"But where, now, are all my people? Far in exile, homeless, lorn. While in widow's weeds and hopeless, Weeping, sit I here and mourn.

"Hear now! while my sons are absent Age-long fast I still shall keep; Till my children gain deliverance, Here I watch and pray and weep."

Silent, then, the mighty Mother Let her swelling tides go free. And in mournful meditation Slowly wandered to the sea.

RAPHAEL PATKANIAN.

* * * * *

THE ARMENIAN MAIDEN

In the hush of the spring night dreaming The crescent moon have you seen, As it shimmers on apricots gleaming, Through velvety masses of green.

Have you seen, in a June-tide nooning, A languorous full-blown rose In the arms of the lilies swooning And yielding her sweets to her foes?

Yet the moon in its course and the roses By Armenia's maiden pale, When she coyly and slowly discloses The glories beneath her veil.

And a lute from her mother receiving, With a blush that a miser would move, She treads a soft measure, believing That music is sister to love.

Like a sapling her form in its swaying, Full of slender and lissomy grace As she bends to the time of her playing, Or glides with a fairy-light pace.

The lads for her beauty are burning, The elders hold forth on old age, But the maiden flies merrily spurning Youth, lover, and matron and sage.

RAPHAEL PATKANIAN.

* * * * *

ONE OF A THOUSAND

Sweet lady, whence the sadness in your face? What heart's desire is still unsatisfied? Your face and form are fair and full of grace, And silk and velvet lend you all their pride. A nod, a glance, and straight your maidens fly To execute your hest with loving zeal. By night and day you have your minstrelsy, Your feet soft carpets kiss and half conceal; While fragrant blooms adorn your scented bower, Fruits fresh and rare lie in abundance near. The costly narghile exerts its power To soothe vain longing and dispel all fear: Envy not angels; you have paradise. No lowly consort you. A favored wife, Whose mighty husband can her wants suffice; Why mar with grieving such a fortunate life?

So to Haripsime, the Armenian maid, On whom the cruel fortune of her lot had laid Rejection of her faith, spake with a sigh The wrinkled, ugly, haggard slave near by.

Haripsime replied not to the words, But, silent, turned her face away. With scorn And sorrow mingled were the swelling chords Of passionate lament, and then forlorn, Hopeless, she raised her tearful orbs to heaven.

Silent her lips, her grief too deep for sound; Her fixed gaze sought the heavy banks of cloud Surcharged with lightning bolts that played around The gloomy spires and minarets; then bowed Her head upon her hands; the unwilling eyes Shed tears as heavy as the thunder-shower That trails the bolt to where destruction lies.

There was a time when she, a happy girl, Had home and parents and a numerous kin; But on an Eastertide, amid a whirl Of pillage, murder, and the savage din Of plundering Kavasses, the Pacha saw Her budding beauty, and his will was law.

Her vengeful sire fell 'neath a sabre's stroke; Her mother, broken-hearted, gave to God The life in which no joys could now evoke The wonted happiness. The harem of the Turk Enfolds Haripsime's fresh maidenhood, And there where danger and corruption lurk, Where Shitan's nameless and befouling brood Surround each Georgian and Armenian pearl, She weeps and weeps, shunning the shallow joys Of trinkets, robes, of music, or the whirl Of joyous dance, of singing girls and boys, And murmurs always in a sobbing prayer, "Shall never help be sent? Is this despair?"

RAPHAEL PATKANIAN.

* * * * *

LONGING

Tell me, brother, where is rest From the flame that racks my breast With its pain? Fires unceasing sear my heart; Ah, too long, too deep, the smart To heal again.

When I'd pluck the roses sweet Sharpest thorns my fingers greet; Courage flies. Since my love has humbled me, Tyrant-like has troubled me, 'Spite my cries. Health and joy have taken flight, Prayer nor chant nor priestly rite Do I prize.

Girl, my girl, my peerless one, Radiant as Armenia's sun, Beautiful Sanan! Earth has none as fair as thou, Nor can ages gone bestow One like my Sanan.

Sixteen summers old is she, Grace of slender pines has she, Like the stars her eyes. Lips, thrice blessed whom they kiss, Brows as dark as hell's abyss, And with sighs, Her heart to win, her love alone, What mighty prince from his high throne Would not descend? So I crave nor crown nor gold, Longed-for One, I her would hold Till time shall end.

RAPHAEL PATKANIAN.

* * * * *

DAVID OF SASSUN

NATIONAL EPOS OF ARMENIA

[Translated by F.B. Collins, B.S.]

* * * * *

DAVID OF SASSUN

Strong and mighty was the Caliph of Bagdad[1]; he gathered together a host and marched against our Holy John the Baptist[2]. Hard he oppressed our people, and led many into captivity. Among the captives was a beautiful maiden, and the caliph made her his wife. In time she bore two sons, Sanassar and Abamelik. The father of these children was a heathen, but their mother was a worshipper of the cross[3], for the caliph had taken her from our people.

[1] From the sense and according to the time in which the action takes place, Nineveh must be understood here; and instead of an Arabian caliph, the Assyrian king Sennacherib. There is an anachronism here, as the reader will see, for a king living 800 years before Christ is called an Arabian caliph, though the caliphs first took up their residence in Bagdad in the year 755.

[2] The reference here is to the famous monastery of St. John the Baptist, which was built by Gregory the Illuminator during the fourth century, on the mountain of Kark, near the Euphrates, on a spot where heathen altars had previously stood. On certain days pious Armenians made annual pilgrimages to the place. Among them many poets and champions, who, with long fasts and many prayers, begged from the saint the gifts of song, strength, and courage. John the Baptist was regarded by the Armenians generally as the protector of the arts.

[3] So the Armenians called Christians.

This same caliph again gathered together a host and fell upon our people. This time—I bow before thy holy miracle, O sainted John—this time our people pressed him sorely, and in his affliction he cried unto his idols: "May the gods save me from these people; bring me to my city safe and well, and both my sons will I sacrifice unto them."

In Bagdad the mother lay sleeping, and she had a dream. She dreamed she had in each hand a lamp, and when their flames seemed ready to go out they flashed up brightly again. When morning came she told this dream to her sons, and said: "Last night holy St. John appeared to me in my dreams and said that your father was in great trouble and had vowed to sacrifice you. When he again comes home he will stab you: look to your safety."

Both sons cried unto their gods, took food with them for their journey, put gold into their purses, and set out on their travels. Coming to a narrow valley they halted there. They saw a river, and in the distance a brook clove the river to mid-stream, then mingled with its waters and flowed onward with it.

And Sanassar said to Abamelik: "He who finds the source of this brook and builds him a dwelling there, his race shall also wax mighty."

The brothers rose with one will and followed the brook upstream. They found its spring and saw its waters flowing as from a small pipe, and they ran down with the brook and increased till they mixed with waters of the great river. Here the brothers halted and laid the foundations of their dwelling.

And Sanassar hunted while Abamelik worked on the house. Ten, yea, twenty days they worked on their dwelling. It happened that once Abamelik came upon Sanassar asleep, worn out with fatigue, his venison thrown away unroasted. Abamelik was much troubled at this, and said, "Rise, brother, and we will depart from this place. How long shall we stay here and eat meat without salt? If it were God's will that we should have happiness, in our father's wooden palace we should have found it." And they mounted their horses and rode to the Lord of Arsrom.[4] Both came thither, presented themselves to him, and bowed before him.

[4] The original name of this city is Theodosiopol. It was founded by the Greek commander Anato in the year 412 A.D. and named in honor of Emperor Theodosius II. Later it was captured by the Sultan of Ikonika, Who named it Arsi-Rom, "Land of the Greeks." The Armenians call it Karin, after the old Armenian province in which it lies.

Now both brothers were mighty men. They found favor with the Emir of Arsrom, and he asked them of their birth and of their tribe, and said, "What manner of men are you?"

Sanassar answered and said, "We are the sons of the Caliph of Bagdad."

"Hoho!" said the Emir, while terror seized him. "We feared you dead, and here we meet you living. We cannot take you in. Go whither ye will."

And Sanassar said to Abamelik, "Since we have run away from our father, why should we bear his name? From this day, when anyone asks us concerning ourselves, let us say we have neither father nor mother nor home nor country: then will people lodge us."

Thence they rode to the Emir of Kars, who gave the lads the same answer. They turned and rode to the King of Kraput-Koch. The King of Kraput-Koch scrutinized the lads, and they found favor in his sight; and Abamelik presented himself to the King and bowed low before him. This pleased the King greatly, and he said: "My children, whither came ye? What have you? and what do you lack?"[5]

[5] Southwest from the Sea of Wan lies a high mountain called Kraput-Koch ("Blue Ridge," from its blue color). Probably there was a dukedom or kingdom of Kraput-Koch which served as a city of refuge for the wandering Assyrian princes. Perhaps the legend has preserved in the person of the King of Kraput-Koch the memory of the Armenian prince Skajordi.

"We have neither father nor mother nor anyone beside," answered the brothers.

And it came to pass that Sanassar became the King's tschubuktschi[6] and Abamelik his haiwatschi,[7] and they lived at the King's house a long time.

[6] Pipe-bearer.

[7] The servant who prepares the coffee.

But Sanassar said one day to Abamelik: "We fatigued ourselves greatly with labor, yet was our house not finished. To-morrow make the King no coffee, nor will I hand him his pipe. Let us not appear before him to-morrow."

When the King awoke, neither of them was near. He called the lads to him and said: "I asked you once if you had anyone belonging to you, either father or mother; and you said you had no one. Why, then, are you so sad?"

And the brothers said: "Live long, O King! In truth, we have neither father nor mother. Even if we hide it from you we cannot hide it from God. We worked a little on a dwelling, but left the work unfinished and came away." And they told the King everything as it was.

The heart of the King was grieved, and he said: "My children, if such is the case, to-morrow I will give you some court servants. Go and finish your house."

Then the King arose and gave them forty servants, skilful workers, and each had a mule and a bridle.

Early in the morning they arose and loaded the beasts with their tools, and the two brothers led them to the dwelling. They travelled on and at last reached the spring and the threshold of their house.

Now Sanassar said to Abamelik: "Brother, shall we build the house first or the huts for the servants? These poor wretches cannot camp out in the sun."

And they began first to make the huts. So strong was Abamelik that he built ten huts every day, while the others brought in wood for their building. In four days they finished forty huts, and then they set about building the house and finished it. They set up stone pillars in rows—so powerful were they—and laid a stone base under them, and the house was made ready.

Abamelik rode to the King of Kraput-Koch and said: "We are thy children. We have built our castle: it is finished, and we come to you and entreat you, 'Come and give our dwelling a name,'" It pleased the King of Kraput-Koch that Abamelik had done this, and he said: "I rejoice that you have not forgotten me."

So the King gave Abamelik his daughter in marriage and made him his close friend. After the wedding the King and the young pair came together at the palace—and Uncle Toross[8] was with them—and they mounted their horses and departed. Abamelik rode before them to point out the way. When they were approaching the castle the King suddenly turned his horse as if to ride back again, and said: "You have given your castle a name and have purposely brought me here to try me."

[8] Probably the King's brother.

Abamelik said: "May your life be long, O master! Believe me, we have given the castle no name. We have but built it and made it ready."

"Very well. It may be that you have given it no name, but as you have set up rows of stone pillars let us call it Sausun or Sassun."[9]

[9] "Sassun" signifies "pillar upon pillar." This explains the origin of the name of Sassun, a district of the old Armenian province Achznik, south of the city of Musch. The residents of this district up to the present day owe their independence to their inaccessible dwelling-place.

Here they remained several days. Uncle Toross was also married and stayed at Sassun, but the King returned home.

And Abamelik was strong and became a mighty man. From the environs of the Black Mountain and the Peak of Zetzinak, from Upper Musch as far as Sechanssar and the Plains of Tschapachtschur,[10] he reigned, and built a wall around his dominions. He made four gates. Often he shut his doors, mounted his horse, and captured whatever came in his way, both demons and beasts of prey. Once he penetrated into Moesr and ravaged it, and he went in to the wife of the Lord of Moesr and lay with her. She bore a son, and the King of Moesr knew that the boy was Abamelik's and named him Moesramelik. But afterward Abamelik slew the King and took his wife and became King of Moesr.[11]

[10] The names cited here exist to the present day. The places lie in the old districts of the Turuberan and Achznik in the present district Musch.

[11] The Armenians now call Egypt Moesr. This probably refers to Mossul.

* * * * *

Now Sanassar dwelt at Sassun, but the gods of his fathers gave him no repose, so he travelled to Bagdad to the home of his father and mother. His father, sitting at his window, saw his son Sanassar come riding up, and recognized him, and the caliph said: "My life to thee, great god! Thou hast brought back thy victim. Certainly in thy might thou wilt restore the second soon."

The mother—she was a Christian—began to weep and shed tears over her children. The father took a sharp sword and went out to meet his son, saying: "Come, my son, let us worship the great god in his temple. I must sacrifice to him."

The son said, "Dear father, your god is great and very wonderful. Truly in the night he permits us no rest. Certainly he will bring the second victim to you by force."

And they went into the temple of the god, and the son said: "Father dear, you know that we left your house when we were yet children, and we knew not the might of your god."

"Yes, yes, my son, but kneel before him and pray."

The son said: "What a wonderful god your god is! When you bowed before your god, there was a darkness before my eyes and I did not see how you did it. Bow once more before him, that I may learn to worship him."

When the father did the second time the son cried: "Bread and wine, the Lord liveth!" and seized his club and hurled the caliph full seven yards distant to the ground. And with his club he shattered all the images where they stood, put the silver in the skirts of his robe and carried it to his mother, saying: "Take this, mother, and wear it for ornament!"

His mother fell full length and bowed herself and said: "I thank thee, Creator of heaven and earth. It is well that thou hast rescued me from the hands of this cruel man."

They found Sanassar a wife and placed him on the throne in his father's place, and he remained at Bagdad.[12]

[12] Here the story of Sanassar breaks off and he is not mentioned again in the tale.

Now Abamelik, who reigned in Moesr, left his son Moesramelik to rule in his stead and went to Sassun. Many years passed and children were born to him. To one he gave the name Tschentschchapokrik. The eldest son he named Zoera-wegi, the second Zenow-Owan; while the third son was called Chor-Hussan,[13] and the youngest David.

[13] All these names are poetic and refer to certain characteristics of their bearers. "Zenow-Owan" means "melodiously-speaking John"; "Chor-Hussan" means "good singer"; "Tschentschchapokrik" means "sparrow"; and "Zoeranwegi," "cowardly Wegi."

Of these, Tschentschchapokrik and Zoeranwegi proved to be ne'er-do-weels. Zenow-Owan had such a voice that he dried seven buffalo hides in the sun and wound them round his body so that it should not rend him. But the cleverest of all was David, and to his strength words cannot do justice.

Abamelik's life was long, but old age came upon him. Once he sat sunk in thought and said to himself: "Enemies are all about me. Who will care for my children after my death? Moesramelik alone can do this, for none beside him can cope with my enemies."

He set out to visit Moesramelik,[14] but he was very aged. "Moesramelik, my son," he said, "you are truly of my blood. If I die before you, I intrust my children to you. Take care of them. If you die first, confide yours to me and I will watch over them."

[14] To Mossul.

He returned and lived in his castle. His time came and he died. Then Moesramelik came and took the children to his house, for he had not forgotten his father's command. Sassun mourned the death of Abamelik for seven years. Then the peasants feasted and drank again with Uncle Toross, for they said: "Uncle Toross, our lads have grown old and our pretty girls are old women. If thou thinkest that by our seven years of weeping Abamelik will live again we would weep seven years longer." Uncle Toross gave the peasants their way, and said: "Marry your lads and maidens. Weeping leads nowhere."

And they sat down and feasted and drank wine. Uncle Toross took a cup in his hand and paused: he was thinking about something, and he neither drank nor set the cup down. His son cries from the street: "Father, dear, there are the mad men of Sassun. Take care, they will be jeering at you. Let us go away."

Uncle Toross turned to his son and said: "Oh, you dog of a son! Shall I sit here and feast? Did not Moesramelik come and take our children away? Abamelik's children in trouble, and I sitting at a banquet? Oh, what a shame it is! Bread and wine, God be praised! Truly, I will drink no wine till I have fetched the little ones." And Uncle Toross went out of Sassun and came to Moesr. He greeted Moesramelik, and they sat down together. Said Uncle Toross: "Now, we are come for God's judgment. It is true that you made an agreement with Abamelik, but if a man sells a captive he should first wait on the lord."[15]

[15] This means that if a captive is to be sold his kinsmen have a right before all others to redeem him.

They arose and went to the court,[16] and Uncle Toross was given the children.

[16] Schariat, the name of the Turkish court of justice, stands in the original.

But Moesramelik stood in fear of these children, and he said to Uncle Toross, "Let these children first pass under my sword, and then take them with you."

Uncle Toross told the lads of this, and Zoeranwegi said, "Let us pass under his sword and escape hence"; and the other two said the same. But David said otherwise: "If he wishes us dead he will not kill us to-day, for the people will say he has murdered the children. Under his sword I will not go. He does this so that I shall not lift my sword against him when I am a man." Uncle Toross got the boys together, that they might pass under the sword of Moesramelik, for he was very anxious. David was rebellious; he stood still and went not under it. Uncle Toross seized his collar and pushed him, but David would not go. He ran past it at one side and kicked with his great toe upon a flint until the sparks flew. And Moesramelik was frightened and said: "This child is still so young and yet is terrible. What will happen when he is a man! If any evil comes to me it will be through him."

Uncle Toross took the children and came to Sassun. Zoeranwegi he established in the castle in his father's place, but David, who was the youngest, was sent out to herd the calves.

What a boy David was! If he struck out at the calves with his oaken stick, he would throw them all down, and forty others beside. Once he drove the calves to the top of the mountain. He found a herdsman there who was abusing his calves, and said: "You fellow! What are you up to? Wait now, if I catch you, you will get something from my oaken stick that will make you cry Ow! ow!"

The fellow answered David: "I am ready to give my life for your head if I am not a shepherd from your father's village. These calves, here, belong to the peasants."

David said, "If that is so, watch my calves also. I know not what time I should drive them home. When the time comes tell me, that I may drive them in."

Then David drove in the calves on time that day, and Uncle Toross was pleased and said: "Always be punctual, my son; go out and come back every day at the right time."

"Uncle Toross, it was not my wisdom that did this. I have hired a comrade who will watch over my calves and see that I am ready with them."

Once his comrade tarried, and David was greatly vexed. It appeared that a religious festival was held in the village, and on this account the young man was detained. Finally he arrived, and David said to him, "To-day you get nothing from me."

The young man said: "David, I am willing to die for you. From fear of your anger, I waited not for the end of the service of God in the church, and not one spoonful of the holy soup[17] has passed my lips. I drove out the calves and am here. Now you know why I tarried."

[17] Although me Armenians became Christians in the fourth century, they still retain many heathen customs which have lost all their original significance. They still sacrifice sheep and cows which have on the previous evening been given some salt consecrated by the priests. The meat is cooked in immense kettles and carried around to the houses. The shepherd speaks of soup of this kind.

David said: "Wait here; I will bring you your dinner."

He set off with his oaken stick over his shoulder. He came to the village, and found that all the people had brought corn to the priests, who blessed it. David stuck his oaken stick through the handle of the four-handled kettle, and, full as it was, lifted it to his shoulder and walked away. The priests and the peasants wondered at it, and one cried, "Truly, he has carried off a kettle!"

A priest cried out, "For God's sake, be silent! It is one of those mad men of Sassun. Take care or he will come back and break our ribs for us. May he take the thing and fall down with it!"

And David took the kettle of grits to his comrade, whom he found weeping on the mountain.

"Ha, ha," said David, "I know why you weep. I have brought the grits, but have forgotten butter and salt. That is why you weep. Eat the grits now, and have salt and butter this evening."

But the youth said. "David, I am ready to die for you, What need have I of salt and butter; forty thieving Dews have come and driven away our calves."

David said, "Stay here and watch these calves, and I will bring back all the others"; and he went after the calves. He followed their tracks to the entrance of a cave and paused. He cried out with so loud a voice that the Dews were frightened, and were as full of fear as is the devil when Christ's voice is heard in hell.

And when the leader of the Dews heard the voice he said: "That is surely David, Abamelik's son. Go receive him with honor, else he will strike us dead."

They went out, one by one, and David struck each as he passed with his oaken cudgel, so that their heads fell off and only dead bodies remained in the place. He cut off the ears of all the forty and buried them under a stone at the mouth of the cave.

He laid down his club and entered the cave. There he saw a heap of gold and a heap of silver—indeed, all the treasures of the world. Since his father's death they had robbed and concealed their plunder in this cavern. He opened a door, and saw a steed standing fastened to a ring. David was sunk in thought, and said to himself: "Uncle dear, this property belongs to you, but this beast to me. If you give it to me—good. If not, you travel after those other fellows." Then he answered for Uncle Toross: "My child, the treasure and the beast should belong to you. What shall I do with them?"

He looked around and saw upon a pyre a copper kettle with four handles, and in it were his forty calves. He stuck his oaken stick through the handles and raised the kettle, poured off the water, pushed the calves' feet back into the kettle, lifted it to his shoulder, and went back to his comrade.

The two drove the rest of the herd into the village, and David called the owners to him and said: "If you deceive my brother a hair's breadth in the reckoning it will go badly with you. Sell this kettle. May it repay you for your calves."

He separated his own calves from the peasants', and went home. It was then midday. He said to Uncle Toross: "Take quickly twenty asses and we will go out and bring back treasure that shall suffice you and your children till the seventh generation."

And they took the asses and set forth. When they reached the cavern, Uncle Toross saw the bodies of the Dews stretched near the entrance, and they were swelled up like hills. In great fright Uncle Toross loosed his ass from the others and fell back.

David said: "You destroyer! I fled not before them living, but you fear them dead! If you believe me not, turn back and raise this stone. I concealed all their ears there."

Uncle Toross came back and took the asses, and they went into the cave. They made a pack of all the treasure and carried it away with them. David said: "All this treasure belongs to you, but the steed is mine. If you will not give it to me, you shall follow after them."

He answered: "My child, the horse and the treasure too are yours. What should I do with it?"

Uncle Toross let David mount the steed. He gave him the spurs and he bucked to right and left. This was no ordinary steed—the difficulties of managing him cannot be described.

They returned to Sassun with the treasure. David procured a beautiful falcon and rode off to hunt. The calves he had long ago given over.

Once, as he hunted, he rode across the soil of a poor man, whose family numbered seven heads, and the man had seven beds of millet. Four beds he laid waste, and three remained. Someone ran with the news to the old graybeard and said: "You are ruined. Go at once to your field, for before night he will destroy the other three beds."

The graybeard rose early and went out and saw his field was laid waste. He glanced about and saw David coming with a falcon on his hand. The graybeard cursed David and said: "Dost thou not fear God? Dost thou test thy strength on my grain-field? I have seven mouths to fill, and seven millet beds. Four thou hast destroyed, and three remain! If you are brave, go and get back your inheritance that extends from the summit of Mount Zoezmak as far as Sechanssar. Moesramelik has taken it from you and draws wealth from it Go and get it back. Why try your strength on me?"

But David answered: "Old man, curse me not. Here is a handful of gold—use it." And as he said it he killed his falcon.

David returned home and said: "Uncle Toross, go and bring me my father's staff and bow. I am going to make war, for others consume my inheritance and none of you have said anything about it to me."

Uncle Toross arose and demanded of Zoeranwegi in David's name the staff and bow of Abamelik, but Zoeranwegi refused it. David sent a second time, saying: "If you give it to me, good. If not, I will see to it that your head flies off and only your body remains."

Zoeranwegi was frightened, and surrendered the bow and baton, and Uncle Toross brought them to David. And David fell asleep and dreamed. The next day he took forty calves and went to holy Maratuk,[18] where he slaughtered the forty calves and bathed in their blood. Then he fell on his face and prayed and wept until God sent from heaven a sacred sign and a token. Even now the holy sign is to be found in Hawar at the house of Sork. David kissed the holy sign and put it under the right shoulder, and the token under the left.

[18] Maratuk is a monastery built on a mountain of the same name.

Moesramelik knew that David, Abamelik's son, was come into manhood, and he gathered together a host to march against him. And he appointed a holbaschi,[19] who prepared his army and attacked David at Maratuk. He met on the march seven women, and said to them, "Sing and dance until I return," and they answered: "Why shall we dance and sing? We know not what we should say."

[19] This Turkish title shows that the legend has been altered at a late date.

And Holbaschi sang for them:

"May the little women busy themselves grinding corn; May the stout women help with the camel-loading; For Holbaschi carries grim war to Sassun. Strong yoke-oxen and red milch-cows he'll bring back In the springtime; butter and Tochorton Will be plentiful in the Land of Moesr."

Holbaschi saw the women begin dancing and singing, and started his host again and went to Maratuk and entered its gates. The daughter of the priest of Maratuk had often glanced slyly at David, and he was not indifferent to her. The priest's daughter went to David and said: "David, I am ready to die for you! Arise and see how many warriors are congregated in the courtyard."

When she had spoken she went out and closed all the gates from without. David stretched himself and cried: "Bread and wine, the Lord liveth!" and began to knock off the heads of the men of war. He beheaded them so that the bodies flew over the walls and the heads remained lying in the court. And he laid hold of Holbaschi, and tore out his teeth and drove them into his brow like nails. And he bent his lance till it curved like a dog's collar and put it around his neck. "Now," he said, "take yourself off and tell all to Moesramelik. If people still remain in his country let him herd them together before I come."

Holbaschi met the women a second time, and they were singing and dancing. And one of them sang:

"Holbaschi, dear Holbaschi, went hence like a cruel wolf, Why come you back to us like a hunting dog? Your lance lies on your neck like a dog's collar, Thy mouth gapes like an open window, And slime flows out like curdled milk from a skin;[20] And whole caravans of flies buzz round it."

[20] In Armenia, as is usual in the East, they make butter out of curdled milk; and for this reason the vessel is always covered with scum.

And Holbaschi sang:

"Oh, you shameless, worthless hussies, I thought that Sassun was a free field. Think not that only rocks and clefts opposed me. There new-born children are fierce devils, Their arrows like beams of the oil-mill; And like windows they tear out the mouths of their enemies. All the brave lads who went with me Are fallen in Charaman.[21] In the spring its waters will bring you booty, Then your butter and cheese can be made."

[21] A valley near Musch.

Now David armed himself and marched against Moesramelik. He found a great host assembled and encamped near Sechanssar.[22]

[22] Literally, a table-like mountain.

David said: "I promise thee not to give battle till I have eaten rice pillau in the green and red tent," and he urged his horse forward and appeared suddenly from the west in front of the tent. Great fright possessed the army when they perceived this rider, and Melik said, "What manner of man art thou?"

"I am the son of a western king, and I have come to help you."

Melik pitched a tent for him, and they ate together seven days. On the eighth day David mounted his horse, rode twice before Moesramelik's tent, and said: "Now, come out, I want to fight you. How long, Moesramelik, are you going to encroach upon my inheritance?" And David cried: "Bread and wine, God lives!" and fighting began on all sides.

Uncle Toross heard of the combat. He tore up a poplar by its roots, threw it across his shoulder, and set out. He halted at the upper end of the valley in which the fight was going on. If anyone crept away David shouted: "Dear Uncle Toross, chase him back into the valley and I will be ready for him!"

At last the army began to murmur: "Let them struggle hand to hand. He who overpowers the other has conquered."

Then said one of them. "Sit down, that I may slay you with my club," and the other said: "No, you sit down." At last they agreed that David, being the youngest, should sit, So he put his shield over his head, laid under it the holy cross, and sat down. Moesramelik made an onset from three leagues, burst upon him, and assailed him with a club, saying, "Earth thou art, be earth again!"

David said: "I believe in the high and holy cross of Maratuk. It is to me as if I were still eating rice pillau under the red and green tent."

Moesramelik sprung upon him three times, struck him with his club, and said: "Earth thou art, be earth again!" and David replied only, "I believe in the high and holy cross of Maratuk."

Then came Moesramelik's turn to sit down, and he was stubborn and would not. But the army reproached him and put his shield over his head, and he sat down. Then came Moesramelik's mother, and began to ask mercy, saying: "David, I am ready to die for you! Is he not thy brother? Slay him not; have pity on him!"

"O shameless woman! When he struck me, thou saidst not, 'Is he not thy brother!' But, may your wish be granted! One blow I will give up for God's sake, the second for your sake, but the third belongs to me, and when I strike either he dies or lives!"

David rode back and forward again, and seizing his club hurled Moesramelik seven yards deep into the earth. Then he ravaged Moesr and ascended the throne.

* * * * *

The Emir[23] of Kachiswan had a daughter, and her name was Chandud-Chanum.[24] Chandud-Chanum heard of David's valor, and gave gifts to a bard and said to him: "Go, sing to David of my beauty, that he may come hither and we may love each other."

[23] "Emir," in the eyes of the orientals, is almost the same as "king."

[24] "Chandud" is a woman's name. "Chanum" means "lady."

The bard went to Sassun, for he thought David was there. He came to Sassun and entered Zoeranwegi's castle, thinking David lived in it, and sat down and began to sing to Zoeranwegi. Zoeranwegi cried: "Go. Club him and hunt him forth. He thinks to bring David hither by cunning!"

They set upon the singer, dragged him to the valley, and threw him into the road. In the evening the shepherds returned on their oxen to the village. An ox became wild, and the herdsman fell off, and seeking the cause he found the bard, who wept and lamented and asked the herdsman:

"Which of the brothers lives in that castle?"

The shepherd answered: "Here lives Zoeranwegi; yonder, in Moesr, David."

And the bard gave a piece of gold to the shepherds, and they gathered up the pieces of his broken tambur[25] and pointed out his way to him. He went and sang of Chandud-Chanum's beauty before David. David rewarded him richly, and said, "Go before, I will come," and the singer went and told all to Chandud-Chanum.[26]

[25] An instrument like a guitar.

[26] The song in which the bard praises the beauty of Chandud-Chanum is wanting. A certain carelessness is seen generally in the rest of the narrative.

David departed straightway and went by way of Sassun and the Heights of Zoezmak. He found a plough[27] standing in his way. He freed the oxen, seized the plough-chain, mounted his horse, and dragged the plough down. And it fell from the summit of the Black Mountain plump into the aqueduct of the village of Marnik.

[27] The Armenians use, in ploughing, a kind of plough which is drawn by from five to ten pairs of buffaloes or oxen.

He drew on and perceived that a buffalo had got loose and run along the road and left its dung there. David looked at the dung and said: "If evil befalls me he is guilty of it who left the dung there; if not, it is also his work that it befalls me not."

From a side-path appeared a buffalo, and David had never seen the like before. He lifted his club to slay him when from the opposite side a shepherd came and began to scold the buffalo. David thought the shepherd was scolding him and said, "Fellow, what have I done to you that you rail at me?"

The shepherd answered: "Who are you? Ah, you are a Sassun brawler who has seen nothing of the world! I spoke to my buffalo."

"Don't be angry, youngster! It is a shame, indeed, that in my country I have never seen the like. Are there many such creatures in these parts?"

The shepherd said, "Come, and I will show you."

And they went to the field of Ausut, where the peasants hitched their buffaloes and drove them. David found the buffaloes with tongues lolling from the heat as they drew the plough. David felt pity for them; he unhitched them and drove them to the pond.

The ploughman began to curse him, and he said: "Ploughman, curse me not; only give me the chain into my hand."

He seized the chain and began to draw; the ploughman guided the plough and David ploughed nine furrows. Then the shepherd said to David: "That is not thy strength. Leave thy horse and then draw. We shall see whether it is thine or thy horse's strength."

David left his horse and ploughed nine furrows alone.

The shepherd then said to David: "It is already noon. Come now and eat, then thou canst go on thy way!"

David answered: "No, I will ride on. Thy children want to eat, and if I come nothing will remain for them."

However, they sat down and when the dinner was set out David crumbled all the bread and the vessels all at once, and the shepherd said: "Here, hide yourselves or he will devour us also."

David said: "Surely, brother, he who drags the plough must eat bread. How could it be otherwise?"

And he went his way to the city where Chandud-Chanum dwelt.

* * * * *

David came to the gates of the castle where Chandud-Chanum lived—to the place where all her suitors came to woo. He saw a youth standing near the door with a club in his hand, David said: "Ha, my lad, what do they call you?"

"My name is Gorgis."

"Gorgis!" said David. "When I marry Chandud-Chanum you shall be godfather! Now, Godfather Gorgis, who is in the house?"

"Matchmakers from the giants—Schibikan of Chorassan and Hamsa of Lori."

David said, "Take my horse and fasten him." And he took his horse and tied him.

Then David asked: "What kind of a club have you? Show it me."

David took the club and threw it into the air with such force that it is whirring till this very day. Then he said, "Godfather Gorgis, let us go in and eat and drink."

They went in, and David sat down, for he was tired and hungry, and every matchmaker, one after the other, handed David a cup of wine. David lost patience and seized the wine-pitcher and emptied it in one draught, saying, "Now say only what is well for you!"

The wine made David drunk, and when he let his head fall the matchmakers drew their swords to strike him, but when he raised his head they concealed their swords. They began this again when Godfather Gorgis called out: "Think not that you are in Georgia! No, this is a dangerous country." And when David heard him he said, "Now stand bravely at the door!"

The matchmakers sprang up and as they ran each gave Gorgis a box on the ear and escaped. David then turned to Gorgis and said: "Where can I see Chandud-Chanum?"

"In the garden of the King," Gorgis answered. "To-day is Friday and she will be there. Before her walk twenty slaves, and twenty walk behind her. We will go to-day and see her there."

So Gorgis and David went thither and concealed themselves behind the garden wall and waited. The slaves passed by one after another, and, when Chandud-Chanum came, David put his arm around her neck and kissed her three times. Chandud-Chanum said not a word. He kissed her again. Chandud-Chanum seized him by the collar and threw him against the wall so that the blood gushed from his nose.

David was angry and was going to mount his horse. "Godfather Gorgis," he said, "lead out my horse. I will destroy the city and depart."

Gorgis began to plead: "I pray you, put it off till morning. It is dark now. At daybreak arise and destroy the city and depart."

David lay in bed and could not sleep from anger. "Would it were dawn that I might rise and destroy the city and get away from here," he thought to himself.

Chandud-Chanum was still walking in the garden. A lame slave came to her and said: "Thy walk will end sadly. Take care, David is going to destroy the city and depart."

She took the cloth in which her evening meal had been brought, and wrapped her head in it. She turned and went straightway into the castle where David was and knocked at his door.

David said: "What insolent people live here! They will not wait till morning, but say, 'Arise, destroy the city and be off!'"

Gorgis arose and looked out of the window and said, "These are women, not men," and they opened the door.

Chandud-Chanum came to David and said: "You kissed me first for the fatigue of your journey, a second time for yourself, and a third time for God's sake. Why did you kiss me a fourth time? You are the son of your father and I am the daughter of mine. It has been said: Take to yourself a wife that you may have a son who is like his uncle. Do you think you have brought me the heads of the giants Hamsa of Lori and Schibikan of Chorassan, that you kiss me a fourth time?"

David's heart softened and he said: "If that is so I will go out at daybreak and bring you their heads." Then he added: "Very well, I go; if they are stronger than I they will kill me. For God's sake come and seek my body. On the right hand I have a birth-mark—a cross—by that you shall know me. Bring my body back and bury it."

So David set out. The giants perceived a rider coming, for the dust from his horse's hoofs rose to heaven: "This rider comes to fight with us. Perhaps he is of the race of Sergo."[28]

[28] Sergo-Sarkus (Sergius) so the Kurds called the Christians, regarding them as descendants of St. Sergius, who is very popular among the Armenians of Wan and Musch.

They called to him, saying: "Ho, fellow! who are you, and whence come you? Do you know Chandud-Chanum? Will you take this ring to her?"

David said: "Certainly I know her, but I have come to take your heads to the Princess Chandud. I know nothing about your rings!"

The eyebrows of Schibikan of Chorassan hung down over his breast and he fastened them across his back. Hamsa of Lori had an underlip so long that it reached the ground and swept it.

David and the giants began to hack and hew each other and they fought with clubs and bows until night. David cried: "I believe in the high and holy cross of Maratuk," and took his sword and cut both their heads off. He bound their hair together and hung them across his horse like saddle bags and their tongues furrowed the ground like a plough.

David rode away with their heads and had already traversed half the way when he saw approaching him, riding between heaven and earth, a rider, who called out to him! "Do you think you have conquered the giants Schibikan and Hamsa?" The rider sprang behind David and struck at him with a club. He crawled under the saddle and the club struck the stirrup and tore it loose, and it fell to the ground. David sprang out from under the saddle and cried: "Bread and wine, as the Lord liveth!" and swung his club over his enemy. The enemy dodged the blow, but his hair fell away from his face. David looked and recognized Chandud-Chanum; she had disguised herself and had come to meet him.

"O shameless woman!" David said. "You would disgrace me a second time."

They rode together into Chandud-Chanum's city. They arrived and dismounted and called Chandud-Chanum's father. David said to him: "Will you give me your daughter for a wife?"

Her father said: "I will not give her to you. If you will marry her and live here, I will give her to you. If you must take her away, I will not give her. How can I do otherwise? I have enemies all around me; they will destroy my city."

And David said: "I will marry her and stay here. I will not take her away."

So they were married and celebrated the wedding, feasting seven days and seven nights.

The time passed by unheeded, and when nine months, nine days and nine hours had passed, God sent them a son.

And David said to Chandud-Chanum: "If this child is mine, he must have a mark—he will show great strength." They put the child in swaddling-clothes, but instead of bands they bound him with plough-chains. He began to cry and stir in his cradle and the chain snapped into pieces.

They sent word to David: "The youngster is a stout fellow. He has broken the chains. But one of his hands seems hurt. He clenches his fist, and no one can open it."

David came and sat down, looked at the hand and opened it. In the hand he found a little lump of clotted blood. "The whole world is to him as a drop of blood, and he will hold it in his hand. If he lives he will do wonderful deeds."

Then they christened the boy and gave him the name of Mcher.

Time passed and the boy grew fast, and David left him in Kachiswan with his grandparents, and took Chandud-Chanum with him to Sassun. The men of Chlat[29] heard David's coming and they assembled an army, built a rampart, formed their wagons into a fortress, and began to give battle. When Chandud-Chanum sent her lance against the wall she shattered it and the wagons flew seven leagues away. Then David went forward and drove the fighters away, saying to them: "Ye men of Chlat! what shameless people ye be! Ye wage war on women! Let me but take my wife to Sassun and I will come back, and we will fight it out."

[29] The city of Chlat (Turkish "Achlat") lies northwest of the Sea of Wan. In olden times it was famous for its splendor, its high walls, and its citadel. The inhabitants had been injured by David's father and wished to avenge themselves.

But the men of Chlat believed him not. "Swear to us by the holy cross you carry; then we will believe you," said they.

David touched the token with his hand as he thought, but the cross was there and he knew it not, and the power of the cross was that no one could swear by it.

He took Chandud-Chanum to Sassun. Here he first knew that he had sworn on the cross, for he found the cross lying at his left shoulder where the token had been.

"Now it will go badly with me," said David. "Whether I go or whether I stay, it will go badly with me. And I must go."

He advanced, therefore, to give battle, and the men of Chlat pressed him sorely. His horse was caught in the reedy marsh of Tschechur.[30] With difficulty he crawled out of the bog and reached the waters of the Lochur.[31]

[30] A marsh at the outlet of the Kara-Su, a tributary of the Euphrates.

[31] A small river which empties into the Sea of Wan not far from Chlat.

Once Abamelik had lingered at the house of Ibraham Aga, and forcibly entered the sleeping-room of his wife. Her name was Schemschen-Chanum. She had borne a daughter to Abamelik, who was now an ardent Mahometan. This daughter took up her bow and arrows and concealed herself on the sloping river-bank. When David bathed in the waters of Locher she shot him, assassin-like, with an arrow in the back. David arose and made a great outcry and his voice sounded even up to Sassun. Zoenow-Owan, Chorassan, Uncle Toross, Tschoentschchapokrik, and Zoeranwegi came together, for they heard the voice of David. And Zoenow-Owan called to him from Sassun, "We are coming."

And they went forth to help David, who heard in the water the voice of his kinsmen. They came to the river and found David, who said: "Zoenow-Owan, she seemed frightened at our calling. Go and find her."

And they sought and found the blue-eyed maiden. David seized her by one foot, trod on the other, tore her in pieces, and threw her into the village at the foot of the mountain. From this deed he named the village Tschiwtis-Tschapkis.[32] The village lies at the mouth of the Tschechur and is called Tschapkis to this day.

[32] Literally, "I will tear in pieces and scatter."

The brothers took David with them and moved on to Sassun. And after four days David died, and his brothers mourned for him. They went to Chandud-Chanum to console her and wish her long life; but Chandud-Chanum said, "Ah, me, after David's death I am but the subject of your scorn."

And Tschoentschchapokrik said: "Chandud-Chanum, weep not, weep not. David is dead, but my head is still whole."

Chandud-Chanum climbed the tower and threw herself down. Her head struck a stone and made a hole in it, and into this hole the men of Sassun pour millet and grind as the people of Moesr do; and every traveller from Moesr stops there before the castle to see the stone.

The brothers came to see the body of Chandud-Chanum, and they pressed on her breasts and milk flowed therefrom. They said: "Surely she has a child! If there is a child it must be in Kachiswan."[33] And they set out for Kachiswan and said to the governor: "A child of our brother and sister-in-law lives here. Where is it?"

[33] The small city of Kagisman, not far from Kars.

"It is not here."

"We have a sign. In the breast of our sister-in-law was milk."

Then the governor said: "She had a daughter, but it is dead."

"We have a test for that also—for our dead. The grave of one dead one year is one step long, of one dead two years, two steps long, and so on."

They went to the church-yard and found not a single grave which stood their test.

Zoenow-Owan said: "Bind leather bands about me. I will cry out."

The truth was, they had dug a cellar for Mcher underground, and hid him there and watched over him.

The brothers bound Zoenow-Owan about the body and he cried out. Mcher knew his voice and would have gone to him, but his grandmother said to him: "That is not the voice of thy kinsman. It is the noise of children and the beating of drums."

When Mcher heard the voice for the third time he beat down the door and went out. One door destroyed the other. By a blow of his fist he sent the first door against the second, the second against the third, and so all seven doors were shattered.

Mcher saw his uncles from afar, but his father was not there. He asked, and his uncle told him the men of Chlat had slain his father. He fell upon his face and wept, and as he lay there his uncles wished to lift him, but exert themselves as they would they could not move him.

The tears of Mcher furrowed the earth and flowed like a river. After three days he arose, mounted his father's horse, and rode to Chlat. He circled the town and destroyed it—as it is even to this day. Then he ascended the mountain Memrut[34] and saw the smoke of the ruins grow ever denser. Only one old woman remained alive. He seized her, and, bending two trees down, bound her feet to the trees and let them loose. And thus he killed her. Since then no smoke ascends from Chlat.

[34] A high mountain not far from Chlat northwest of the Sea of Wan. Many interesting legends about it exist. Haik, the ancestor of the Armenian Nimrod, is said to be buried here.

Mcher permitted his uncles to return to their own dwelling-places and himself rode toward Tosp.

Men say he is still there, and they show his house, and even now water flows from the rocks for his horse.

On Ascension-night the door of Mcher's rock opens. But it is decreed that he shall not go out: the floor holds him not, his feet sink into the earth.

Once on Ascension-night a shepherd saw Mcher's door open, and the shepherd entered. Mcher asked him: "By what occupation do you live?"

"By brains," said the shepherd.

Then Mcher said: "We shall see what kind of brains you have! Take the nose-bag of my horse and hang it around his neck."

The shepherd tried with all his might, but could not lift the bag. He led the horse to the bag, opened it, and put the straps around the horse's neck. The horse raised his head and lifted the bag. The shepherd led him back to his place and said, "That is the sort of brains by which we live in the world."

Then the shepherd said, "Mcher, when will you leave this place?"

Mcher answered: "When plum-trees bear wheat and wild-rose bushes barley, it is appointed I shall leave this place."

And three apples fell down from heaven—one for the story-teller, one for the hearer, and the other for the whole world.

* * * * *

THE RUINED FAMILY

BY

GABRIEL SUNDUKIANZ

[Translated by F.B. Collins, B.S.]



DRAMATIS PERSONAE

OSSEP GULABIANZ, a merchant. SALOME, his wife. NATO, his daughter. CHACHO, Ossep's aunt. GEWO, a merchant, Ossep's friend. ALEXANDER MARMAROW, a young official. BARSSEGH LEPROINK, a merchant. KHALI, his wife. MOSI, Leproink's relative. MICHO, shop-boy at Leproink's. DARTSCHO, clerk at Leproink's. MARTHA, Salome's friend.

Guests, an executor, his secretary, creditors, witnesses, and several servants.

The scene is Tiflis. The first and third acts take place in Ossep's house, the second in Barssegh's.

THE RUINED FAMILY

ACT I

Well-furnished room with open door in centre and ante-room behind. To the left in foreground a window looking out upon a garden. To the right a sofa, in front of which is a table. To the left a tachta[35] with a ketscha[36] and several mutakas.[37] A side door.

[35] Broad, low sofa.

[36] Carpet.

[37] Long, round pillows.



SCENE I

Salome. Chacho.

SALOME [from back of stage]. You're welcome. Come, come, I beg of you. Dear aunt, how can I thank you for taking the trouble to come here!

CHACHO [covered by a tschadra[38] enters from the right of the ante-chamber]. Good-morning! [Taking off the tschadra.] Why did you send for me in such haste? [Gives one end of the tschadra to Salome.

[38] A long veil, covering the head and upper part of the body.

SALOME [taking hold of one end of the tschadra]. Dear aunt, I am in such a desperate mood that if someone were to pierce my heart not a drop of blood would flow. [While she is speaking they fold the tschadra.

CHACHO. So it seems that it cannot be managed?

SALOME. How could it be managed, dear aunt? They insist upon having 8,000 rubles. Ossep will not give so much. You know what a miser he is!

CHACHO. Yes, he is really odd.

SALOME. But, dear aunt, God would surely not allow an affair like this to come to nothing for the sake of 2,000 rubles. What, am I to let a man of such social position and such brilliancy escape me?

CHACHO. Great heaven, how can anyone be so obstinate!

SALOME. That is just why I begged you to come to us. Speak to Ossep about it, and perhaps your words will soften him.

CHACHO. I will talk with him; yes, indeed, I will talk to him. We cannot neglect a matter of such importance, my child. [Lays the tschadra under the tachta covering the ketscha and sits down on it.] Great heaven, how sore the pavement has made my feet!

SALOME [seating herself on a chair]. May God reward you, dear aunt! May the Holy Mother be a protectress for your children as you are now for my Nato.

CHACHO. Is not Nato my child also? Is she a stranger to me? I am altogether charmed with her beautiful form. But where is the child? Is she not at home?

SALOME. Yes, certainly; she is dressing. You understand, dear aunt, how you are to talk to him? Perhaps you will succeed with him. They expect the final answer to-day; this morning the young man's sister was here, and she may be here again any minute.

CHACHO. Don't be afraid, dear child. Calm yourself. Where is Ossep? What does he think about it?

SALOME. He is busy, but he will be here directly. He says, and insists upon it, that he will allow our daughter to marry no one but a business man.

CHACHO. He is right, my child; a good business man is worth much. Yes; is not one who has money in his pockets the best?

SALOME. Oh, how you talk! What business man is to be compared with Alexander Marmarow! Is there any business man worthy to untie his shoe-strings? His politeness alone is worth more than ten business men. Lately he honored us with a visit, and I was so fascinated with his manners! and beside he is still young; is handsome; is educated; has a good position and a good salary and will advance every day—everybody says so. Perhaps some day he will be governor.

CHACHO. That is all very well, dear Salome; but if the thing cannot be done, what then? One must submit, to some extent, to the head of the family. A good business man never suffers from hunger, and lives without wanting anything. I don't know what has gotten into your heads. Officials! always officials!

SALOME. You speak well, dear aunt, but Nato would not marry a business man at any price. I would thank God if she would. Would I be so stupid as not to be glad of it? The deuce take these times! This comes of too much study: the girls now mind neither father nor mother!

CHACHO. Yes; how the world has changed! The streams and the hills are the same, but the people are different! But, by the way, Salome, do you know what I have heard? They say that Leproink is trying for him also; is that true?

SALOME. Yes, yes, dear aunt, a lot of go-betweens go to his house. But God will surely not let a man like that become his son-in-law while my daughter is left to become the wife of a shopkeeper.

CHACHO. Who would have believed that this Barssegh would have worked himself up like that! Yet God be praised! Perhaps it is the times that bring it about. Yesterday or the day before he was a shop-boy at Basaschoma,[39] and now! I can picture him as he was then! He wore a tschocha[40] of green camelot with a narrow purple belt. The wadding stuck out at his elbows and his boots were mended in four places. Great piles of goods were loaded on the poor devil's shoulders. Many a time, with the yardstick in one hand, he came to our houses with whole pieces of calico and got a few pennies from us for his trouble. And now he is a man of some importance! Many's the time we gave him a cuff and sent him back and forth with his goods. And, Salome, do you know that he lied? God save us from such lies! But what could he do? One would die of hunger, to be sure, if one always told the truth.

[39] A bazaar in Tiflis.

[40] A long overcoat.

SALOME. Yes, yes, dear aunt, it is the same Barssegh—whom they all call "Wassil Matwejitsch" now.

CHACHO. What! have they turned Mathus, his father, into Matjewitsch? Who is good enough for them now? Many a time has the cobbler, Mathus, mended my shoes. His workshop was in the Norasch quarter. O good heavens, the world is upside down!



SCENE II

NATO [entering at right]. Mamma! O aunt, are you here, too? [Hugs her and kisses her.

CHACHO. O my only treasure! [Kisses her.] How fresh and pretty you are! Where are you going? Are you going out when I have just come?

NATO. What are you saying, dear aunt? I will come back again immediately. I am only going to make a few purchases at the bazaar. [Turning to Salome] Dear mamma—— [They begin to speak together in a low tone.

CHACHO [aside]. Yes, yes, her father is right! [Aloud.] I will go and see what the children are doing [trying to rise]. Come here, you pretty rogue, and give me your hand. I feel exhausted. [Nato helps her.

SALOME [offering her hand]. Let me help you, too.

CHACHO. May God give you health and a life as long as mine! [To Nato:] O my heart's angel—if only I have my wish and see you wear the bridal wreath!

SALOME. God grant it, dear aunt!

CHACHO. He will, he will, my child! [Going toward the entrance.] Good heaven! how old I have grown! [Goes out at the left.



SCENE III

NATO. Don't keep me waiting, mamma.

SALOME. And won't a little less satisfy you? Why do you want so much all of a sudden?

NATO. But, dear mamma, please; I want it so much!

SALOME [putting her hand in her pocket]. I can never get away from you. [Takes out her purse and looks for something in it.

NATO [holding out her hand]. You have it there, mamma.

SALOME. Have a little patience. [Takes out some money and gives it to her.] Take it! take it! though I know your father will scold about it.

NATO. But what can I do, when I need it so badly?

SALOME. Need it—nonsense! There is no end of your needs. [Pulling at Nato's hat.] How have you put your hat on again? And the flowers are all pulled apart. [Arranges it.

NATO. Bah! what difference does that make?

SALOME. You're crazy! [Removes her veil.] How have you put on your veil? I must ever and eternally fix something on you!

NATO. You will make me too beautiful, mamma.

SALOME. Whether I make you beautiful or not, it will make no difference. You will be only the wife of a merchant.

NATO. Yes, yes, I have been expecting that!

SALOME. And you really think that your father will ask you?

NATO. And whom should he ask?

SALOME. Think what you will; he will not let his decision be altered by you. He says, "I will give her only to a business man."

NATO. Yes, yes, surely.

SALOME. By heaven!

NATO. Mamma, is what you say true?

SALOME. As true as the sun shines above you. He spoke of it again to-day.

NATO. It is decided, then?

SALOME. What am I to do if there is no other way out? You know we have not any too much money.

NATO. And you are going to make a shopkeeper's wife of me, so that everyone will laugh at me [ready to cry]; so that I shall be an object of scorn for all. And why have you had me so well educated? Have I learned Russian and French and piano-playing for a man of that sort? What does a shopkeeper want of a piano? Pickle-jars and butter-tubs are useful to him, but not my French! I am curious as to how he would speak to me: Moi aller, vous joli tu voir.

SALOME. Enough! enough! you wild girl!

NATO [crying]. It is out of the question, mamma. No, not for the world could I marry a business man! I will not have one! I would rather jump into the water than marry one! [Crying, she gives the money back.] Take it back! What do I need it for now? Why should I go out and make purchases? For whom, then? [Takes off her mantle, flings her parasol aside, sits down on the sofa and begins to cry.

SALOME. O great heaven! is this not torture? I get it on both sides. [Turning to Nato:] Be still, you stupid girl!

NATO. For this I have learned so much; for this you have brought me up so grandly and given yourself so much trouble and care! [Weeping.] Is he, also, to take me walking on the boulevard? Is he to accompany me to the club and to the theatre? [Sobbing.

SALOME. Be quiet! Enough! Give yourself no unnecessary heartache.

NATO [jumps up and embraces Salome]. Dear, dear mamma! dearest mamma, save me!

SALOME. Oh, rather would your mother be dead than to see this day!

NATO. Dear mamma, save me! save me, or I shall go into consumption! God is my witness!

SALOME [weeping]. The deuce take everything! [Wipes away her tears.

NATO. Mamma, if you please, I would rather not marry at all. I will serve you here at home like a housemaid. Only make them stop this affair!

SALOME. That has already happened, my child.

NATO. Dear mamma, please do it.

SALOME. But I tell you, truly.

NATO. Is it really true?

SALOME. As true as the sun shines.

NATO [kissing Salome]. O my dear, dear mamma!

SALOME. At last I am rid of you. Your eyes are real tear-fountains. It would not have taken much more to make me cry, too.

NATO [laughing]. Ha! ha! ha!

SALOME. You can laugh now.

NATO. Ha! ha! ha! you gave me such a fright!

SALOME. You are terribly flighty. [Presses the money into her hand.] Here, take it; and do not be too long. [Smoothes Nato's hair.

NATO [pulling herself away from her mother]. Very well, mamma. [Taking her parasol and mantle.

SALOME. Wipe your eyes, I pray, or they will laugh at you!

NATO. They are quite dry; and what does anybody care about my eyes? [Going.

SALOME. Come back soon; don't allow yourself to be delayed.

NATO. I will come back right away, dear mamma. [Goes toward the right into the ante-room.



SCENE IV

SALOME [alone]. No, there is no other way out. Cost what it will, I shall accomplish what I want. Yes, I must, if I am ruined by it. Mother of God, plead for my Nato!

OSSEP [enters, right]. Where has Nato gone?

SALOME. Just across the way, to the store. She needed some music.

OSSEP. These are fine times for me! And a girl like this is to become a good citizen's wife! [Sits down on the sofa.

SALOME [coming near]. That is what I say, too, dear Ossep. [Lays hand on his shoulder.] Are you not sorry? Is it not too bad about her?

OSSEP. I am still more to be pitied; but who pities me? SALOME. Shall we really give her to a business man for a wife?

OSSEP. And what else? Is a merchant such a bad fellow? To judge by your words, I also am good for nothing; I who, day and night, worry myself to get you bread.

SALOME [embracing him]. How can you say such a thing, dear Ossep? Listen to me; are you not sorry for Nato? It would be quite different if she had been educated as I was.

OSSEP [smiling]. Hm! Then she would be the right sort.

SALOME [draws back her hand]. You are very polite, really! You laugh at poor me! Well, talk as you like, but finish this affair with Nato.

OSSEP. I have already finished it. What will you have of me?

SALOME. How, then? You will not give as much as they demand.

OSSEP. How can I give it when I have not so much?

SALOME [embracing him]. Dear Ossep, please do it.

OSSEP. But I cannot do it.

SALOME [still pleading]. If you love me only a little bit, you will do me this favor.

OSSEP. O woman! Can you not understand at all what yes and no mean? I tell you short and plain that I cannot afford to do it. My back is too weak to lift such a burden. A man can stretch out his feet in bed only as far as the covers reach. Isn't that true? Am I stingy? And would I be stingy toward my own child?

SALOME. But in this case no one asks whether we have it or not. Would it not be stupid to have such a lover for your daughter and not sacrifice everything for him? Others, indeed, have no great wealth, and yet give and are not called crazy.

OSSEP. Perhaps they have stolen money, since it is so easy for them to give it up. However, what is the use of so much talk? Take the cotton out of your ears and listen, for, I tell you, I have no money; and I repeat, I have no money. To-day or to-morrow I expect the conclusion of important business. If it is not completed, I am lost, body and soul. And you stand before me and torture me by asking me to do what is impossible!

SALOME. But why do you seem so angry? One cannot even open one's mouth before you. [Seats herself sulking on the tachta.

OSSEP. Yes, I am angry. You women would exasperate an angel, let alone a man!

SALOME [reproachfully]. Just heaven! with my heart bleeding, I speak to you of our daughter and you are angry! You, then, are her father? Let us suppose I was dead: would it not be your sacred duty to provide for her future?

OSSEP. Am I not providing for her, you wicked woman? Have I not presented three or four young persons to you as sons-in-law? For that matter, they would still be very glad to take her. They are young, clever, and industrious, and, moreover, persons of our condition in life. But who can be reasonable and speak to you? You have got it into your head that Nato's husband shall be an official, and there you stick. It is not your daughter's future that makes your heart bleed, but your own ambition.

SALOME. What more can I say to you? Are they, then, your equals? Who are they, properly speaking? Who are their parents?

OSSEP [springing up]. And who are you, then? Whose daughter, whose wife are you? Perhaps you are descended from King Heraclius; or perhaps you are the wife of a prince!

SALOME. How the man talks! Were your parents of better rank than mine? What? Say!



SCENE V

Chacho.

CHACHO [enters, left]. What's all this noise about?

OSSEP. O aunt, you are here?

CHACHO. Yes, it is I, as I love and live. How are you, my son?

OSSEP. Pretty well, thank God. And how are you, aunt?

CHACHO. My dear son, I am very feeble. But what is going on here? They must have heard your voices in the street.

SALOME. Do you not know that married people often have little quarrels?

CHACHO. That I know a hundred times better than you. And only a blockhead takes a dispute between man and wife seriously. That is true; but that you two have already had time to get used to each other is also true.

OSSEP. Sit down, dear aunt. Tell me, rather, whether a wagon can be moved when one ox pulls to the right and the other to the left.

CHACHO. It will not stir from its place any more than I will now. [Sits down with legs planted firmly.] What can move me away from here?

OSSEP. Now, is it not true? One must help the other, for one alone cannot accomplish much, be he ever so strong and ready to work.

SALOME. Oh, yes! and you are the one ready to work and I am the lazy one, I suppose.

OSSEP. For heaven's sake, do not fly into a passion like that!

CHACHO [to Salome]. That was nothing more than a figure of speech. Who is accusing you of laziness?

OSSEP [sitting down]. Tell me, can we count ourselves among those persons who can give their daughter 10,000 rubles for a dowry? Are we able to do that?

SALOME. Eight thousand is surely not 10,000.

OSSEP. Both are too much for me.

SALOME. Oh, it is all the same to me; it is not for myself; it is for your daughter. [Sits down, ready to cry, upon the sofa.

OSSEP. It is a beautiful thing, the way you look out for your daughter; but everything has its time and place. We have, remember, two other daughters to provide for.

CHACHO. Dear Ossep, why are you so obstinate?

OSSEP. I am not obstinate; but you two are. Yes, you are obstinate, and will pay no attention at all to what I say.

CHACHO. Since when have you become such a niggard? You should have economized when you gave the sasandars[41] something like ten rubles for a fee.

[41] Musicians.

OSSEP. Those times have passed and won't come back again, dear aunt. At that time I was able to do it; but not now. Trade is dull and my business is going badly.

CHACHO. Possibly with your enemies, dear son; but there is nothing the matter with your business.

OSSEP [aside]. There you have it! They insist that I let them inspect my books. [Aloud.] Do you know, what, aunt? What I say I first consider, for I do not like to speak to no purpose. If that young man pleases you and my daughter, and you will have him at all hazards, I have nothing against it. So therefore go to him; and if you can settle the affair with 6,000 rubles, do it. I will gladly make the best of it; but mind, this is my last word, and if you hang me up by the feet, I will not add a single shilling.

CHACHO. What has come over you, Ossep? If you are willing to give 6,000 rubles, you will surely not let the whole thing go to pieces for the sake of 500 or 1,000 more?

OSSEP. Do you know what, aunt? Even if a voice from heaven were to demand it of me, that is my last word. Even if you flayed me alive, I would not give another shilling.

CHACHO. Do not excite yourself, dear son. Let us first see. Perhaps it can be settled with 6,000 rubles.

OSSEP. Yes, to that even I say yes.

SALOME. If a man can give 6,000, he can surely give 1,000 or 2,000 more. Why do you fret yourself unnecessarily?

OSSEP [aroused]. God deliver me from the hands of these women! They say that one woman can get the best of two men; and here I am alone and fallen into the hands of two of you. Where, then, have you discovered this confounded fellow of a son-in-law? That comes of his visits. What has he to do with us? We are entirely different kind of people. [To Salome:] He is neither your brother nor your cousin; why, then, does he come running into our house? I believe he has been here as many as three times. I decline once and for all his visits. May his foot never cross my threshold!

CHACHO. Do not get excited, my son. Do not be vexed.

OSSEP. Now, aunt, you come so seldom to our house, and just to-day you happen in: how does that come?

CHACHO. If you are so vexed about my visit, go down in the cellar and cool yourself off a little.

OSSEP. I am a man; do you understand me? If I tell you that I can give no more, you should believe me.

CHACHO. We believe it, truly; we believe it, but we must say to you, nevertheless, that the dowry that a man gives his daughter means a great deal. It does not mean buying a house, when it is laudable to be economical. No; where the dowry is concerned, a man must think neither of his pocket nor of his money-box. You were acquainted with Jegor? Did he not sell his last house and afterward lived like a beggar to give his daughter a proper dowry? When he died, was there not money for his burial? That you know yourself very well. Are you any poorer than he, that you grumble like a bear about 2,000 rubles?

OSSEP. O great Heavens! they will bring me to despair yet. Isn't this a punishment of Providence, to bring up a daughter, spend a lot of money on her education, and when you have done everything, then hang a bag of gold around her neck, so that she may find someone who is kind enough to take her home with him? A pretty custom!

SALOME. Against the manners and customs of the world you can do nothing, however.

OSSEP. The devil take your manners and customs! If you hold so fast to old ways, then stick to all of them. Is it an old custom to wear, instead of Georgian shoes, little boots—and with men's heels, too? And that a girl should be ashamed to go with her own people and should walk around on the arm of a strange young man: is that also one of the good old customs? Where can we find anything of the good old manners and customs of our fathers, in the living or eating or housekeeping, or in the clothing, or in balls and society? What! was it so in old times? Do you still talk about old manners and customs? If once we begin to live after the new fashion, let us follow it in all things. Why do we still need to have bedclothes for twenty-four beds for guests? Why do we use the old cupboard and cake-oven and sofa-cover? Why does one not visit a mother with a young baby and stay whole months with them? Why does one invite 100 persons to a wedding and give funeral feasts and let eighty women mourners come and howl like so many dervishes? And what is that yonder [points to the furniture]? That one is old-fashioned and the others new-fashioned. If we can have one kind, why do we use the other? [Silent awhile.

SALOME. Well, well! don't be angry! So you will give 6,000 rubles—you have promised it. What is lacking I will procure.

OSSEP. You will procure it? Where, then, will you get it? Not some of your own dowry, I hope.

SALOME. I had no dowry. Why do you tease me with that? No, everything I have I will sell or pawn. The pearls, my gold ornaments, I will take off of my katiba. The gold buttons can be melted. My brooch and my necklace, with twelve strings of pearls, I will also sell; and, if it is necessary, even the gold pins from my velvet cap must go. Let it all go! I will sacrifice everything for my Nato. I would give my head to keep the young man from slipping through my hands. [Exit hastily at left.



SCENE VI

Ossep. Chacho.

OSSEP. Have you ever seen anything like it, aunt? I ask you, aunt, does that seem right?

CHACHO. My son, who takes a thing like that to heart?

OSSEP. She is obstinate as a mule. Say, does she not deserve to be soundly beaten, now?

CHACHO. It only needed this—that you should say such a thing! As many years as you have lived together you have never harmed a hair of her head; then all of a sudden you begin to talk like this. Is that generous?

OSSEP. O aunt! I have had enough of it all. Were another man in my place, he would have had a separation long ago. [Sits down.] If she sees on anyone a new dress that pleases her, I must buy one like it for her; if a thing pleases her anywhere in a house, she wants one in her house; and if I don't get it for her she loses her senses. It is, for all the world, as though she belonged to the monkey tribe. Can a man endure it any longer?

CHACHO. The women are all so, my son. Why do you fret yourself so much on that account?

OSSEP. Yes, yes; you have the habit of making out that all women are alike—all! all! If other people break their heads against a stone, shall I do the same? No; I do what pleases myself, and not what pleases others.

CHACHO. Ossep, what nonsense are you talking? As I was coming here, even, I saw a laborer's wife so dressed up that a princess could hardly be compared with her. She had on a lilac silk dress and a splendid shawl on her head, fine, well-fitting gloves, and in her hand she held a satin parasol. I stood staring, open-mouthed, as she passed. Moreover, she trailed behind her a train three yards long. I tell you my heart was sad when I saw how she swept the street with that beautiful dress and dragged along all sorts of rubbish with it. I really do not see why they still have street-sweepers. It was a long time before I could turn my eyes from her, and thought to myself, Lord, one can't tell the high from the low nowadays! And what can one say to the others if a laborer's wife puts on so much style?

OSSEP. I said that very thing. I have just spoken of it. A new public official has just arrived. She sees that others want to marry their daughters to him, and she runs, head first, against the wall to get ahead of them.

CHACHO. You are really peculiar. You have, you say, not enough money to provide a dowry for your daughter, and yet you brought her up and educated her in the fashion. For what has she learned to play the piano, then? Consider everything carefully.

OSSEP. Devil take this education! Of what good is this education if it ruins me? Is that sort of an education for the like of us? Ought we not to live as our fathers lived and stay in our own sphere, so that we could eat our bread with a good appetite? What kind of a life is that of the present day? Where is the appetizing bread of earlier times? Everything that one eats is smeared with gall! For what do I need a salon and a parlor, a cook and a footman? If a man stretches himself too much in his coat the seams must burst!

CHACHO. If you don't want to have all those things can't you manage the house another way? Who is to blame for it?

OSSEP. Have I managed it so? I wish he may break his neck who brought it all to pass! I haven't done it; it came of itself, and how it happened I don't know Oftentimes when I look back over my early days I see that things were very different twenty years ago. It seems to me I have to live like an ambassador! [Stands up.] We are all the same, yes, we all go the same pace. Wherever you go you find the same conditions, and no one questions whether his means permit it. If a man who has 10,000 rubles lives so, I say nothing; but if one with an income of 1,000 rubles imitates him, then my good-nature stops. What are the poorer people to learn from us if we give them such an example? Weren't the old times much better? In a single darbas[42] we all lived together; three or four brothers and their families. We saved in light and heat, and the blessing of God was with us. Now in that respect it is wholly different. If one brother spends fifty rubles, the other spends double the sum, so as not to be behind him. And what kind of brothers are there now, as a rule? And what kind of sisters and fathers and mothers? If you were to chain them together you could not hold them together a week at a time. If it is not a punishment from God, I don't know what is.

[42] Hall.

CHACHO. My dear Ossep, why do you revive those old memories? It gives me the heartache to recall those old times. I remember very well how it was. In the room stood a long broad sofa that was covered with a carpet. When evening came there would be a fire-pan lighted in the middle of the room and we children would sit around it That was our chandelier. Then a blue table-cloth was spread on the sofa and something to eat, and everything that tasted good in those days was placed on it. Then we sat around it, happy as could be: grandfather, father, uncle, aunt, brothers, and sisters. The wine pitcher poured out sparkling wine into the glasses, and it wandered from one end of the table to the other. Many times there were twenty of us. Now if for any reason five persons come together in a room one is likely to be suffocated. [Points to the ceiling.] With us there was an opening for smoke in the ceiling that was worth twenty windows. When it became bright in the morning the daylight pressed in on us, and when it grew dark the twilight came in there, and the stars glimmered through. Then we spread our bed-things out, and we went to sleep together with play and frolic. We had a kettle and a roasting-spit in the house, and also a pot-ladle and strainer, and the men brought in the stock of provisions in bags. Of the things they brought, one thing was as appetizing as the other. Now, it seems the cooks and servants eat all the best bits. God preserve me from them! Our homes are ruined by the new ways!

OSSEP. Do you know what, aunt? I wager it will not be long before the whole city is bankrupt. On one side extravagance and the new mode of life will be to blame, and on the other our stupidity. Can we go on living so? It is God's punishment, and nothing more. You will scarcely believe it when I tell you that I pay out ten rubles every month for pastry for the children alone.

CHACHO. No! Reduce your expenses a little, my son. Retrench!

OSSEP. That is easily said. Retrench, is it? Well, come over here and do it. I would like to see once how you would begin. Listen, now! Lately I bought a pair of children's shoes at the bazaar for three abaces.[43] The lad threw them to the ceiling. "I want boots at two and a half rubles," said the six-year-old rascal. He was ready to burst out crying. What could I do but buy new ones? If others would do the same I could let the youngster run in cheap boots. How can one retrench here? Twenty years, already, I have struggled and see no way out. To-day or to-morrow my head will burst, or I may beat it to pieces against a stone wall. Isn't it an effort at retrenchment when I say that I cannot afford it? but with whom am I to speak here? Does anyone understand me? Yes, reduce your expenses! [Goes toward the ante-room to the right and meets Nato with four sheets of music in her hand.

[43] Abace—20 kopecks.



Scene VII

Nato, Ossep, Chacho.

OSSEP. Yes, yes, reduce your expenses!

CHACHO. Little girl, how quickly you have come back!

NATO. I did not go far, aunt.

CHACHO. What have you in your hand, sweetheart?

NATO. I have bought some new music.

OSSEP [stepping up to them]. Yes, yes, retrench! [Taking a sheet of music out of her hand.] What did you pay for this?

NATO. Four abaces.

OSSEP. And for this [taking another]?

NATO [looking at it]. Six abaces.

OSSEP [taking a third]. And for this?

NATO [fretfully]. One ruble and a half.

OSSEP [taking the last]. And certainly as much for this?

NATO. No, papa; I paid two rubles and a half for that.

OSSEP [angrily]. And one is to economize! Am I to blame for this? What have you bought four pieces for? Was not one or two enough?

NATO [frightened]. I need them.

OSSEP [still more angrily]. Tell me one thing—is this to be endured? If she could play properly at least, but she only drums two or three pieces and says she can play. I cannot play myself, but I have heard persons who played well. They could use these things, but not we. I wish the devil had the man who introduced this! [Throws the music on the floor.] I'll cut off my hand if she can play properly.