INTRODUCTION
The tales offered to the reader are taken from
collection of Srvandztyan and Navasardyan
(where they are written with some stamp
individual processing of collectors); from
collections “M argaritner”, Eminsky collection,
magazine "Bazmavep", handwritten collections,
stored in the State Museum of Armenia
telling, almost verbatim and without any
stylistic participation on the part of the collector), and,
finally, from the literary heritage of writers
Khazaros Agayants (two tales: “A n a i t”
and "Aregnazan") and the poet Hovhannes
Tumanyan (two tales: “X oeyin and
worker" and "Brave Nazar"), where they are given
already in artistic processing, with
poetic inserts (from Agayants).
The translator set himself a difficult task:
combine in this collection (proposed
for the Russian reader primarily for reading)
and the principle of accurate linguistic transmission
folk tale, and the principle of its readability.
In the literal recording of fairy tales, due to the peculiarities
Armenian speech, there are the most tedious
lengths and endless repetitions: “said” -
“answered”, “said” - answered”, used.
in addition, without a personal pronoun, which is Russian
speech is unusual and what should cool
reader. These lengths are released and mixed
to the required minimum. At the same time
the translator has preserved all the originality of the Armenian
folk expressions, proverbs and sayings,
without trying to replace them with similar ones anywhere
Russian expressions and for convenience
the reader everywhere highlighting them with discharge, and in some places
explaining them in footnotes.
Ya. Khachatrvnts
Erivan, 1932
At the beginning of the last century, the Caucasus was visited by
enlightened traveler Baron Haxthausen. To him
belongs to perhaps the first critical record of Armenian
fairy tales Not knowing the language, he used the services
the founder of the Armenian new literature, Khachatura Abo-
Viana, and his compatriot, colonist Peter Ney,
who is for easy mastery of oriental languages and knowledge
of many fairy tales he was nicknamed Scheherazade. Eventually
24 tales were recorded. Among them there are Turkic ones,
and purely Armenian. Completely rely on Haxthausen
it is forbidden. Despite all his caution, he still took
second hand material. However, several
his fairy tales exactly coincide with those of Erivan
tales collected later, they are only stated in
Haxthausen is more elegant and literary.
Haxthausen's attention to Armenian literature
played big role V personal life Abovyan and in
Armenian public life. Gatherers appeared
tales from among educated Armenians. Pioneer of this
case was an outstanding person, Bishop Garegin Svan-
Dztian, who died in 1892. belong to him with love
compiled collections of fairy tales “Hamov-Khotov”, “Manana”
I am "Grots-Brots". The business of collecting moved on to more
scientific soil when in 1906 the ethnologist Ervand
Lalayanets founded the “Armenian
ethnographic society". In the "Ethnographic Journal",
existing since 1896 and dedicated to the main
image of Armenian literature, he placed
a bunch of Armenian fairy tales. In Moscow, in published
at the Lazarevsky Institute of E-Min ethnographic
collections also published material collected
Aykuni in different places, mainly Turkish
Armenia, and 6 tales of Caucasian Armenians, recorded
Alexander Mkhitaryants, and a total of 96 fairy tales. They
posted in I II and IV issues. Lalayan in 1914
three volumes of fairy tales (also about a hundred) were published under a general
title "Margaritner", recorded in Ashtarak, Vahar-
Shapat, Oshakan and other Ararat villages, as well as
according to people from Persian and Turkish Armenia;.
In the 90s, T. Navasardyan in Ararat villages for
a number of fairy tales were written, which he subsequently published in six
small books. Finally, during the war there was
a scientific expedition was equipped to the conquered Armenian
area, which gave rich results in just five months
tats: 872 fairy tales were recorded, which amount to a total of
complexity 50 - 60 volumes. The material turns out
boundless. Of course, not everything in this wealth is actually
Armenian; but it is undeniable that the creativity of fairy tales
inherent in the Armenian people to a high degree.
Let's turn to the Caucasian army and see how
it composes its own tales.
The miserable Summer season is over; in winter, in the light,
Armenian peasant works from home, sometimes
turning into a craftsman - weaver, tailor, shoemaker,
But dusk falls, the work is finished, and the whole family
gathers in "from"s" In each more or less
a prosperous peasant house has the "ah-sublime"
a room with an open side adjacent to the barn for
animals. In winter it is warmed by warm steam from
the breath of oxen. Here, in the ots, they invite a local or
a popular singer-ashug or storyteller. Poor
peasants who do not have the means to accept such an honorable
guest, go to listen to fairy tales from a rich neighbor.
Talented storytellers are glorified not only
the whole village, but also far beyond its borders. The most famous
those who change are given laudatory epithets.
Almost all storytellers without exception do not know
literacy, no other language other than their native one. By
professions are gardeners, market gardeners, millers, bakers
ploughmen. There are also storytellers: for example, the famous Antar-
ram from Parpi village. As befits the rank,
storytellers are most often old people, but it happens
between them and youth. The peasants listen to them,
taking a break from the day's work and the monotonous squalor of his
But where, to what country does the magic take them?
storyteller's speech? It is common to imagine the world of fairy tales
as something completely arbitrary. This is mistake. Created
imagination, the deceptive kingdom of fairy tales as well
limited by limits, also subject to “geography”^ Jacques
and the earthly kingdom of men. The borders of such a fabulous
Geography serves as the limits of the imagination of a given people.
Let us remember the wooded plains of central Russia;
the world of Russian fairy tales grew out of them: dense dark
forests where you can’t even hear birdsong, but only
robber whistle; steppes with crossroads of three roads,
patterned wooden towers; and the animals in them are native -^
brown Bear, a skinny wolf, hungry as a dog;
thief fox. Let's remember the Danish dampness and intimacy
Scandinavian north: did they not originate from them?
will-o'-the-wisps in the swamps, winds, hummocks and mounds,
illuminated by rotten places, with cute, stupid kobolds,
blizzards and icy chambers of the snow queen in captivating
Andersen's fairy tales?
What could be food for the imagination?
Armenian storyteller? Deserted, sun-burnt highlands,
filled with the tiresome chirping of grasshoppers,
with crystals of Ararat standing alone on the horizon
and Alageza, sparse gardens, skinny vegetation - red
horse sorrel, dried milkweed candles, fragrant,
spicy herbs on dry and hot land, stones, mountains,
rocks are nesting places for snakes and lizards. And above this one
the narrator's fantasy depicts a deserted land
In ancient times, there lived a king. He had a rose garden at the palace. There was a magic rose bush growing in the garden. No matter how hard the king tried, no matter how much the royal gardeners protected this rose, they could not save it. As soon as it began to blossom, a destructive worm attacked it. Read...
Armenian folk tale
There lived a king who was greedy and cruel. One day he ordered all the tailors, weavers, and embroiderers to be summoned to the palace and told them... Read...
Armenian folk tale
One day, when the king was sitting on the throne, a traveler came to him from distant countries, outlined a strip around his throne and silently stood at a distance. Read...
Armenian folk tale
One day, the king summoned all the tailors of his country and ordered him to sew a blanket according to his height: not long and not short. Read...
Armenian folk tale
There once lived a rich king. He often, secretly from the Nazirs and Viziers, dressed in the rags of a beggar and went to wander through cities and villages, listening to what the people were saying about him. Read...
Armenian folk tale
One day a customer came to the hatmaker, brought a sheep skin and asked... Read...
There lived a king who was greedy and cruel. Read...
One hunter wandered through the forest all night in search of prey, but all in vain. He was getting ready to go home when he suddenly heard the sounds of a drum and a lute coming from the thicket of the forest. He walked in the direction where the melody was coming from. He looks, and there, in the clearing, the forest spirits are playing a wedding. Read...
Once upon a time there lived two brothers. One was smart and the other was a fool. The smart one managed things in such a way that the fool had to work not only for himself, but also for his brother. Read...
In ancient times, there lived a king and a queen. They had one and only son, Vachagan. His father and mother doted on him and never took their eyes off him day or night. Servants followed Vachagan in droves, forestalling all his wishes. At twenty years old, the prince was stunted and fragile, like a flower that grew without the sun. Read...
Once upon a time there lived a woman. She had one only daughter and her name was Guri. This Guri was such a lazy person, such a slacker and white-handed, that she did nothing but do all day long. Read...
One day a rooster jumped onto the roof of a house and wanted to see the whole world from there. He craned his neck, turned his head this way and that, but saw nothing - the mountain that stood in front of the house blocked his horizon. Read...
One day a customer came to a hat maker, brought a sheep skin and asked... Read...
One day, my mind and heart began to argue. His heart insisted that people lived for him, but his mind insisted on the opposite. They did not resort to the help of a judge, but decided to act alone and not interfere in each other’s affairs. They decided to try their agreement on one peasant. Read...
When the earth gave birth to people, darkness and cold ruled the world. Arev and Krag were just learning to walk. They lived with the tribe in one of the caves of the then young Ararat. Read...
Once upon a time there lived a poor orphan named Aslan. They called him that because he had extraordinary strength. Aslan was a shepherd, but one day he caught a wolf and strangled it with his own hands. And the owner made him his chief shepherd. Read...
A long time ago, many years ago, there lived a brother and sister. Read...
In the old days, sweet Onion and bitter Watermelon lived next door. Then the onion was the size of a watermelon now. A watermelon is the same size as an onion today. As the Onion grew large and sweet, it was watered. He didn't have to take care of himself. Carefree Onion grew fat and heavy. One bad thing: he was bored. Read...
Once upon a time there lived a king. This king had a son - his only heir. The king bought him a fiery sword for a lot of money. Read...
Once upon a time there lived a husband and wife. And they didn’t really like each other.
Armenian fairy tales
© 2012 Publishing house "The Seventh Book". Translation, compilation and editing.
All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet or corporate networks, for private or public use without the written permission of the copyright owner.
Not even stones can tell this story of love and fidelity...
Today there is not a trace or even a name left of the brilliant capital, surrounded by greenery, Partava. The trading city was razed to the ground, and in its place another was built, called Barda. But that's a completely different story.
In the meantime, Partav, recently rebuilt by King Vache, proudly rises above the full-flowing Tartarus, surprising with its luxurious palaces and towers reaching into the heavens. Only gigantic plane trees and poplars can compete with them, behind the tops of which even the tallest buildings are sometimes not visible. On the terrace of one of them, in the early spring morning, the only son of King Vache, young Vachagan, stood, leaning on the railing, admiring the grove that, like a luxurious frame, surrounded the diamond of the Caucasus - the brilliant capital of the Agvans. The prince listened and it seemed to him that the songbirds of the whole world, as if by agreement, had flown to Partav to compete with each other. Some seemed to be playing the flute, others the duduk, but the loudest singer always won. This singer was the nightingale - blbul, the comforter of loving hearts. When he began to sing, immediately all the birds fell silent and listened attentively to his iridescent trills, some learned from him to chirp, others to whistle loudly, and others to trill, and at that moment all the bird voices merged into one inimitable melody.
But she did not please the young prince Vachagan. Heartache tormented him, and the singing of birds only intensified it. His mother, Queen Ashkhen, approached with silent steps and quietly asked:
“Son, I see that you have some kind of pain in your soul, but you are hiding it from us.” Tell me why are you sad?
“You’re right, mom,” the son answered, “I’m disappointed in life, honor and luxury no longer interest me.” I decided to retire from the bustle of the world and devote myself to God. They say that Vardapet Mesrop returned to the village of Khatsik and founded a monastery in the monastery he built. I want to go to him. Mom, you can't even imagine what it's like beautiful place- Khatsik. The boys and even girls there are so witty and so beautiful! When you see them, you'll understand why I'm there with all my heart.
“So you’re rushing to Khatsik to see your witty Anahit as soon as possible?”
- Mom, but how do you know her name?
“The nightingales of our garden sang it to me.” But why, my dear Vachik, began to forget that he was the king’s son? And the son of a king should marry the daughter of a king or at least a grand duke, but certainly not a simple peasant woman. Look around, the Georgian king has three beautiful daughters growing up, you can choose any of them. The Gugark bdeshkha also has a prominent and worthy daughter. She is the sole heir to all his rich estates. The king of Syunik also has a marriageable daughter. Finally, why don’t you like the bride Varsenik, the daughter of our azarapet? She grew up before our eyes, raised in our family...
- Mom, I already said that I want to go to a monastery. But if you insist that I definitely marry, then know that I will only marry Anahit...” said Vachagan and, blushing deeply, hurriedly went out into the garden to hide his embarrassment from his mother.
Vachagan had recently turned twenty, he stood tall, like the poplars that grew in the royal grove, but he was a pampered, pale and even sickly young man. And now the only heir of the king of the Agvans wanted to take not the royal throne, but spiritual rank and become a preacher. This scared his father.
“Vachagan, my son,” his father told him many times, “you are my only hope and support.” You must keep the fire of our hearth, continue our family, and that means get married.
The prince listened to his father in silence, with his eyes downcast, and only blushed in response; he did not even want to think about the wedding. But my father was persistent and persistently returned to this conversation several times a week. The young man began to avoid painful meetings so as not to see his father, he sat for hours reading books and even went hunting, which he never liked, just so as not to hear his father’s instructions. At dawn he left the palace, wandered around the surrounding area, and only returned home late in the evening. Sometimes he wandered for three or four days, driving his parents to despair. He was not friends with his peers, and took with him only his devoted, brave servant Vaginak and faithful dog Zangi. Those who met them on the mountain paths had no idea that in front of them was the king’s son and his servant, both were in simple hunting clothes, with identical quivers of arrows and wide daggers, and only a knapsack with supplies was carried by the broad-shouldered and strong Vaginak. They often visited mountain villages, and Vachagan watched with interest how they lived simple people, imbued with their worldly concerns and needs, and always noticed who was doing good and who was committing lawlessness. And then, unexpectedly for everyone, the bribe-taking judges were removed from the cases, and new, honest ones were appointed in their places; the thieves received their well-deserved punishment and ended up in prison, and the families of the poor suddenly received help from the king, although they did not ask for it. It was as if some unknown force saw everything and did good. And the people began to believe that their wise king Vache, like God, knew everything: what someone needed, and who was worthy of punishment, and who was worthy of reward. They say that in the kingdom of the Agvans there was no more theft and injustice, but no one knew that it was largely thanks to the young prince.
Traveling also did him good. He became healthier and stronger, as if he had gained strength from his native land, and increasingly began to think about his destiny, which was destined for him from above. Vachagan began to understand how much he could do for his people and no longer thought about entering a monastery. The parents began to notice how their son had matured and matured, and they understood that the flame of love was about to flare up in his heart; all that was needed for this was a reason, which soon presented itself.
Once, while hunting, Vachagan and Vaginak came to a distant village, lost in the mountains, and, tired, sat down to rest by a spring. Was hot afternoon and peasant girls kept coming up to the source, they took turns filling their jugs and jars, the prince was unbearably thirsty. He asked for water, and one of the girls filled the jug and handed it to Vachagan, but the other snatched the jug from her hands and poured out the water. She filled the jug again and the other emptied it again. Vachagan’s mouth was dry, he was impatiently waiting for someone to give him something to drink. But the girl didn’t seem to care, as if she had started a strange game: she filled the jug and immediately poured out the water. And only after filling the jug for the sixth time did she give it to the stranger.
Having drunk and handed the jug to the servant, the prince spoke to this girl and asked why she didn’t give him the water right away; perhaps she wanted to play a trick on him, to make him angry. But she answered:
“I didn’t want to make fun of you, let alone make you angry.” It is not customary for us to offend travelers, especially when they ask for water. But I saw that you were tired of the heat and were so flushed in the scorching sun that I decided cold water could hurt you, so I delayed so that you could rest and cool down a little.
The girl’s smart answer surprised Vachagan, but her beauty struck him even more. Her large and dark eyes seemed bottomless, her eyebrows, lips and nose seemed to have been painted with the thin brush of a skilled artist, and her heavy braids sparkling in the sun flowed down her back. She was dressed in a long red silk dress that reached to her toes, and an embroidered sleeveless vest hugged her thin waist and high breasts. The pristine beauty of the stranger struck and bewitched the prince; she stood before him barefoot, without ribbons or decorations, and he could not take his eyes off her.
- What is your name? - asked the prince.
“Anahit,” answered the girl.
- Who is your father?
– My father is a shepherd in our village – Arai. But why do you ask what my name is and who my father is?
- Just. Is it a sin to ask?
“If it’s not a sin to ask, then I ask you to tell me who you are and where you come from?”
– Should I tell the truth or lie?
– What you consider worthy of yourself.
“Of course, I consider the truth worthy, but the truth is,” the prince cunned, “I can’t tell you who I am now, but I promise that I will let you know in a few days.”
- Very good, give me back the jug. If you want, I'll bring some more water.
- No, thank you, you gave us good advice, we will always remember him, and we will not forget you.
When the hunters went to Return trip, Vachagan asked his faithful servant:
- Tell me, Vaginak, have you ever met a girl of such beauty?
“I somehow didn’t notice her special beauty,” the servant answered, “I clearly understood only one thing, that she is the daughter of a rural shepherd.”
