Chapter VIII: Book III: contains the history of the successors of Tiridates up to the (2)

Another of his long poems is an elegy on the Fall of Edessa which was taken from the Crusaders by the Turks in 1144. This is an allegory: the town itself recounts its misfortunes and addresses itself to other cities of the world, to the mountains, to the seas, and begs them not to judge her by what she is in her present condition, but assures them that she was once a crown bearer and in a most happy state, but now she is in mourning, and misfortune has befallen her. As Nerses was a contemporary of the event which forms the subject of the poem, the latter has an historical value, being a first-hand source of information relating to the times of the Crusaders.

Nerses also wrote a long poem narrating the history of Armenia from the days of Haik up to his own time. Leo III., one hundred and fifty years after the poet’s death, asked the bishop Vahram Rabun to continue the poem from the death of Nerses to his own time (1275), thus giving the annals of the Rubinian dynasty. In writing this sequel, in 1500 lines, he said: “It is a bold act to continue the work of Nerses the Gracious,” but he adds that, knowing that with gold thread embroidery black threads are sometimes introduced, he consented to undertake the labour.

It is not within our province here to describe the great work achieved by Nerses in other directions, but he was much beloved by his people and has left an immortal name as the greatest personality of his age. We only here record one incident to show the breadth of his ideas. In the town of Edessa pestilence was raging and sufferers from the disease were taken out of the town and segregated. It was considered hopeless to cure them, as it was believed that the disease came as a punishment from God. Nerses sent out an epistle to the plague-stricken people, offering them consolation, saying that, in compensation for their suffering, they would receive eternal bliss. In this letter, he declares that the disease was not sent from Heaven as a punishment and people should not avoid the sick; on the contrary, it was their duty to care for their brethren when they were in distress, and he assured them that, with patience and right treatment, it was possible to get rid of the disease.

This counsel made an immense impression on the people, as they had the word of the Catholicos that this was not a heaven-sent chastisement; they nursed the patients and in a short time the pestilence was stayed.

This idea of Nerses, though it is now commonly held, was very remarkable in the age in which he lived. Nerses the Gracious is considered the Fénelon of Armenia. Some of his elegies are perfect gems of poetic art. One of his prayers is divided into twenty-four verses, according to the twenty-four hours, one verse to be used each hour, but, seeing that this is sometimes impracticable, he says that it might be read in three portions of light verses in the morning, at noon, and at night. If this division is also impossible, he recommends that it should be read in two portions, in the morning and evening. This prayer has been translated into thirty-six languages, of which English is one.

An example of the work of Nerses the Gracious, entitled “The Arrival of the Crusaders,” is given in this volume on page 58.

This is hardly a representative poem and is not the best specimen of the author’s work. It was inserted because of the interest of the Crusades for Europeans. The gems of his work may be found among the sharakans, which we can say without hesitation will bear comparison with any work of this class in any language of the world. Unfortunately, it is impossible to do justice to these hymns in a translation. Nerses also wrote verses for children, and riddles, both in the vernacular.

In general, his language is simple and expressive. He also composed short fables, according to a contemporary historian; some of these were recited at weddings and other festivals.

Mkhitar Gosh was the author of one hundred and fifty fables, marked by good taste, purity, and elegance. He died in 1213. He is called the Aesop of Armenia.

The following is a specimen of Mkhitar Gosh’s fables: The owl sent matchmakers to the eagle, asking his daughter in marriage, in these terms: “You are the ruler of the day; I am the ruler of the night. It will be better for us to form an alliance by marriage.”

The proposal was accepted.

After the wedding, the bridegroom could not see by day and the bride could not see by night. Therefore the falcons ridiculed them, and their marriage was unhappy.

This fable is meant as a warning against marriages between Christians and pagans.

Many of Mkhitar Gosh’s fables are very original and have a charm of their own.

Another famous fabulist was Vardan Aigektzi. His collection of fables is called The Book of the Fox. Several additions have been made to this work by later hands, so that the book has no uniformity of style and some fables in the collection are childish and trivial.

This is one of the fables in this book:

Mankind is like three fools. The first went to the tops of the mountains trying to catch a wind, and take it home, but though he tried a hundred years he never caught a wind that was as big as a drop of rain. The second, taking with him a number of servants and a great deal of money, sat down by the side of a river, trying to use its waters as a tablet on which to inscribe an elegy, but he could not form a word or trace a letter, though he laboured for a hundred years. The third tried to surpass the others by undertaking two enterprises at once. He had a huge bow made with arrows to match, and tried by night to shoot at the stars and other heavenly bodies and bring them home, that he alone might have light, but he could not catch a spark. Besides this, during the day he ran after his own shadow, but never caught it, though he tried for a hundred years.

The moral of this fable is the futility of human life and human endeavour. “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.”

Moses Kaghankatvatzi (seventh century) mentions in his history some interesting fables. In one of them, which arose when there was a great famine in the land, the story is put into the mouth of a personification of the grain millet, whose narrative is to this effect:—

“I, Millet, was lying in an unknown place in the village of Kaku, in the province of Shakashen. All the purchasers treated me with contempt and rejected me. Then came my brother, Famine, and dominated the land. From that day I went and sat on the tables of the King and the Catholicos.”

Armenian apologues and proverbial sayings are worthy of attention. Here are a few characteristic specimens; some of these are rhymed in the original, in others the contrasted words rhyme:—

One fool threw a stone into a well; forty wise men were unable to get it out.

He crossed the sea safely, and was drowned in a brook.

They were reading the Gospel over the wolf’s head. He said: “Hurry up! The sheep will get past.”

They asked the partridge: “Why are your feet red?” “From the cold,” he replied. “We have seen you in the summer as well,” they rejoined.

Are you the corn of the upper field? (Who are you that you should be set above others?)

A black cat has passed between them. (Referring to friends who have quarrelled.)

Whenever you touch a stone, may it become gold! (A blessing.)

The donkey began its tricks on the bridge.

Light for others, fire for the house. (A saint abroad, a devil at home.)

The black donkey is tied up at the gate. (A worthless thing is always at hand.)

Here is a riddle by Nerses Shnorhali:—

I saw an outspread white tent, wherein black hens were perched, that laid eggs of various kinds and spoke in human language. (A book.)

Between the end of the thirteenth century and the beginning of the fourteenth lived, almost contemporaneously, three great poets, all ecclesiastics:—Constantine Erzingatzi, Hovhannes Erzingatzi, and Frik, who were almost the last singers of the dying Armenian kingdom.

The first of these, Constantine Erzingatzi, was born about 1250–1260 in Erzingan. From early youth he showed poetic talent and gained favour from the people, but incurred the jealousy of his own associates. In one of his poems he says he cannot tell why his enemies hate him and expresses a desire to know their reason. Erzingatzi had a friend, a certain Amir Tol, who lived in Tabriz. Erzingatzi used to send his poems, as he wrote them, to this friend, who entered them in a book. The poems in this collection number twenty-two. The manuscript is preserved in the library of St. Lazare, Venice. The themes of Erzingatzi’s poems are—among other things—the love of the rose and the nightingale, the beauty of nature, the wedding of the flowers, spring, dawn, and morning. In his love poems, he throws over his emotions a mystic veil of celestial hue, and some of his lines rise to a higher level than ordinary amorous verse. For him, love and beauty are one and the same. He says that one who is without love has no sense of beauty. He calls his lady-love a breeze of spring, and himself a thirsty flower, but a flower on which only a hot southern blast is ever blowing, so that his love-thirst continually endures. He likens his mistress to the radiant heavenly bodies—the sun, moon, and stars—but her light is stronger than that of all other luminaries, for it alone can illumine his darkened heart.

Erzingatzi says that, if he is to have any share in the life of love in this world, he will be content with one hour of “morning love” that springs from the heart. For that he is willing to exchange his life. He prays to God for such love, always emphasising the word “morning.”

Among his works is a beautiful poem on Spring, which begins with a hundred thousand thanksgivings for the blessing that has flown down from heaven to earth:—

“It was dark and every stone was ice-bound; there was not a green herb, but now the earth arrays itself anew. The winter was like a prison, the spring like a sun that rises in the night. Everything is merry and joyous; even the dew-bringing cloud thunders gently, spanning the earth with its bow and causing many swift rivers to flow, which, without distinction, throw into rapturous intoxication all places of the earth.

“Terribly roar the streams that come down from the mountains, but, after strolling to and fro among the meadows in loving fashion, pass on to touch the face of the sea.

“The birds sing sweetly; the swallow chants psalms, the lark comes, reciting the praise of the morning. All leap into life—plants, birds, beasts with their offspring; they all form themselves into one great flock and dance together. The flowers have assembled in the garden. The Nightingale, proclaiming the glad things of the great resurrection, also enters the garden, seeking the Rose.

“When the time is ripe, she opens, and the other flowers, when they see the splendour of the Rose, run off, over hill and dale, and, from fear, lose their colour. The Nightingale is intoxicated with the sweet odour of the Rose. Then takes place a festival of nature and the Rose sings her own praise.”

The original text of this poem is a real achievement as regards language, poetical expressions, and art, showing that Erzingatzi was a master of his craft.

Erzingatzi was also the author of a long narrative poem, called Farman and Asman, recounting the love adventures of a Persian princess. This was composed at the request of a Syrian knight and shows some traces of Persian influence.

Another long narrative poem of this writer, entitled A Girl’s Questions, seems to owe something to Arabic literature.

Erzingatzi is also the author of many didactic poems. Here are a few stanzas from another of his poems:—

“Waken from your dreams
And behold, you that were sleeping,
How through all the night
They their sleepless watch are keeping.
Ever circling round
By the will of God who made them:
And heaven’s arches wide
To uplift and hold He bade them.

“I awoke from sleep
And a while I stood and waited.
When the long night passed,
When appeared the dawn belated,—
Many stars of light
Watching stood to greet the morning;
Servants of our God,
All the sky of night adorning.

“Then a Star arose
Near the Morning Star, in Heaven;
Fairer than all stars,
Radiance to that Star was given.

“When the moon beheld
She bade all the stars to vanish.
All turned pale, and set,
As she spoke their light to banish.
Cleared was heaven’s face
And the sun arose in splendour;
Then a Child appeared,
Sweet the Name He had, and tender.” [41]

Hovhannes Erzingatzi (b. 1250) was educated in a monastery on the confines of Georgia and Armenia under a bishop who was renowned for his learning. He returned to Erzingan in 1272 and travelled to Jerusalem in 1281, in the course of his journey passing through Cilicia in order to visit the Armenian royal seat, where King Leon was then reigning. By his learning and talents he attracted the attention of the Catholicos, who appointed him director of all the schools in the city.

By order of the Catholicos, he wrote a grammar, remarkable for its dear and comprehensible style and language. He also came under the notice of the king. At the annual horse race two of the king’s sons were among the competitors. On this occasion Erzingatzi made a speech, which left a great impression and gained him recognition as an orator. In Cilicia he learnt Latin and made several translations from that language into Armenian. He wrote many Biblical commentaries, besides other religious and devotional works, as well as treatises on astrology; but his fame rests chiefly on his verse. In addition to religious and moral poems, he wrote love songs, and lays relating to nature. In his ethical as well as in his love poems we find quaint metaphors and similes.

As, for instance, in the following stanza, where our poet seems to be forestalling Bunyan:—

“All my sins I once amassed
And sat down before them weeping.
When the caravan went past
With my load I followed, leaping.
Then an angel that we met,
‘Woful pilgrim, whither farest?
Thou wilt there no lodging get
With that burden that thou bearest.’”

In another poem, entitled “Like an Ocean is this World,” which appears on page 59 of this volume, he uses the metaphor afterwards employed in Donne’s Hymn to Christ and Tennyson’s Crossing the Bar.

His love poems are exquisitely fresh and rich.

The aesthetic character of his love and his enthusiasm for beauty are shown by his declaration, in one of the poems, after a rapturous expression of his passion for a lady of whom he gives a rich-hued word-portrait, that the only thing that keeps his feelings within bounds is the knowledge that, after death, her face will wither and its colours fade.

In 1284 he went to Tiflis, the capital town of Georgia, where he gave, in the newly-built church, on the occasion of its opening, a discourse on the movements of the heavenly bodies. This subject had a great fascination for him and he treated it in a manner that deeply impressed his hearers, including the king’s son who was present. His discourse was not a sermon, but a poetical oration. On the prince’s asking him to write a poem on the same subject, he wrote one of a thousand lines. At the desire of another prince, he composed another poem on the same theme.

Khachatur Kecharetzi (better known by his pen-name, Frik) was a priest who was born at the end of the thirteenth century and died about 1330. He wrote many poems, several of which are of an allegorical character; also laments on the state of his country, and several mystic and other religious poems, as well as love songs; but his most characteristic work is the poem addressed to God, asking why He is unmindful of the terrible condition of the Armenian nation, and also enumerating the inequalities of the world, showing how the wicked prosper and the righteous suffer.

“If we are useless creatures” (he says) “unworthy of Thy care, why dost Thou not entirely destroy us?”

An extract from this long poem is given in this volume on page xv.

At the close of the fourteenth century, the glory of Cilicia vanished, as the Armenian kingdom became extinct, after an existence of nearly three hundred years; and Armenia once more became the scene of turmoil and bloodshed.

The fifteenth century opened with the invasion of Tamerlane, when the country was again desolated and subdued. This was a century of the overthrow of Eastern civilisation.

The Byzantine Empire, shaken from its foundation, was dashed to pieces, and its capital, Constantinople, fell into the hands of the Ottomans (1453), a new Mohammedan power, which aspired to become master of the whole of Asia. The Turcomans and, later, the Persians, tried to check the advance of the Turks into their territories. Hence commenced a long series of wars between the two Mohammedan states which continued through four centuries, and Armenia passed now into the hands of the one, now into the hands of the other. The country was again the scene of war, wherein reigned desolation, fire, and death.

After the occupation of Constantinople, Turkish influence extended over most of the eastern part of Armenia.

From this time, migrations of Armenians out of their own country into different parts of the world became more frequent.

Twenty years after the invention of printing (1476) a grammar in many tongues was published in France, which contains several pages in Armenian.

In 1512 the first Armenian printed book was issued in Venice. After that Armenians set up presses in various countries.

Notwithstanding the political position of the country, its poetry continued to flourish and assumed a definite character; and the voices of the poets rose continually louder and louder. This century, together with the two preceding and the two following ones, forms a flourishing age for poetry.

The chief poets of this century are:—Hovhannes Tulkourantzi, Mkrtich Naghash, Grigoris of Aghtamar, Nahapet Kouchak, Arakel Sunetzi.

Hovhannes Tulkourantzi (1450–1525) was Catholicos of Sis. He is a poet of the days of spring, flowers, beauty, love. He wrote also moral and religious poems, besides other things. He cannot understand how it is possible for one who loves a beautiful woman to grow old and die.

“Whosoever loves you, how can he die? How can his face grow pale in death?”

He sings of the sanctity of family life, warning his readers against the strange woman “who brings torment and grief. Even his lawful wife brought trouble to Adam; what then is to be expected of the stranger?”

He has a striking poem on Death, which he addresses thus:—

“There is nothing so bitter as thou, no venom is more bitter;
only Hell surpasseth thee, and it is thou who bringest Hell in thy
train. Solomon remembered thee, saying, ‘Of what profit is my
wisdom? Say not I am a King possessing gold and treasures.’

“Alas, O death! thou hast a grudge against the sons of Adam and
thou avengest thyself on them.

“Thou didst not consider that Moses was a prophet, nor art thou
ashamed of assaulting David; thou takest even Father Abraham; thou
draggest King Tiridates from his throne; and thou respectest not
the Emperor Constantine. [42]

“If a hero is attended by 1000 horsemen and arrayed in six coats
of armour, thou shootest thine arrows at him and bringest him down,
then thou castest him into prison and before the entrance thou
placest a great stone.”

The poem continues:—

“Like an eagle flying far,
Forth on wide-spread wings thou farest;
All the strong ones of the earth
In thy wing-tips rolled thou bearest.”

In other poems we see his susceptibility to passion and his sense of love’s power. In one of these poems he depicts [43] a bishop of 100 years old whose beard had turned from white to yellow and who, when officiating at the altar, suddenly uttered the name of a lady in his invocation before the cross.

Mkrtich Naghash was Archbishop of Diarbekr. He lived when the country was in difficult political circumstances. His talents were appreciated not only by Armenians, but also by the Mohammedan rulers with whom, thanks to his tact, he established friendly relations, whereby he was able to protect his compatriots from many oppressions. He built a church, which he adorned with beautiful pictures of his own painting. But, after the death of the Mohammedan princes who were his patrons, tyranny and oppression began again under their successors. He went to Byzantium to solicit aid for his suffering countrymen, but returned disappointed.

Besides his artistic skill, he was a poet of considerable merit. His poems are generally on moral and religious themes—the vanity of the world, avarice, and so forth; he also wrote songs of exile, and love songs.

In his poem on avarice he says that that vice is the root of all evil: “Kings and princes are continually fighting against one another, watering the country with blood. They destroy flourishing towns; they drive the inhabitants into exile; and spread desolation wherever they go; and all this is through avarice.”

He goes on to specify other evils springing from this sin.

In the love songs of Mkrtich Naghash, the Rose and the Nightingale whisper to each other fiery love speeches complaining of each other’s cruelty. Then they admonish each other not to let their passion consume them, and sing each other’s praises.

This is an extract from one of his songs of exile: “The thoughts of an exile from his country are wanderers like himself. If his mind is wiser than Solomon’s, if his words are precious pearls, in a foreign land they bid him be silent and call him an ignorant fool. His death is as bitter as his life; there is no one to cross his hands over his heart; they laugh as they cover him with earth; no mourner follows him to the grave. But I, Naghash, say that an exile’s heart is tender. In a foreign land, what is sweet seems gall; the rose becomes a thorn. Speak gently to an exile; give him a helping hand, and you will expiate your sins which rankle like thorns.”

These songs of exile (or pilgrim songs) are a special feature of Armenian poetry and for ages have been written by various poets. They are original and often quaint and express the feelings of Armenians who live far from their native mountains and fields, showing how they pine for the land of their birth, reflecting the natural beauties of their fatherland, and their yearning for their hearth and the dear faces of home.

In 1469 in the town of Mardin there was an epidemic of smallpox, which caused many deaths. He thus describes one of the victims: “A youth beautiful to see, the image of the sun; his brows were arches; his eyes like lamps guiding him by their light. This lovely child lay on the ground, writhing piteously, looking to right and left, while the terrible Angel of Death was busily engaged in loosing the cords of his soul. Then the boy cried, saying: ‘Pity me and save me from the hands of this holy angel, for I am young.’ Then he turned to his father, and asking help from him, said: ‘There are a thousand desires in my heart and not one of them fulfilled.’

“The father answered: ‘I would not begrudge gold and silver for thy redemption; but these are of no avail. I would willingly give my life for thine.’ In the end the light of the child’s life was extinguished; the lovely hue of his face faded; his sea-like eyes lost their lustre; the power of his graceful arm was cut off.”

Here is a translation in verse of a poem on a mysterious Flower:—

“All the lovely flowers that were
One by one have left and gone,
One Flower too there was that went
Mourned and wept by every one.
Sweetest fragrance had that Flower,
Scent that filled the earth and air,
So that all the flowers of earth
Sought in love this Blossom fair.
Some for this sweet Flow’ret’s sake
Paled and withered languidly;
Many for this Flow’ret’s sake
Blossomed like the almond tree.
God Himself had sent that Flower,
But all did not know its worth.
He that gave took back His own,
Many wept upon the earth.
And the Flower went to a place
Where all flowers rejoiced and smiled;
Flowers of many a brilliant hue
With its sweetness it beguiled.
From its beauty other flowers
Borrowed lustre, and they glowed;
Every blossom in its kind
To that Flower knelt and bowed.”

Grigoris of Aghtamar was born about 1418 and was Catholicos of Aghtamar, an island in the Lake of Van, which has picturesque surroundings fit to inspire a poet; so that it is not surprising that our Catholicos became a singer animated by poetic fire, the exponent of love and beauty—of the Nightingale and the Rose.

It is evident, from his works, that Grigoris had a great love of life. We see this especially in a poem entitled The Gardener and his Garden. The Gardener, says the poet, enters his garden every morning and hears the sweet voice of the nightingale as he examines the newly planted flowers of various colours. This beautiful spot he surrounds with a hedge, bringing stones from the river, thorns from the mountain. He has just built arbours, made a fountain, introduced little running brooks, and planted vines, when, all of a sudden, a voice utters the command: “Come out of thy garden.” It is Death who beckons him out. He expostulates: “I have not yet seen life and light; I have not yet seen the fruit of the garden; I have not yet smelt the rose; I have not yet drunk my wine or filled my casks; I have not plucked flowers for a nosegay. I have not yet rejoiced over my garden.”

But his prayers are not heeded; obedient to the unchangeable law of the universe, he at last capitulates to the Angel of Death.

After describing the Gardener’s death and burial, the poet goes on to tell what happens to the garden after its owner has left it; the rose fades; the other flowers disappear; the hedge is broken down, and what was once a lovely garden becomes a scene of desolation.

This is his description of the face of his lady-love. He likens her eyebrows to a sword; the sparkle of her eyes to a sharp lance; her eyes to the sunlit sea. She is, he says, as straight as a willow; her lips are like harp strings; her teeth, a row of pearls; her tongue is sugar; and, wherever she rests, the place becomes a garden. She has fragrance sweeter than the violet of the spring; she is like a white rose, pure and sweet, like a newly opened flower; a young almond plant. Her face is red and white, like an apple of the forest. She soars high, like a daring eagle. She is brilliant as a peacock with golden feathers.

We have in this volume (page 52) a translation of one of Grigoris’ longer poems, entitled “Concerning the Rose and the Nightingale,” in which it is interesting to note that—quaintly enough—the poet gives the text of a letter sent with great pomp, by special messengers, to the Rose; adding the consequence which followed, and the verbal answer returned.

The subject of the Rose and the Nightingale is a Persian one originally, but the outstanding characteristics of the Armenian versions consist in the refinements and subtleties of the feelings described, the deference paid to the Rose, and the idea of continuity and faithfulness in love. These feelings are minutely described in this beautiful poem, and summed up in the Rose’s message to the Nightingale on p. 56:—

“I cannot there return immediately;
A little he must wait, in patient wise:
But if his love is perfectly with me,
Tell him to look for it in Paradise.”

These ideals constitute the difference between the mentality of Mohammedanism and Christianity.

Nahapet Kouchak was a fine poet of the seventeenth century. He is called the Psalmist of Love. Although there is a slight resemblance in style between his writings and those of the Persian poets, his poetry is original. The works attributed to him have only recently been published as a whole; they have been translated into French and other languages, and greatly admired. Some critics have placed him higher than Sadi and other Persian poets. (Examples of his work are given on pages 4, 5, and 31.)

Arakel Sunetzi was the Metropolitan of the province of Suni. He appears to have possessed a thorough acquaintance with the writings of his time. His chief work is the Book of Adam, a long narrative poem, telling the story of the Fall in the style of a romance in which theology, lyrics, heroic lays, and folklore are all fused together.

Adam, though because of his great love for his wife he was inclined to yield to her petition, yet wavered, not knowing whether to hearken to his spouse or to his Creator. “But his mind went with his eyes; he deserted God, but not the woman; for, without Eve, half of his body was dead, and with the other half it was impossible to live.”

Among the lyrics in this book is one entitled The Rib, of which we subjoin two stanzas:—

“The rib is bow-shaped, so her face,
Sped by her looks, is like a dart;
Who gazeth on a woman’s grace,
No salve or drug can cure his smart.

“And for the rib is high and low—
One side is vaulted, one is round,
Her face doth love and sweetness show
Whilst in her heart fierce hate is found.”

Here is a passage from another poem of Sunetzi’s entitled The Glory of the Saints, describing the Resurrection:—

“Opened are the tombs;
Now rise the dead that long in dust have lain.
Decked with brilliant hues,
Bright as the sun, they cannot fade again.
While the earth, renewed,
Doth greet the Lord, all fresh and dazzling white;
And the heavens are decked
More richly than before, sevenfold more bright.
Then in heaven shines forth
With arms stretched out like rays, the Holy Rood.
With the Cross appear
The hosts of fire—a countless multitude.
Butterflies dance forth
Amongst the angels—none may mark them out.”

In the sixteenth century, Turkish and Persian wars became fiercer and the Armenian history of this century becomes the record of the sufferings of the country during these wars. Poets of this period were Nerses Mokatzi, Minas Tokhatzi, Ghazar of Sebastia, Sarkavak Bertaktzi.

Nerses Mokatzi was an ecclesiastic and poet. Very few of his works have come down to us. One of the poems we have—entitled The Dispute between Heaven and Earth—is interesting. The poet begins by saying that Heaven and Earth are brothers. One day these brothers disputed as to which of them was the greater. “Of course,” says the poet, “the Heaven is high, but the Earth is more fruitful.”

He then goes on to report a dialogue between the brothers in which each enumerates his own possessions, declaring them superior to those of the other. The following is a short prose summary of this dialogue:—

Heaven. Surely I possess more than you. The stars, with their
radiance, are all in my domain.

Earth. The flowers, with their six thousand colours, are in mine.

Heaven. If I withhold my dew, how will your flowers array
themselves?

Earth. You derive your dew from the sea, which originates in me. If
I cut off the source of the sea, how would you get your dew?

Heaven. I have something else that you have not: should I veil my
sun your flowers would fade.

Earth. Oh, I will bring forth waters from my abyss to keep my
flowers alive.

Heaven. The lightning and the hail could destroy your flowers if I
willed it so.

Earth. I have mountains and valleys that would intercept them and
shield the flowers.

Heaven. All brave and wise men are buried in your depths.

Earth. When God recalls the souls that are His, what is to be done?
If I did not receive and conceal their bodies, the angels would
flee from the deathly odour, and Heaven and Earth would be shaken.

Heaven. The Nine Orders of Angels are all here with me.

Earth. In my realm are the Apostles and Prophets.

Heaven. I am the Heaven of Seven Regions; the Sun, the Moon, and
the Creator-God sitting on His throne all have their abode in me.

Earth. Your Seven Regions will be shaken from their foundation. The
Sun, the Moon, and the Stars will be cast into the darkness and
your Creator-God, with His throne, will descend to me. The Judgment
will be held in my domain.

“Heaven then bent down its head
To the Earth in adoration,
You too, children of the Earth,
Bow to her in adoration.
What is higher than the Earth?
Praise and love bring to enwreathe her.
For to-day we walk on her
And to-morrow sleep beneath her.” [44]

This poem is interesting, as it breathes the spirit of the revival of popular poetry, with its worship of nature, beauty, and love, of which things the Earth is the personification. Hence the poet exalts Earth above Heaven. Here we see also a change of ideas. The older Christian poets were churchmen and sang contempt of the present world and concentration on the joys of heaven. This new note, struck from the beginning of the fifteenth century, gradually grows bolder, and sounds forth daringly, as we hear it in this poem, which seems all the more remarkable when we remember that its author was a priest. This is the song, not of a lover of vanities, but, rather, of an enthusiast, who loves beauty and has learnt that it is good to live on the earth, because it also contains beautiful things that are worth living for. This poem also shows the conquest of learning and science which, at the time it was written, had found their way into Armenia as well as elsewhere, perhaps through the new Armenian colonies formed in Europe and other parts of the world.

Minas Tokhatzi, a humorous poet, lived in Poland. He wrote verses on Toothache and on Tobacco (descanting on its objectionable odour and showing how the smoker becomes its slave); also on Flies.

To convey an idea of his art, we give the substance of the last-named work:—

“The flies,” says the poet, “for some reason or other, went forth to combat against me. They also entered into a conspiracy with my penknife. Knowing of this, I implored the knife not to listen to the accursed insects, who had already caused me enough pain. The attack was begun in a novel fashion; the flies came, buzzing, in gay and merry mood, and settled on my hands and arms in a friendly manner, asking me to write them something in red ink. At the same time, the penknife, playing me a perfidious trick, cut my hand. I protested against this treatment. The penknife justified itself by saying it had acted thus because I had told a lie. I got a few moments’ rest, after this, from the flies, till, at dinner-time, I met with three of them, who announced that more were coming. The combat was renewed. During the night, the flies were relieved by their allies, the fleas.”

Ghazar of Sebastia, an ecclesiastic, has fallen under the spell of some eyes “as deep as the sea.” He describes the torment under which he is pining away and his longing for his mistress’s arrival, like the longing of a patient for his physician. The face of his love (he says) is like glistening amber; her eyes are so bewitching, that

“The sun and moon have unto thee come down,
Lovingly on thy locks they hang, and gleam;
And clustering stars thy beauteous forehead crown,
Aflame and drunken with thy love they seem.”

There is nothing known of Sarkavak Bertaktzi, but this poem from his pen is interesting:—

“O vine, you should commended be
For you are beautiful to see;
Your fruit is of all fruits most fair:—
The crown and diadem they wear.
Like strands of gold your branches spread,
Like ropes of pearl the grapes they thread.
For some are dark and some are white,
And some are red, transmitting light.
Some glow like amber in the dusk,
Perfumed with frankincense and musk.
Left us by the Creator’s care,—
From Eden’s fields a keepsake rare.
To us on earth you seem to be
The fruit of immortality.
To Noah you were by angels borne
His heart to gladden and adorn.
Your fruit when gathered from the vine
Unto the wine-press we assign;
Your juice like crimson roses glows
And through the press in torrents flows.
Then into jars we pour the meath,
There without fire to boil and seethe.
How many kings around you press,
Your name how many princes bless!
The Sovereign’s heart you fill with joy,
With power to conquer and destroy;
If he is wroth with any man,
And places him beneath his ban,
One drop of you immediately
Would move his heart to set him free.
The man that from his birth was blind,
Drinking of you, his sight doth find;
Of glorious cities he can tell,
Wherein his footsteps never fell.
The dumb, that halted in his speech,
To prate with fluency you teach.
More glibly than a parrot, he
Will jest and wanton dotingly.
At mass, within the sacred cup,
The holy priest doth raise you up.
Disease and pain through you will cease,
By you all sinners find release.
To town and village you are borne,
To convent, wilderness forlorn;
Where men do not your sparkle see,
No mass nor service can there be.”

The seventeenth century resembles its predecessor as regards the political position of Armenia, except that the misery is even greater.

During the last years of the eighteenth century, the Russian conquest of Armenia began.

At the end of the eighteenth century an Armenian monk named Mkhitar Sepastatzi established at St. Lazare in Venice an Armenian Brotherhood, who devoted themselves to literature. This Brotherhood is still in existence, and has a branch in Vienna. During this period of more than a century its members have printed hundreds of old MSS. of historical value. They have also produced many works dealing with history and other branches of learning, and translations of foreign classics, thus rendering a great service to Armenian literature.

It will be remembered that Byron stayed at St. Lazare and studied Armenian, He actually took part in the publication of an Armenian-English dictionary and grammar.

For centuries music and song have become a joy to Armenians through minstrels called ashoughs. Ashoughs are invited to all weddings and other festivities, where they are the life of the party and the makers of merriment. They sing also on the bridges and in the squares, and wander from courtyard to courtyard. Their song is not always merry; it is sometimes sad, sometimes even bitter. They always carry with them their saz or tar or kamancha, oriental instruments, on which they accompany their songs. Many of the ashoughs are blind. To be an ashough is considered a high attainment. In order to acquire the art, any one who aspires to become an ashough first observes a fast of seven weeks, then goes to the monastery of Sourb Karapet, which is the Parnassus of Armenian musicians. “Sourb Karapet” is John the Baptist, who is the patron saint of Armenian minstrels. In the Near East, ashoughs (who are mostly Armenians) are greatly admired not only by Armenians, but by Persians, Turks, and other races, as some of them sing in other languages besides Armenian. Some ashoughs sing their own verses, but as a rule the songs are the composition of a special class of poets. The songs of these other ashoughs often reveal deep feelings and many of them are high-class poems.

As a typical ashough author, I will only mention Sayat Nova. His lyre attained extreme sweetness; he combines all the vivid colouring of the East with soft and refined shading. He was born in 1712. He was a special favourite at the court of the Georgian king. In his own words, he “sat in the palace among the beauties and sang to them,” but his songs seem not merely to be poems in praise of court beauties, or for their amusement; they seem an expression of the deep feelings of his heart. A word-picture of his lady-love will be found on page 74 of this volume (“Thy Voice is Sweet”).

His love is so intense that one sees at once that he is capable of deep feelings and one is drawn to him; yet this love is pure and unselfish. He describes his love as a sea and himself as a little barque floating on it. For ten years he has wooed the lady as a prince, but without success; he will not relinquish the pursuit of her, but resolves now for seven years to pay court to her in the character of a pilgrim-minstrel.

He is even content only to sleep on her doorstep. There is something else that is a part of his life, namely, his kamancha. He threatens to cut the strings of his instrument if he is a week without seeing his beloved.

Once he comes face to face with his lady-love and says:—

“What avails me now a physician? The ointment burns, and does not heal the wound, but your medicine is a different one.”

But she replies that she has no remedy for him. In another poem he is in despair, and says:—

“Without thee, of what use is the world’s wealth? I will don the habit of a monk and visit the monasteries one by one. Perhaps in one of them I shall discover a way of redemption from my hopeless love.” (See “Without Thee what are Song and Dance to Me?” on page 85 of this volume.)

In another poem he expresses the wavering between earthly and heavenly life, saying:—

“If one obeys the will of the soul, then the body is offended. How shall I escape this sorrow?”

At last he carries out his declaration and becomes a monk. He secludes himself from the world in a lonely monastery, far away from Tiflis; but once he hears that a minstrel has come to that city whom none can equal, whereupon he steals out of the monastery, disguised as a layman, and taking his saz with him, goes to Tiflis, enters into contest with the new minstrel, and conquering him, saves the honour of his native town.

In 1795 Agha Mohammed Khan laid waste Tiflis and many other towns of that region. His soldiers entered the monastery where Sayat Nova was praying and commanded him to come out and become a Mohammedan if he wished to save his life; but he replied, in verse, that he was an Armenian and would not deny his Christ. He was therefore martyred on the spot. Other poems of his appear on pages 35 (“I have a Word I fain would say”), 14 (“I beheld my Love this Morning”), 110 (“Thou art so Sweet”).

We have given specimens of mediaeval Armenian poetry; we now proceed to indicate in outline its most striking characteristics.

The theme of the Armenian pagan minstrels was the heroic deeds of their country’s history. The adoption of Christianity imparted to Armenian poetry a specific form and tone. At the same time it was the revival of the old Armenian valour, which, strengthened by the circumstances in which the Armenians lived, produced a religious poetry of great purity of feeling, and of a depth and solemnity unequalled by any other poetry of this class.

In the Middle Ages, the poetry gave expression to the love and other emotions of the Armenian poets.

A new poetry of the now Mohammedan Persia written in modern Persian came into being almost simultaneously with the Armenian poetry of the Middle Ages.

Firdusi, Omar Khayyam, Sadi, Hafiz, with a splendid retinue of less famed singers, made Persian the language of verse which, together with Arabic poetry in its earlier stages, no doubt had some influence on the Armenian poets of the Middle Ages; but this influence affected form rather than spirit or character.

Armenian mediaeval poetry does not possess the burning hues of oriental verse, and is perhaps less luxurious, but the grace, charm, ease, and fancy of the Armenian lays are inimitable, and their originality and occasional quaintness are so marked that one feels there is a magic in them. These characteristics are the outcome of the mutual assimilation of eastern and western art, so that the poetry of Armenia, like its language, its art, its Church, stands by itself.

In comparing Armenian with Persian and Arabic poetry, one must remember that the Armenians, as Christians, were not polygamists; and that, to them, marriage was sanctified by the law of God and man. This is what the great Persian poet Sadi says of women: “Choose a fresh wife every spring, or every New Year’s day, for the almanac of last year is good for nothing.” It would have been impossible for any Armenian poet to entertain such an idea as that.

Whereas women are so cheap in the eyes of the Persian poet, Armenian girls endowed with beauty were considered by their parents and the community very precious possessions, to be zealously guarded, as they were in constant danger of attracting the attention of their Mohammedan lords and being forcibly carried off into harems. This fact had the effect of mingling compassion with the Armenian poets’ admiration of a girl’s beauty and made them write more feelingly of women.

It must also be remembered that, whereas Mohammedanism looks upon woman as a soulless being, in the eyes of a Christian she possesses a soul as precious as that of a man.

It is an interesting fact that love poems were written by the clergy, often by ecclesiastics of high position, who, by the law of the Armenian Church, are vowed to celibacy. One explanation of this is that they were born poets, and only regarded love as one among many feelings fitted to be the subject of verse. Their use of the first person is only dramatic.

There are also many folksongs which differ, in style and character, from the love-songs of poets. The spirit of these songs is that of Armenian pagan poems. The following is an example of songs of this class. It describes the adventure of a girl.

“I beheld a youth to-day
As at dawn I walked unheeding,
And the youth stopped on his way,
Struck my cheek, and left it bleeding.
Then my mother questioned me,
‘Who was it that struck you?’ saying,
‘’Twas a thorn, as near the tree
With the roses I was playing.’
‘May the tree turn dry and sear
Which thy pretty cheek left bleeding!’
‘Mother, dear, oh, do not speak,
’Twas a youth that stopped to kiss it.
’Twas for luck he kissed my cheek,
If thou curse him he will miss it!’”

Armenian religious and devotional poetry has characteristics of its own. This class of literature falls into two divisions. In the first division are works of a purely literary character written in old Armenian; in the second, works meant for popular use, written in the language of the people. These latter are written in a more familiar style, proverbs and paraphrases being often introduced, in a picturesque fashion, which appeals to the unlearned.

As an example of the popular class of literature we give an extract from a poem about Gregory the Illuminator, who was cast by King Tiridates into a well infested with serpents and other loathsome creatures:—

“‘Take the saint and put him into the prison where dragon-serpents are assembled.’ They took the saint and put him in the prison where the dragon-serpents were assembled. And the poisonous serpents inclined their tongues in worship. And said: ‘Pity us, O Saint Gregory, and hearken to the complaint of us, dragon-serpents. It is many thousands of years since we drank water from the springs; We have not drunk water from the springs, but only the blood of condemned men. We have eaten no green herbs, but only the flesh of the condemned.’”

The poet goes on to tell how St. Gregory when he came out of the well set free the dragon-serpents in answer to their prayer.

This poem is very old, being written in the fifth or sixth century at the latest. The metre is that of the pagan poets.

We cite here another poem of this class—an allegorical description of Christ on the Cross:—

“A little Bird I saw—a peerless One—
Upon the four-armed Sign, that peer hath none.
O Peerless One, who is like Thee, Thou Peerless One?
Thou alone.

“Its silvery wings were of a matchless white
More brilliant than the sun’s clear, matchless light.
O Matchless One, who is like Thee, Thou Matchless One?
Thou alone.

“Piteous Its voice—a great, transcendent sigh;
Mighty, as Gabriel’s transcendent cry.
Transcendent One, who is like Thee, Transcendent One?
Thou alone.

“Within Its eyes, gem-like, unrivalled tears;
Surpassing those the morn unrivalled wears;
Unrivalled One, who is like Thee, Unrivalled One?
Thou alone.”

A characteristic species of Armenian poetry is the lullaby. There are hundreds of old Armenian cradle-songs which are still sung by mothers to their infants, and they are exquisitely dainty and sweet.

Here are some stanzas from one of these songs:—

“Thou art lovely, feet and all,
Whom wouldst have to be thy playmate?
Hush, the silver moon I’ll call—
The bright star to be thy playmate.

“Crimson rose and petals wide,
Thou hast bloomed, our garden’s pride.
As many suns shine on thy years
As the leaves our garden bears.

“Oror, hush, the deer are here,
The deer have come from the hills so high,
Have brought sweet sleep to my baby dear,
And filled it in his deep, deep eye.”

There are series of Armenian folksongs for every event in life—birth, marriage, death, and so on.

The following is a folksong of death, being the lament of a mother over her dead son:—

“As to-night I walked alone
To the earth my ear inclining,
From the ground I heard a moan,—
My son’s voice I heard repining.
‘Do not leave me in the ground,
With the serpents round me crawling.
“Food in plenty we have found,”
To their young ones they are calling,
“From his ribs we’ll gnaw the flesh,
From his eyes drink water fresh.”’
All the night I found no rest,
I cried out, ‘Give me a knife,
I will plunge it in my breast,
I will have no more of life!’”

Yet another feature of the literature of this period is the contemporary history in verse. We come across metrical narratives of great events written by those who experienced them. There is a long and vivid description in verse, by an eye-witness, of the siege of Constantinople. The poet is Abraham Vardapet.

There are also agricultural and craft songs, which are sung by workmen over their labour.

These songs are adapted to the movements necessitated by each occupation.

Another marked difference between Armenian and Mohammedan literature is that Armenians are entirely free from the fatalism which is a distinctive feature of the Mohammedan view of life.

Sadi relates, in his Gulistan, the story of a fisherman that gives the Mohammedan conception of Fate. This fisherman had caught a fish which his strength did not allow him to drag to shore. Fearing to be drawn into the river himself, he abandoned his line, and the fish swam away with the bait in his mouth. His companions mocked him, and he replied: “What could I do? This animal escaped because his last hour, fixed by fate, was not yet come. Fate governs all, and the fisherman cannot overcome it more than another, nor can he catch fish, if fate is against him, even in the Tigris. The fish itself, even though dry, would not die, if it were the will of fate to preserve its life.” The poet adds: “O man! why shouldst thou fear? If thy hour is not come, in vain would thy enemy rush against thee with his lance in rest: his arms and his feet would be tied by fate, and the arrow would be turned away, though in the hands of the most expert archer.”