a sly, sarcastic relish that blent
curiously with his sweetness and gentleness of spirit, how some English
people once came with the notion that Lord Byron was an Armenian; how an
unhappy French gentleman, who had been robbed in Southern Italy, would
not be parted a moment from a huge bludgeon which he carried in
his hand, and (probably disordered by his troubles) could hardly be
persuaded from attacking the mummy which is in one of the halls; how
a sharp, bustling, go-ahead Yankee rushed in one morning, rubbing his
hands, and demanding, “Show me all you can in five minutes.”
As a seat of learning, San Lazzaro is famed throughout the Armenian
world, and gathers under its roof the best scholars and poets of that
nation. In the printing-office of the convent books are printed in
some thirty different languages; and a number of the fathers employ
themselves constantly in works of translation. The most distinguished of
the Armenian literati now living at San Lazzaro is the Reverend Father
Gomidas Pakraduni, who has published an Armenian version of “Paradise
Lost,” and whose great labor the translation of Homer, has been recently
issued from the convent press. He was born at Constantinople of an
ancient and illustrious family, and took religious orders at San
Lazzaro, where he was educated, and where for twenty-five years after
his consecration he held the professorship of his native tongue. He
devoted himself especially to the culture of the ancient Armenian, and
developed it for the expression of modern ideas, he made exhaustive
study of the vast collection of old manuscripts at San Lazzaro, and then
went to Paris in pursuance of his purpose, and acquainted himself with
all the treasures of Armenian learning in the Bibliothèque Royale.
He became the first scholar of the age in his national language, and
acquired at the same time a profound knowledge of Latin and Greek.
Returning to Constantinople, Father Pakraduni, whose fame had preceded
him, took up his residence in the family of a noble Armenian, high in
the service of the Turkish government; and while assuming the care of
educating his friend’s children, began those labors of translation
which have since so largely employed him. He made an Armenian version
of Pindar, and wrote a work on Rhetoric, both of which were destroyed
by fire while yet in the manuscript. He labored, meanwhile, on his
translation of the Iliad,--a youthful purpose which he did not see
fulfilled till the year 1860, when he had already touched the Psalmist’s
limit of life. In this translation he revived with admirable success
an ancient species of Armenian verse, which bears, in flexibility and
strength, comparison with the original Greek. Another of his great
labors was the production of an Armenian Grammar, in which he reduced
to rule and order the numerous forms of his native tongue, never before
presented by one work in all its eastern variety.
Padre Giacomo, to whose great kindness I am indebted for a biographic
and critical notice in writing of Father Pakraduni, considers the epic
poem by that scholar a far greater work than any of his philological
treatises, profound and thorough as they are. When nearly completed,
this poem perished in the same conflagration which consumed the Pindar
and the Rhetoric; but the poet patiently began his work anew, and after
eight years gave his epic of twenty books and twenty-two thousand verses
to the press. The hero of the poem is Haïk, the first Armenian patriarch
after the flood, and the founder of a kingly dynasty. Nimrod, the great
hunter, drunk with his victories, declares himself a god, and ordains
his own worship throughout the Orient. Haïk refuses to obey the commands
of the tyrant, takes up arms against him, and finally kills him in
battle. “In the style of this poem,” writes Padre Giacomo, “it is hard
to tell whether to admire most its richness, its energy, its sweetness,
its melancholy, its freedom, its dignity, or its harmony, for it has
all these virtues in turn. The descriptive parts are depicted with the
faithfulest pencil: the battle scenes can only be matched in the Iliad.”
Father Pakraduni returned, after twenty-five years’ sojourn at
Constantinople, to publish his epic at San Lazzaro, where he still
lives, a tranquil, gentle old man, with a patriarchal beauty and
goodness of face. In 1861 he printed his translation of Milton, with
a dedication to Queen Victoria. His other works bear witness to the
genuineness of his inspiration and piety, and the diligence of his
study: they are poems, poetic translations from the Italian, religious
essays, and grammatical treatises.
Indeed, the existence of all the friars at San Lazzaro is one of close
and earnest study; and life grows so fond of these quiet monks that it
will hardly part with them at last. One of them is ninety-five years
old, and, until 1863, there was a lay-brother among them whose years
numbered a hundred and eight, and who died of old age, on the 17th
of September, after passing fifty-eight years at San Lazzaro. From
biographic memoranda furnished me by Padre Giacomo, I learn that the
name of this patriarch was George Karabagiak, and that he was a native
of Kutaieh in Asia Minor. He was for a long time the disciple of Dèdè
Vartabied, a renowned preacher of the Armenian faith, and he afterward
taught the doctrines of his master in the Armenian schools. Failing
in his desire to enter upon the sacerdotal life at Constantinople, he
procured his admission as lay-brother at San Lazzaro, where all his
remaining days were spent. He was but little learned; but he had great
passion for poetry, and he was the author of some thirty small works
on different subjects. During the course of his long and diligent life,
which was chiefly spent in learning and teaching, he may be said to have
hardly known a day’s sickness. And at last he died of no perceptible
disorder. The years tired him to death. He had a trifling illness in
August, and as he convalesced, he grew impatient of the tenacious life
which held him to earth. Slowly pacing up and down the corridors of
the convent, he used to crave the prayers of the brothers whom he met,
beseeching them to intercede with Heaven that he might be suffered to
die. One day he said to the archbishop, “I fear that God has abandoned
me, and I shall live.” Only a little while before his death he wrote
some verses, as Padre Giacomo’s memorandum witnesses, “with a firm and
steady hand,” and the manner of his death was this,--as recorded in the
grave and simple words of my friend’s note:--“Finally, on the 17th of
September, very early in the morning, a brother entering his chamber,
asked him how he was. ‘Well,’ he replied, turning his face to the wall,
and spoke no more. He had passed to a better life.”
It seems to me there is a pathos in the close of this old man’s
life,--which I hope has not been lost by my way of describing it,--and
there is certainly a moral. I have read of an unlucky sage who
discovered the Elixir of Life, and who, after thrice renewing his
existence, at last voluntarily resigned himself to death, because he had
exhausted all that life had to offer of pleasure or of pain, and knew
all its vicissitudes but the very last. Brother Karabagiak seems to have
had no humor to take even a second ease of life. It is perhaps as well
that most men die before reaching the over-ripeness of a hundred
and eight years; and, doubtless, with all our human willfulness and
ignorance, we would readily consent, if we could fix the time, to go
sooner--say, at a hundred and seven years, friends?
Besides the Convent of San Lazzaro, where Armenian boys from all parts
of the East are educated for the priesthood, the nation has a college
in the city in which boys intended for secular careers receive their
schooling. The Palazzo Zenobia is devoted to the use of this college,
where, besides room for study, the boys have abundant space and
apparatus for gymnastics, and ample grounds for gardening. We once
passed a pleasant summer evening there, strolling through the fragrant
alleys of the garden, in talk with the father-professors, and looking
on at the gymnastic feats of the boys; and when the annual exhibition of
the school took place in the fall, we were invited to be present.
The room appointed for the exhibition was the great hall of the palace,
which in other days had evidently been a ball-room. The ceiling was
frescoed in the manner of the last century, with Cupids and Venuses,
Vices and Virtues, fruits and fiddles, dwarfs and blackamoors; and the
painted faces looked down on a scene of as curious interest as ever the
extravagant loves and graces of Tiepolo might hope to see, when the boys
of the college, after assisting at _Te Deum_ in the chapel, entered the
room, and took their places.
At the head of the hall sat the archbishop in his dark robes, with
his heavy gold chain about his neck--a figure and a countenance in all
things spiritual, gracious, and reverend. There is small difference, I
believe, between the creeds of the Armenians and the Roman Catholics,
but a very great disparity in the looks of the two priesthoods, which is
all in favor of the former. The Armenian wears his beard, and the
Latin shaves--which may have a great deal to do with the holiness of
appearance. Perhaps, also, the gentle and mild nature of the
oriental yields more sweetly and entirely to the self-denials of the
ecclesiastical vocation, and thus wins a fairer grace from them. At any
rate, I have not seen any thing but content and calm in the visages of
the Armenian fathers, among whom the priest-face, as a type, does not
exist, though it would mark the Romish ecclesiastic in whatever dress he
wore. There is, moreover, a look of such entire confidence and unworldly
sincerity in their eyes, that I could not help thinking, as I turned
from the portly young fathers to the dark-faced, grave, old-fashioned
school-boys, that an exchange of beard only was needed to effect an
exchange of character between those youthful elders and their pupils.
The gray-haired archbishop is a tall and slender man; but nearly all the
fathers take kindly to curves and circles, and glancing down a row of
these amiable priests I could scarcely repress a smile at the constant
recurrence of the line of beauty in their well-rounded persons.
On the right and left of the archbishop were the few invited guests,
and at the other end of the saloon sat one of the fathers, the plump
key-stone of an arch of comfortable young students expanding toward
us. Most of the boys are from Turkey (the Armenians of Venice, though
acknowledging the Pope as their spiritual head, are the subjects of the
Sultan), others are of Asiatic birth, and two are Egyptians.
As to the last, I think the Sphinx and the Pyramid could hardly have
impressed me more than their dark faces, that seemed to look vaguely
on our modern world from the remote twilights of old, and in their very
infancy to be reverend through the antiquity of their race. The mother
of these boys--a black-eyed, olive-cheeked lady, very handsome and
stylish--was present with their younger brother. I hardly know whether
to be ashamed of having been awed by hearing of the little Egyptian that
his native tongue was Arabic, and that he spoke nothing more occidental
than Turkish. But, indeed, was it wholly absurd to offer a tacit homage
to this favored boy, who must know the “Arabian Nights” in the original?
The exercises began with a theme in Armenian--a language which, but for
its English abundance of sibilants, and a certain German rhythm, was
wholly outlandish to our ears. Themes in Italian, German, and French
succeeded, and then came one in English. We afterward had speech with
the author of this essay, who expressed the liveliest passion for
English, in the philosophy and poetry of which it seemed he particularly
delighted. He told us that he was a Constantinopolitan, and that in
six months more he would complete his collegiate course, when he would
return to his native city, and take employment in the service of the
Turkish Government. Many others of the Armenian students here also find
this career open to them in the East.
The literary exercises closed with another essay in Armenian; and then
the archbishop delivered, very gracefully and impressively, an address
to the boys. After this, the distribution of the premiums--medals of
silver and bronze, and books--took place at the desk of the archbishop.
Each boy, as he advanced to receive his premium, knelt and touched the
hand of the priest with his lips and forehead,--a quaint and pleasing
ceremony which had preceded and followed the reading of all the themes.
The social greetings and congratulations that now took place ended
an entertainment throughout which every body was pleased, and the
goodnatured fathers seemed to be moved with a delight no less hearty
than that of the boys themselves. Indeed, the ground of affection and
confidence on which the lads and their teachers seemed to meet, was
something very novel and attractive. We shook hands with our smiling
friends among the padri, took leave of the archbishop, and then visited
the studio of Padre Alessio, who had just finished a faithful and
spirited portrait of monsignore. Adieux to the artist and to Padre
Giacomo brought our visit to an end; and so, from that scene of oriental
learning, simplicity, and kindliness, we walked into our western life
once more, and resumed our citizenship and burden in the Venetian
world--out of the waters of which, like a hydra or other water beast, a
bathing boy instantly issued and begged of us.
A few days later our good Armenians went to pass a month on the
main-land near Padua, where they have comfortable possessions. Peace
followed them, and they came back as plump as they went.