V. The Diamond

V. The DiamondA LegendAt the time of Tsar Artchill the First, who was married to Marion, the daughter of the Greek Emperor Julian (363 A. D.), many Greeks settled over into Georgia, among them the painter Martin. To his care the inner ornamentation of the church of Stephan Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen) was left. This great house of worship had been planned and constructed at Mtzkhet by the all honorable Artchill, near the gates of the Aragva, near the towers and bastions erected in its neighborhood for national defence. Martin was a perfectly honorable and reliable man and very clever and gifted in the execution of his orders. The paints which were at his disposal assumed such a marvellous, nay overwhelming resemblance with reality, that several of the saints represented by them appeared as though they were alive, and astounded faithful and esteemed believersmany hundred years after his death. On one of the walls he had undertaken to reproduce the apparition of the most Holy Virgin to Saint Nina. The latter was seen down on her knees stretching out her arms and receiving a holy cross made of fine vineyard branches. The fear, happiness, love to God and perfectly boundless submission to His holy will were expressed not only in the character features of the Saint, but in every movement, nay, in every fold of her garment. The union of all these various thoughts was above picturesque sciences and naturally called forth the amply justified astonishment of the contemporaries of Martin and of the very latest visitors to the temple. Yes, indeed, the Greek Martin was a great, great artist. And therefore he loved his art so much that it seemed dearer to him than all the world put together, with the exception of his daughter Poullkheria.At the period when our tale begins, the portrait of Saint Nina was already carefully finished off, and the artist was applying himself over the figure of the most Holy Virgin. As humble as he was clever and ingenious, he alone, it appeared, did not notice the beauty of his productions, and while just then all those standing about were filled with amazement and extreme delight, he sighed while comparing his master works with those shining, marvellous, indescribable, and exceptionally extraordinary pictures which his poetic imagination seemed to behold moving as it were in the air, and which were so dear to his elevated soul. How in the world should he represent the features of the most Holy Virgin?That was a question which tortured him day and night. Every time he reflected about them he thought he could see the sweet, short, dear face of his daughter, and with terror in his heart he attempted to drive away this imaginary apparition. It seemed to him like some wicked, harsh, impossible insult. Again he did his best to find a proper type which would have nothing earthly about it, and once more that same loving and belovedlittle face of Poullkheria presented itself to him. At last in perfect despair he went to the Katholikoss (this fully corresponds to the rank of a patriarch), John the Second, imploring counsel and prayer. One day and two nights they fervently prayed together near the holy djouar (thus was named the place near the fountain of tears of Saint Nina, not far from the cross erected in that very vicinity; djouar in reality means cross). On the second morning the Katholikoss ordered the painter to immediately return to his home.“Lay thyself down at the feet of our great converter,” said he, “and go to sleep, for I do heartily believe that in a dream thou art destined to see namely those features in which the most Holy Virgin must be represented!”Martin went to the place appointed, fulfilled the command of John, and a third time saw the features of Poullkheria; she appeared to him with some especially magnificent heavenly radiance.“But how shall I reproduce this astonishing light?” murmured the painter, and began to strictly observe the fasts and pray like the ancient prophets and other true servants of the Lord. For a whole week he constantly went through all the different religious services and ate nothing, nor did he drink anything. On Saturday, after partaking Communion, he took a meal and lay down with the intention of sleeping under the portrait.In the dream he beheld already the heavenly Tsaritsa, viz., just as it was customary and necessary to reproduce her. Hastily he jumped up and drew out on the wall with charcoal the all glorious and all impressive picture. This was the very first representation of the kind, and it completely satisfied and pleased the artist himself! The worry which had long been weighing down on him was changed into inexpressible happiness and good fortune, and he hurried to the holy djouar (cross) where with tears he thanked and sang praises unto God. The following day just at sunrise Martin rose, awoke Poullkheria and led her off with him. Hardly had he arrangedher as was his desire, when an unknown youth came up to them.“Old man!” he said, respectfully bowing, “I also want to work on the image of the Heavenly Queen, instruct me how it is necessary to dispose of thy colors.” With great incredulity Martin stared at him. The gorgeous garment, the graceful movements showed plainly that he was a man not accustomed to hard labors. “It is not at all easy to teach how to apply the colors,” he answered. “Take off thy expensive and most elegant robe and thy delicate hands will not stand difficult, exhausting work.” The youth nevertheless insisted, and Martin having rapidly explained to him what to do, began the work and soon forgot him and Poullkheria and all creation, and was utterly absorbed in his magnificent inner world. In the meantime Poullkheria followed the newcomer. He was a tall, well-built, handsome youth, broad-shouldered with a slender waist, which was pinched in by a fine gold belt with decorations of highly precious stones, and how these various-colored stones played and shone and reflected! when he had placed it on a huge marble piece and he easily and quickly arranged on it a heavy stone, which her father moved from place to place—very slowly and only gradually. The youth did not pay the very least attention to her—he was evidently worried and pulled down by some outside event. Deep sighs from time to time came out of his breast, and in the end Poullkheria remarked that a tear fell unto the edge of the marble slab. It now really seemed as though he as well as Martin had wandered off into some unknown world and had forgotten everything earthly. Martin painted without interruption for seven hours; and in a like manner, without taking any rest, worked the sweet newcomer. Glancing at their indefatigable application, Poullkheria became frightened and feared that her posing might never come to an end, and so began to weep most bitterly. The features of her face suddenly assumed another look and thus her father began to be thoughtful and remember all that had taken place.“Enough, my poor darling child!” he said with delicacy, and addressed the youth. Immense spots of paint and butter were now to be seen on various parts of his costly attire, his hair was indeed in the greatest disorder and his face red from exhaustion. Martin really did not know how he should thank and reward him.“Tell me at least thy name, thou good youth!” he said, turning to the boy.“Mirdat.”“Why—is it possible?”“Be silent!” interrupted the youth and went out, but Martin looked after him with inexpressible astonishment. Only in this moment did he recognize in him the Tsarevitch-successor, the great and famous victories of whom the whole East was talking. Yesterday only he had returned from a victorious expedition to Rome, and they were convinced that he would soon start out again. How was it possible that during these very few days of rest he wished to take upon himself such a tiresome and dry work? Afterwards he thoroughly inspected what he had achieved and was perfectly overcome by the number and variety of colors and shades arranged and used by him.“If he accomplishes his new war as rapidly as the first, I shall have enough colors left up to the time of his return,” reflected Martin, and gayly and joyfully went home with his dear little daughter, who all along the route questioned him about Mirdat. Having dined in haste and slept a little, Martin once more continued his labors and was steadily busy until sunset.Thus the undertaking went on day after day with the difference only that Mirdat no more appeared. It seems that he had left for Movakanne and soon after had pacified it for his father. It is not useless to relate what happened to Mirdat upon his first expedition.The provinces of Ranna, Movakanne and Aderbadaganne since the most remote times belonged to Georgia, and only during the reign of Tsar Mirdat the Fourth,grandfather of our hero, they came under the control of the Persians. Satrappe Barzabode administrated them. Having taken Ranna, the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat wished to call out Barzabode in a duel. Barzabode took up his quarters in an abandoned tower beyond the city, but Mirdat surrounded it from evening on—supposing that during the night it would be impossible for him to slip out and escape, and so he resolved to give rest to his exhausted and wornout warriors till morning. In the night he made an inspection tour of his brave camp, and passing quite close to the tower on the grassy slopes, he overheard a sweet conversation. He stood still and paid close attention. The sweet voice, hardly hearable, pronounced the word: “Batono!” (“Sir.”)He raised his head and almost fainted from extreme astonishment and delight: on the roof there stood a girl of indescribable beauty. The moon was shining on her and gave her long, regular features some secret mysteriousness and unusual charm. And suddenly her coral mouth opened, and from it poured out a low, inspiring and enchanting speech. She implored the young military commander to save her from the clutches of her very old father.“Who and what can dare to oppose itself to thee? Thou dost conquer towns and provinces. Thy powerful army defeats and submits even hero princes. Whomsoever or whatsoever thou mayest look at in this world, thou canst always consider it thine own, for it doth not come within thy reach only when thou dost not wish it so. Thou hast wonderful beauty, common sense, mind, strength, and bravery, while I never had anything except a dear father. He prided himself in his warlike glory—thou didst darken it! He had won for himself the entire confidence of the Shah, thou didst destroy it. He boasted about the invincibility of his warriors, while thou didst conquer and baffle them. Thou above all didst have my way of looking at things and my imagination. Thy all powerful type did victoriously enter my soul and dothdrive out from it the poor, terribly degraded character of my old father!”And at these solemn words the beauty fell down on her knees. “O do not tear him away from me!” she murmured, reproachingly, stretching out her arms towards him.“There will be no duel!” unexpectedly said Mirdat; he turned around and quickly went to his tent. This young lady was the daughter of Barzabode, Sagdoukta. From that moment onwards Mirdat loved her with all the mightiness and emotion of his hero-prince’s heart, and there was deep, deep grief and depression in his soul. Was it possible to suppose that the Tsar would permit him to marry the daughter of that satrame, to whose care certain provinces had been intrusted and who of late had been deprived of the right of administrating them?Having reflected a little he made up his mind to leave a comparatively small number of warriors in the places which he had but just successfully conquered, while with the remaining soldiers he returned to his father in order to ask for fresh instructions. Everywhere they met and received the young conqueror with great ceremony and delight; radiant faces were surrounding him, the joyful cries of the people filled his ears, while in his heart it was all dark and heavy. With unbelievable effort he finally forced himself to answer the general and most hearty greetings constantly showered on him with a caressing smile, and on the following day, when he safely reached his beloved home, he immediately went to continue and work for the glorification of the most Holy Virgin, invoking her assistance and protection. The same was his object when he reached his native town after his second great victorious campaign in Movakanne. But this time Martin, who had already succeeded in finishing the expression of the face of the Heavenly Queen and having spent some time in reproducing her garment, now took the matter more easily, and indeed, frequently watched and glanced at his busy assistant. Having noticed therunning tears of his daughter, he let Poullkheria go home, and turning to him, asked him what might be the cause of his great sorrow.“Thou hast helped me so much,” said Martin, “that I should really like to render thee some good service, good youth; perhaps my old age makes me fit and enables me to give thee some highly useful counsel.”“Thy grey hair testifies that already long, long ago the time went by when thou wert excited and moved by those thoughts and plans which called forth my tears. Nobody except the most Holy Virgin is strong enough to make my terrible grief go by, viz., because I love with all my heart a splendid girl to whom the sovereign will never give me his consent to be married.”Saying these words Mirdat went, with a painful expression on his face, but Martin understood this most simple clear explanation quite differently, and through this mistake he let his most honest and loyal soul almost perish. This soul was perfectly clean, enlightened, free of sin, and shining like the most costly diamond.And so once upon a time, during a dream, some heavenly angels cut out the soul and brought it to the Lord. “O, Vladyka!” they said, “look thou at this brilliant diamond—this is the soul of the Greek man Martin, who hath given up his whole life to the glorification of Thy name. There is not one vice which can possibly obtain admission to or seek refuge in it, for it doth entirely belong to Thee! Looking at it and admiring it, we are frequently thinking that upon the death of Martin this diamond will be fully worthy of ornamenting Thy holy throne.”The sweet, sweet angel voices quieted down, while from the depths of the earth the devilish laughing and ridiculing were heard. “Why dost thou so rejoice—miserable Satan?” asked the guarding angel by order of the Eternal God.“Very soon this diamond will be spoiled, darkened, and I shall become the happy possessor of it!” replied the devil. Thereupon,the good angels began to bitterlycry, but the Lord comforted them. He gave commands that the soul should again be placed and fixed in the body of the sleeping painter, and also informed the angels that in case Martin should ever happen to listen to and obey the sly devilish instructions and thus have his soul darkened, that they should find means to bring it back to God, although it be by the heavy, nay distressing, road of worldly grief and tears.And quickly the angels descended into the church of Stephen Tsminda (that is of Saint Stephen) and put the blinding diamond back into the slumbering Martin, but after them Satan came up and began to persuade the Greek that his daughter had completely won the heart of the Tsarevitch and that he himself would become a royal father-in-law. And thus at last vanity stained the diamond with dark and dirty spots, its shining lightness began to go out more and more, while the perfectly extraordinary and marvellous beauty seemed to be covering itself with a dark skin, and Martin daily continued to give himself up to worthless vain thoughts. And see, the diamond was decaying and would soon lose all of its unusual qualities. In the meantime Mirdat conquered and pacified Aderbadaganne.“What dost thou wish me to give you as a reward for thy highly valuable services?” asked the delighted, enthusiastic Artchill. Mirdat reverently fell down on one knee and kissing the lower end of the royal garment, asked for permission to be married to the daughter of the conquered satrappe. The loving father replied with an amused smile: “As long as thou didst administrate Ranna, Movakanne, and Aderbadaganne, Sagdoukta seemed to have hold of thy heart, and it seems to me that the very best way for thee to get out of this dangerous position is to claim the honor of obtaining her hand!”Immediately an embassy was dispatched to Barzabodus, who received it with indescribable joy and delight. Sagdoukta, supplied with a most gorgeous trousseau and dowry, was conducted to Mtzkhet where the marriageceremony was performed and the innumerable fêtes connected with it continued for many days. The Tsar gave his son the city of Samshrilde with the province surrounding it. Besides through her beauty, Sagdoukta distinguished herself still more by her very remarkable mind and, which was in those times rare, a general education.Mirdat sent for the very wisest and most learned men of his age, living in Samshvillede and intrusted them with translating into Georgian the holy New Testament, and thoroughly explaining it to the Tsarevna Sagdoukta, who already fully believed in our Lord Jesus Christ, and having gone through and accepted the holy baptism, intended to have a cathedral of Zion erected at Samshvillede. For the planning of the inner walls a most precise and talented artist was necessary.Mirdat just then remembered his old friend Martin, and sent some attendants to look for him. But when their point of destination was reached, he was no longer among the living. He had succeeded in finishing his work in the church of Stephen-Tsminda at the time of the last campaign of the Tsarevitch in Aderbadaganne, received a right royal reward from Artchill, but instead of returning to Greece as would have seemed natural, he remained at Mtzkhet, hoping to bring them to a favorable issue.He daily went to the merchants of gorgeous weavings, chose the most precious objects, and composed of them a most valuable and rich costume for his Poullkheria.The very most talented and experienced tailors under his personal direction were employed in ornamenting with and sewing on these garments precious stones of one exquisite color, and besides that jewels. Trying first one thing, then another on his beloved Poullkheria, for whole hours at a time he watched and interested himself in her superhuman beauty, and with full confidence displayed before her the pictures of her future greatness. On hearing all these compliments and glorious propheciesthe shining eyes of Poullkheria lit up with still greater joyfulness. Her clean heart could not understand or appreciate the many foolishly vain thoughts and intentions of her father. She loved Mirdat, indeed, not because he just happened to be the son of a King, but on account of his bravery, goodness and perfect honesty. That was why, notwithstanding exceedingly powerful temptations, the soul of Poullkheria remained as neat, without a sin and immaculate as when she had not had such notions; but Martin’s soul daily lost its splendor and became covered all over with dark, dark spots.In the end Mtzkhet was bursting with joy, for a report spread from one quarter to another that Aderbadaganne had been successfully taken by storm. Triumphant receptions were now universally prepared for the great victor, and young and old rushed into the street with colored flags or flower branches in their hands. Poullkheria in her newest attire, and by her very side Martin, stood on the steps of the church of Stephen-Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen).When the powerful procession came up to them, the Tsarevitch got off his horse and went into the empty temple. Martin, unnoticed, followed on after him and clearly beheld how he went straight to the finished image of the most Holy Virgin and having fallen on his knees was fervently praying. When, however, the prayer being over, the Tsarevitch rose, Martin ran up to him and quickly whispered in his ear:“This great day the Tsar, my master, will not refuse thee anything.”But the Tsarevitch, persuaded that he alone was in the church, was evidently and most visibly struck and moved by this unexpected witness of his all hearty and sincere prayer. He did not recognize Martin, did not remember even his words, but hastened with all his might to go out of the church, while Martin thought that his own affairs were taking an unusually pleasant turn and greatly rejoiced. A few days went by, on the large square ofthe city a glashatai (kind of herald) made his appearance with a number of trumpeters, and having called together the people, they formally announced to them the coming marriage of the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat to Sagdoukta, the daughter of the Persian satrappe (probably district governor) Barzabode.A slight noise was heard, and a moment thereafter a cry which was sharp enough to tear one’s soul to pieces and which attracted general attention. On the ground lay Poullkheria, not showing any signs of life. A thin, pale colored rivulet of young boiling blood was slowly coming out of her mouth. Kneeling before her was Martin, who, indeed, was giving himself every possible trouble to stop the abundant flow of blood. Somebody out of the crowd was desirous of running to help her, but he looked back with a really terrified glance, and like a regular madman, having seized her in his vigorous arms, rushed off with her to Stephen Tsminda. Here he placed her at the foot of that wonderful picture for the execution of which she had served as a model and completely lost his senses. And, nay!—he actually saw how the cupola moved and opened itself, and how two angels gradually approached Poullkheria. In their hands there was just as grand a kind of a white transparent, indescribably magnificent garment as the one which dazzled their eyes.Instantly they took off the costly robe and clothed her in the attire which they had brought along. Poullkheria came back to life and looked around with the greatest astonishment as the rays of the sun, one after another, reflected upon the opening of the cupola, and approaching slowly, the angels came down, who quickly and intelligently drew out two wings from them, quite as beaming with light as their own, and made them grow on to Poullkheria, and having manœuvred with them several times, the new angel without the least trouble raised herself from the earth and joyfully did the angels of the Almighty God sing a marvellously, nay extraordinarily,sweet greeting song to their dear new companion in arms, inviting her to fly off with them to the Throne of God.The new angel departed from the house of worship with a last, tender parting glance and having beheld her father, she began to implore the angels to also take him with them into the World of Life Eternal. The angelic song now stopped, their faces were darkened with sorrow, and painfully they announced that willingly they would have prepared for him at first a more desirable spot in the all glorious and all wonderful domains of Heaven, but that he threw away his splendid chance by wicked and useless vanity. The tears ran down in floods from the eyes of the former Poullkheria, and these tears of hers, as clean and fresh as the morning dew, dropped down unto the face of him who had died and brought him again to life and this time to a happier one.Martin jumped up, being fully aware of and perfectly ready to acknowledge his sinfulness. Abundant tears of remorse came out of his eyes and two more angels appeared on earth.They gathered these tears and washed out with them the wicked, sinful soul of Martin and the dark, dark spots of vanity on this most precious of diamonds grew quite white. When, however, the diamond again acquired its former harmless and utterly immaculate look, they radiantly bore him up to the throne of God, where he is shining and enlightens with a marvellous talent and adroitness those artists who are working for the glory of God, but Poullkheria guards their shining, clean souls from any sinful or irreligious infection.VI. Happiness Is Within UsA LegendIn the fifth century (458 A. D.) the Ossians stole and led off the sister of the Georgian Tsar Vachtang the First, known under the name of Gourgasslan (the lion wolf). The then three-year-old princess was called Mikrandoukta. When, however, Vachtang had conquered and pacified the Ossians, killed their commander-in-chief, Great Bagkatar, and seven of his brothers, and brought the sister safely home, he also took with him as a captive the very youngest of the Bagkatorian brothers, Mirian, whom he had left alive upon the repeated prayers of Mikrandoukta. The boy, who had been a playmate of the Tsarevna, was appointed page and grew up at the royal court.As he grew older his attachment for Mikrandoukta constantly increased, but he never so much as ventured to reveal to her his thoughts and feelings, neither by his speech, nor his looks, but used to go to an out of the way spot of the royal garden and there began to bitterly cry. Gradually, however, as he became a man, his wooings took a more refined form and were frequently put down in exquisite verses. A large number of little pieces of poetry are in circulation among the people under the name of “Wooing of the Knight,” for when he reached his fourteenth year, the Tsar made him his body-knight. His comrades were of course jealous of this exceptional distinction and heartily congratulated him, but he, deeply grieved by the final departure of the princess, went into his favorite resting place; there a song came out of his lips, which for whole ages was known and went down from generation unto generation.The Song of the Body-Knight(Literal Translation)“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”And, as though wishing to give his powerful strength a fair trial, the youth struck out with his fist against the stone and lo! the rock began to shake and split. When he looked at his fist he noticed that there was blood on it, and thereupon Mirian was more downcast and depressed than ever before.“What possible use can my hero prince’s strength be to me when my heart is harder than stone?” he exclaimed, and again tears flowed down his face.And so from the mixture of tears with dripping hero-blood, a little spring formed itself, which flows at the edge of a precipice—then again it makes its way through high, high stone blocks, like a wild animal and, having successfullyovercome them, it cries and hops about like a child. Mikrandoukta did not at all share the intense attachment of Mirian and took no notice of it. Attaining her growth she married the Shah of Persia. On the day of her departure Mirian came to his little spring, fixed the sword between two stones and threw himself against it with such violence that the sharp blade went right through him. His youthful body slipped into the water, but the burning blood swelled the little rivulet and gave it a marvellous power of resistance. To this well known spot from that time onward, all true lovers streamed in, and if anybody has a really good chance over the turbulent, fairy-like stream, he will take to writing excellent verses and his love will be crowned with the most complete success; if, however, he expects and awaits inspiration, he must certainly give up all hope forever and his passion will, alas! slow down and come to nothing.The first man who experienced these strange feelings and went through the whole thing was the negro Nebrotk. He fell deeply in love with his mistress, and even went so far as to venture to open his secret to her. The incensed and very frightened mistress immediately ordered that he should be drowned. They threw the unhappy “darky” in the stream of tears of the stremiannoy (body-knight) and went off; he at first lost consciousness, but later came back to his senses and came out on the opposite bank, completely cured of his useless passion. As he still felt uneasy and could not think of daring to return to his mistress, he built a little log house for himself on the bank of that ghastlyprecipicenear which flowed the rivulet, and not knowing what to do with himself he wrote down the whole history of his life, then investigated the source and course of the remarkable stream and registered that too.Having thoroughly established himself in this most interesting region, he began to look after all those who happened to approach these important domains of fate, invited the travellers and pilgrims to his house, asked eachone the story of his or her life and diligently and carefully recorded them. Soon a whole bouquet of most varied and entertaining tales was gotten up, reminding one of the all famous Arabian stories, and I can only regret that my memory prevented me from remembering but very few of them. I can understand very well all that Nebrotk relates about himself. Once upon a time, in the night he was awakened by some sweet, sweet singing, and having hastened to rise and go out, he smelt a strong and remarkable fragrance. He turned and peeped right into the precipice.The moon was lighting up its bottom; the enormous rocks glistened like pure silver and gold, while the water shone like the finest diamonds. With great satisfaction—nay, delight—he glanced at this heavenly picture, and suddenly his eyes were fixed on and could easily distinguish two human heads on the surface of the water. He began to pay more attention; a very handsome youth—a negro—and quite as beautiful and splendid a white girl were standing in the water up to their throats, and having lifted their arms high out of the water, they were playing with some wonderful, bright, gleaming threads. Correctly these nets were fastened and refreshed with clean, clear water, and they seemed to stay in the air without any sign of motion.Later he distinguished the following details: These nets of threads were fastened to an immense leaf of some sea plant and in this massive, fairy-like floor, which was all aglow with emeralds and gold, there stood a figure exceeding all human beauty. The whole scene was wrapped in a slight watery fog and a soft moonlight. The longer Nebrotk paid attention and looked at the surprising spectacle the more easily he succeeded in making out that all the charm of this extraordinary scene was concentrated in the form of a perfectly magnificent woman. In her hands there was some kind of a long feather, consisting entirely of sun rays, with which in the course of her sweet swim she reached and touched the differentplants and flowers, and indeed, as though subjected to her peremptory commands, they gave out an indescribable fragrance and each little flower united with the marvellous choir which had gently awakened Nebrotk and sang softly, sweetly, beautifully.Nebrotk got perfectly passionate, so anxious was he to understand the contents and exact meaning of this fragrant, flowery little song, and holding his breath, he began to take the greatest pains and was enabled to hear: “Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka!”That struck him as most peculiar, and having once more fixed his eyes on the head of the woman, he beheld a glistening, darling little star. This was exactly Astkchicka,i.e., Venera, whom the Tsar Vachtang the First had chased out of all his temples and houses of worship, and her adorers as well as her sacrificers and those who had been so benefited by her—all without exception had to abandon her in the deepest grief and disappointment. Then, however, she found two tender lovers. He was an adventurer, viz., a fisherman, but she the daughter of a very wealthy gardener. The goddess promised them her complete protection, and they without further reflections threw away their only property,i.e., their garments, and naked they went into the water in order to construct something for their kind benefactor. And see! the expelled goddess decided to rise and establish herself near the interesting “rivulet of the tears of the body-knight” (stremiannoy), and to that spot she directed her numerous admirers.Having seen Nebrotk, Astkchicka waved with her all shining feather, and from the motions she made, a bridge really and truly formed itself. She came down to earth, and having turned around to look, she again waved with her feather. On one side there was a bush of yellow roses, on the other side one of white roses. Their buds were instantly transformed and actually turned out as garments for her loving servants who were hasteningafter her. Thereupon she slowly returned to the hut of humble Nebrotk and with a new motion of her bewitching feather changed it into a perfectly marvellous, brilliant, nay, most elegant royal palace. Nebrotk stood like one struck by lightning. With a clever but sly smile upon her beautiful face, Astkchicka ordered her servants to lead him off to the stream and put him down on the estrade abandoned by her. But hardly had these orders been complied with and fulfilled when the pillars of the estrade gave way and broke down together with the negro. The terrible, yes frightful, cry of the drowning man perfectly silenced the sweet chorus of the flowers. The servants were frightened and anxiously looked at the water, and after a short time a half god came out of it; he was white with a golden crown imperial, in which only the fiery black eyes reminded one of the drowned negro.All four settled down in the fairy-like palace and were blessed with indescribable happiness. This was indeed a kingdom of love, unhindered and unrestrained by any laws. Nebrotk perfectly adored Astkchicka, and the fisherman Naboukodonozor the gardener woman Roussoudanna. The host was quite in love with the goddess and the servant with the gardenkeeper, although both were merely common negro slaves. But even in the fairy-like palace under the protection of the very goddess of love, there happened to be a spot especially designed for animated secret conversations between lovers. In one of these unhappy moments the conditions and peculiar qualities of the stream became known to Naboukodonozor, and the fear that the magic force of the water should influence Roussoudanna found a refuge in his soul.It is of course well known to all of you that suspicion is the enemy of love. Naboukodonozor seriously began to think that Roussoudanna had fallen in love with him. Seeking the reason of this imaginary adoration he suddenly came upon the idea that she was occupied in involuntarily comparing his black skin with the most godlywhite complexion of Nebrotk, and in consequence of this horrid supposition his heart began to be filled with emotion and passion, while after passion came ungratefulness to Astkchicka and a very revolutionary spirit; afterwards she transformed Nebrotk, who had really done absolutely nothing for her, into a half god, while the latter, who had successfully brought her to this enchanting resort, she simply abandoned and left a negro and slave.And during the night he walked along the bank of the stream and sang a song of his great grief, and suddenly the old cedars, the high, high peach trees, the grand old nut trees composed a beautiful chorus and an all powerful song, blowing everything before it like a huge wave, reached the palace and suddenly awakened the goddess—but Nebrotk quietly went on sleeping and heard nothing. Stepping lightly, Astkchicka softly and cautiously went out to the rivulet, where Naboukodonozor, with his back turned towards her, was bitterly crying, and blushing terribly, she knocked him over and sent him flying into the water.Without a word or motion did Naboukodonozor enter the water, and just so he came out—more magnificent even than Nebrotk, and throwing himself at the lovely feet of the goddess he covered them with kisses. Astkchicka did not at all object to such proceedings, but did not let him get out of sight, and it seemed very evident that she also was in love with him. The slave, encouraged by the concessions of his mistress, seized the godly hands and began to kiss them just so madly. Suddenly, however, Astkchicka roughly pulled them away, passed them around his neck and having given him a kiss on his lips, she instantly disappeared. Some wonderful extraordinary fire ran over the whole body of poor Naboukodonozor from this rare, but dangerous kiss. A new feeling got hold of him, viz., a boundless desire inspired him to run off to the goddess, but the very thought that she was able to treat, nay, caress, Nebrotk in the same affectionate way, completely kept him from making a fool ofhimself. He threw himself on the ground and tried with all his might and main to extinguish the burning fire which was raging inside of him, rolling in the soft sweet grass and mercilessly treading down the highly fragrant flowers, while the moon seemed to be offended with its greatest favorite and bashfully hid itself behind a massive cloud. The perfect and impenetrable darkness at last forced the crank to come back to his senses; he then went home exasperated, most dissatisfied, and wicked in his intentions.Roussoudanna was quietly sleeping and knew of nothing that had taken place in the night, and what must have been her astonishment, when in the morning she beheld Naboukodonozor with a pure white complexion and golden hair. Upon the question what had occurred to him, he passionately replied that he had just gone to a stream, let himself down into the water and had come out in the very state she saw him.“Pay attention and be careful to remain faithful to me,” she jokingly said, and went out to gather fruit for the “déjeuner” of the goddess. After a while Nebrotk also woke up and asked Naboukodonozor the same question.“I followed in thy steps and see! the result has proved to be the same,” was his short answer. Nebrotk looked at him rather suspiciously, and unwilling to believe the truth of the story, he went to the goddess to inquire about the affair and to see how matters were getting on in general.“I came to a decided conclusion that it was most unkind and unjust not to do for my real savior what I had deigned to do for thee,” was the godly reply, which made Nebrotk very uneasy and filled his heart with renewed passion.Roussoudanna wept and wept, Naboukodonozor got terribly provoked, Nebrotk was deeply impressed and full of emotion, while Astkchicka vainly exhausted all her eloquence in trying to explain that her palace was a refugefor independent love, not subjected to any laws whatsoever. General dissatisfaction, suspicion, grief, and tears were alternately seen and heard in the fairy-like palace. Poor, poor Roussoudanna could not dry her eyes. Once upon a time, going to look for fruit, she went out of her way and got completely lost. The sun was already quite red when she sat down to take a rest after such a hard, steep walk. Her dark, undecided intentions and thoughts concerned again Naboukodonozor and the magic conditions and qualities of the rushing stream, and her grieved feelings turned against the goddess.“Why under the sun do they call thee the benefactor of men?” she passionately exclaimed. “Thou didst win and encourage us with the promise of thy protection as long as thou didst need us, but now that the situation has changed thou tookest my lover Naboukodonozor away from me and thus why should we help thee to escape and lighten the king’s terrible wrath?“In all probability his God is far stronger than thou, when thou runnest away from him.“O Christian God, save me!” rang out from the grieved soul of Roussoudanna.“O Lord Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy upon us!” Such was the exclamation of an old man’s voice, and indeed unhappy Roussoudanna soon beheld an old man approaching her and making his way among the trees and bushes.“What is the matter with thee, my dear child?” he kindly asked, coming up to her. Roussoudanna naturally said that she had lost her way, that she was very much exhausted and did not know how to continue her route.Thereupon the old man led her to his home. He lived somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, not at all far off, in the grotto of a high, high rock where he nourished himself with the milk of wild goats and with dates. With the greatest pleasure he placed before her his whole stock of provisions, brought her a pitcher of water, carefullyarranged the sofa of leaves and inviting her to take a good rest, he went out. Having refreshed herself, Roussoudanna began to watch him most attentively through the gate of the grotto and there she saw that he had walked a little way off and then had fallen on his knees and begun to pray. She witnessed how his good, kindly face suddenly lit up with some marvellous, perfectly heavenly, happy, and joyful expression, and she ardently desired to find out from the poor, but grand old man, what this sudden, really indescribable joy meant in the course of his long, laborious, honorable life.At last the old man finished his fervent prayer and began to gather dates; having got together a huge pile, he gayly carried them into the grotto. The guest met him at the entrance.“I thought that perhaps you would not have enough to eat with just those dates which you found in my poor dwelling house,” said the kind-hearted host, turning to her, “and see here, I am bringing thee some more still,” and he put down the deliciously sweet fruits right before her.Roussoudanna, perfectly astounded by such unusual and unheard of goodness and thoughtfulness, thanked the old man with tears in her eyes.“What does thy painful grief consist in?” he asked—and continued thus: “It is possible that the needs of life have been weighing down on thee?”“Oh no, wise, dear old man, I have never known what it is to be in need.”“Well then, did not some severe illness pull thee down and mercilessly deprive thee of thy strength?”“I am in perfect health and have a strong constitution.”“Perhaps some dreadful worries did not give thee rest.”A (the woman). B (the hermit).A: “I really have nothing to be worried about.”B: “Then did not regularly and faithfully carried out duties exhaust thee?”A: “No, dear hermit, for I was living in a fairy-landpalace from which the following torments were entirely excluded: need, worry, work, and illness.”B: “Worldly attractions and habits may have led thee off the good track and restrained thy liberty?”A: “We were by no means subjected to any such rules, nor even to etiquette.”B: “It is possible that the laws of your palace were extremely severe and therefore made you feel very depressed?”A: “But really, we acknowledged no laws.”B: “Well then, perhaps the wealthy proprietor of the palace abused his might and compelled you to do certain disagreeable things which were unjustifiable?”A: “Not in the least, for Astkchicka was sole mistress and administrator of the palace.”B: “There now remains but one supposition, viz., that she united such people as would naturally perfectly hate one another?”A: “Why, not at all, we all gathered around her in the mighty name of love.”B: “Ah, aha, I understand the matter,” the old man unexpectedly broke out, “you came together over there in the name of love and it is most strikingly evident that there is some defect about your love.”A: “Thou art wrong, old man,” energetically rang out of Roussoudanna’s mouth as she suddenly interrupted him. “I can bear witness and prove that nobody ever and so strongly loved his dear ones as I loved my excellent darling Naboukodonozor!”The grave hermit glanced at her quite differently—yes, suspiciously. “My child,” was his brief reply, “that which the idol worshippers falsely call love, is by no means that holy feeling which we understand under that term. Their love is one of those innumerable examples of self-worship and vanity.”Roussoudanna’s face was all red from blushing, while her eyes were filled with tears.“Oh no, that cannot be so,” she exclaimed with atrembling voice, “with the greatest joy would I suffer any possible privations, every imaginable torture, in order to give him pleasure and satisfy his desires.”The hermit sighed deeply. “Is it possible then,” he said with a doubtful, inquiring tone, “if thou dost indeed truly love thy fellow men and women, that nobody in this wide world is either capable or strong enough to put an end to thy unhappiness? Relate to me now what the real source of thy misfortune came from and in what manner it was able to assume such tremendous dimensions.”“Naboukodonozor, whom I love more than anybody or anything in the world, got to loving another woman!”“Well, what of it?” quietly asked the old man, “is this the only cause of thy great sorrow? How can one call it unhappiness if this made his fortune and rendered him contented?”“Some would have thought that she might like such a course of events instead of regretting it.”“What is the matter with thee, O wise hermit?” She was perfectly overwhelmed with joy!“Now, my dear woman, rely ye simply on me, for I will undertake to explain it all right to thee, as for me, it was a source of sorrow and doubt.”“O thou remarkable man, dost thou really not understand that for me this circumstance was worse than all the tortures of poison?”“But thou only just a short time ago didst assure me that the very height of happiness for thee was to stand every privation, nay, all sufferings, simply in order to give him pleasure and act in accordance with his wishes and aims.”Thereupon the hermit again opened his mouth and sang songs of praise and thankfulness unto God, the Almighty Master of Heaven and earth; and see! his happiness was founded on love, but on love to a being, a being which was perfect. He always submitted his love to the righteous laws of God; this was not a senseless inspiration,but an action free of any earthly, foolish bonds, of elevated and religious aims and seeking nothing but rest and comfort for the moment—going always by the road of honesty, truth and veneration of all that is upright and good!His love was trying to perfect itself, approach if possible that greatest example of utmost perfection which was shown to us by our Lord Jesus Christ.“Happiness is a sweet, sweet little flower,” said he, “which is quite unable to grow among unrighteousness, unfairness and wilfulness—only by the lawful way of Christian love to God, veneration and love to his neighbors, can he strive to live properly and give those magnificent fragrant flowers, for which you are all constantly looking and which you are as yet unable to find. Following out the orders of my God it will be easy to find happiness, for His perfect and most merciful laws restrain the will of the individual man only there, where it proves necessary for his thrift and condition in general. Thou, it is true, didst live in a fairy-land palace, from which all illnesses, needs, worries, and labors had been excluded. You did not fear nor obey any legal authorities, nor laws, nor customs. It was love that firmly united you all. Well, tell me then, were you indeed happy and successful?”“Oh! no, not at all!” answered Roussoudanna. And once more the old man tenderly addressed her and convinced Roussoudanna, baptized her, and taking a staff, at the top of which a cross was reproduced, he went off with her to the fairy-land palace. Reaching the rivulet they beheld Nebrotk gathering the necessary fruit. With despair and terror did he inform them that Astkchicka now considered Naboukodonozor her husband, while he was forced to serve his rival and nobody paid any attention to—yes, had utterly forgotten the existence of Roussoudanna. Then she asked him to sit down and told the inhabitant of the castle all that had happened to her, and in her young voice the speech about perfect endless andeternal love sounded still more convincing. Love is eternal when it is well planned and arranged, it is endless if free of sin and perfect if subjected to the almighty laws of the eternal God, Father of Heaven and earth.All were deeply impressed, and now the hermit continued the speech and told them about the all-powerful strength of God, before whose serene appearance all false, worthless gods take to flight, and about His extreme wisdom and knowledge, rapidity of decision, mercifulness and righteousness, and see! Nebrotk immediately wished to be converted and baptized. At the end of his powerful and persuasive discourse, the old man simply touched the fairy-land palace with his staff and in a few seconds it completely disappeared like an apparition. Then he instructed Nebrotk and Roussoudanna in real Christian love and in the obligations of married life and then performed for both the wedding ceremony, and having fervently prayed to the Creator they all together went to work erecting a perfectly new log house for the young married couple, in which the happy mortals passed many blissful years, writing down the stories and tales of the various travellers. Some of them I shall perhaps tell you of another time. To my sorrow my memory did not preserve that artistic, yes, clever way of relating, which this little collection of legends more and more clearly explains to one—bringing us over and over again to the great truth.“Happiness is within us.” The imperfection of Nebrotk and Roussoudanna came at first from the imperfection of their mutual love, which loves itself as much as the beloved. Then, however, gradually as they were taught to love their neighbor more than themselves, yes to love him so much as not to offend each other and not grumble and growl over little defects and mishaps which regarded their personalities alone and from which the neighbors should not suffer, did they teach themselves and conceive how well it was to rejoice over the blissfulness of others, to think only about others, to wish to seek pleasure andhappiness only for others and to put all their energy and delight in the contentment and comfort of others; this great happiness finally made its beneficent way into their souls and admitting everything they said.“Happiness is within us—” and then they needed no more fairy-land castle, from which all cares, illnesses, needs, and labors were banished. They found time and also strength to live an actual and true life among all its turmoils and difficulties, to know how to guarantee one’s shining happiness, and then they heard not the fairy-land song of the flowers, the fragrant song of the youngsters saved by them for a joyful, diligent, and Christian life, and they rejoiced in the song of thankful young people, who by their example of love, had been saved from many a sorrow and suffering. These young people had thoroughly learned how to live a happy life and this chorus did not stop as long as they lived on earth.

V. The DiamondA LegendAt the time of Tsar Artchill the First, who was married to Marion, the daughter of the Greek Emperor Julian (363 A. D.), many Greeks settled over into Georgia, among them the painter Martin. To his care the inner ornamentation of the church of Stephan Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen) was left. This great house of worship had been planned and constructed at Mtzkhet by the all honorable Artchill, near the gates of the Aragva, near the towers and bastions erected in its neighborhood for national defence. Martin was a perfectly honorable and reliable man and very clever and gifted in the execution of his orders. The paints which were at his disposal assumed such a marvellous, nay overwhelming resemblance with reality, that several of the saints represented by them appeared as though they were alive, and astounded faithful and esteemed believersmany hundred years after his death. On one of the walls he had undertaken to reproduce the apparition of the most Holy Virgin to Saint Nina. The latter was seen down on her knees stretching out her arms and receiving a holy cross made of fine vineyard branches. The fear, happiness, love to God and perfectly boundless submission to His holy will were expressed not only in the character features of the Saint, but in every movement, nay, in every fold of her garment. The union of all these various thoughts was above picturesque sciences and naturally called forth the amply justified astonishment of the contemporaries of Martin and of the very latest visitors to the temple. Yes, indeed, the Greek Martin was a great, great artist. And therefore he loved his art so much that it seemed dearer to him than all the world put together, with the exception of his daughter Poullkheria.At the period when our tale begins, the portrait of Saint Nina was already carefully finished off, and the artist was applying himself over the figure of the most Holy Virgin. As humble as he was clever and ingenious, he alone, it appeared, did not notice the beauty of his productions, and while just then all those standing about were filled with amazement and extreme delight, he sighed while comparing his master works with those shining, marvellous, indescribable, and exceptionally extraordinary pictures which his poetic imagination seemed to behold moving as it were in the air, and which were so dear to his elevated soul. How in the world should he represent the features of the most Holy Virgin?That was a question which tortured him day and night. Every time he reflected about them he thought he could see the sweet, short, dear face of his daughter, and with terror in his heart he attempted to drive away this imaginary apparition. It seemed to him like some wicked, harsh, impossible insult. Again he did his best to find a proper type which would have nothing earthly about it, and once more that same loving and belovedlittle face of Poullkheria presented itself to him. At last in perfect despair he went to the Katholikoss (this fully corresponds to the rank of a patriarch), John the Second, imploring counsel and prayer. One day and two nights they fervently prayed together near the holy djouar (thus was named the place near the fountain of tears of Saint Nina, not far from the cross erected in that very vicinity; djouar in reality means cross). On the second morning the Katholikoss ordered the painter to immediately return to his home.“Lay thyself down at the feet of our great converter,” said he, “and go to sleep, for I do heartily believe that in a dream thou art destined to see namely those features in which the most Holy Virgin must be represented!”Martin went to the place appointed, fulfilled the command of John, and a third time saw the features of Poullkheria; she appeared to him with some especially magnificent heavenly radiance.“But how shall I reproduce this astonishing light?” murmured the painter, and began to strictly observe the fasts and pray like the ancient prophets and other true servants of the Lord. For a whole week he constantly went through all the different religious services and ate nothing, nor did he drink anything. On Saturday, after partaking Communion, he took a meal and lay down with the intention of sleeping under the portrait.In the dream he beheld already the heavenly Tsaritsa, viz., just as it was customary and necessary to reproduce her. Hastily he jumped up and drew out on the wall with charcoal the all glorious and all impressive picture. This was the very first representation of the kind, and it completely satisfied and pleased the artist himself! The worry which had long been weighing down on him was changed into inexpressible happiness and good fortune, and he hurried to the holy djouar (cross) where with tears he thanked and sang praises unto God. The following day just at sunrise Martin rose, awoke Poullkheria and led her off with him. Hardly had he arrangedher as was his desire, when an unknown youth came up to them.“Old man!” he said, respectfully bowing, “I also want to work on the image of the Heavenly Queen, instruct me how it is necessary to dispose of thy colors.” With great incredulity Martin stared at him. The gorgeous garment, the graceful movements showed plainly that he was a man not accustomed to hard labors. “It is not at all easy to teach how to apply the colors,” he answered. “Take off thy expensive and most elegant robe and thy delicate hands will not stand difficult, exhausting work.” The youth nevertheless insisted, and Martin having rapidly explained to him what to do, began the work and soon forgot him and Poullkheria and all creation, and was utterly absorbed in his magnificent inner world. In the meantime Poullkheria followed the newcomer. He was a tall, well-built, handsome youth, broad-shouldered with a slender waist, which was pinched in by a fine gold belt with decorations of highly precious stones, and how these various-colored stones played and shone and reflected! when he had placed it on a huge marble piece and he easily and quickly arranged on it a heavy stone, which her father moved from place to place—very slowly and only gradually. The youth did not pay the very least attention to her—he was evidently worried and pulled down by some outside event. Deep sighs from time to time came out of his breast, and in the end Poullkheria remarked that a tear fell unto the edge of the marble slab. It now really seemed as though he as well as Martin had wandered off into some unknown world and had forgotten everything earthly. Martin painted without interruption for seven hours; and in a like manner, without taking any rest, worked the sweet newcomer. Glancing at their indefatigable application, Poullkheria became frightened and feared that her posing might never come to an end, and so began to weep most bitterly. The features of her face suddenly assumed another look and thus her father began to be thoughtful and remember all that had taken place.“Enough, my poor darling child!” he said with delicacy, and addressed the youth. Immense spots of paint and butter were now to be seen on various parts of his costly attire, his hair was indeed in the greatest disorder and his face red from exhaustion. Martin really did not know how he should thank and reward him.“Tell me at least thy name, thou good youth!” he said, turning to the boy.“Mirdat.”“Why—is it possible?”“Be silent!” interrupted the youth and went out, but Martin looked after him with inexpressible astonishment. Only in this moment did he recognize in him the Tsarevitch-successor, the great and famous victories of whom the whole East was talking. Yesterday only he had returned from a victorious expedition to Rome, and they were convinced that he would soon start out again. How was it possible that during these very few days of rest he wished to take upon himself such a tiresome and dry work? Afterwards he thoroughly inspected what he had achieved and was perfectly overcome by the number and variety of colors and shades arranged and used by him.“If he accomplishes his new war as rapidly as the first, I shall have enough colors left up to the time of his return,” reflected Martin, and gayly and joyfully went home with his dear little daughter, who all along the route questioned him about Mirdat. Having dined in haste and slept a little, Martin once more continued his labors and was steadily busy until sunset.Thus the undertaking went on day after day with the difference only that Mirdat no more appeared. It seems that he had left for Movakanne and soon after had pacified it for his father. It is not useless to relate what happened to Mirdat upon his first expedition.The provinces of Ranna, Movakanne and Aderbadaganne since the most remote times belonged to Georgia, and only during the reign of Tsar Mirdat the Fourth,grandfather of our hero, they came under the control of the Persians. Satrappe Barzabode administrated them. Having taken Ranna, the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat wished to call out Barzabode in a duel. Barzabode took up his quarters in an abandoned tower beyond the city, but Mirdat surrounded it from evening on—supposing that during the night it would be impossible for him to slip out and escape, and so he resolved to give rest to his exhausted and wornout warriors till morning. In the night he made an inspection tour of his brave camp, and passing quite close to the tower on the grassy slopes, he overheard a sweet conversation. He stood still and paid close attention. The sweet voice, hardly hearable, pronounced the word: “Batono!” (“Sir.”)He raised his head and almost fainted from extreme astonishment and delight: on the roof there stood a girl of indescribable beauty. The moon was shining on her and gave her long, regular features some secret mysteriousness and unusual charm. And suddenly her coral mouth opened, and from it poured out a low, inspiring and enchanting speech. She implored the young military commander to save her from the clutches of her very old father.“Who and what can dare to oppose itself to thee? Thou dost conquer towns and provinces. Thy powerful army defeats and submits even hero princes. Whomsoever or whatsoever thou mayest look at in this world, thou canst always consider it thine own, for it doth not come within thy reach only when thou dost not wish it so. Thou hast wonderful beauty, common sense, mind, strength, and bravery, while I never had anything except a dear father. He prided himself in his warlike glory—thou didst darken it! He had won for himself the entire confidence of the Shah, thou didst destroy it. He boasted about the invincibility of his warriors, while thou didst conquer and baffle them. Thou above all didst have my way of looking at things and my imagination. Thy all powerful type did victoriously enter my soul and dothdrive out from it the poor, terribly degraded character of my old father!”And at these solemn words the beauty fell down on her knees. “O do not tear him away from me!” she murmured, reproachingly, stretching out her arms towards him.“There will be no duel!” unexpectedly said Mirdat; he turned around and quickly went to his tent. This young lady was the daughter of Barzabode, Sagdoukta. From that moment onwards Mirdat loved her with all the mightiness and emotion of his hero-prince’s heart, and there was deep, deep grief and depression in his soul. Was it possible to suppose that the Tsar would permit him to marry the daughter of that satrame, to whose care certain provinces had been intrusted and who of late had been deprived of the right of administrating them?Having reflected a little he made up his mind to leave a comparatively small number of warriors in the places which he had but just successfully conquered, while with the remaining soldiers he returned to his father in order to ask for fresh instructions. Everywhere they met and received the young conqueror with great ceremony and delight; radiant faces were surrounding him, the joyful cries of the people filled his ears, while in his heart it was all dark and heavy. With unbelievable effort he finally forced himself to answer the general and most hearty greetings constantly showered on him with a caressing smile, and on the following day, when he safely reached his beloved home, he immediately went to continue and work for the glorification of the most Holy Virgin, invoking her assistance and protection. The same was his object when he reached his native town after his second great victorious campaign in Movakanne. But this time Martin, who had already succeeded in finishing the expression of the face of the Heavenly Queen and having spent some time in reproducing her garment, now took the matter more easily, and indeed, frequently watched and glanced at his busy assistant. Having noticed therunning tears of his daughter, he let Poullkheria go home, and turning to him, asked him what might be the cause of his great sorrow.“Thou hast helped me so much,” said Martin, “that I should really like to render thee some good service, good youth; perhaps my old age makes me fit and enables me to give thee some highly useful counsel.”“Thy grey hair testifies that already long, long ago the time went by when thou wert excited and moved by those thoughts and plans which called forth my tears. Nobody except the most Holy Virgin is strong enough to make my terrible grief go by, viz., because I love with all my heart a splendid girl to whom the sovereign will never give me his consent to be married.”Saying these words Mirdat went, with a painful expression on his face, but Martin understood this most simple clear explanation quite differently, and through this mistake he let his most honest and loyal soul almost perish. This soul was perfectly clean, enlightened, free of sin, and shining like the most costly diamond.And so once upon a time, during a dream, some heavenly angels cut out the soul and brought it to the Lord. “O, Vladyka!” they said, “look thou at this brilliant diamond—this is the soul of the Greek man Martin, who hath given up his whole life to the glorification of Thy name. There is not one vice which can possibly obtain admission to or seek refuge in it, for it doth entirely belong to Thee! Looking at it and admiring it, we are frequently thinking that upon the death of Martin this diamond will be fully worthy of ornamenting Thy holy throne.”The sweet, sweet angel voices quieted down, while from the depths of the earth the devilish laughing and ridiculing were heard. “Why dost thou so rejoice—miserable Satan?” asked the guarding angel by order of the Eternal God.“Very soon this diamond will be spoiled, darkened, and I shall become the happy possessor of it!” replied the devil. Thereupon,the good angels began to bitterlycry, but the Lord comforted them. He gave commands that the soul should again be placed and fixed in the body of the sleeping painter, and also informed the angels that in case Martin should ever happen to listen to and obey the sly devilish instructions and thus have his soul darkened, that they should find means to bring it back to God, although it be by the heavy, nay distressing, road of worldly grief and tears.And quickly the angels descended into the church of Stephen Tsminda (that is of Saint Stephen) and put the blinding diamond back into the slumbering Martin, but after them Satan came up and began to persuade the Greek that his daughter had completely won the heart of the Tsarevitch and that he himself would become a royal father-in-law. And thus at last vanity stained the diamond with dark and dirty spots, its shining lightness began to go out more and more, while the perfectly extraordinary and marvellous beauty seemed to be covering itself with a dark skin, and Martin daily continued to give himself up to worthless vain thoughts. And see, the diamond was decaying and would soon lose all of its unusual qualities. In the meantime Mirdat conquered and pacified Aderbadaganne.“What dost thou wish me to give you as a reward for thy highly valuable services?” asked the delighted, enthusiastic Artchill. Mirdat reverently fell down on one knee and kissing the lower end of the royal garment, asked for permission to be married to the daughter of the conquered satrappe. The loving father replied with an amused smile: “As long as thou didst administrate Ranna, Movakanne, and Aderbadaganne, Sagdoukta seemed to have hold of thy heart, and it seems to me that the very best way for thee to get out of this dangerous position is to claim the honor of obtaining her hand!”Immediately an embassy was dispatched to Barzabodus, who received it with indescribable joy and delight. Sagdoukta, supplied with a most gorgeous trousseau and dowry, was conducted to Mtzkhet where the marriageceremony was performed and the innumerable fêtes connected with it continued for many days. The Tsar gave his son the city of Samshrilde with the province surrounding it. Besides through her beauty, Sagdoukta distinguished herself still more by her very remarkable mind and, which was in those times rare, a general education.Mirdat sent for the very wisest and most learned men of his age, living in Samshvillede and intrusted them with translating into Georgian the holy New Testament, and thoroughly explaining it to the Tsarevna Sagdoukta, who already fully believed in our Lord Jesus Christ, and having gone through and accepted the holy baptism, intended to have a cathedral of Zion erected at Samshvillede. For the planning of the inner walls a most precise and talented artist was necessary.Mirdat just then remembered his old friend Martin, and sent some attendants to look for him. But when their point of destination was reached, he was no longer among the living. He had succeeded in finishing his work in the church of Stephen-Tsminda at the time of the last campaign of the Tsarevitch in Aderbadaganne, received a right royal reward from Artchill, but instead of returning to Greece as would have seemed natural, he remained at Mtzkhet, hoping to bring them to a favorable issue.He daily went to the merchants of gorgeous weavings, chose the most precious objects, and composed of them a most valuable and rich costume for his Poullkheria.The very most talented and experienced tailors under his personal direction were employed in ornamenting with and sewing on these garments precious stones of one exquisite color, and besides that jewels. Trying first one thing, then another on his beloved Poullkheria, for whole hours at a time he watched and interested himself in her superhuman beauty, and with full confidence displayed before her the pictures of her future greatness. On hearing all these compliments and glorious propheciesthe shining eyes of Poullkheria lit up with still greater joyfulness. Her clean heart could not understand or appreciate the many foolishly vain thoughts and intentions of her father. She loved Mirdat, indeed, not because he just happened to be the son of a King, but on account of his bravery, goodness and perfect honesty. That was why, notwithstanding exceedingly powerful temptations, the soul of Poullkheria remained as neat, without a sin and immaculate as when she had not had such notions; but Martin’s soul daily lost its splendor and became covered all over with dark, dark spots.In the end Mtzkhet was bursting with joy, for a report spread from one quarter to another that Aderbadaganne had been successfully taken by storm. Triumphant receptions were now universally prepared for the great victor, and young and old rushed into the street with colored flags or flower branches in their hands. Poullkheria in her newest attire, and by her very side Martin, stood on the steps of the church of Stephen-Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen).When the powerful procession came up to them, the Tsarevitch got off his horse and went into the empty temple. Martin, unnoticed, followed on after him and clearly beheld how he went straight to the finished image of the most Holy Virgin and having fallen on his knees was fervently praying. When, however, the prayer being over, the Tsarevitch rose, Martin ran up to him and quickly whispered in his ear:“This great day the Tsar, my master, will not refuse thee anything.”But the Tsarevitch, persuaded that he alone was in the church, was evidently and most visibly struck and moved by this unexpected witness of his all hearty and sincere prayer. He did not recognize Martin, did not remember even his words, but hastened with all his might to go out of the church, while Martin thought that his own affairs were taking an unusually pleasant turn and greatly rejoiced. A few days went by, on the large square ofthe city a glashatai (kind of herald) made his appearance with a number of trumpeters, and having called together the people, they formally announced to them the coming marriage of the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat to Sagdoukta, the daughter of the Persian satrappe (probably district governor) Barzabode.A slight noise was heard, and a moment thereafter a cry which was sharp enough to tear one’s soul to pieces and which attracted general attention. On the ground lay Poullkheria, not showing any signs of life. A thin, pale colored rivulet of young boiling blood was slowly coming out of her mouth. Kneeling before her was Martin, who, indeed, was giving himself every possible trouble to stop the abundant flow of blood. Somebody out of the crowd was desirous of running to help her, but he looked back with a really terrified glance, and like a regular madman, having seized her in his vigorous arms, rushed off with her to Stephen Tsminda. Here he placed her at the foot of that wonderful picture for the execution of which she had served as a model and completely lost his senses. And, nay!—he actually saw how the cupola moved and opened itself, and how two angels gradually approached Poullkheria. In their hands there was just as grand a kind of a white transparent, indescribably magnificent garment as the one which dazzled their eyes.Instantly they took off the costly robe and clothed her in the attire which they had brought along. Poullkheria came back to life and looked around with the greatest astonishment as the rays of the sun, one after another, reflected upon the opening of the cupola, and approaching slowly, the angels came down, who quickly and intelligently drew out two wings from them, quite as beaming with light as their own, and made them grow on to Poullkheria, and having manœuvred with them several times, the new angel without the least trouble raised herself from the earth and joyfully did the angels of the Almighty God sing a marvellously, nay extraordinarily,sweet greeting song to their dear new companion in arms, inviting her to fly off with them to the Throne of God.The new angel departed from the house of worship with a last, tender parting glance and having beheld her father, she began to implore the angels to also take him with them into the World of Life Eternal. The angelic song now stopped, their faces were darkened with sorrow, and painfully they announced that willingly they would have prepared for him at first a more desirable spot in the all glorious and all wonderful domains of Heaven, but that he threw away his splendid chance by wicked and useless vanity. The tears ran down in floods from the eyes of the former Poullkheria, and these tears of hers, as clean and fresh as the morning dew, dropped down unto the face of him who had died and brought him again to life and this time to a happier one.Martin jumped up, being fully aware of and perfectly ready to acknowledge his sinfulness. Abundant tears of remorse came out of his eyes and two more angels appeared on earth.They gathered these tears and washed out with them the wicked, sinful soul of Martin and the dark, dark spots of vanity on this most precious of diamonds grew quite white. When, however, the diamond again acquired its former harmless and utterly immaculate look, they radiantly bore him up to the throne of God, where he is shining and enlightens with a marvellous talent and adroitness those artists who are working for the glory of God, but Poullkheria guards their shining, clean souls from any sinful or irreligious infection.

V. The DiamondA Legend

At the time of Tsar Artchill the First, who was married to Marion, the daughter of the Greek Emperor Julian (363 A. D.), many Greeks settled over into Georgia, among them the painter Martin. To his care the inner ornamentation of the church of Stephan Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen) was left. This great house of worship had been planned and constructed at Mtzkhet by the all honorable Artchill, near the gates of the Aragva, near the towers and bastions erected in its neighborhood for national defence. Martin was a perfectly honorable and reliable man and very clever and gifted in the execution of his orders. The paints which were at his disposal assumed such a marvellous, nay overwhelming resemblance with reality, that several of the saints represented by them appeared as though they were alive, and astounded faithful and esteemed believersmany hundred years after his death. On one of the walls he had undertaken to reproduce the apparition of the most Holy Virgin to Saint Nina. The latter was seen down on her knees stretching out her arms and receiving a holy cross made of fine vineyard branches. The fear, happiness, love to God and perfectly boundless submission to His holy will were expressed not only in the character features of the Saint, but in every movement, nay, in every fold of her garment. The union of all these various thoughts was above picturesque sciences and naturally called forth the amply justified astonishment of the contemporaries of Martin and of the very latest visitors to the temple. Yes, indeed, the Greek Martin was a great, great artist. And therefore he loved his art so much that it seemed dearer to him than all the world put together, with the exception of his daughter Poullkheria.At the period when our tale begins, the portrait of Saint Nina was already carefully finished off, and the artist was applying himself over the figure of the most Holy Virgin. As humble as he was clever and ingenious, he alone, it appeared, did not notice the beauty of his productions, and while just then all those standing about were filled with amazement and extreme delight, he sighed while comparing his master works with those shining, marvellous, indescribable, and exceptionally extraordinary pictures which his poetic imagination seemed to behold moving as it were in the air, and which were so dear to his elevated soul. How in the world should he represent the features of the most Holy Virgin?That was a question which tortured him day and night. Every time he reflected about them he thought he could see the sweet, short, dear face of his daughter, and with terror in his heart he attempted to drive away this imaginary apparition. It seemed to him like some wicked, harsh, impossible insult. Again he did his best to find a proper type which would have nothing earthly about it, and once more that same loving and belovedlittle face of Poullkheria presented itself to him. At last in perfect despair he went to the Katholikoss (this fully corresponds to the rank of a patriarch), John the Second, imploring counsel and prayer. One day and two nights they fervently prayed together near the holy djouar (thus was named the place near the fountain of tears of Saint Nina, not far from the cross erected in that very vicinity; djouar in reality means cross). On the second morning the Katholikoss ordered the painter to immediately return to his home.“Lay thyself down at the feet of our great converter,” said he, “and go to sleep, for I do heartily believe that in a dream thou art destined to see namely those features in which the most Holy Virgin must be represented!”Martin went to the place appointed, fulfilled the command of John, and a third time saw the features of Poullkheria; she appeared to him with some especially magnificent heavenly radiance.“But how shall I reproduce this astonishing light?” murmured the painter, and began to strictly observe the fasts and pray like the ancient prophets and other true servants of the Lord. For a whole week he constantly went through all the different religious services and ate nothing, nor did he drink anything. On Saturday, after partaking Communion, he took a meal and lay down with the intention of sleeping under the portrait.In the dream he beheld already the heavenly Tsaritsa, viz., just as it was customary and necessary to reproduce her. Hastily he jumped up and drew out on the wall with charcoal the all glorious and all impressive picture. This was the very first representation of the kind, and it completely satisfied and pleased the artist himself! The worry which had long been weighing down on him was changed into inexpressible happiness and good fortune, and he hurried to the holy djouar (cross) where with tears he thanked and sang praises unto God. The following day just at sunrise Martin rose, awoke Poullkheria and led her off with him. Hardly had he arrangedher as was his desire, when an unknown youth came up to them.“Old man!” he said, respectfully bowing, “I also want to work on the image of the Heavenly Queen, instruct me how it is necessary to dispose of thy colors.” With great incredulity Martin stared at him. The gorgeous garment, the graceful movements showed plainly that he was a man not accustomed to hard labors. “It is not at all easy to teach how to apply the colors,” he answered. “Take off thy expensive and most elegant robe and thy delicate hands will not stand difficult, exhausting work.” The youth nevertheless insisted, and Martin having rapidly explained to him what to do, began the work and soon forgot him and Poullkheria and all creation, and was utterly absorbed in his magnificent inner world. In the meantime Poullkheria followed the newcomer. He was a tall, well-built, handsome youth, broad-shouldered with a slender waist, which was pinched in by a fine gold belt with decorations of highly precious stones, and how these various-colored stones played and shone and reflected! when he had placed it on a huge marble piece and he easily and quickly arranged on it a heavy stone, which her father moved from place to place—very slowly and only gradually. The youth did not pay the very least attention to her—he was evidently worried and pulled down by some outside event. Deep sighs from time to time came out of his breast, and in the end Poullkheria remarked that a tear fell unto the edge of the marble slab. It now really seemed as though he as well as Martin had wandered off into some unknown world and had forgotten everything earthly. Martin painted without interruption for seven hours; and in a like manner, without taking any rest, worked the sweet newcomer. Glancing at their indefatigable application, Poullkheria became frightened and feared that her posing might never come to an end, and so began to weep most bitterly. The features of her face suddenly assumed another look and thus her father began to be thoughtful and remember all that had taken place.“Enough, my poor darling child!” he said with delicacy, and addressed the youth. Immense spots of paint and butter were now to be seen on various parts of his costly attire, his hair was indeed in the greatest disorder and his face red from exhaustion. Martin really did not know how he should thank and reward him.“Tell me at least thy name, thou good youth!” he said, turning to the boy.“Mirdat.”“Why—is it possible?”“Be silent!” interrupted the youth and went out, but Martin looked after him with inexpressible astonishment. Only in this moment did he recognize in him the Tsarevitch-successor, the great and famous victories of whom the whole East was talking. Yesterday only he had returned from a victorious expedition to Rome, and they were convinced that he would soon start out again. How was it possible that during these very few days of rest he wished to take upon himself such a tiresome and dry work? Afterwards he thoroughly inspected what he had achieved and was perfectly overcome by the number and variety of colors and shades arranged and used by him.“If he accomplishes his new war as rapidly as the first, I shall have enough colors left up to the time of his return,” reflected Martin, and gayly and joyfully went home with his dear little daughter, who all along the route questioned him about Mirdat. Having dined in haste and slept a little, Martin once more continued his labors and was steadily busy until sunset.Thus the undertaking went on day after day with the difference only that Mirdat no more appeared. It seems that he had left for Movakanne and soon after had pacified it for his father. It is not useless to relate what happened to Mirdat upon his first expedition.The provinces of Ranna, Movakanne and Aderbadaganne since the most remote times belonged to Georgia, and only during the reign of Tsar Mirdat the Fourth,grandfather of our hero, they came under the control of the Persians. Satrappe Barzabode administrated them. Having taken Ranna, the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat wished to call out Barzabode in a duel. Barzabode took up his quarters in an abandoned tower beyond the city, but Mirdat surrounded it from evening on—supposing that during the night it would be impossible for him to slip out and escape, and so he resolved to give rest to his exhausted and wornout warriors till morning. In the night he made an inspection tour of his brave camp, and passing quite close to the tower on the grassy slopes, he overheard a sweet conversation. He stood still and paid close attention. The sweet voice, hardly hearable, pronounced the word: “Batono!” (“Sir.”)He raised his head and almost fainted from extreme astonishment and delight: on the roof there stood a girl of indescribable beauty. The moon was shining on her and gave her long, regular features some secret mysteriousness and unusual charm. And suddenly her coral mouth opened, and from it poured out a low, inspiring and enchanting speech. She implored the young military commander to save her from the clutches of her very old father.“Who and what can dare to oppose itself to thee? Thou dost conquer towns and provinces. Thy powerful army defeats and submits even hero princes. Whomsoever or whatsoever thou mayest look at in this world, thou canst always consider it thine own, for it doth not come within thy reach only when thou dost not wish it so. Thou hast wonderful beauty, common sense, mind, strength, and bravery, while I never had anything except a dear father. He prided himself in his warlike glory—thou didst darken it! He had won for himself the entire confidence of the Shah, thou didst destroy it. He boasted about the invincibility of his warriors, while thou didst conquer and baffle them. Thou above all didst have my way of looking at things and my imagination. Thy all powerful type did victoriously enter my soul and dothdrive out from it the poor, terribly degraded character of my old father!”And at these solemn words the beauty fell down on her knees. “O do not tear him away from me!” she murmured, reproachingly, stretching out her arms towards him.“There will be no duel!” unexpectedly said Mirdat; he turned around and quickly went to his tent. This young lady was the daughter of Barzabode, Sagdoukta. From that moment onwards Mirdat loved her with all the mightiness and emotion of his hero-prince’s heart, and there was deep, deep grief and depression in his soul. Was it possible to suppose that the Tsar would permit him to marry the daughter of that satrame, to whose care certain provinces had been intrusted and who of late had been deprived of the right of administrating them?Having reflected a little he made up his mind to leave a comparatively small number of warriors in the places which he had but just successfully conquered, while with the remaining soldiers he returned to his father in order to ask for fresh instructions. Everywhere they met and received the young conqueror with great ceremony and delight; radiant faces were surrounding him, the joyful cries of the people filled his ears, while in his heart it was all dark and heavy. With unbelievable effort he finally forced himself to answer the general and most hearty greetings constantly showered on him with a caressing smile, and on the following day, when he safely reached his beloved home, he immediately went to continue and work for the glorification of the most Holy Virgin, invoking her assistance and protection. The same was his object when he reached his native town after his second great victorious campaign in Movakanne. But this time Martin, who had already succeeded in finishing the expression of the face of the Heavenly Queen and having spent some time in reproducing her garment, now took the matter more easily, and indeed, frequently watched and glanced at his busy assistant. Having noticed therunning tears of his daughter, he let Poullkheria go home, and turning to him, asked him what might be the cause of his great sorrow.“Thou hast helped me so much,” said Martin, “that I should really like to render thee some good service, good youth; perhaps my old age makes me fit and enables me to give thee some highly useful counsel.”“Thy grey hair testifies that already long, long ago the time went by when thou wert excited and moved by those thoughts and plans which called forth my tears. Nobody except the most Holy Virgin is strong enough to make my terrible grief go by, viz., because I love with all my heart a splendid girl to whom the sovereign will never give me his consent to be married.”Saying these words Mirdat went, with a painful expression on his face, but Martin understood this most simple clear explanation quite differently, and through this mistake he let his most honest and loyal soul almost perish. This soul was perfectly clean, enlightened, free of sin, and shining like the most costly diamond.And so once upon a time, during a dream, some heavenly angels cut out the soul and brought it to the Lord. “O, Vladyka!” they said, “look thou at this brilliant diamond—this is the soul of the Greek man Martin, who hath given up his whole life to the glorification of Thy name. There is not one vice which can possibly obtain admission to or seek refuge in it, for it doth entirely belong to Thee! Looking at it and admiring it, we are frequently thinking that upon the death of Martin this diamond will be fully worthy of ornamenting Thy holy throne.”The sweet, sweet angel voices quieted down, while from the depths of the earth the devilish laughing and ridiculing were heard. “Why dost thou so rejoice—miserable Satan?” asked the guarding angel by order of the Eternal God.“Very soon this diamond will be spoiled, darkened, and I shall become the happy possessor of it!” replied the devil. Thereupon,the good angels began to bitterlycry, but the Lord comforted them. He gave commands that the soul should again be placed and fixed in the body of the sleeping painter, and also informed the angels that in case Martin should ever happen to listen to and obey the sly devilish instructions and thus have his soul darkened, that they should find means to bring it back to God, although it be by the heavy, nay distressing, road of worldly grief and tears.And quickly the angels descended into the church of Stephen Tsminda (that is of Saint Stephen) and put the blinding diamond back into the slumbering Martin, but after them Satan came up and began to persuade the Greek that his daughter had completely won the heart of the Tsarevitch and that he himself would become a royal father-in-law. And thus at last vanity stained the diamond with dark and dirty spots, its shining lightness began to go out more and more, while the perfectly extraordinary and marvellous beauty seemed to be covering itself with a dark skin, and Martin daily continued to give himself up to worthless vain thoughts. And see, the diamond was decaying and would soon lose all of its unusual qualities. In the meantime Mirdat conquered and pacified Aderbadaganne.“What dost thou wish me to give you as a reward for thy highly valuable services?” asked the delighted, enthusiastic Artchill. Mirdat reverently fell down on one knee and kissing the lower end of the royal garment, asked for permission to be married to the daughter of the conquered satrappe. The loving father replied with an amused smile: “As long as thou didst administrate Ranna, Movakanne, and Aderbadaganne, Sagdoukta seemed to have hold of thy heart, and it seems to me that the very best way for thee to get out of this dangerous position is to claim the honor of obtaining her hand!”Immediately an embassy was dispatched to Barzabodus, who received it with indescribable joy and delight. Sagdoukta, supplied with a most gorgeous trousseau and dowry, was conducted to Mtzkhet where the marriageceremony was performed and the innumerable fêtes connected with it continued for many days. The Tsar gave his son the city of Samshrilde with the province surrounding it. Besides through her beauty, Sagdoukta distinguished herself still more by her very remarkable mind and, which was in those times rare, a general education.Mirdat sent for the very wisest and most learned men of his age, living in Samshvillede and intrusted them with translating into Georgian the holy New Testament, and thoroughly explaining it to the Tsarevna Sagdoukta, who already fully believed in our Lord Jesus Christ, and having gone through and accepted the holy baptism, intended to have a cathedral of Zion erected at Samshvillede. For the planning of the inner walls a most precise and talented artist was necessary.Mirdat just then remembered his old friend Martin, and sent some attendants to look for him. But when their point of destination was reached, he was no longer among the living. He had succeeded in finishing his work in the church of Stephen-Tsminda at the time of the last campaign of the Tsarevitch in Aderbadaganne, received a right royal reward from Artchill, but instead of returning to Greece as would have seemed natural, he remained at Mtzkhet, hoping to bring them to a favorable issue.He daily went to the merchants of gorgeous weavings, chose the most precious objects, and composed of them a most valuable and rich costume for his Poullkheria.The very most talented and experienced tailors under his personal direction were employed in ornamenting with and sewing on these garments precious stones of one exquisite color, and besides that jewels. Trying first one thing, then another on his beloved Poullkheria, for whole hours at a time he watched and interested himself in her superhuman beauty, and with full confidence displayed before her the pictures of her future greatness. On hearing all these compliments and glorious propheciesthe shining eyes of Poullkheria lit up with still greater joyfulness. Her clean heart could not understand or appreciate the many foolishly vain thoughts and intentions of her father. She loved Mirdat, indeed, not because he just happened to be the son of a King, but on account of his bravery, goodness and perfect honesty. That was why, notwithstanding exceedingly powerful temptations, the soul of Poullkheria remained as neat, without a sin and immaculate as when she had not had such notions; but Martin’s soul daily lost its splendor and became covered all over with dark, dark spots.In the end Mtzkhet was bursting with joy, for a report spread from one quarter to another that Aderbadaganne had been successfully taken by storm. Triumphant receptions were now universally prepared for the great victor, and young and old rushed into the street with colored flags or flower branches in their hands. Poullkheria in her newest attire, and by her very side Martin, stood on the steps of the church of Stephen-Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen).When the powerful procession came up to them, the Tsarevitch got off his horse and went into the empty temple. Martin, unnoticed, followed on after him and clearly beheld how he went straight to the finished image of the most Holy Virgin and having fallen on his knees was fervently praying. When, however, the prayer being over, the Tsarevitch rose, Martin ran up to him and quickly whispered in his ear:“This great day the Tsar, my master, will not refuse thee anything.”But the Tsarevitch, persuaded that he alone was in the church, was evidently and most visibly struck and moved by this unexpected witness of his all hearty and sincere prayer. He did not recognize Martin, did not remember even his words, but hastened with all his might to go out of the church, while Martin thought that his own affairs were taking an unusually pleasant turn and greatly rejoiced. A few days went by, on the large square ofthe city a glashatai (kind of herald) made his appearance with a number of trumpeters, and having called together the people, they formally announced to them the coming marriage of the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat to Sagdoukta, the daughter of the Persian satrappe (probably district governor) Barzabode.A slight noise was heard, and a moment thereafter a cry which was sharp enough to tear one’s soul to pieces and which attracted general attention. On the ground lay Poullkheria, not showing any signs of life. A thin, pale colored rivulet of young boiling blood was slowly coming out of her mouth. Kneeling before her was Martin, who, indeed, was giving himself every possible trouble to stop the abundant flow of blood. Somebody out of the crowd was desirous of running to help her, but he looked back with a really terrified glance, and like a regular madman, having seized her in his vigorous arms, rushed off with her to Stephen Tsminda. Here he placed her at the foot of that wonderful picture for the execution of which she had served as a model and completely lost his senses. And, nay!—he actually saw how the cupola moved and opened itself, and how two angels gradually approached Poullkheria. In their hands there was just as grand a kind of a white transparent, indescribably magnificent garment as the one which dazzled their eyes.Instantly they took off the costly robe and clothed her in the attire which they had brought along. Poullkheria came back to life and looked around with the greatest astonishment as the rays of the sun, one after another, reflected upon the opening of the cupola, and approaching slowly, the angels came down, who quickly and intelligently drew out two wings from them, quite as beaming with light as their own, and made them grow on to Poullkheria, and having manœuvred with them several times, the new angel without the least trouble raised herself from the earth and joyfully did the angels of the Almighty God sing a marvellously, nay extraordinarily,sweet greeting song to their dear new companion in arms, inviting her to fly off with them to the Throne of God.The new angel departed from the house of worship with a last, tender parting glance and having beheld her father, she began to implore the angels to also take him with them into the World of Life Eternal. The angelic song now stopped, their faces were darkened with sorrow, and painfully they announced that willingly they would have prepared for him at first a more desirable spot in the all glorious and all wonderful domains of Heaven, but that he threw away his splendid chance by wicked and useless vanity. The tears ran down in floods from the eyes of the former Poullkheria, and these tears of hers, as clean and fresh as the morning dew, dropped down unto the face of him who had died and brought him again to life and this time to a happier one.Martin jumped up, being fully aware of and perfectly ready to acknowledge his sinfulness. Abundant tears of remorse came out of his eyes and two more angels appeared on earth.They gathered these tears and washed out with them the wicked, sinful soul of Martin and the dark, dark spots of vanity on this most precious of diamonds grew quite white. When, however, the diamond again acquired its former harmless and utterly immaculate look, they radiantly bore him up to the throne of God, where he is shining and enlightens with a marvellous talent and adroitness those artists who are working for the glory of God, but Poullkheria guards their shining, clean souls from any sinful or irreligious infection.

At the time of Tsar Artchill the First, who was married to Marion, the daughter of the Greek Emperor Julian (363 A. D.), many Greeks settled over into Georgia, among them the painter Martin. To his care the inner ornamentation of the church of Stephan Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen) was left. This great house of worship had been planned and constructed at Mtzkhet by the all honorable Artchill, near the gates of the Aragva, near the towers and bastions erected in its neighborhood for national defence. Martin was a perfectly honorable and reliable man and very clever and gifted in the execution of his orders. The paints which were at his disposal assumed such a marvellous, nay overwhelming resemblance with reality, that several of the saints represented by them appeared as though they were alive, and astounded faithful and esteemed believersmany hundred years after his death. On one of the walls he had undertaken to reproduce the apparition of the most Holy Virgin to Saint Nina. The latter was seen down on her knees stretching out her arms and receiving a holy cross made of fine vineyard branches. The fear, happiness, love to God and perfectly boundless submission to His holy will were expressed not only in the character features of the Saint, but in every movement, nay, in every fold of her garment. The union of all these various thoughts was above picturesque sciences and naturally called forth the amply justified astonishment of the contemporaries of Martin and of the very latest visitors to the temple. Yes, indeed, the Greek Martin was a great, great artist. And therefore he loved his art so much that it seemed dearer to him than all the world put together, with the exception of his daughter Poullkheria.

At the period when our tale begins, the portrait of Saint Nina was already carefully finished off, and the artist was applying himself over the figure of the most Holy Virgin. As humble as he was clever and ingenious, he alone, it appeared, did not notice the beauty of his productions, and while just then all those standing about were filled with amazement and extreme delight, he sighed while comparing his master works with those shining, marvellous, indescribable, and exceptionally extraordinary pictures which his poetic imagination seemed to behold moving as it were in the air, and which were so dear to his elevated soul. How in the world should he represent the features of the most Holy Virgin?

That was a question which tortured him day and night. Every time he reflected about them he thought he could see the sweet, short, dear face of his daughter, and with terror in his heart he attempted to drive away this imaginary apparition. It seemed to him like some wicked, harsh, impossible insult. Again he did his best to find a proper type which would have nothing earthly about it, and once more that same loving and belovedlittle face of Poullkheria presented itself to him. At last in perfect despair he went to the Katholikoss (this fully corresponds to the rank of a patriarch), John the Second, imploring counsel and prayer. One day and two nights they fervently prayed together near the holy djouar (thus was named the place near the fountain of tears of Saint Nina, not far from the cross erected in that very vicinity; djouar in reality means cross). On the second morning the Katholikoss ordered the painter to immediately return to his home.

“Lay thyself down at the feet of our great converter,” said he, “and go to sleep, for I do heartily believe that in a dream thou art destined to see namely those features in which the most Holy Virgin must be represented!”

Martin went to the place appointed, fulfilled the command of John, and a third time saw the features of Poullkheria; she appeared to him with some especially magnificent heavenly radiance.

“But how shall I reproduce this astonishing light?” murmured the painter, and began to strictly observe the fasts and pray like the ancient prophets and other true servants of the Lord. For a whole week he constantly went through all the different religious services and ate nothing, nor did he drink anything. On Saturday, after partaking Communion, he took a meal and lay down with the intention of sleeping under the portrait.

In the dream he beheld already the heavenly Tsaritsa, viz., just as it was customary and necessary to reproduce her. Hastily he jumped up and drew out on the wall with charcoal the all glorious and all impressive picture. This was the very first representation of the kind, and it completely satisfied and pleased the artist himself! The worry which had long been weighing down on him was changed into inexpressible happiness and good fortune, and he hurried to the holy djouar (cross) where with tears he thanked and sang praises unto God. The following day just at sunrise Martin rose, awoke Poullkheria and led her off with him. Hardly had he arrangedher as was his desire, when an unknown youth came up to them.

“Old man!” he said, respectfully bowing, “I also want to work on the image of the Heavenly Queen, instruct me how it is necessary to dispose of thy colors.” With great incredulity Martin stared at him. The gorgeous garment, the graceful movements showed plainly that he was a man not accustomed to hard labors. “It is not at all easy to teach how to apply the colors,” he answered. “Take off thy expensive and most elegant robe and thy delicate hands will not stand difficult, exhausting work.” The youth nevertheless insisted, and Martin having rapidly explained to him what to do, began the work and soon forgot him and Poullkheria and all creation, and was utterly absorbed in his magnificent inner world. In the meantime Poullkheria followed the newcomer. He was a tall, well-built, handsome youth, broad-shouldered with a slender waist, which was pinched in by a fine gold belt with decorations of highly precious stones, and how these various-colored stones played and shone and reflected! when he had placed it on a huge marble piece and he easily and quickly arranged on it a heavy stone, which her father moved from place to place—very slowly and only gradually. The youth did not pay the very least attention to her—he was evidently worried and pulled down by some outside event. Deep sighs from time to time came out of his breast, and in the end Poullkheria remarked that a tear fell unto the edge of the marble slab. It now really seemed as though he as well as Martin had wandered off into some unknown world and had forgotten everything earthly. Martin painted without interruption for seven hours; and in a like manner, without taking any rest, worked the sweet newcomer. Glancing at their indefatigable application, Poullkheria became frightened and feared that her posing might never come to an end, and so began to weep most bitterly. The features of her face suddenly assumed another look and thus her father began to be thoughtful and remember all that had taken place.

“Enough, my poor darling child!” he said with delicacy, and addressed the youth. Immense spots of paint and butter were now to be seen on various parts of his costly attire, his hair was indeed in the greatest disorder and his face red from exhaustion. Martin really did not know how he should thank and reward him.

“Tell me at least thy name, thou good youth!” he said, turning to the boy.

“Mirdat.”

“Why—is it possible?”

“Be silent!” interrupted the youth and went out, but Martin looked after him with inexpressible astonishment. Only in this moment did he recognize in him the Tsarevitch-successor, the great and famous victories of whom the whole East was talking. Yesterday only he had returned from a victorious expedition to Rome, and they were convinced that he would soon start out again. How was it possible that during these very few days of rest he wished to take upon himself such a tiresome and dry work? Afterwards he thoroughly inspected what he had achieved and was perfectly overcome by the number and variety of colors and shades arranged and used by him.

“If he accomplishes his new war as rapidly as the first, I shall have enough colors left up to the time of his return,” reflected Martin, and gayly and joyfully went home with his dear little daughter, who all along the route questioned him about Mirdat. Having dined in haste and slept a little, Martin once more continued his labors and was steadily busy until sunset.

Thus the undertaking went on day after day with the difference only that Mirdat no more appeared. It seems that he had left for Movakanne and soon after had pacified it for his father. It is not useless to relate what happened to Mirdat upon his first expedition.

The provinces of Ranna, Movakanne and Aderbadaganne since the most remote times belonged to Georgia, and only during the reign of Tsar Mirdat the Fourth,grandfather of our hero, they came under the control of the Persians. Satrappe Barzabode administrated them. Having taken Ranna, the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat wished to call out Barzabode in a duel. Barzabode took up his quarters in an abandoned tower beyond the city, but Mirdat surrounded it from evening on—supposing that during the night it would be impossible for him to slip out and escape, and so he resolved to give rest to his exhausted and wornout warriors till morning. In the night he made an inspection tour of his brave camp, and passing quite close to the tower on the grassy slopes, he overheard a sweet conversation. He stood still and paid close attention. The sweet voice, hardly hearable, pronounced the word: “Batono!” (“Sir.”)

He raised his head and almost fainted from extreme astonishment and delight: on the roof there stood a girl of indescribable beauty. The moon was shining on her and gave her long, regular features some secret mysteriousness and unusual charm. And suddenly her coral mouth opened, and from it poured out a low, inspiring and enchanting speech. She implored the young military commander to save her from the clutches of her very old father.

“Who and what can dare to oppose itself to thee? Thou dost conquer towns and provinces. Thy powerful army defeats and submits even hero princes. Whomsoever or whatsoever thou mayest look at in this world, thou canst always consider it thine own, for it doth not come within thy reach only when thou dost not wish it so. Thou hast wonderful beauty, common sense, mind, strength, and bravery, while I never had anything except a dear father. He prided himself in his warlike glory—thou didst darken it! He had won for himself the entire confidence of the Shah, thou didst destroy it. He boasted about the invincibility of his warriors, while thou didst conquer and baffle them. Thou above all didst have my way of looking at things and my imagination. Thy all powerful type did victoriously enter my soul and dothdrive out from it the poor, terribly degraded character of my old father!”

And at these solemn words the beauty fell down on her knees. “O do not tear him away from me!” she murmured, reproachingly, stretching out her arms towards him.

“There will be no duel!” unexpectedly said Mirdat; he turned around and quickly went to his tent. This young lady was the daughter of Barzabode, Sagdoukta. From that moment onwards Mirdat loved her with all the mightiness and emotion of his hero-prince’s heart, and there was deep, deep grief and depression in his soul. Was it possible to suppose that the Tsar would permit him to marry the daughter of that satrame, to whose care certain provinces had been intrusted and who of late had been deprived of the right of administrating them?

Having reflected a little he made up his mind to leave a comparatively small number of warriors in the places which he had but just successfully conquered, while with the remaining soldiers he returned to his father in order to ask for fresh instructions. Everywhere they met and received the young conqueror with great ceremony and delight; radiant faces were surrounding him, the joyful cries of the people filled his ears, while in his heart it was all dark and heavy. With unbelievable effort he finally forced himself to answer the general and most hearty greetings constantly showered on him with a caressing smile, and on the following day, when he safely reached his beloved home, he immediately went to continue and work for the glorification of the most Holy Virgin, invoking her assistance and protection. The same was his object when he reached his native town after his second great victorious campaign in Movakanne. But this time Martin, who had already succeeded in finishing the expression of the face of the Heavenly Queen and having spent some time in reproducing her garment, now took the matter more easily, and indeed, frequently watched and glanced at his busy assistant. Having noticed therunning tears of his daughter, he let Poullkheria go home, and turning to him, asked him what might be the cause of his great sorrow.

“Thou hast helped me so much,” said Martin, “that I should really like to render thee some good service, good youth; perhaps my old age makes me fit and enables me to give thee some highly useful counsel.”

“Thy grey hair testifies that already long, long ago the time went by when thou wert excited and moved by those thoughts and plans which called forth my tears. Nobody except the most Holy Virgin is strong enough to make my terrible grief go by, viz., because I love with all my heart a splendid girl to whom the sovereign will never give me his consent to be married.”

Saying these words Mirdat went, with a painful expression on his face, but Martin understood this most simple clear explanation quite differently, and through this mistake he let his most honest and loyal soul almost perish. This soul was perfectly clean, enlightened, free of sin, and shining like the most costly diamond.

And so once upon a time, during a dream, some heavenly angels cut out the soul and brought it to the Lord. “O, Vladyka!” they said, “look thou at this brilliant diamond—this is the soul of the Greek man Martin, who hath given up his whole life to the glorification of Thy name. There is not one vice which can possibly obtain admission to or seek refuge in it, for it doth entirely belong to Thee! Looking at it and admiring it, we are frequently thinking that upon the death of Martin this diamond will be fully worthy of ornamenting Thy holy throne.”

The sweet, sweet angel voices quieted down, while from the depths of the earth the devilish laughing and ridiculing were heard. “Why dost thou so rejoice—miserable Satan?” asked the guarding angel by order of the Eternal God.

“Very soon this diamond will be spoiled, darkened, and I shall become the happy possessor of it!” replied the devil. Thereupon,the good angels began to bitterlycry, but the Lord comforted them. He gave commands that the soul should again be placed and fixed in the body of the sleeping painter, and also informed the angels that in case Martin should ever happen to listen to and obey the sly devilish instructions and thus have his soul darkened, that they should find means to bring it back to God, although it be by the heavy, nay distressing, road of worldly grief and tears.

And quickly the angels descended into the church of Stephen Tsminda (that is of Saint Stephen) and put the blinding diamond back into the slumbering Martin, but after them Satan came up and began to persuade the Greek that his daughter had completely won the heart of the Tsarevitch and that he himself would become a royal father-in-law. And thus at last vanity stained the diamond with dark and dirty spots, its shining lightness began to go out more and more, while the perfectly extraordinary and marvellous beauty seemed to be covering itself with a dark skin, and Martin daily continued to give himself up to worthless vain thoughts. And see, the diamond was decaying and would soon lose all of its unusual qualities. In the meantime Mirdat conquered and pacified Aderbadaganne.

“What dost thou wish me to give you as a reward for thy highly valuable services?” asked the delighted, enthusiastic Artchill. Mirdat reverently fell down on one knee and kissing the lower end of the royal garment, asked for permission to be married to the daughter of the conquered satrappe. The loving father replied with an amused smile: “As long as thou didst administrate Ranna, Movakanne, and Aderbadaganne, Sagdoukta seemed to have hold of thy heart, and it seems to me that the very best way for thee to get out of this dangerous position is to claim the honor of obtaining her hand!”

Immediately an embassy was dispatched to Barzabodus, who received it with indescribable joy and delight. Sagdoukta, supplied with a most gorgeous trousseau and dowry, was conducted to Mtzkhet where the marriageceremony was performed and the innumerable fêtes connected with it continued for many days. The Tsar gave his son the city of Samshrilde with the province surrounding it. Besides through her beauty, Sagdoukta distinguished herself still more by her very remarkable mind and, which was in those times rare, a general education.

Mirdat sent for the very wisest and most learned men of his age, living in Samshvillede and intrusted them with translating into Georgian the holy New Testament, and thoroughly explaining it to the Tsarevna Sagdoukta, who already fully believed in our Lord Jesus Christ, and having gone through and accepted the holy baptism, intended to have a cathedral of Zion erected at Samshvillede. For the planning of the inner walls a most precise and talented artist was necessary.

Mirdat just then remembered his old friend Martin, and sent some attendants to look for him. But when their point of destination was reached, he was no longer among the living. He had succeeded in finishing his work in the church of Stephen-Tsminda at the time of the last campaign of the Tsarevitch in Aderbadaganne, received a right royal reward from Artchill, but instead of returning to Greece as would have seemed natural, he remained at Mtzkhet, hoping to bring them to a favorable issue.

He daily went to the merchants of gorgeous weavings, chose the most precious objects, and composed of them a most valuable and rich costume for his Poullkheria.

The very most talented and experienced tailors under his personal direction were employed in ornamenting with and sewing on these garments precious stones of one exquisite color, and besides that jewels. Trying first one thing, then another on his beloved Poullkheria, for whole hours at a time he watched and interested himself in her superhuman beauty, and with full confidence displayed before her the pictures of her future greatness. On hearing all these compliments and glorious propheciesthe shining eyes of Poullkheria lit up with still greater joyfulness. Her clean heart could not understand or appreciate the many foolishly vain thoughts and intentions of her father. She loved Mirdat, indeed, not because he just happened to be the son of a King, but on account of his bravery, goodness and perfect honesty. That was why, notwithstanding exceedingly powerful temptations, the soul of Poullkheria remained as neat, without a sin and immaculate as when she had not had such notions; but Martin’s soul daily lost its splendor and became covered all over with dark, dark spots.

In the end Mtzkhet was bursting with joy, for a report spread from one quarter to another that Aderbadaganne had been successfully taken by storm. Triumphant receptions were now universally prepared for the great victor, and young and old rushed into the street with colored flags or flower branches in their hands. Poullkheria in her newest attire, and by her very side Martin, stood on the steps of the church of Stephen-Tsminda (i.e., of Saint Stephen).

When the powerful procession came up to them, the Tsarevitch got off his horse and went into the empty temple. Martin, unnoticed, followed on after him and clearly beheld how he went straight to the finished image of the most Holy Virgin and having fallen on his knees was fervently praying. When, however, the prayer being over, the Tsarevitch rose, Martin ran up to him and quickly whispered in his ear:

“This great day the Tsar, my master, will not refuse thee anything.”

But the Tsarevitch, persuaded that he alone was in the church, was evidently and most visibly struck and moved by this unexpected witness of his all hearty and sincere prayer. He did not recognize Martin, did not remember even his words, but hastened with all his might to go out of the church, while Martin thought that his own affairs were taking an unusually pleasant turn and greatly rejoiced. A few days went by, on the large square ofthe city a glashatai (kind of herald) made his appearance with a number of trumpeters, and having called together the people, they formally announced to them the coming marriage of the Tsarevitch-successor Mirdat to Sagdoukta, the daughter of the Persian satrappe (probably district governor) Barzabode.

A slight noise was heard, and a moment thereafter a cry which was sharp enough to tear one’s soul to pieces and which attracted general attention. On the ground lay Poullkheria, not showing any signs of life. A thin, pale colored rivulet of young boiling blood was slowly coming out of her mouth. Kneeling before her was Martin, who, indeed, was giving himself every possible trouble to stop the abundant flow of blood. Somebody out of the crowd was desirous of running to help her, but he looked back with a really terrified glance, and like a regular madman, having seized her in his vigorous arms, rushed off with her to Stephen Tsminda. Here he placed her at the foot of that wonderful picture for the execution of which she had served as a model and completely lost his senses. And, nay!—he actually saw how the cupola moved and opened itself, and how two angels gradually approached Poullkheria. In their hands there was just as grand a kind of a white transparent, indescribably magnificent garment as the one which dazzled their eyes.

Instantly they took off the costly robe and clothed her in the attire which they had brought along. Poullkheria came back to life and looked around with the greatest astonishment as the rays of the sun, one after another, reflected upon the opening of the cupola, and approaching slowly, the angels came down, who quickly and intelligently drew out two wings from them, quite as beaming with light as their own, and made them grow on to Poullkheria, and having manœuvred with them several times, the new angel without the least trouble raised herself from the earth and joyfully did the angels of the Almighty God sing a marvellously, nay extraordinarily,sweet greeting song to their dear new companion in arms, inviting her to fly off with them to the Throne of God.

The new angel departed from the house of worship with a last, tender parting glance and having beheld her father, she began to implore the angels to also take him with them into the World of Life Eternal. The angelic song now stopped, their faces were darkened with sorrow, and painfully they announced that willingly they would have prepared for him at first a more desirable spot in the all glorious and all wonderful domains of Heaven, but that he threw away his splendid chance by wicked and useless vanity. The tears ran down in floods from the eyes of the former Poullkheria, and these tears of hers, as clean and fresh as the morning dew, dropped down unto the face of him who had died and brought him again to life and this time to a happier one.

Martin jumped up, being fully aware of and perfectly ready to acknowledge his sinfulness. Abundant tears of remorse came out of his eyes and two more angels appeared on earth.

They gathered these tears and washed out with them the wicked, sinful soul of Martin and the dark, dark spots of vanity on this most precious of diamonds grew quite white. When, however, the diamond again acquired its former harmless and utterly immaculate look, they radiantly bore him up to the throne of God, where he is shining and enlightens with a marvellous talent and adroitness those artists who are working for the glory of God, but Poullkheria guards their shining, clean souls from any sinful or irreligious infection.

VI. Happiness Is Within UsA LegendIn the fifth century (458 A. D.) the Ossians stole and led off the sister of the Georgian Tsar Vachtang the First, known under the name of Gourgasslan (the lion wolf). The then three-year-old princess was called Mikrandoukta. When, however, Vachtang had conquered and pacified the Ossians, killed their commander-in-chief, Great Bagkatar, and seven of his brothers, and brought the sister safely home, he also took with him as a captive the very youngest of the Bagkatorian brothers, Mirian, whom he had left alive upon the repeated prayers of Mikrandoukta. The boy, who had been a playmate of the Tsarevna, was appointed page and grew up at the royal court.As he grew older his attachment for Mikrandoukta constantly increased, but he never so much as ventured to reveal to her his thoughts and feelings, neither by his speech, nor his looks, but used to go to an out of the way spot of the royal garden and there began to bitterly cry. Gradually, however, as he became a man, his wooings took a more refined form and were frequently put down in exquisite verses. A large number of little pieces of poetry are in circulation among the people under the name of “Wooing of the Knight,” for when he reached his fourteenth year, the Tsar made him his body-knight. His comrades were of course jealous of this exceptional distinction and heartily congratulated him, but he, deeply grieved by the final departure of the princess, went into his favorite resting place; there a song came out of his lips, which for whole ages was known and went down from generation unto generation.The Song of the Body-Knight(Literal Translation)“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”And, as though wishing to give his powerful strength a fair trial, the youth struck out with his fist against the stone and lo! the rock began to shake and split. When he looked at his fist he noticed that there was blood on it, and thereupon Mirian was more downcast and depressed than ever before.“What possible use can my hero prince’s strength be to me when my heart is harder than stone?” he exclaimed, and again tears flowed down his face.And so from the mixture of tears with dripping hero-blood, a little spring formed itself, which flows at the edge of a precipice—then again it makes its way through high, high stone blocks, like a wild animal and, having successfullyovercome them, it cries and hops about like a child. Mikrandoukta did not at all share the intense attachment of Mirian and took no notice of it. Attaining her growth she married the Shah of Persia. On the day of her departure Mirian came to his little spring, fixed the sword between two stones and threw himself against it with such violence that the sharp blade went right through him. His youthful body slipped into the water, but the burning blood swelled the little rivulet and gave it a marvellous power of resistance. To this well known spot from that time onward, all true lovers streamed in, and if anybody has a really good chance over the turbulent, fairy-like stream, he will take to writing excellent verses and his love will be crowned with the most complete success; if, however, he expects and awaits inspiration, he must certainly give up all hope forever and his passion will, alas! slow down and come to nothing.The first man who experienced these strange feelings and went through the whole thing was the negro Nebrotk. He fell deeply in love with his mistress, and even went so far as to venture to open his secret to her. The incensed and very frightened mistress immediately ordered that he should be drowned. They threw the unhappy “darky” in the stream of tears of the stremiannoy (body-knight) and went off; he at first lost consciousness, but later came back to his senses and came out on the opposite bank, completely cured of his useless passion. As he still felt uneasy and could not think of daring to return to his mistress, he built a little log house for himself on the bank of that ghastlyprecipicenear which flowed the rivulet, and not knowing what to do with himself he wrote down the whole history of his life, then investigated the source and course of the remarkable stream and registered that too.Having thoroughly established himself in this most interesting region, he began to look after all those who happened to approach these important domains of fate, invited the travellers and pilgrims to his house, asked eachone the story of his or her life and diligently and carefully recorded them. Soon a whole bouquet of most varied and entertaining tales was gotten up, reminding one of the all famous Arabian stories, and I can only regret that my memory prevented me from remembering but very few of them. I can understand very well all that Nebrotk relates about himself. Once upon a time, in the night he was awakened by some sweet, sweet singing, and having hastened to rise and go out, he smelt a strong and remarkable fragrance. He turned and peeped right into the precipice.The moon was lighting up its bottom; the enormous rocks glistened like pure silver and gold, while the water shone like the finest diamonds. With great satisfaction—nay, delight—he glanced at this heavenly picture, and suddenly his eyes were fixed on and could easily distinguish two human heads on the surface of the water. He began to pay more attention; a very handsome youth—a negro—and quite as beautiful and splendid a white girl were standing in the water up to their throats, and having lifted their arms high out of the water, they were playing with some wonderful, bright, gleaming threads. Correctly these nets were fastened and refreshed with clean, clear water, and they seemed to stay in the air without any sign of motion.Later he distinguished the following details: These nets of threads were fastened to an immense leaf of some sea plant and in this massive, fairy-like floor, which was all aglow with emeralds and gold, there stood a figure exceeding all human beauty. The whole scene was wrapped in a slight watery fog and a soft moonlight. The longer Nebrotk paid attention and looked at the surprising spectacle the more easily he succeeded in making out that all the charm of this extraordinary scene was concentrated in the form of a perfectly magnificent woman. In her hands there was some kind of a long feather, consisting entirely of sun rays, with which in the course of her sweet swim she reached and touched the differentplants and flowers, and indeed, as though subjected to her peremptory commands, they gave out an indescribable fragrance and each little flower united with the marvellous choir which had gently awakened Nebrotk and sang softly, sweetly, beautifully.Nebrotk got perfectly passionate, so anxious was he to understand the contents and exact meaning of this fragrant, flowery little song, and holding his breath, he began to take the greatest pains and was enabled to hear: “Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka!”That struck him as most peculiar, and having once more fixed his eyes on the head of the woman, he beheld a glistening, darling little star. This was exactly Astkchicka,i.e., Venera, whom the Tsar Vachtang the First had chased out of all his temples and houses of worship, and her adorers as well as her sacrificers and those who had been so benefited by her—all without exception had to abandon her in the deepest grief and disappointment. Then, however, she found two tender lovers. He was an adventurer, viz., a fisherman, but she the daughter of a very wealthy gardener. The goddess promised them her complete protection, and they without further reflections threw away their only property,i.e., their garments, and naked they went into the water in order to construct something for their kind benefactor. And see! the expelled goddess decided to rise and establish herself near the interesting “rivulet of the tears of the body-knight” (stremiannoy), and to that spot she directed her numerous admirers.Having seen Nebrotk, Astkchicka waved with her all shining feather, and from the motions she made, a bridge really and truly formed itself. She came down to earth, and having turned around to look, she again waved with her feather. On one side there was a bush of yellow roses, on the other side one of white roses. Their buds were instantly transformed and actually turned out as garments for her loving servants who were hasteningafter her. Thereupon she slowly returned to the hut of humble Nebrotk and with a new motion of her bewitching feather changed it into a perfectly marvellous, brilliant, nay, most elegant royal palace. Nebrotk stood like one struck by lightning. With a clever but sly smile upon her beautiful face, Astkchicka ordered her servants to lead him off to the stream and put him down on the estrade abandoned by her. But hardly had these orders been complied with and fulfilled when the pillars of the estrade gave way and broke down together with the negro. The terrible, yes frightful, cry of the drowning man perfectly silenced the sweet chorus of the flowers. The servants were frightened and anxiously looked at the water, and after a short time a half god came out of it; he was white with a golden crown imperial, in which only the fiery black eyes reminded one of the drowned negro.All four settled down in the fairy-like palace and were blessed with indescribable happiness. This was indeed a kingdom of love, unhindered and unrestrained by any laws. Nebrotk perfectly adored Astkchicka, and the fisherman Naboukodonozor the gardener woman Roussoudanna. The host was quite in love with the goddess and the servant with the gardenkeeper, although both were merely common negro slaves. But even in the fairy-like palace under the protection of the very goddess of love, there happened to be a spot especially designed for animated secret conversations between lovers. In one of these unhappy moments the conditions and peculiar qualities of the stream became known to Naboukodonozor, and the fear that the magic force of the water should influence Roussoudanna found a refuge in his soul.It is of course well known to all of you that suspicion is the enemy of love. Naboukodonozor seriously began to think that Roussoudanna had fallen in love with him. Seeking the reason of this imaginary adoration he suddenly came upon the idea that she was occupied in involuntarily comparing his black skin with the most godlywhite complexion of Nebrotk, and in consequence of this horrid supposition his heart began to be filled with emotion and passion, while after passion came ungratefulness to Astkchicka and a very revolutionary spirit; afterwards she transformed Nebrotk, who had really done absolutely nothing for her, into a half god, while the latter, who had successfully brought her to this enchanting resort, she simply abandoned and left a negro and slave.And during the night he walked along the bank of the stream and sang a song of his great grief, and suddenly the old cedars, the high, high peach trees, the grand old nut trees composed a beautiful chorus and an all powerful song, blowing everything before it like a huge wave, reached the palace and suddenly awakened the goddess—but Nebrotk quietly went on sleeping and heard nothing. Stepping lightly, Astkchicka softly and cautiously went out to the rivulet, where Naboukodonozor, with his back turned towards her, was bitterly crying, and blushing terribly, she knocked him over and sent him flying into the water.Without a word or motion did Naboukodonozor enter the water, and just so he came out—more magnificent even than Nebrotk, and throwing himself at the lovely feet of the goddess he covered them with kisses. Astkchicka did not at all object to such proceedings, but did not let him get out of sight, and it seemed very evident that she also was in love with him. The slave, encouraged by the concessions of his mistress, seized the godly hands and began to kiss them just so madly. Suddenly, however, Astkchicka roughly pulled them away, passed them around his neck and having given him a kiss on his lips, she instantly disappeared. Some wonderful extraordinary fire ran over the whole body of poor Naboukodonozor from this rare, but dangerous kiss. A new feeling got hold of him, viz., a boundless desire inspired him to run off to the goddess, but the very thought that she was able to treat, nay, caress, Nebrotk in the same affectionate way, completely kept him from making a fool ofhimself. He threw himself on the ground and tried with all his might and main to extinguish the burning fire which was raging inside of him, rolling in the soft sweet grass and mercilessly treading down the highly fragrant flowers, while the moon seemed to be offended with its greatest favorite and bashfully hid itself behind a massive cloud. The perfect and impenetrable darkness at last forced the crank to come back to his senses; he then went home exasperated, most dissatisfied, and wicked in his intentions.Roussoudanna was quietly sleeping and knew of nothing that had taken place in the night, and what must have been her astonishment, when in the morning she beheld Naboukodonozor with a pure white complexion and golden hair. Upon the question what had occurred to him, he passionately replied that he had just gone to a stream, let himself down into the water and had come out in the very state she saw him.“Pay attention and be careful to remain faithful to me,” she jokingly said, and went out to gather fruit for the “déjeuner” of the goddess. After a while Nebrotk also woke up and asked Naboukodonozor the same question.“I followed in thy steps and see! the result has proved to be the same,” was his short answer. Nebrotk looked at him rather suspiciously, and unwilling to believe the truth of the story, he went to the goddess to inquire about the affair and to see how matters were getting on in general.“I came to a decided conclusion that it was most unkind and unjust not to do for my real savior what I had deigned to do for thee,” was the godly reply, which made Nebrotk very uneasy and filled his heart with renewed passion.Roussoudanna wept and wept, Naboukodonozor got terribly provoked, Nebrotk was deeply impressed and full of emotion, while Astkchicka vainly exhausted all her eloquence in trying to explain that her palace was a refugefor independent love, not subjected to any laws whatsoever. General dissatisfaction, suspicion, grief, and tears were alternately seen and heard in the fairy-like palace. Poor, poor Roussoudanna could not dry her eyes. Once upon a time, going to look for fruit, she went out of her way and got completely lost. The sun was already quite red when she sat down to take a rest after such a hard, steep walk. Her dark, undecided intentions and thoughts concerned again Naboukodonozor and the magic conditions and qualities of the rushing stream, and her grieved feelings turned against the goddess.“Why under the sun do they call thee the benefactor of men?” she passionately exclaimed. “Thou didst win and encourage us with the promise of thy protection as long as thou didst need us, but now that the situation has changed thou tookest my lover Naboukodonozor away from me and thus why should we help thee to escape and lighten the king’s terrible wrath?“In all probability his God is far stronger than thou, when thou runnest away from him.“O Christian God, save me!” rang out from the grieved soul of Roussoudanna.“O Lord Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy upon us!” Such was the exclamation of an old man’s voice, and indeed unhappy Roussoudanna soon beheld an old man approaching her and making his way among the trees and bushes.“What is the matter with thee, my dear child?” he kindly asked, coming up to her. Roussoudanna naturally said that she had lost her way, that she was very much exhausted and did not know how to continue her route.Thereupon the old man led her to his home. He lived somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, not at all far off, in the grotto of a high, high rock where he nourished himself with the milk of wild goats and with dates. With the greatest pleasure he placed before her his whole stock of provisions, brought her a pitcher of water, carefullyarranged the sofa of leaves and inviting her to take a good rest, he went out. Having refreshed herself, Roussoudanna began to watch him most attentively through the gate of the grotto and there she saw that he had walked a little way off and then had fallen on his knees and begun to pray. She witnessed how his good, kindly face suddenly lit up with some marvellous, perfectly heavenly, happy, and joyful expression, and she ardently desired to find out from the poor, but grand old man, what this sudden, really indescribable joy meant in the course of his long, laborious, honorable life.At last the old man finished his fervent prayer and began to gather dates; having got together a huge pile, he gayly carried them into the grotto. The guest met him at the entrance.“I thought that perhaps you would not have enough to eat with just those dates which you found in my poor dwelling house,” said the kind-hearted host, turning to her, “and see here, I am bringing thee some more still,” and he put down the deliciously sweet fruits right before her.Roussoudanna, perfectly astounded by such unusual and unheard of goodness and thoughtfulness, thanked the old man with tears in her eyes.“What does thy painful grief consist in?” he asked—and continued thus: “It is possible that the needs of life have been weighing down on thee?”“Oh no, wise, dear old man, I have never known what it is to be in need.”“Well then, did not some severe illness pull thee down and mercilessly deprive thee of thy strength?”“I am in perfect health and have a strong constitution.”“Perhaps some dreadful worries did not give thee rest.”A (the woman). B (the hermit).A: “I really have nothing to be worried about.”B: “Then did not regularly and faithfully carried out duties exhaust thee?”A: “No, dear hermit, for I was living in a fairy-landpalace from which the following torments were entirely excluded: need, worry, work, and illness.”B: “Worldly attractions and habits may have led thee off the good track and restrained thy liberty?”A: “We were by no means subjected to any such rules, nor even to etiquette.”B: “It is possible that the laws of your palace were extremely severe and therefore made you feel very depressed?”A: “But really, we acknowledged no laws.”B: “Well then, perhaps the wealthy proprietor of the palace abused his might and compelled you to do certain disagreeable things which were unjustifiable?”A: “Not in the least, for Astkchicka was sole mistress and administrator of the palace.”B: “There now remains but one supposition, viz., that she united such people as would naturally perfectly hate one another?”A: “Why, not at all, we all gathered around her in the mighty name of love.”B: “Ah, aha, I understand the matter,” the old man unexpectedly broke out, “you came together over there in the name of love and it is most strikingly evident that there is some defect about your love.”A: “Thou art wrong, old man,” energetically rang out of Roussoudanna’s mouth as she suddenly interrupted him. “I can bear witness and prove that nobody ever and so strongly loved his dear ones as I loved my excellent darling Naboukodonozor!”The grave hermit glanced at her quite differently—yes, suspiciously. “My child,” was his brief reply, “that which the idol worshippers falsely call love, is by no means that holy feeling which we understand under that term. Their love is one of those innumerable examples of self-worship and vanity.”Roussoudanna’s face was all red from blushing, while her eyes were filled with tears.“Oh no, that cannot be so,” she exclaimed with atrembling voice, “with the greatest joy would I suffer any possible privations, every imaginable torture, in order to give him pleasure and satisfy his desires.”The hermit sighed deeply. “Is it possible then,” he said with a doubtful, inquiring tone, “if thou dost indeed truly love thy fellow men and women, that nobody in this wide world is either capable or strong enough to put an end to thy unhappiness? Relate to me now what the real source of thy misfortune came from and in what manner it was able to assume such tremendous dimensions.”“Naboukodonozor, whom I love more than anybody or anything in the world, got to loving another woman!”“Well, what of it?” quietly asked the old man, “is this the only cause of thy great sorrow? How can one call it unhappiness if this made his fortune and rendered him contented?”“Some would have thought that she might like such a course of events instead of regretting it.”“What is the matter with thee, O wise hermit?” She was perfectly overwhelmed with joy!“Now, my dear woman, rely ye simply on me, for I will undertake to explain it all right to thee, as for me, it was a source of sorrow and doubt.”“O thou remarkable man, dost thou really not understand that for me this circumstance was worse than all the tortures of poison?”“But thou only just a short time ago didst assure me that the very height of happiness for thee was to stand every privation, nay, all sufferings, simply in order to give him pleasure and act in accordance with his wishes and aims.”Thereupon the hermit again opened his mouth and sang songs of praise and thankfulness unto God, the Almighty Master of Heaven and earth; and see! his happiness was founded on love, but on love to a being, a being which was perfect. He always submitted his love to the righteous laws of God; this was not a senseless inspiration,but an action free of any earthly, foolish bonds, of elevated and religious aims and seeking nothing but rest and comfort for the moment—going always by the road of honesty, truth and veneration of all that is upright and good!His love was trying to perfect itself, approach if possible that greatest example of utmost perfection which was shown to us by our Lord Jesus Christ.“Happiness is a sweet, sweet little flower,” said he, “which is quite unable to grow among unrighteousness, unfairness and wilfulness—only by the lawful way of Christian love to God, veneration and love to his neighbors, can he strive to live properly and give those magnificent fragrant flowers, for which you are all constantly looking and which you are as yet unable to find. Following out the orders of my God it will be easy to find happiness, for His perfect and most merciful laws restrain the will of the individual man only there, where it proves necessary for his thrift and condition in general. Thou, it is true, didst live in a fairy-land palace, from which all illnesses, needs, worries, and labors had been excluded. You did not fear nor obey any legal authorities, nor laws, nor customs. It was love that firmly united you all. Well, tell me then, were you indeed happy and successful?”“Oh! no, not at all!” answered Roussoudanna. And once more the old man tenderly addressed her and convinced Roussoudanna, baptized her, and taking a staff, at the top of which a cross was reproduced, he went off with her to the fairy-land palace. Reaching the rivulet they beheld Nebrotk gathering the necessary fruit. With despair and terror did he inform them that Astkchicka now considered Naboukodonozor her husband, while he was forced to serve his rival and nobody paid any attention to—yes, had utterly forgotten the existence of Roussoudanna. Then she asked him to sit down and told the inhabitant of the castle all that had happened to her, and in her young voice the speech about perfect endless andeternal love sounded still more convincing. Love is eternal when it is well planned and arranged, it is endless if free of sin and perfect if subjected to the almighty laws of the eternal God, Father of Heaven and earth.All were deeply impressed, and now the hermit continued the speech and told them about the all-powerful strength of God, before whose serene appearance all false, worthless gods take to flight, and about His extreme wisdom and knowledge, rapidity of decision, mercifulness and righteousness, and see! Nebrotk immediately wished to be converted and baptized. At the end of his powerful and persuasive discourse, the old man simply touched the fairy-land palace with his staff and in a few seconds it completely disappeared like an apparition. Then he instructed Nebrotk and Roussoudanna in real Christian love and in the obligations of married life and then performed for both the wedding ceremony, and having fervently prayed to the Creator they all together went to work erecting a perfectly new log house for the young married couple, in which the happy mortals passed many blissful years, writing down the stories and tales of the various travellers. Some of them I shall perhaps tell you of another time. To my sorrow my memory did not preserve that artistic, yes, clever way of relating, which this little collection of legends more and more clearly explains to one—bringing us over and over again to the great truth.“Happiness is within us.” The imperfection of Nebrotk and Roussoudanna came at first from the imperfection of their mutual love, which loves itself as much as the beloved. Then, however, gradually as they were taught to love their neighbor more than themselves, yes to love him so much as not to offend each other and not grumble and growl over little defects and mishaps which regarded their personalities alone and from which the neighbors should not suffer, did they teach themselves and conceive how well it was to rejoice over the blissfulness of others, to think only about others, to wish to seek pleasure andhappiness only for others and to put all their energy and delight in the contentment and comfort of others; this great happiness finally made its beneficent way into their souls and admitting everything they said.“Happiness is within us—” and then they needed no more fairy-land castle, from which all cares, illnesses, needs, and labors were banished. They found time and also strength to live an actual and true life among all its turmoils and difficulties, to know how to guarantee one’s shining happiness, and then they heard not the fairy-land song of the flowers, the fragrant song of the youngsters saved by them for a joyful, diligent, and Christian life, and they rejoiced in the song of thankful young people, who by their example of love, had been saved from many a sorrow and suffering. These young people had thoroughly learned how to live a happy life and this chorus did not stop as long as they lived on earth.

VI. Happiness Is Within UsA Legend

In the fifth century (458 A. D.) the Ossians stole and led off the sister of the Georgian Tsar Vachtang the First, known under the name of Gourgasslan (the lion wolf). The then three-year-old princess was called Mikrandoukta. When, however, Vachtang had conquered and pacified the Ossians, killed their commander-in-chief, Great Bagkatar, and seven of his brothers, and brought the sister safely home, he also took with him as a captive the very youngest of the Bagkatorian brothers, Mirian, whom he had left alive upon the repeated prayers of Mikrandoukta. The boy, who had been a playmate of the Tsarevna, was appointed page and grew up at the royal court.As he grew older his attachment for Mikrandoukta constantly increased, but he never so much as ventured to reveal to her his thoughts and feelings, neither by his speech, nor his looks, but used to go to an out of the way spot of the royal garden and there began to bitterly cry. Gradually, however, as he became a man, his wooings took a more refined form and were frequently put down in exquisite verses. A large number of little pieces of poetry are in circulation among the people under the name of “Wooing of the Knight,” for when he reached his fourteenth year, the Tsar made him his body-knight. His comrades were of course jealous of this exceptional distinction and heartily congratulated him, but he, deeply grieved by the final departure of the princess, went into his favorite resting place; there a song came out of his lips, which for whole ages was known and went down from generation unto generation.The Song of the Body-Knight(Literal Translation)“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”And, as though wishing to give his powerful strength a fair trial, the youth struck out with his fist against the stone and lo! the rock began to shake and split. When he looked at his fist he noticed that there was blood on it, and thereupon Mirian was more downcast and depressed than ever before.“What possible use can my hero prince’s strength be to me when my heart is harder than stone?” he exclaimed, and again tears flowed down his face.And so from the mixture of tears with dripping hero-blood, a little spring formed itself, which flows at the edge of a precipice—then again it makes its way through high, high stone blocks, like a wild animal and, having successfullyovercome them, it cries and hops about like a child. Mikrandoukta did not at all share the intense attachment of Mirian and took no notice of it. Attaining her growth she married the Shah of Persia. On the day of her departure Mirian came to his little spring, fixed the sword between two stones and threw himself against it with such violence that the sharp blade went right through him. His youthful body slipped into the water, but the burning blood swelled the little rivulet and gave it a marvellous power of resistance. To this well known spot from that time onward, all true lovers streamed in, and if anybody has a really good chance over the turbulent, fairy-like stream, he will take to writing excellent verses and his love will be crowned with the most complete success; if, however, he expects and awaits inspiration, he must certainly give up all hope forever and his passion will, alas! slow down and come to nothing.The first man who experienced these strange feelings and went through the whole thing was the negro Nebrotk. He fell deeply in love with his mistress, and even went so far as to venture to open his secret to her. The incensed and very frightened mistress immediately ordered that he should be drowned. They threw the unhappy “darky” in the stream of tears of the stremiannoy (body-knight) and went off; he at first lost consciousness, but later came back to his senses and came out on the opposite bank, completely cured of his useless passion. As he still felt uneasy and could not think of daring to return to his mistress, he built a little log house for himself on the bank of that ghastlyprecipicenear which flowed the rivulet, and not knowing what to do with himself he wrote down the whole history of his life, then investigated the source and course of the remarkable stream and registered that too.Having thoroughly established himself in this most interesting region, he began to look after all those who happened to approach these important domains of fate, invited the travellers and pilgrims to his house, asked eachone the story of his or her life and diligently and carefully recorded them. Soon a whole bouquet of most varied and entertaining tales was gotten up, reminding one of the all famous Arabian stories, and I can only regret that my memory prevented me from remembering but very few of them. I can understand very well all that Nebrotk relates about himself. Once upon a time, in the night he was awakened by some sweet, sweet singing, and having hastened to rise and go out, he smelt a strong and remarkable fragrance. He turned and peeped right into the precipice.The moon was lighting up its bottom; the enormous rocks glistened like pure silver and gold, while the water shone like the finest diamonds. With great satisfaction—nay, delight—he glanced at this heavenly picture, and suddenly his eyes were fixed on and could easily distinguish two human heads on the surface of the water. He began to pay more attention; a very handsome youth—a negro—and quite as beautiful and splendid a white girl were standing in the water up to their throats, and having lifted their arms high out of the water, they were playing with some wonderful, bright, gleaming threads. Correctly these nets were fastened and refreshed with clean, clear water, and they seemed to stay in the air without any sign of motion.Later he distinguished the following details: These nets of threads were fastened to an immense leaf of some sea plant and in this massive, fairy-like floor, which was all aglow with emeralds and gold, there stood a figure exceeding all human beauty. The whole scene was wrapped in a slight watery fog and a soft moonlight. The longer Nebrotk paid attention and looked at the surprising spectacle the more easily he succeeded in making out that all the charm of this extraordinary scene was concentrated in the form of a perfectly magnificent woman. In her hands there was some kind of a long feather, consisting entirely of sun rays, with which in the course of her sweet swim she reached and touched the differentplants and flowers, and indeed, as though subjected to her peremptory commands, they gave out an indescribable fragrance and each little flower united with the marvellous choir which had gently awakened Nebrotk and sang softly, sweetly, beautifully.Nebrotk got perfectly passionate, so anxious was he to understand the contents and exact meaning of this fragrant, flowery little song, and holding his breath, he began to take the greatest pains and was enabled to hear: “Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka!”That struck him as most peculiar, and having once more fixed his eyes on the head of the woman, he beheld a glistening, darling little star. This was exactly Astkchicka,i.e., Venera, whom the Tsar Vachtang the First had chased out of all his temples and houses of worship, and her adorers as well as her sacrificers and those who had been so benefited by her—all without exception had to abandon her in the deepest grief and disappointment. Then, however, she found two tender lovers. He was an adventurer, viz., a fisherman, but she the daughter of a very wealthy gardener. The goddess promised them her complete protection, and they without further reflections threw away their only property,i.e., their garments, and naked they went into the water in order to construct something for their kind benefactor. And see! the expelled goddess decided to rise and establish herself near the interesting “rivulet of the tears of the body-knight” (stremiannoy), and to that spot she directed her numerous admirers.Having seen Nebrotk, Astkchicka waved with her all shining feather, and from the motions she made, a bridge really and truly formed itself. She came down to earth, and having turned around to look, she again waved with her feather. On one side there was a bush of yellow roses, on the other side one of white roses. Their buds were instantly transformed and actually turned out as garments for her loving servants who were hasteningafter her. Thereupon she slowly returned to the hut of humble Nebrotk and with a new motion of her bewitching feather changed it into a perfectly marvellous, brilliant, nay, most elegant royal palace. Nebrotk stood like one struck by lightning. With a clever but sly smile upon her beautiful face, Astkchicka ordered her servants to lead him off to the stream and put him down on the estrade abandoned by her. But hardly had these orders been complied with and fulfilled when the pillars of the estrade gave way and broke down together with the negro. The terrible, yes frightful, cry of the drowning man perfectly silenced the sweet chorus of the flowers. The servants were frightened and anxiously looked at the water, and after a short time a half god came out of it; he was white with a golden crown imperial, in which only the fiery black eyes reminded one of the drowned negro.All four settled down in the fairy-like palace and were blessed with indescribable happiness. This was indeed a kingdom of love, unhindered and unrestrained by any laws. Nebrotk perfectly adored Astkchicka, and the fisherman Naboukodonozor the gardener woman Roussoudanna. The host was quite in love with the goddess and the servant with the gardenkeeper, although both were merely common negro slaves. But even in the fairy-like palace under the protection of the very goddess of love, there happened to be a spot especially designed for animated secret conversations between lovers. In one of these unhappy moments the conditions and peculiar qualities of the stream became known to Naboukodonozor, and the fear that the magic force of the water should influence Roussoudanna found a refuge in his soul.It is of course well known to all of you that suspicion is the enemy of love. Naboukodonozor seriously began to think that Roussoudanna had fallen in love with him. Seeking the reason of this imaginary adoration he suddenly came upon the idea that she was occupied in involuntarily comparing his black skin with the most godlywhite complexion of Nebrotk, and in consequence of this horrid supposition his heart began to be filled with emotion and passion, while after passion came ungratefulness to Astkchicka and a very revolutionary spirit; afterwards she transformed Nebrotk, who had really done absolutely nothing for her, into a half god, while the latter, who had successfully brought her to this enchanting resort, she simply abandoned and left a negro and slave.And during the night he walked along the bank of the stream and sang a song of his great grief, and suddenly the old cedars, the high, high peach trees, the grand old nut trees composed a beautiful chorus and an all powerful song, blowing everything before it like a huge wave, reached the palace and suddenly awakened the goddess—but Nebrotk quietly went on sleeping and heard nothing. Stepping lightly, Astkchicka softly and cautiously went out to the rivulet, where Naboukodonozor, with his back turned towards her, was bitterly crying, and blushing terribly, she knocked him over and sent him flying into the water.Without a word or motion did Naboukodonozor enter the water, and just so he came out—more magnificent even than Nebrotk, and throwing himself at the lovely feet of the goddess he covered them with kisses. Astkchicka did not at all object to such proceedings, but did not let him get out of sight, and it seemed very evident that she also was in love with him. The slave, encouraged by the concessions of his mistress, seized the godly hands and began to kiss them just so madly. Suddenly, however, Astkchicka roughly pulled them away, passed them around his neck and having given him a kiss on his lips, she instantly disappeared. Some wonderful extraordinary fire ran over the whole body of poor Naboukodonozor from this rare, but dangerous kiss. A new feeling got hold of him, viz., a boundless desire inspired him to run off to the goddess, but the very thought that she was able to treat, nay, caress, Nebrotk in the same affectionate way, completely kept him from making a fool ofhimself. He threw himself on the ground and tried with all his might and main to extinguish the burning fire which was raging inside of him, rolling in the soft sweet grass and mercilessly treading down the highly fragrant flowers, while the moon seemed to be offended with its greatest favorite and bashfully hid itself behind a massive cloud. The perfect and impenetrable darkness at last forced the crank to come back to his senses; he then went home exasperated, most dissatisfied, and wicked in his intentions.Roussoudanna was quietly sleeping and knew of nothing that had taken place in the night, and what must have been her astonishment, when in the morning she beheld Naboukodonozor with a pure white complexion and golden hair. Upon the question what had occurred to him, he passionately replied that he had just gone to a stream, let himself down into the water and had come out in the very state she saw him.“Pay attention and be careful to remain faithful to me,” she jokingly said, and went out to gather fruit for the “déjeuner” of the goddess. After a while Nebrotk also woke up and asked Naboukodonozor the same question.“I followed in thy steps and see! the result has proved to be the same,” was his short answer. Nebrotk looked at him rather suspiciously, and unwilling to believe the truth of the story, he went to the goddess to inquire about the affair and to see how matters were getting on in general.“I came to a decided conclusion that it was most unkind and unjust not to do for my real savior what I had deigned to do for thee,” was the godly reply, which made Nebrotk very uneasy and filled his heart with renewed passion.Roussoudanna wept and wept, Naboukodonozor got terribly provoked, Nebrotk was deeply impressed and full of emotion, while Astkchicka vainly exhausted all her eloquence in trying to explain that her palace was a refugefor independent love, not subjected to any laws whatsoever. General dissatisfaction, suspicion, grief, and tears were alternately seen and heard in the fairy-like palace. Poor, poor Roussoudanna could not dry her eyes. Once upon a time, going to look for fruit, she went out of her way and got completely lost. The sun was already quite red when she sat down to take a rest after such a hard, steep walk. Her dark, undecided intentions and thoughts concerned again Naboukodonozor and the magic conditions and qualities of the rushing stream, and her grieved feelings turned against the goddess.“Why under the sun do they call thee the benefactor of men?” she passionately exclaimed. “Thou didst win and encourage us with the promise of thy protection as long as thou didst need us, but now that the situation has changed thou tookest my lover Naboukodonozor away from me and thus why should we help thee to escape and lighten the king’s terrible wrath?“In all probability his God is far stronger than thou, when thou runnest away from him.“O Christian God, save me!” rang out from the grieved soul of Roussoudanna.“O Lord Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy upon us!” Such was the exclamation of an old man’s voice, and indeed unhappy Roussoudanna soon beheld an old man approaching her and making his way among the trees and bushes.“What is the matter with thee, my dear child?” he kindly asked, coming up to her. Roussoudanna naturally said that she had lost her way, that she was very much exhausted and did not know how to continue her route.Thereupon the old man led her to his home. He lived somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, not at all far off, in the grotto of a high, high rock where he nourished himself with the milk of wild goats and with dates. With the greatest pleasure he placed before her his whole stock of provisions, brought her a pitcher of water, carefullyarranged the sofa of leaves and inviting her to take a good rest, he went out. Having refreshed herself, Roussoudanna began to watch him most attentively through the gate of the grotto and there she saw that he had walked a little way off and then had fallen on his knees and begun to pray. She witnessed how his good, kindly face suddenly lit up with some marvellous, perfectly heavenly, happy, and joyful expression, and she ardently desired to find out from the poor, but grand old man, what this sudden, really indescribable joy meant in the course of his long, laborious, honorable life.At last the old man finished his fervent prayer and began to gather dates; having got together a huge pile, he gayly carried them into the grotto. The guest met him at the entrance.“I thought that perhaps you would not have enough to eat with just those dates which you found in my poor dwelling house,” said the kind-hearted host, turning to her, “and see here, I am bringing thee some more still,” and he put down the deliciously sweet fruits right before her.Roussoudanna, perfectly astounded by such unusual and unheard of goodness and thoughtfulness, thanked the old man with tears in her eyes.“What does thy painful grief consist in?” he asked—and continued thus: “It is possible that the needs of life have been weighing down on thee?”“Oh no, wise, dear old man, I have never known what it is to be in need.”“Well then, did not some severe illness pull thee down and mercilessly deprive thee of thy strength?”“I am in perfect health and have a strong constitution.”“Perhaps some dreadful worries did not give thee rest.”A (the woman). B (the hermit).A: “I really have nothing to be worried about.”B: “Then did not regularly and faithfully carried out duties exhaust thee?”A: “No, dear hermit, for I was living in a fairy-landpalace from which the following torments were entirely excluded: need, worry, work, and illness.”B: “Worldly attractions and habits may have led thee off the good track and restrained thy liberty?”A: “We were by no means subjected to any such rules, nor even to etiquette.”B: “It is possible that the laws of your palace were extremely severe and therefore made you feel very depressed?”A: “But really, we acknowledged no laws.”B: “Well then, perhaps the wealthy proprietor of the palace abused his might and compelled you to do certain disagreeable things which were unjustifiable?”A: “Not in the least, for Astkchicka was sole mistress and administrator of the palace.”B: “There now remains but one supposition, viz., that she united such people as would naturally perfectly hate one another?”A: “Why, not at all, we all gathered around her in the mighty name of love.”B: “Ah, aha, I understand the matter,” the old man unexpectedly broke out, “you came together over there in the name of love and it is most strikingly evident that there is some defect about your love.”A: “Thou art wrong, old man,” energetically rang out of Roussoudanna’s mouth as she suddenly interrupted him. “I can bear witness and prove that nobody ever and so strongly loved his dear ones as I loved my excellent darling Naboukodonozor!”The grave hermit glanced at her quite differently—yes, suspiciously. “My child,” was his brief reply, “that which the idol worshippers falsely call love, is by no means that holy feeling which we understand under that term. Their love is one of those innumerable examples of self-worship and vanity.”Roussoudanna’s face was all red from blushing, while her eyes were filled with tears.“Oh no, that cannot be so,” she exclaimed with atrembling voice, “with the greatest joy would I suffer any possible privations, every imaginable torture, in order to give him pleasure and satisfy his desires.”The hermit sighed deeply. “Is it possible then,” he said with a doubtful, inquiring tone, “if thou dost indeed truly love thy fellow men and women, that nobody in this wide world is either capable or strong enough to put an end to thy unhappiness? Relate to me now what the real source of thy misfortune came from and in what manner it was able to assume such tremendous dimensions.”“Naboukodonozor, whom I love more than anybody or anything in the world, got to loving another woman!”“Well, what of it?” quietly asked the old man, “is this the only cause of thy great sorrow? How can one call it unhappiness if this made his fortune and rendered him contented?”“Some would have thought that she might like such a course of events instead of regretting it.”“What is the matter with thee, O wise hermit?” She was perfectly overwhelmed with joy!“Now, my dear woman, rely ye simply on me, for I will undertake to explain it all right to thee, as for me, it was a source of sorrow and doubt.”“O thou remarkable man, dost thou really not understand that for me this circumstance was worse than all the tortures of poison?”“But thou only just a short time ago didst assure me that the very height of happiness for thee was to stand every privation, nay, all sufferings, simply in order to give him pleasure and act in accordance with his wishes and aims.”Thereupon the hermit again opened his mouth and sang songs of praise and thankfulness unto God, the Almighty Master of Heaven and earth; and see! his happiness was founded on love, but on love to a being, a being which was perfect. He always submitted his love to the righteous laws of God; this was not a senseless inspiration,but an action free of any earthly, foolish bonds, of elevated and religious aims and seeking nothing but rest and comfort for the moment—going always by the road of honesty, truth and veneration of all that is upright and good!His love was trying to perfect itself, approach if possible that greatest example of utmost perfection which was shown to us by our Lord Jesus Christ.“Happiness is a sweet, sweet little flower,” said he, “which is quite unable to grow among unrighteousness, unfairness and wilfulness—only by the lawful way of Christian love to God, veneration and love to his neighbors, can he strive to live properly and give those magnificent fragrant flowers, for which you are all constantly looking and which you are as yet unable to find. Following out the orders of my God it will be easy to find happiness, for His perfect and most merciful laws restrain the will of the individual man only there, where it proves necessary for his thrift and condition in general. Thou, it is true, didst live in a fairy-land palace, from which all illnesses, needs, worries, and labors had been excluded. You did not fear nor obey any legal authorities, nor laws, nor customs. It was love that firmly united you all. Well, tell me then, were you indeed happy and successful?”“Oh! no, not at all!” answered Roussoudanna. And once more the old man tenderly addressed her and convinced Roussoudanna, baptized her, and taking a staff, at the top of which a cross was reproduced, he went off with her to the fairy-land palace. Reaching the rivulet they beheld Nebrotk gathering the necessary fruit. With despair and terror did he inform them that Astkchicka now considered Naboukodonozor her husband, while he was forced to serve his rival and nobody paid any attention to—yes, had utterly forgotten the existence of Roussoudanna. Then she asked him to sit down and told the inhabitant of the castle all that had happened to her, and in her young voice the speech about perfect endless andeternal love sounded still more convincing. Love is eternal when it is well planned and arranged, it is endless if free of sin and perfect if subjected to the almighty laws of the eternal God, Father of Heaven and earth.All were deeply impressed, and now the hermit continued the speech and told them about the all-powerful strength of God, before whose serene appearance all false, worthless gods take to flight, and about His extreme wisdom and knowledge, rapidity of decision, mercifulness and righteousness, and see! Nebrotk immediately wished to be converted and baptized. At the end of his powerful and persuasive discourse, the old man simply touched the fairy-land palace with his staff and in a few seconds it completely disappeared like an apparition. Then he instructed Nebrotk and Roussoudanna in real Christian love and in the obligations of married life and then performed for both the wedding ceremony, and having fervently prayed to the Creator they all together went to work erecting a perfectly new log house for the young married couple, in which the happy mortals passed many blissful years, writing down the stories and tales of the various travellers. Some of them I shall perhaps tell you of another time. To my sorrow my memory did not preserve that artistic, yes, clever way of relating, which this little collection of legends more and more clearly explains to one—bringing us over and over again to the great truth.“Happiness is within us.” The imperfection of Nebrotk and Roussoudanna came at first from the imperfection of their mutual love, which loves itself as much as the beloved. Then, however, gradually as they were taught to love their neighbor more than themselves, yes to love him so much as not to offend each other and not grumble and growl over little defects and mishaps which regarded their personalities alone and from which the neighbors should not suffer, did they teach themselves and conceive how well it was to rejoice over the blissfulness of others, to think only about others, to wish to seek pleasure andhappiness only for others and to put all their energy and delight in the contentment and comfort of others; this great happiness finally made its beneficent way into their souls and admitting everything they said.“Happiness is within us—” and then they needed no more fairy-land castle, from which all cares, illnesses, needs, and labors were banished. They found time and also strength to live an actual and true life among all its turmoils and difficulties, to know how to guarantee one’s shining happiness, and then they heard not the fairy-land song of the flowers, the fragrant song of the youngsters saved by them for a joyful, diligent, and Christian life, and they rejoiced in the song of thankful young people, who by their example of love, had been saved from many a sorrow and suffering. These young people had thoroughly learned how to live a happy life and this chorus did not stop as long as they lived on earth.

In the fifth century (458 A. D.) the Ossians stole and led off the sister of the Georgian Tsar Vachtang the First, known under the name of Gourgasslan (the lion wolf). The then three-year-old princess was called Mikrandoukta. When, however, Vachtang had conquered and pacified the Ossians, killed their commander-in-chief, Great Bagkatar, and seven of his brothers, and brought the sister safely home, he also took with him as a captive the very youngest of the Bagkatorian brothers, Mirian, whom he had left alive upon the repeated prayers of Mikrandoukta. The boy, who had been a playmate of the Tsarevna, was appointed page and grew up at the royal court.

As he grew older his attachment for Mikrandoukta constantly increased, but he never so much as ventured to reveal to her his thoughts and feelings, neither by his speech, nor his looks, but used to go to an out of the way spot of the royal garden and there began to bitterly cry. Gradually, however, as he became a man, his wooings took a more refined form and were frequently put down in exquisite verses. A large number of little pieces of poetry are in circulation among the people under the name of “Wooing of the Knight,” for when he reached his fourteenth year, the Tsar made him his body-knight. His comrades were of course jealous of this exceptional distinction and heartily congratulated him, but he, deeply grieved by the final departure of the princess, went into his favorite resting place; there a song came out of his lips, which for whole ages was known and went down from generation unto generation.

The Song of the Body-Knight(Literal Translation)“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”

The Song of the Body-Knight(Literal Translation)“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”

The Song of the Body-Knight(Literal Translation)“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”

The Song of the Body-Knight

(Literal Translation)“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”

(Literal Translation)

“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”

“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,To thee as thy page,Thy most winning eyesDid fill my soul with burning fire.

“Why did they lead me into the high royal palace,

To thee as thy page,

Thy most winning eyes

Did fill my soul with burning fire.

“Although I descend from a powerful VladykaAnd am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to theeNor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.

“Although I descend from a powerful Vladyka

And am now at least the Tsar’s favorite knight,

Nevertheless I cannot even testify my love to thee

Nor exchange words with thee through sweet, sweet glances.

“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating usSo fearfully high and immobile,And my humble glance does not dare to penetrateE’en to the grand old royal window.

“It is as though a mighty fortress was separating us

So fearfully high and immobile,

And my humble glance does not dare to penetrate

E’en to the grand old royal window.

“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,Nay, just as great a heart.

“In love, however, I am thy slave, O dear princess,

I am quite able to pick up a quarrel with the king,

For I do pride myself in having just as fiery a soul,

Nay, just as great a heart.

“Both of us are still in life’s early stagesAnd the same blood runs in our veins,And if I cannot boast of such great royal fameI may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”

“Both of us are still in life’s early stages

And the same blood runs in our veins,

And if I cannot boast of such great royal fame

I may at least be proud of my strength and powerful determination.”

And, as though wishing to give his powerful strength a fair trial, the youth struck out with his fist against the stone and lo! the rock began to shake and split. When he looked at his fist he noticed that there was blood on it, and thereupon Mirian was more downcast and depressed than ever before.

“What possible use can my hero prince’s strength be to me when my heart is harder than stone?” he exclaimed, and again tears flowed down his face.

And so from the mixture of tears with dripping hero-blood, a little spring formed itself, which flows at the edge of a precipice—then again it makes its way through high, high stone blocks, like a wild animal and, having successfullyovercome them, it cries and hops about like a child. Mikrandoukta did not at all share the intense attachment of Mirian and took no notice of it. Attaining her growth she married the Shah of Persia. On the day of her departure Mirian came to his little spring, fixed the sword between two stones and threw himself against it with such violence that the sharp blade went right through him. His youthful body slipped into the water, but the burning blood swelled the little rivulet and gave it a marvellous power of resistance. To this well known spot from that time onward, all true lovers streamed in, and if anybody has a really good chance over the turbulent, fairy-like stream, he will take to writing excellent verses and his love will be crowned with the most complete success; if, however, he expects and awaits inspiration, he must certainly give up all hope forever and his passion will, alas! slow down and come to nothing.

The first man who experienced these strange feelings and went through the whole thing was the negro Nebrotk. He fell deeply in love with his mistress, and even went so far as to venture to open his secret to her. The incensed and very frightened mistress immediately ordered that he should be drowned. They threw the unhappy “darky” in the stream of tears of the stremiannoy (body-knight) and went off; he at first lost consciousness, but later came back to his senses and came out on the opposite bank, completely cured of his useless passion. As he still felt uneasy and could not think of daring to return to his mistress, he built a little log house for himself on the bank of that ghastlyprecipicenear which flowed the rivulet, and not knowing what to do with himself he wrote down the whole history of his life, then investigated the source and course of the remarkable stream and registered that too.

Having thoroughly established himself in this most interesting region, he began to look after all those who happened to approach these important domains of fate, invited the travellers and pilgrims to his house, asked eachone the story of his or her life and diligently and carefully recorded them. Soon a whole bouquet of most varied and entertaining tales was gotten up, reminding one of the all famous Arabian stories, and I can only regret that my memory prevented me from remembering but very few of them. I can understand very well all that Nebrotk relates about himself. Once upon a time, in the night he was awakened by some sweet, sweet singing, and having hastened to rise and go out, he smelt a strong and remarkable fragrance. He turned and peeped right into the precipice.

The moon was lighting up its bottom; the enormous rocks glistened like pure silver and gold, while the water shone like the finest diamonds. With great satisfaction—nay, delight—he glanced at this heavenly picture, and suddenly his eyes were fixed on and could easily distinguish two human heads on the surface of the water. He began to pay more attention; a very handsome youth—a negro—and quite as beautiful and splendid a white girl were standing in the water up to their throats, and having lifted their arms high out of the water, they were playing with some wonderful, bright, gleaming threads. Correctly these nets were fastened and refreshed with clean, clear water, and they seemed to stay in the air without any sign of motion.

Later he distinguished the following details: These nets of threads were fastened to an immense leaf of some sea plant and in this massive, fairy-like floor, which was all aglow with emeralds and gold, there stood a figure exceeding all human beauty. The whole scene was wrapped in a slight watery fog and a soft moonlight. The longer Nebrotk paid attention and looked at the surprising spectacle the more easily he succeeded in making out that all the charm of this extraordinary scene was concentrated in the form of a perfectly magnificent woman. In her hands there was some kind of a long feather, consisting entirely of sun rays, with which in the course of her sweet swim she reached and touched the differentplants and flowers, and indeed, as though subjected to her peremptory commands, they gave out an indescribable fragrance and each little flower united with the marvellous choir which had gently awakened Nebrotk and sang softly, sweetly, beautifully.

Nebrotk got perfectly passionate, so anxious was he to understand the contents and exact meaning of this fragrant, flowery little song, and holding his breath, he began to take the greatest pains and was enabled to hear: “Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka! O Astkchicka!”

That struck him as most peculiar, and having once more fixed his eyes on the head of the woman, he beheld a glistening, darling little star. This was exactly Astkchicka,i.e., Venera, whom the Tsar Vachtang the First had chased out of all his temples and houses of worship, and her adorers as well as her sacrificers and those who had been so benefited by her—all without exception had to abandon her in the deepest grief and disappointment. Then, however, she found two tender lovers. He was an adventurer, viz., a fisherman, but she the daughter of a very wealthy gardener. The goddess promised them her complete protection, and they without further reflections threw away their only property,i.e., their garments, and naked they went into the water in order to construct something for their kind benefactor. And see! the expelled goddess decided to rise and establish herself near the interesting “rivulet of the tears of the body-knight” (stremiannoy), and to that spot she directed her numerous admirers.

Having seen Nebrotk, Astkchicka waved with her all shining feather, and from the motions she made, a bridge really and truly formed itself. She came down to earth, and having turned around to look, she again waved with her feather. On one side there was a bush of yellow roses, on the other side one of white roses. Their buds were instantly transformed and actually turned out as garments for her loving servants who were hasteningafter her. Thereupon she slowly returned to the hut of humble Nebrotk and with a new motion of her bewitching feather changed it into a perfectly marvellous, brilliant, nay, most elegant royal palace. Nebrotk stood like one struck by lightning. With a clever but sly smile upon her beautiful face, Astkchicka ordered her servants to lead him off to the stream and put him down on the estrade abandoned by her. But hardly had these orders been complied with and fulfilled when the pillars of the estrade gave way and broke down together with the negro. The terrible, yes frightful, cry of the drowning man perfectly silenced the sweet chorus of the flowers. The servants were frightened and anxiously looked at the water, and after a short time a half god came out of it; he was white with a golden crown imperial, in which only the fiery black eyes reminded one of the drowned negro.

All four settled down in the fairy-like palace and were blessed with indescribable happiness. This was indeed a kingdom of love, unhindered and unrestrained by any laws. Nebrotk perfectly adored Astkchicka, and the fisherman Naboukodonozor the gardener woman Roussoudanna. The host was quite in love with the goddess and the servant with the gardenkeeper, although both were merely common negro slaves. But even in the fairy-like palace under the protection of the very goddess of love, there happened to be a spot especially designed for animated secret conversations between lovers. In one of these unhappy moments the conditions and peculiar qualities of the stream became known to Naboukodonozor, and the fear that the magic force of the water should influence Roussoudanna found a refuge in his soul.It is of course well known to all of you that suspicion is the enemy of love. Naboukodonozor seriously began to think that Roussoudanna had fallen in love with him. Seeking the reason of this imaginary adoration he suddenly came upon the idea that she was occupied in involuntarily comparing his black skin with the most godlywhite complexion of Nebrotk, and in consequence of this horrid supposition his heart began to be filled with emotion and passion, while after passion came ungratefulness to Astkchicka and a very revolutionary spirit; afterwards she transformed Nebrotk, who had really done absolutely nothing for her, into a half god, while the latter, who had successfully brought her to this enchanting resort, she simply abandoned and left a negro and slave.

And during the night he walked along the bank of the stream and sang a song of his great grief, and suddenly the old cedars, the high, high peach trees, the grand old nut trees composed a beautiful chorus and an all powerful song, blowing everything before it like a huge wave, reached the palace and suddenly awakened the goddess—but Nebrotk quietly went on sleeping and heard nothing. Stepping lightly, Astkchicka softly and cautiously went out to the rivulet, where Naboukodonozor, with his back turned towards her, was bitterly crying, and blushing terribly, she knocked him over and sent him flying into the water.

Without a word or motion did Naboukodonozor enter the water, and just so he came out—more magnificent even than Nebrotk, and throwing himself at the lovely feet of the goddess he covered them with kisses. Astkchicka did not at all object to such proceedings, but did not let him get out of sight, and it seemed very evident that she also was in love with him. The slave, encouraged by the concessions of his mistress, seized the godly hands and began to kiss them just so madly. Suddenly, however, Astkchicka roughly pulled them away, passed them around his neck and having given him a kiss on his lips, she instantly disappeared. Some wonderful extraordinary fire ran over the whole body of poor Naboukodonozor from this rare, but dangerous kiss. A new feeling got hold of him, viz., a boundless desire inspired him to run off to the goddess, but the very thought that she was able to treat, nay, caress, Nebrotk in the same affectionate way, completely kept him from making a fool ofhimself. He threw himself on the ground and tried with all his might and main to extinguish the burning fire which was raging inside of him, rolling in the soft sweet grass and mercilessly treading down the highly fragrant flowers, while the moon seemed to be offended with its greatest favorite and bashfully hid itself behind a massive cloud. The perfect and impenetrable darkness at last forced the crank to come back to his senses; he then went home exasperated, most dissatisfied, and wicked in his intentions.

Roussoudanna was quietly sleeping and knew of nothing that had taken place in the night, and what must have been her astonishment, when in the morning she beheld Naboukodonozor with a pure white complexion and golden hair. Upon the question what had occurred to him, he passionately replied that he had just gone to a stream, let himself down into the water and had come out in the very state she saw him.

“Pay attention and be careful to remain faithful to me,” she jokingly said, and went out to gather fruit for the “déjeuner” of the goddess. After a while Nebrotk also woke up and asked Naboukodonozor the same question.

“I followed in thy steps and see! the result has proved to be the same,” was his short answer. Nebrotk looked at him rather suspiciously, and unwilling to believe the truth of the story, he went to the goddess to inquire about the affair and to see how matters were getting on in general.

“I came to a decided conclusion that it was most unkind and unjust not to do for my real savior what I had deigned to do for thee,” was the godly reply, which made Nebrotk very uneasy and filled his heart with renewed passion.

Roussoudanna wept and wept, Naboukodonozor got terribly provoked, Nebrotk was deeply impressed and full of emotion, while Astkchicka vainly exhausted all her eloquence in trying to explain that her palace was a refugefor independent love, not subjected to any laws whatsoever. General dissatisfaction, suspicion, grief, and tears were alternately seen and heard in the fairy-like palace. Poor, poor Roussoudanna could not dry her eyes. Once upon a time, going to look for fruit, she went out of her way and got completely lost. The sun was already quite red when she sat down to take a rest after such a hard, steep walk. Her dark, undecided intentions and thoughts concerned again Naboukodonozor and the magic conditions and qualities of the rushing stream, and her grieved feelings turned against the goddess.

“Why under the sun do they call thee the benefactor of men?” she passionately exclaimed. “Thou didst win and encourage us with the promise of thy protection as long as thou didst need us, but now that the situation has changed thou tookest my lover Naboukodonozor away from me and thus why should we help thee to escape and lighten the king’s terrible wrath?

“In all probability his God is far stronger than thou, when thou runnest away from him.

“O Christian God, save me!” rang out from the grieved soul of Roussoudanna.

“O Lord Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy upon us!” Such was the exclamation of an old man’s voice, and indeed unhappy Roussoudanna soon beheld an old man approaching her and making his way among the trees and bushes.

“What is the matter with thee, my dear child?” he kindly asked, coming up to her. Roussoudanna naturally said that she had lost her way, that she was very much exhausted and did not know how to continue her route.

Thereupon the old man led her to his home. He lived somewhere in the immediate neighborhood, not at all far off, in the grotto of a high, high rock where he nourished himself with the milk of wild goats and with dates. With the greatest pleasure he placed before her his whole stock of provisions, brought her a pitcher of water, carefullyarranged the sofa of leaves and inviting her to take a good rest, he went out. Having refreshed herself, Roussoudanna began to watch him most attentively through the gate of the grotto and there she saw that he had walked a little way off and then had fallen on his knees and begun to pray. She witnessed how his good, kindly face suddenly lit up with some marvellous, perfectly heavenly, happy, and joyful expression, and she ardently desired to find out from the poor, but grand old man, what this sudden, really indescribable joy meant in the course of his long, laborious, honorable life.

At last the old man finished his fervent prayer and began to gather dates; having got together a huge pile, he gayly carried them into the grotto. The guest met him at the entrance.

“I thought that perhaps you would not have enough to eat with just those dates which you found in my poor dwelling house,” said the kind-hearted host, turning to her, “and see here, I am bringing thee some more still,” and he put down the deliciously sweet fruits right before her.

Roussoudanna, perfectly astounded by such unusual and unheard of goodness and thoughtfulness, thanked the old man with tears in her eyes.

“What does thy painful grief consist in?” he asked—and continued thus: “It is possible that the needs of life have been weighing down on thee?”

“Oh no, wise, dear old man, I have never known what it is to be in need.”

“Well then, did not some severe illness pull thee down and mercilessly deprive thee of thy strength?”

“I am in perfect health and have a strong constitution.”

“Perhaps some dreadful worries did not give thee rest.”

A (the woman). B (the hermit).

A: “I really have nothing to be worried about.”

B: “Then did not regularly and faithfully carried out duties exhaust thee?”

A: “No, dear hermit, for I was living in a fairy-landpalace from which the following torments were entirely excluded: need, worry, work, and illness.”

B: “Worldly attractions and habits may have led thee off the good track and restrained thy liberty?”

A: “We were by no means subjected to any such rules, nor even to etiquette.”

B: “It is possible that the laws of your palace were extremely severe and therefore made you feel very depressed?”

A: “But really, we acknowledged no laws.”

B: “Well then, perhaps the wealthy proprietor of the palace abused his might and compelled you to do certain disagreeable things which were unjustifiable?”

A: “Not in the least, for Astkchicka was sole mistress and administrator of the palace.”

B: “There now remains but one supposition, viz., that she united such people as would naturally perfectly hate one another?”

A: “Why, not at all, we all gathered around her in the mighty name of love.”

B: “Ah, aha, I understand the matter,” the old man unexpectedly broke out, “you came together over there in the name of love and it is most strikingly evident that there is some defect about your love.”

A: “Thou art wrong, old man,” energetically rang out of Roussoudanna’s mouth as she suddenly interrupted him. “I can bear witness and prove that nobody ever and so strongly loved his dear ones as I loved my excellent darling Naboukodonozor!”

The grave hermit glanced at her quite differently—yes, suspiciously. “My child,” was his brief reply, “that which the idol worshippers falsely call love, is by no means that holy feeling which we understand under that term. Their love is one of those innumerable examples of self-worship and vanity.”

Roussoudanna’s face was all red from blushing, while her eyes were filled with tears.

“Oh no, that cannot be so,” she exclaimed with atrembling voice, “with the greatest joy would I suffer any possible privations, every imaginable torture, in order to give him pleasure and satisfy his desires.”

The hermit sighed deeply. “Is it possible then,” he said with a doubtful, inquiring tone, “if thou dost indeed truly love thy fellow men and women, that nobody in this wide world is either capable or strong enough to put an end to thy unhappiness? Relate to me now what the real source of thy misfortune came from and in what manner it was able to assume such tremendous dimensions.”

“Naboukodonozor, whom I love more than anybody or anything in the world, got to loving another woman!”

“Well, what of it?” quietly asked the old man, “is this the only cause of thy great sorrow? How can one call it unhappiness if this made his fortune and rendered him contented?”

“Some would have thought that she might like such a course of events instead of regretting it.”

“What is the matter with thee, O wise hermit?” She was perfectly overwhelmed with joy!

“Now, my dear woman, rely ye simply on me, for I will undertake to explain it all right to thee, as for me, it was a source of sorrow and doubt.”

“O thou remarkable man, dost thou really not understand that for me this circumstance was worse than all the tortures of poison?”

“But thou only just a short time ago didst assure me that the very height of happiness for thee was to stand every privation, nay, all sufferings, simply in order to give him pleasure and act in accordance with his wishes and aims.”

Thereupon the hermit again opened his mouth and sang songs of praise and thankfulness unto God, the Almighty Master of Heaven and earth; and see! his happiness was founded on love, but on love to a being, a being which was perfect. He always submitted his love to the righteous laws of God; this was not a senseless inspiration,but an action free of any earthly, foolish bonds, of elevated and religious aims and seeking nothing but rest and comfort for the moment—going always by the road of honesty, truth and veneration of all that is upright and good!

His love was trying to perfect itself, approach if possible that greatest example of utmost perfection which was shown to us by our Lord Jesus Christ.

“Happiness is a sweet, sweet little flower,” said he, “which is quite unable to grow among unrighteousness, unfairness and wilfulness—only by the lawful way of Christian love to God, veneration and love to his neighbors, can he strive to live properly and give those magnificent fragrant flowers, for which you are all constantly looking and which you are as yet unable to find. Following out the orders of my God it will be easy to find happiness, for His perfect and most merciful laws restrain the will of the individual man only there, where it proves necessary for his thrift and condition in general. Thou, it is true, didst live in a fairy-land palace, from which all illnesses, needs, worries, and labors had been excluded. You did not fear nor obey any legal authorities, nor laws, nor customs. It was love that firmly united you all. Well, tell me then, were you indeed happy and successful?”

“Oh! no, not at all!” answered Roussoudanna. And once more the old man tenderly addressed her and convinced Roussoudanna, baptized her, and taking a staff, at the top of which a cross was reproduced, he went off with her to the fairy-land palace. Reaching the rivulet they beheld Nebrotk gathering the necessary fruit. With despair and terror did he inform them that Astkchicka now considered Naboukodonozor her husband, while he was forced to serve his rival and nobody paid any attention to—yes, had utterly forgotten the existence of Roussoudanna. Then she asked him to sit down and told the inhabitant of the castle all that had happened to her, and in her young voice the speech about perfect endless andeternal love sounded still more convincing. Love is eternal when it is well planned and arranged, it is endless if free of sin and perfect if subjected to the almighty laws of the eternal God, Father of Heaven and earth.

All were deeply impressed, and now the hermit continued the speech and told them about the all-powerful strength of God, before whose serene appearance all false, worthless gods take to flight, and about His extreme wisdom and knowledge, rapidity of decision, mercifulness and righteousness, and see! Nebrotk immediately wished to be converted and baptized. At the end of his powerful and persuasive discourse, the old man simply touched the fairy-land palace with his staff and in a few seconds it completely disappeared like an apparition. Then he instructed Nebrotk and Roussoudanna in real Christian love and in the obligations of married life and then performed for both the wedding ceremony, and having fervently prayed to the Creator they all together went to work erecting a perfectly new log house for the young married couple, in which the happy mortals passed many blissful years, writing down the stories and tales of the various travellers. Some of them I shall perhaps tell you of another time. To my sorrow my memory did not preserve that artistic, yes, clever way of relating, which this little collection of legends more and more clearly explains to one—bringing us over and over again to the great truth.

“Happiness is within us.” The imperfection of Nebrotk and Roussoudanna came at first from the imperfection of their mutual love, which loves itself as much as the beloved. Then, however, gradually as they were taught to love their neighbor more than themselves, yes to love him so much as not to offend each other and not grumble and growl over little defects and mishaps which regarded their personalities alone and from which the neighbors should not suffer, did they teach themselves and conceive how well it was to rejoice over the blissfulness of others, to think only about others, to wish to seek pleasure andhappiness only for others and to put all their energy and delight in the contentment and comfort of others; this great happiness finally made its beneficent way into their souls and admitting everything they said.

“Happiness is within us—” and then they needed no more fairy-land castle, from which all cares, illnesses, needs, and labors were banished. They found time and also strength to live an actual and true life among all its turmoils and difficulties, to know how to guarantee one’s shining happiness, and then they heard not the fairy-land song of the flowers, the fragrant song of the youngsters saved by them for a joyful, diligent, and Christian life, and they rejoiced in the song of thankful young people, who by their example of love, had been saved from many a sorrow and suffering. These young people had thoroughly learned how to live a happy life and this chorus did not stop as long as they lived on earth.

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