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 headTo 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 herAnd to-morrow sleep beneath her.”26This 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. Iprotested 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 ofSarkavak Bertaktzi, but this poem from his pen is interesting:—“O vine, you should commended beFor 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 beThe fruit of immortality.To Noah you were by angels borneHis heart to gladden and adorn.Your fruit when gathered from the vineUnto the wine-press we assign;Your juice like crimson roses glowsAnd 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 immediatelyWould 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, heWill 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 namedMkhitar Sepastatziestablished 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 calledashoughs.Ashoughsare 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 theirsazortarorkamancha, oriental instruments, on which they accompany their songs. Many of the ashoughs are blind. To be anashoughis considered a high attainment. In order to acquire the art, any one who aspires to become anashoughfirst observes a fast of seven weeks, then goes to the monastery ofSourb 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 otherashoughsoften reveal deep feelings and many of them are high-class poems.As a typicalashoughauthor, I will only mentionSayat 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, hiskamancha. 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 redemptionfrom 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 hissazwith 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 isperhaps 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-dayAs 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 treeWith the roses I was playing.’‘May the tree turn dry and searWhich 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 whiteMore 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 yearsAs 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 aloneTo 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 hisGulistan, 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 awide 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 themotifsof 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.
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 headTo 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 herAnd to-morrow sleep beneath her.”26This 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. Iprotested 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 ofSarkavak Bertaktzi, but this poem from his pen is interesting:—“O vine, you should commended beFor 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 beThe fruit of immortality.To Noah you were by angels borneHis heart to gladden and adorn.Your fruit when gathered from the vineUnto the wine-press we assign;Your juice like crimson roses glowsAnd 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 immediatelyWould 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, heWill 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 namedMkhitar Sepastatziestablished 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 calledashoughs.Ashoughsare 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 theirsazortarorkamancha, oriental instruments, on which they accompany their songs. Many of the ashoughs are blind. To be anashoughis considered a high attainment. In order to acquire the art, any one who aspires to become anashoughfirst observes a fast of seven weeks, then goes to the monastery ofSourb 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 otherashoughsoften reveal deep feelings and many of them are high-class poems.As a typicalashoughauthor, I will only mentionSayat 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, hiskamancha. 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 redemptionfrom 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 hissazwith 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 isperhaps 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-dayAs 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 treeWith the roses I was playing.’‘May the tree turn dry and searWhich 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 whiteMore 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 yearsAs 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 aloneTo 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 hisGulistan, 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 awide 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 themotifsof 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.
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 headTo 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 herAnd to-morrow sleep beneath her.”26This 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. Iprotested 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 ofSarkavak Bertaktzi, but this poem from his pen is interesting:—“O vine, you should commended beFor 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 beThe fruit of immortality.To Noah you were by angels borneHis heart to gladden and adorn.Your fruit when gathered from the vineUnto the wine-press we assign;Your juice like crimson roses glowsAnd 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 immediatelyWould 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, heWill 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 namedMkhitar Sepastatziestablished 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 calledashoughs.Ashoughsare 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 theirsazortarorkamancha, oriental instruments, on which they accompany their songs. Many of the ashoughs are blind. To be anashoughis considered a high attainment. In order to acquire the art, any one who aspires to become anashoughfirst observes a fast of seven weeks, then goes to the monastery ofSourb 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 otherashoughsoften reveal deep feelings and many of them are high-class poems.As a typicalashoughauthor, I will only mentionSayat 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, hiskamancha. 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 redemptionfrom 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 hissazwith 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 isperhaps 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-dayAs 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 treeWith the roses I was playing.’‘May the tree turn dry and searWhich 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 whiteMore 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 yearsAs 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 aloneTo 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 hisGulistan, 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 awide 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 themotifsof 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.
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 headTo 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 herAnd to-morrow sleep beneath her.”26
Heaven.Surely I possess more than you. The stars, with their radiance, are all in my domain.
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.
Earth.
The flowers, with their six thousand colours, are in mine.
Heaven.If I withhold my dew, how will your flowers array themselves?
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Heaven.
The Nine Orders of Angels are all here with me.
Earth.In my realm are the Apostles and Prophets.
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.
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.
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 headTo 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 herAnd to-morrow sleep beneath her.”26
“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.”26
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. Iprotested 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.”
“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 ofSarkavak Bertaktzi, but this poem from his pen is interesting:—
“O vine, you should commended beFor 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 beThe fruit of immortality.To Noah you were by angels borneHis heart to gladden and adorn.Your fruit when gathered from the vineUnto the wine-press we assign;Your juice like crimson roses glowsAnd 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 immediatelyWould 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, heWill 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.”
“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 namedMkhitar Sepastatziestablished 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 calledashoughs.Ashoughsare 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 theirsazortarorkamancha, oriental instruments, on which they accompany their songs. Many of the ashoughs are blind. To be anashoughis considered a high attainment. In order to acquire the art, any one who aspires to become anashoughfirst observes a fast of seven weeks, then goes to the monastery ofSourb 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 otherashoughsoften reveal deep feelings and many of them are high-class poems.
As a typicalashoughauthor, I will only mentionSayat 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, hiskamancha. 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 redemptionfrom 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 hissazwith 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 isperhaps 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-dayAs 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 treeWith the roses I was playing.’‘May the tree turn dry and searWhich 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!’”
“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.’”
“‘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 whiteMore 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 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.
“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 whiteMore brilliant than the sun’s clear, matchless light.O Matchless One, who is like Thee, Thou Matchless 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.
“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.”
“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 yearsAs 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.”
“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.
“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 yearsAs the leaves our garden bears.
“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.”
“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 aloneTo 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!’”
“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 hisGulistan, 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 awide 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 themotifsof 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.