Read Armenian fairy tales in Russian. Armenian fairy tales

INTRODUCTION

The fairy tales offered to the reader are taken and $

collection of Srvandztyan and Navasardyan

(where they are written with some stamp

individual processing of collectors); of

collections "M argaritner", Eminsky collection,

magazine "Bazmavep", handwritten collections,

stored in the State Museum of Armenia

telling, almost literally and without any

stylistic participation on the part of the collector), and,

finally, from the literary legacy of writers

Khazaros Agayants (two fairy tales: "An and t"

and "Aregnazan") and the poet Hovhannes

Tumanyan (two tales: "X oeyain and

worker "and" Brave Nazar "), where they are given

already in artistic processing, with

poetic inserts (at Agayants).

The translator set himself a difficult task:

combine in this collection (proposed

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 tiresome

lengths and endless repetitions: "said" -

"Answered", "said" - answered "used.

in addition, without a personal pronoun that Russian

speech is unusual and what should cool

the reader. These lengths are released and flattened

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

in Russian expressions and for convenience

the reader everywhere highlighting them with discharge, and in some places

explaining them in the footnotes.

J. Khachatrvnz

Erivan, 1932

At the beginning of the last century, the Caucasus visited

enlightened traveler Baron Haxthausen. Him

perhaps the first critical record of Armenian

fairy tales. Without knowing the language, he used the services

the founder of Armenian new literature, Khachatur Abo-

vyana, and his compatriot, colonist Peter Ney,

who for easy assimilation of oriental languages \u200b\u200band knowledge

many fairy tales was nicknamed by him Scheherazade. Eventually

24 fairy tales were recorded. Among them there are also Turkic,

and purely Armenian. Rely completely on Haxthausen

it is impossible. With all his discretion, he still took

second hand material. However, several cited

his fairy tales exactly coincide with those of Erivan

tales collected later, only they are described in

Haxthausen is more elegant and literary.

Haxthausen's attention to Armenian literature

played a big role in Abovyan's personal life and in

armenian public life. Gatherers appeared

fairy tales from among educated Armenians. Pioneered this

was an outstanding person, Bishop Garegin Srvan-

dztian, who died in 1892. He belongs with love

compiled collections of fairy tales "Hamov-Hotov", "Manana"

i am Groz-Brotz. The gathering business moved on to more

scientific basis, when in 1906 the ethnologist Ervand

Lalayants was founded in Tiflis "Armenian

ethnographic society ". In the "Ethnographic Journal",

existed since 1896 and dedicated to the main

the image of Armenian literature, he was placed

many Armenian fairy tales. In Moscow, in the published

at the Lazarev Institute of E-min ethnographic

collections were also printed material collected

Aykuni in different places, mainly Turkish

Armenia, and 6 tales of Caucasian Armenians recorded

Alexander Mkhitaryants, and only 96 fairy tales. They

posted in issues I, II and IV. Lalayants in 1914

published three volumes of fairy tales (also about a hundred) under a general

the name "Margaritner", recorded in Ashtarak, Vakhar-

shapat, Oshakan and other Ararat villages, as well as

from the words of immigrants from Persian and Turkish Armenia;

In the 90s T. Navasardyan in the Ararat villages for

a number of tales were written, which he subsequently released on six

small books. Finally during the war there was

a scientific expedition to the conquered Armenian

region, which gave rich results in five months

tats: 872 tales were recorded, which will make up the total

complexity 50 - 60 volumes. The material is obtained

boundless. Of course, not everything in this wealth is proper

armenian; but it is undeniable that the creativity of fairy tales

is inherent in the Armenian people to a high degree.

Let's turn to the Caucasian army and see how

it composes its tales.

The painful summer time is over; in winter, in the light,

armenian peasant works at home, sometimes

turning into a craftsman - weaver, tailor, shoemaker,

But twilight falls, the work is over, and the whole family

going to "from" ah "In each more or less

a well-to-do peasant house is from "ah-sublime

a room with an open side adjacent to a shed for

animals. In winter, it is warmed by warm steam from

breathing of oxen. Here, in from "ah, they invite a local or

a visiting singer-ashug or a storyteller. Poor

peasants who do not have the means to accept such an honorable

guest, go to listen to fairy tales from the "rich neighbor ah."

Talented storytellers are glorified not only on pa

the whole village, but also far beyond its borders. The most famous

menit are given laudatory epithets.

Almost without exception, storytellers do not know any

literacy, no language other than the native one. By

professions are gardeners, truck farmers, millers, bread

pasha. There are also storytellers: for example, the famous Antar-

ram from the village of Parpi. As befits the title

storytellers are often old people, but

between them and the youth. The peasants are listening to them,

taking a break from the day's work and the monotonous squalor of his

But where, to what country does the magical

the storyteller's speech? It is customary to imagine the world of fairy tales

as something completely arbitrary. This is mistake. Created

imagination, the deceiving realm of fairy tales just as

limited by the limits, also subordinated to "geography" ^ Jacques

and the earthly kingdom of people. Borders so fabulous

geography serves the limits of the imagination of a given nation ..

Let us recall the wooded plains of central Russia;

the world of the Russian fairy tale grew out of them: the dense dark

forests where you can't even hear the birdsong, but only,

robber whistle; steppes with crossroads of three roads,

patterned wooden towers; and the beast in them is native - ^

brown Bear, a skinny wolf, hungry as a dog;

fox thief. Let's remember the Danish dampness and proximity

the Scandinavian north: weren't they the

wandering lights in the swamps, winds, bumps and mounds,

lit by rotten ones, with cute silly kobolds,

blizzards and icy chambers of the snow queen in the captivating

andersen's tales?

What could have been food for the imagination

narrator among the Armenians? Deserted, sun-burned highlands

filled with the tedious chirping of grasshoppers,

with crystals of Ararat standing alone on the horizon

and Alageza, rare gardens, skinny vegetation-red

horse sorrel, dried milkweed candles, odorous,

spicy herbs on dry and hot ground, stones, mountains,

rocks - nests of snakes and lizards. And over this

the desert land is painted by the storyteller's fantasy

Armenian fairy tales

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Even stones cannot tell this story of love and fidelity ...

From the brilliant, green capital - Partava, today there is not a trace, not even a name. 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 directed to 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, was standing, leaning his elbows on the railing, admiring the grove that surrounded the diamond of the Caucasus, the brilliant capital of the Agvans, like a luxurious setting. The prince listened and it seemed to him that the songbirds of the whole world, as if by agreement, flocked to Partav to compete with each other. Some seemed to play the flute, others the duduk, but the victory was always won by one of the most vociferous singer. This singer was the nightingale - blbul, the comforter of loving hearts. When he began to sing, immediately all the birds fell silent and listened to his iridescent trills, some learned to chirp from him, others to whistle roaringly, and still others to play trills, and at that moment all the bird's voices merged into one inimitable melody.

But she did not please the young prince Vachagan. Heartbreak tormented him, and the singing of birds only intensified it. His mother, Queen Ashkhen, approached with inaudible steps and quietly asked:

- Son, I see you have some kind of pain in your soul, but you hide it from us. Tell me why are you sad?

- You're right, mom, - answered the son, - I am 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 brotherhood in the monastery he built. I want to go to him. Mom, you can't even imagine what a wonderful place this is - Khatsik. There, young men and even girls are so witty and so beautiful! When you see them, you will understand why I am there with all my heart.

- So, you are in a hurry to Hatsik in order 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 just why, my dear Vachik, began to forget that he is a royal son? And the son of a tsar must marry the daughter of a tsar, or at least a grand duke, but certainly not a simple peasant woman. Look around, the Georgian king has three beautiful daughters, you can choose any of them. The Gugark bdeshkh also has a prominent and worthy daughter. She is the sole heiress of all his wealthy estates. The Syunik king also has a marriageable daughter. Finally, why not your bride Varsenik, daughter of our Azarapet? She grew up before our eyes, brought up in our family ...

- Mom, I already said that I want to go to a monastery. But if you insist that I marry without fail, then you should know - I will marry only Anahit ... - said Vachagan and, blushing deeply, hurried out into the garden to hide his embarrassment from his mother.

Vachagan had recently turned twenty, he stretched out like the poplars that grew in the royal grove, but he was a delicate, pale and even sickly youth. And now the only heir to the king of the Aghvan ruler wanted to accept not the royal throne, but the clergy and become a preacher. This frightened 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 therefore get married.

The prince listened to his father in silence, looking down, 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, so as not to hear his father's instructions. At dawn he left the palace, wandered around the neighborhood, and only returned home late at night. 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 loyal, brave servant Vaginak and faithful dog Zangi. Those who met them on the mountain paths did not realize that before them was the king's son and his servant, both were in simple hunting clothes, with the same quivers of arrows and wide daggers, and only a bundle of supplies was carried by a broad-shouldered and strong Vaginak. They often went to mountain villages, and Vachagan watched with interest how ordinary people lived, was imbued with their worldly concerns and needs, and always noticed who was doing good and who was doing lawlessness. And then, unexpectedly for everyone, the bribe-taking judges were removed from cases, and new, honest ones were appointed to their places; thieves were punished and ended up in prisons, and families of poor people suddenly received help from the king, although they did not ask for it. As if some unknown power saw everything and did good. And the people began to believe that their wise king Vache, like God, knows everything: who needs what, and who deserves punishment, and who deserves rewards. They say that then theft and injustice did not exist in the kingdom of the Aghvans, but no one guessed that it was largely due to the young prince.

Wanderings went to his benefit. He became healthier and stronger, as if he had gained strength from his native land and more and more often 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 leaving for a monastery. Parents began to notice how their son had matured, matured, and understood that the flame of love was about to flare up in his heart, for this they needed only an excuse, which soon presented itself.

Once during the hunt Vachagan and Vaginak came to a distant village lost in the mountains, and, tired, sat down to rest by the spring. It was a hot afternoon and peasant girls came to the spring every now and then, they took turns filling their jugs and pots, the prince was intolerably thirsty. He asked for water, and one of the girls filled the jug and handed it to Vachagan, but the other pulled the jug out of her hands and poured the water. She refilled the jug and the other emptied it again. Vachagan's mouth was dry, he was looking forward to when they would give him a drink. But the girl didn't seem to care, she seemed to start a strange game: she filled the jug and immediately poured out the water. And only having typed the jug for the sixth time, she handed it to the stranger.

After getting drunk and holding out the jug to the servant, the prince spoke to this girl and asked why she did not give him water right away, perhaps she wanted to play a trick on him, to make him angry. But she answered:

- I didn’t mean to play a trick on 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 so flushed in the scorching sun that I decided the cold water might hurt you, so I delayed for you to rest and cool down a bit.

The girl's clever answer surprised Vachagan, but her beauty struck even more. Her large and dark eyes seemed bottomless, her eyebrows, lips and nose seemed to have been drawn with a thin brush of a skilled artist, and heavy braids sparkling in the sun streamed down her back. She wore an ankle-length red silk dress, an embroidered sleeveless jacket wrapped around her slender waist and high chest. The pristine beauty of the stranger amazed and bewitched the prince, she stood before him barefoot, without ribbons and ornaments, and he could not take his eyes off her.

- What's your name? - asked the prince.

“Anahit,” the girl replied.

- Who is your father?

- My father is the shepherd of our village - Arai. But why do you ask my name and who is my father?

- Just. Is it a sin to ask?

- If it is not a sin to ask, then I ask you to say who you are and where are you from?

- Tell the truth or lie?

- What you consider worthy of yourself.

“Of course, I consider the truth worthy, but the truth is,” the prince cunningly cunning, “I can't tell you who I am now, but I promise that I will make myself known in a few days.

- Very well, give me back the jug. If you want, I can bring more water.

- No, thank you, you gave us good advice, we will always remember it, and we will not forget you either.

When the hunters set off on their way back, Vachagan asked his faithful servant:

- Tell me, Vaginak, have you ever met a girl of such beauty?

- I somehow did not notice her special beauty, - answered the servant, - I clearly understood only one thing, that she is the daughter of a rural shepherd.

In ancient times there was a king. At the palace he had a rose garden. There was a magic rose bush in the garden. No matter how hard the king tried, no matter how much the royal gardeners guarded this rose, they could not protect it. As soon as it began to bloom, a destructive worm attacked it. To read...

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