Читать книгу Caucasian Legends - Abraam Abraamovich Gul'bat - Страница 6

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At the time of Tsar George I (the rulers of Georgia were called Tsars = kings), in the 11th century, there lived the famous general, Kaiours, belonging to the glorious Orbeliani family. It is known that these princes trace their ancestry from an emperor of China and more than once intermarried with our rulers, in consequence of which their position at the court of Georgia was an exceptionally pleasant one. It is necessary to add to this that the submission and zeal of the princes Orbeliani fully repaid this distinction. They occupied from generation to generation the post of Sparapet, that is, of general in chief of all the Georgian forces, and astonished the world with their bravery. When George went to war with the Greeks, Kaiours was taken prisoner, and as this took place during the battle of Shirimna, where a great many Georgian leaders, among them the generals Ratt and Zovatt, brothers of Kaiours, were lost, the Tsar for a long time thought that Kaiours had died together with them. It was only when the negotiations for peace began, that Emperor Vassilii the Second proposed to the Tsar to exchange Kaiours for fourteen fortresses, viz., for one in Tao, one in Baisiana, one in Artana, one in Kola, one in Djavaheta, in Shavhetta, and so on; and besides he demanded as hostage George’s three-year-old son, the Tsarevitch-successor Bagrat.

“I am so much indebted to the princely family of the Orbelianis that I would consent to give half my kingdom for them,” answered the Tsar.

At the end of the negotiations it was decided that the Tsarevitch-successor should remain as hostage at Constantinople until the Greeks had succeeded in introducing their administration in the above mentioned fortresses and in no case longer than three years. There were those who criticised the Tsar for giving away fourteen of the best fortresses in exchange for one man, but the people almost killed them. The general confidence in the warlike capacities of the princes Orbeliani was so boundless that many openly said: “Let only Kaiours come back and by him we shall not only regain possession of all our fortresses, but with the help of God we shall obtain the foreign ones!” There was no end to joy when he returned home. More than all rejoiced his twelve-year-old daughter Tamara. The captivity of the father was a great grief to her, as in his absence her mother and brother died. Seeing Tamara riding forth by herself to meet him, accompanied by an old gamdela (nurse) and several bitchos (young boys, servants), the hero Kaiours, the very glance of whom turned whole regiments to flight, cried like a child. Father and daughter tenderly embraced and for a long time could not speak.

The cries of joy among the people ceased, all remembered the good princess and the pretty boy, who had accompanied her everywhere, and sadness darkened the general joyousness. Kaiours was the first one to recover. He addressed those who had come to meet him and invited them to his house, to feast with him. “Tamara tries by her courtesy to take the place of my princess,” he said, “the Lord is not without mercy; during my captivity he gave me a son in exchange for the one whom he took away. Plinii,” Kaiours says, turning to a handsome youth, standing behind him, “help thy sister and me to serve the guests.” All looks were now fixed on Plinii; tall, well-built, with fine, regular features, he bore an unmistakable stamp of aristocratic descent. Feeling himself the object of general interest, he blushed and drooped his eyes, like our bashful young ladies, and this modesty at once disposed everybody in his favor.

The old nobleman Alexander, whom for his bravery and warlike successes they all called “the Macedonian,” sat down by Kaiours and began to speak thus: “Friend, thou hast rightly said that the Lord compensated thee for the loss of thy son by a fine youth, whose attachment and filial respect to you we all see and which dispose us in his favor, but we should also like to know who he is and why thou didst adopt him?” “During my captivity,” answered Kaiours, “the Lord sent me a friend. He was a well-known dignitary, a favorite of the Emperor and did not need the friendship of the prisoner, nevertheless not a day went by that he did not visit me. We related to each other our war reminiscences and soon began to love each other like brothers. When I received news of the death of my wife and son, his friendly sympathy was my sole consolation. He told me about his life and thus I found out that he had lost his loving companion on the day of Plinii’s birth. The boy is now eighteen years old and healthy, but not strong, and must be carefully looked after. Before my departure my friend fell ill and called me to him. ‘I am dying,’ he said, ‘and thank God that this happens before thy departure, because I am going to hand over to your care my greatest treasure. Adopt Plinii instead of that son whom God took away from thee. The doctors think that his health needs a much warmer climate than ours.’ I swore to love and treat him like my son and hope that the Lord will help me to fulfill my vow!” continued Kaiours.

“Thou didst satisfy my curiosity on one point,” said Alexander—“now I want to find out something else, but for this we must repair to some other place. My heart also grieves about the son, who by the will of the monarch is among the young men accompanying the Tsarevitch-heir to Greece. Although our separation will not exceed three years, yet it does seem an eternity to me.” At these words the old men retired, and when they returned they were carrying bowls of horn, filled with wine. With a gay countenance they addressed the feasting crowd. “Friends,” said Alexander, “congratulate me and help me to thank Kaiours, who gives me the very best he possesses: I asked the gift of the hand of his daughter for my boy.” Numberless people offered their congratulations and the feasting continued far into the night. Kaiours and Alexander saw each other often, the latter always hastened to communicate any news about the son. In the meantime it was discovered that the young men who accompanied Bagrat were learning all European languages and sciences.

Kaiours thought thus: “I gave my daughter an entirely Georgian education, she knows neither European languages nor those arts by which the women over there so attract young men; would she not appear strange to your son?”

Quite unexpectedly was heard Plinii’s sweet voice. “Allow me to say a word.” The old men stared at him; he stood before them all red with emotion. “Speak!” was their unanimous answer.

“My late father did not mind spending any sum for my instruction, they taught me everything that is to be learned in our country. I easily learned the sciences, and if you permit me I shall be only too glad to educate my sister, who herself has a great passion for learning.”

Permission was given, and from then on the young people were inseparable. Under Plinii’s direction Tamara soon acquired great perfection in Greek. They studied together the poets, committing the finest parts to memory. Tamara’s wonderful voice grew still grander when she learned from Plinii how to accustom it to the rules of music. A harp was obtained, and for whole hours at a time they rejoiced in song. To the young people days, weeks, and months went by with extraordinary rapidity, they were perfectly happy and for a long time could not imagine how they had become so dear to each other. Being confident in Kaiours’s affection, they fearlessly announced to him their discovery. But as Kaiours had once given his word to Alexander, he did not consider it right to break it. The lessons were stopped and Plinii forbidden to visit Tamara except in the presence of her father.

The young people’s happiness suddenly turned to deep grief, which Kaiours, who loved them sincerely, secretly shared. After a few days of such torture, Plinii could not restrain his feelings and found occasion to have a secret interview with Tamara. With tears in his eyes he implored her to run away with him to Greece and there be married, but neither prayers nor tears could persuade her to become disobedient to her father.

“As thy wife should be so superior to all others as thou art the most beautiful man in the world,” said Tamara, “how canst thou wish to marry a runaway girl? No, Plinii, let us wait! God is omnipotent! He knows, sees and esteems everything in due measure. He knows very well whether we find it easy not to be able to see each other, and I am sure that if we do nothing to provoke him, he himself will find means to stop our separation; only this I pray thee, do not forget me and don’t try to find an occasion to see me secretly.”

Morning and evening, day and night, Tamara prayed to God to make an end to their separation, and the Lord answered her prayer. Once upon a time, accompanied by an old nurse and a bitcho (young boy servant), she started on a pilgrimage to some distant monastery where there lived an old man of ascetic life. To him Tamara revealed her grief and the old man led her into his garden. There in the presence of all he began to pray for her, and suddenly a terrible cloud appeared, lightning was seen and fearful strokes of thunder were heard. Those who were present fell to the ground from fright. At last the storm was over.

“Arise!” said the prior, “the Lord has heard us sinners and comforted Tamara!”

“But where is she?” they asked.

“There,” answered the old man, pointing to a magnificent fragrant lily, which had suddenly appeared in the midst of his garden. “The Lord turned her into a flower,” he continued.

The people would not believe it. The nurse spread a rumor that the crafty abbot had hidden Tamara. Forgetting godly fear and fearing Kaiours’s wrath, she insulted and cursed him. The boy servants, among whom there were many Mahometans, searched the whole monastery, all the surrounding woods and bushes, and not finding Tamara anywhere, they killed the holy old man and burned down the monastery. The ancient building stood in flames, also the stone enclosure, many a hundred year old tree, the huge library, in fact all the scanty good of the images. Alone the church and the lily into which Tamara had been transformed were spared.

Upon hearing of what had occurred, Kaiours and Plinii hastened to the spot. In the church there was nobody, everything else represented a field of coal and ashes. Tamara was nowhere to be found. Only in the midst of all these ashes there grew a splendid, fresh, fragrant white lily.

Plinii was the first to approach her and began to cry. Kaiours followed him and was very much startled. He noticed that when Plinii’s tears fell on the coal surrounding the lily, her tender leaves grew quite yellow from jealousy; on the other hand when they dripped into the lily she grew red from joy.

“Tamara, is it thou we see?” asked the father.

Just at that moment there came up a little breeze and Kaiours and Plinii heard distinctly as though the leaves spoke:

“It is I, father!”

The inconsolable father could not stand the loss of his daughter and immediately died from grief, but poor Plinii cried so much and so long and so fervently prayed to God that he might be united with Tamara, that in the end the Lord transformed him to rain. I have heard that in bygone times whenever a dryness set in the inhabitants of the surrounding villages hastened to the abandoned church, around which lilies always grew in abundance, and picked whole baskets of them. They scattered the fragrant harvest in the fields and gardens and the young maidens sang Tamara’s song. The lovely melodious composition was as fragrant and clean as the dear flower which they glorified. This song, indeed, is Tamara’s very prayer, showing all her childish faith in God’s almightiness. It ends with an invocation of Plinii, who, they say, always appears in the form of a warm, beneficial rain. I heard even that these lilies preserved a rare capacity, viz., sometimes to grow red, sometimes yellow, and our maidens thus concluded that these flowers could tell one’s fortune. Each maiden notices one flower and after the rain goes to look for it. Is the lily yellow, the young girl entertains great fears as to the fidelity of her lover; is it red, she never doubts his attachment to her. Whether this quaint custom still prevails I don’t know. I am always sorry when some such tradition becomes forgotten! In our ancient legends there was so much of the truthful, honorable and elevated that these circumstances alone rendered them most instructive.