Armenian folk tales. Armenian folk tales Tales of the peoples of the world Russian Armenian Italian Indian

Armenian fairy tales

© 2012 Seventh Book Publishing House. Translation, compilation and editing.

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

From the brilliant, immersed in the greenery of the capital - Partava, today there is no trace, not even a name. The trading city was wiped off the face of the earth, and another was built in its place - 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, looking to heaven. Only gigantic plane trees and poplars can compete with them, beyond 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 Tsar Vache, the young Vachagan, stood, leaning on the railing, he admired the grove, which, 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 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 vocal singers. This singer was a nightingale - blbul, the comforter of lovers' hearts. When he began to sing, immediately all the birds fell silent and listened to his iridescent trills, some learned from him to chirp, others to whistle boomingly, and still 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. Heart anguish tormented him, and the singing of birds only intensified it. His mother, Queen Ashkhen, approached with inaudible steps and quietly asked:

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

“You are right, mother,” the son replied, “I am disappointed in life, honor and luxury no longer interest me. I decided to withdraw from the worldly bustle 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 it is - Hatsik. There boys 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 to see your witty Anahit as soon as possible?

Mom, how do you know her name?

- The nightingales of our garden sang it to me. But that's just why, my dear Vachik, began to forget that he is the king's son? And the son of the king must marry the daughter of the king, or at least the 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 only heir to all his rich estates. The Syunik king also has a marriageable daughter. Finally, why don't you have a bride Varsenik, the 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 the monastery. But if you insist that I should definitely marry, then know that I will marry only Anahit…” Vachagan said and, blushing deeply, hurriedly went out into the garden to hide his embarrassment from his mother.

Vachagan had recently turned twenty, he stretched out like 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 ruler of the Agvans, the king, wanted to take not the royal throne, but the clergy and become a preacher. It scared his father.

“Vachagan, my son,” his father told him many times, “you are my only hope and support. You must save the fire of our hearth, continue our family, and therefore marry.

The prince listened to his father in silence, his eyes downcast, and only blushed in response, he did not even want to think about the wedding. But my father was persistent and insistently 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 behind books and even went hunting, which he never liked, just not to hear his father's instructions. At dawn, he left the palace, wandered around the neighborhood, and returned home only late in the evening. Sometimes he wandered for three or four days, driving his parents to despair. He did not make friends with his peers, and took with him only his devoted, brave servant Vaginak and the faithful dog Zangi. Those who met them on the mountain paths did not realize that in front of them was the son of the king and his servant, both were in simple hunting clothes, with the same quivers of arrows and wide daggers, and only a knapsack with supplies was carried by broad-shouldered and strong Vaginak. They often went to mountain villages, and Vachagan watched with interest how ordinary people live, 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, bribe-taking judges were removed from their cases, and new, honest ones were appointed in their places; thieves suffered a well-deserved punishment and ended up in prisons, and the families of the poor suddenly received help from the king, although they did not ask for it. As if some unknown force saw everything and did good. And the people began to believe that their wise king Vache, like God, knows everything: and what anyone needs, and who is worthy of punishment, and who is rewarded. They say that in the kingdom of the Aghvans then there was no theft and injustice, but no one guessed that it was largely thanks to the young prince.

The travels did him good too. He became healthier and stronger, as if gaining 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 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 only a reason was needed, which soon presented itself.

Once, during a 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 kept coming up to the source, they filled their jugs and jars in turn, 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 tore the jug out of her hands and poured out the water. She refilled the pitcher and another emptied it again. Vachagan's mouth was dry, he was looking forward to being given a drink. But the girl did not seem to care, she seemed to start a strange game: she filled the jug and immediately poured out the water. And only having typed a jug for the sixth time, she gave it to a stranger.

Having drunk and handed 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 anger him. But she answered:

“I didn’t mean to play a prank on you, let alone piss you off. It is not customary for us to offend travelers, especially when they ask for water. But I saw that you were tired from the heat and were so flushed in the scorching sun that I thought the cold water could hurt you, so I hesitated for you to rest and cool down a bit.

The smart answer of the girl 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 flowed down her back. She was dressed in a long, toe-length red silk dress, an embroidered sleeveless jacket wrapped around her thin waist and high breasts. The primordial beauty of the stranger struck and fascinated the prince, she stood before him barefoot, without ribbons and ornaments, and he could not take his eyes off her.

- What is your name? the prince asked.

“Anahit,” the girl replied.

- And who is your father?

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

- Just. Is it wrong to ask?

– If it’s not a sin to ask, then I also ask you to tell me who you are and where you come from?

- Tell the truth or lie?

- What you consider worthy of yourself.

“Of course, I consider the truth worthy, but the truth is this,” the prince cunningly, “I can’t tell you now who I am, but I promise that I will let you know about myself in a few days.

“Very well, return the jug to me. If you want, I'll 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, - the servant answered, - I clearly understood only one thing, that she is the daughter of a rural shepherd.

INTRODUCTION

The tales offered to the reader are taken and $

collection of Srvandztyan and Navasardyan

(where they are written with some seal

individual processing of assemblers); from

collections "M argaritner", Eminsky collection,

magazine "Bazmavep", handwritten collections,

kept in the State Museum of Armenia

telling, almost verbatim and without any

stylistic involvement on the part of the assembler), and,

finally, from the literary heritage of writers

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

and "Aregnazan") and the poet Hovhannes

Tumanyan (two tales: “X oeyyain and

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

already in artistic processing, with

poetic inserts (by Agayants).

The translator set himself a difficult task:

combine in this collection (proposed

Russian reader primarily for reading)

and the principle of exact 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 tiring

lengths and endless repetitions: "said" -

“answered”, “said” - answered”, used.

in addition, without a personal pronoun, that Russian

speech is unusual and what should cool

reader. These lengths are released and mixed

to the required minimum. However,

the translator 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

reader everywhere highlighting them with detente, 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. Him

belongs to almost the first critical record of Armenian

fairy tales. Not knowing the language, he used the services

founder of the Armenian new literature, Khachatur Abo-

Vyan, and his compatriot, the colonist Peter Ney,

which for easy assimilation of oriental languages ​​and knowledge

many tales was nicknamed by him Scheherazade. Eventually

24 tales were recorded. Among them are Turkic,

and purely Armenian. Fully rely on Haxthausen

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

second hand material. However, several of the

his fairy tales exactly match those of Erivan

fairy tales collected later, they are only stated 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. Pioneer this

affairs was an outstanding person, Bishop Garegin Srvan-

jtian, who died in 1892. He belongs with love

compiled collections of fairy tales "Khamov-Khotov", "Manana"

I am "Groz-Broz". The matter of picking up moved on to more

scientific ground, when in 1906 the ethnologist Yervand

Lalayants founded in Tiflis the “Armenian

ethnographic society. In "Ethnographic Journal"

existing since 1896 and dedicated to the main

way of Armenian literature, he placed

many Armenian fairy tales. In Moscow, in published

at the Lazarev Institute of E-minsk ethnographic

collections was also printed material collected

Aykuni in different places, mainly Turkish

Armenia, and 6 tales of the Caucasian Armenians, recorded

Alexander Mkhitaryants, and a total of 96 tales. They are

placed in I II and IV editions. Lalayants in 1914

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

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

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, subsequently published by him six

little books. Finally, during the war

equipped scientific expedition to the conquered Armenian

area, which gave rich results in five months

taty: 872 fairy tales were recorded, which will make up a total

complexity 50 - 60 volumes. The material is obtained

boundless. Of course, not everything in this wealth actually

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

inherent in the Armenian people to a high degree.

Let us turn to the Caucasian army and see how

it composes its own tales.

The tormented Summer time is over; in winter, in the light,

Armenian peasant works at home, sometimes

turning into an artisan - a weaver, a tailor, a shoemaker,

But dusk is falling, the work is finished, and the whole family

going to "from" ah In each more or less

prosperous peasant house is from "ah - sublime

a room with an open side adjacent to a barn for

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

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

a familiar singer-ashug or a storyteller. Poor

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

guest, go to listen to fairy tales from a rich neighbor.

Talented storytellers are famous not only for

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

laudatory epithets are given to the changelings.

Almost without exception, storytellers know neither

literacy, no other language than their native. By

professions are gardeners, gardeners, millers, bakers

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

ram from the village of Parpi. As befits the title

storytellers are most often old people, but there are

between them and youth. The peasants listen

resting from the day's work and the monotonous squalor of his

But where, to what country does the magical

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

as something quite arbitrary. This is mistake. Created

imagination, the deceptive realm of fairy tales

limited by limits, also subject to "geography" ^ Jacques

and the earthly kingdom of men. Borders so fabulous

geography is the limits of the imagination of a given people.

Let us recall the wooded plains of central Russia;

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

forests, where not even birdsong is heard, but only,

robber whistle; steppes with crossroads of three roads,

patterned wooden towers; and the animals in them are dear - ^

brown Mishka, a skinny wolf, hungry like a dog;

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

of the Scandinavian north: didn’t they originate

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

lit by rotten things, with cute stupid kobolds,

blizzards and ice chambers of the snow queen in captivating

fairy tales by Andersen?

What could be food for the imagination

Armenian narrator? Deserted highlands burnt by the sun,

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, odorous,

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

rocks - nesting places of snakes and lizards. And over this

the narrator's fantasy draws the desert land

In ancient times, there lived a king. At the palace he had a rose garden. A magic rose bush grew in the garden. No matter how hard the king tried, no matter how the royal gardeners guarded this rose, they could not save it. As soon as she began to bloom, a destructive worm attacked her. Read...

Armenian folk tale

There lived a king, greedy and cruel. Once he ordered all the tailors, weavers, 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 from distant countries came to him, outlined a strip around his throne, and silently stood at a distance. Read...

Armenian folk tale

Once the king summoned all the tailors of his country to him and ordered him to sew a blanket according to his height: not long and not short. Read...

Armenian folk tale

There was once a rich king. He often, secretly from the Nazirs and Vazirs, dressed in the rags of a beggar and went wandering around the cities and villages, listening to what the people were saying about him. Read...

Armenian folk tale

Once a customer came to a hatmaker, brought a sheepskin and asked... Read...

There lived a king, greedy and cruel. Read...

One hunter wandered through the forest all night in search of prey, but all in vain. He was about to go home, when he suddenly heard: from the thicket of the forest came the sounds of a drum and a lute. He went in the direction from which the melody was heard. He looks, and there, in the clearing, forest spirits are playing a wedding. Read...

There were two brothers. One was smart and the other was stupid. The smart one did business 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 did not cherish the soul in him, and neither day nor night did they take their eyes off him. Crowds of servants followed Vachagan, forestalling all his desires. At twenty years old, the prince was stunted and fragile, like a flower that has grown without the sun. Read...

There lived a woman. She had only one daughter and her name was Guri. This Guri was such a lazy person, such a loafer and a white-handed woman, that she did nothing but do nothing all day. Read...

Once a rooster jumped onto the roof of the house and wanted to see the whole world from there. He craned his neck, turned his head back and forth, but saw nothing - the mountain that stood in front of the house closed the horizon for him. Read...

Once a customer came to the hatmaker, brought a sheepskin and asked... Read...

Once mind and heart argued. The heart insisted that people live for him, but the 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, the world was dominated by darkness and cold. 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. He was called that because he possessed 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...

Long ago, many years ago, there lived a brother and a sister. Read...

In the old days, sweet Onion and bitter Watermelon lived in the neighborhood. Then the bow was the same size as the Watermelon is now. A watermelon is as big as an onion today. As the Onion grew big and sweet, it was watered. He didn't have to take care of himself. The carefree Luk grew stout and heavy. One bad thing: he was bored. Read...

Once there lived and there was one king. This king had a son - his only heir. The king bought him a fiery sword for a lot of money. Read...

There once lived a husband and wife. And they didn't really like each other.