The life of Saint David, founder of the David-Garejeli monastery in Eastern Georgia, belongs to the cycle of biographies known as The Lives of the Syrian Fathers, most of which were composed by the Catholicos Arsenius II of Georgia (c. 955-80). To these Syrian Fathers is ascribed the introduction of monastic institutions into Georgia. The historical background of their mission has been the subject of considerable discussion, especially as their biographies, in their present form, were not composed until four centuries after their deaths, with the result that facts are overlaid with legend and myth.

The approximate date of the Syrian Fathers' mission to Georgia can, however, be established by references to real personages and events. Thus, the life of St. David of Garesja mentions the Patriarch Elias of Jerusalem (494-513). Lives of the twelve other Syrian Fathers refer to a visit to St. Simeon Stylites the Younger (521-97), who is described as sitting in an oven, which he is known to have done between the years 541 and 551. There is also a reference to the Persian king Khusraus’s siege of Edessa, which took place in 544. The Georgian chronicle known as The Conversion of Georgia says that the Syrian Fathers arrived some two hundred ears after St. Nino’s apostolate. These allusions combine to show that the Syrian Fathers arrived, or were traditionally supposed to have arrived in the Caucasus at various times between the end of the 5th and the middle of the 6th centuries.

While the Syrian Fathers are revered among the fathers of the Orthodox Georgian Church there can be no doubt that they belonged to the Monophysite persuasion, as did Peter the Iberian, whose life we have read in the last chapter. Syria was a great centre of opposition to the edicts of the Council of Chalcedon. We have already seen with what vigour the Emperor Marcian (450-57) persecuted those who refused to accept the Chalcedonian formulation of the doctrine of Christ’s two natures. After a period of respite under Zeno and Anastasius, there was a fresh outburst of persecution between the years 520 and 545 under Justin I and Justinian. Contemporary analysts give a lurid picture of the excesses committed by the Byzantine authorities against the Syrian clergy and monks, many of whom were forced to flee abroad.

We also have to bear in mind that at the period under review the Georgian Church was itself sympathetic to the Monophysite cause. At the Council of Dvin in 506, the Armenian Georgian and Albano-Caucasian Churches united in condemning the dogma laid down at Chalcedon. Not until a century later did the Georgian Catholicos Kyrion formally reject the Armenian Gregorian doctrine and bring his flock back for ever within the Orthodox fold.

When we recall that the Syrian Fathers arrived in Georgia at a time when Monophysite monks expelled from Syria were taking refuge abroad, and that the Georgian Church was then on the Monophysite side, we must conclude that the Syrian Fathers were indeed Monophysite refugees anxious to continue their religious work in the more tolerant and congenial atmosphere of Georgia.

In general, the Syrian Fathers are pictured as lovers of a hermits solitary life. But they were by no means misanthropic in outlook. St. Iese of Tsilkani, for instance, obliged his parishioners by diverting the river Ksani to run through their town. Several of the Fathers were distinguished by their love of animals. St. John Zedazneli made friends with bears near his hermitage. St. Shio employed an obliging but rather inefficient wolf to guide the donkeys which brought supplies to his lonely grotto. But it is perhaps in the life of St. David here translated that the good relations existing between the Syrian Fathers and the animal world are brought out in the most touching and vivid light.

The First Thursday after Ascension Day -
The Life and Acts of our Holy Father David of Garesja

The homeland of this worthy and marvel-working Father was the Mesopotamian valley of Assyria, from which there have stemmed such a host of excellent and saintly men fertilized by the Holy Ghost and made into a spring-sown field of spiritual grace. But I could not discover when the saint was born, nor who were the parents from whom he received fleshly birth and upbringing, though we may assume that this noble branch sprang from excellent roots. As the good tree brings forth good fruit, so did the saint by his fruit make known the quality of his forbears.

Although I am ignorant of the names of his corporeal parents, his spiritual father is well known to all, namely the wondrous and noble John Zedazneli. This blessed Father John was from the borders of Antioch in the land of Mesopotamia. And by the guidance of the Holy Ghost, he arrived in this country of Georgia nearby the sacred capital city of Mtskheta. He longed for a hermits life, and said to his disciples, “My sons, why do you stand idle? Do you not know that the Lord Jesus Christ has sent and guided us here for the benefit of this country? For this is a virgin land. Now it is time for you to go away separately and strengthen our brethren to walk in Christ's ways.”

So our holy father David departed to dwell in desolate and waterless places, so that by an ascetic way of life in this transitory world, he might win for himself eternal bliss and rest everlasting. He therefore chose to live outside in the wilderness, and for this reason his desert abode is called Garesja. He took with him one disciple, Lucian by name.

When they had arrived in this uninhabited and waterless place they became very thirsty. Then they found a little rain water which had collected in a crack in a rock, so they drank some of it and lay down to rest in the shadow of the rock. Afterwards they walked this way and that, and found a cave in the crag and settled down in it. Whenever it became sultry or rained they rested in the cave. For food they collected roots and grass, as it was spring time, and plenty of nourishment for the flesh was to be found. So they collected provisions and glorified God, the giver of all good things.

After some days had passed, the meadows became withered and burnt up because summer had arrived. Suddenly there came three deer, followed by their fawns, and stood before them like peaceable sheep. Father David said, “Brother Lucian, take a dish and milk these deer.” And he got up and milked them. When the dish was full he took it up to the hermit. And he made the sign of the cross and it turned into curds, and they ate them and were filled, and glorified God. After that the deer came every day, except for Wednesdays and Fridays, and brought their fawns with them, so that they were contented in body and joyful in spirit.

But underneath, close by the cave where the saints resided, there was another cave, in which was a large and fearsome dragon with bloodshot eyes and a horn growing out of his forehead, and a great mane on his neck. One day the deer were going by the entrance to the cave when the dragon attacked them and seized a fawn and swallowed it. The terrified deer ran to the hermit and trembled. When Lucian saw them shivering with fright he said to St. David, “Holy Father, these deer have come flying to us and are shaking with terror, and they have left one of their fawns behind.” So the hermit went out with his staff in his hand. When he had reached the place past which the deer had come, he saw the dragon and said, “Evil dragon, why have you harmed our deer, which God has given us to comfort our weak flesh? Now depart from here and go far away into the desert. If you do not obey me, then by the power of our Lord Jesus Christ I will rip open your stomach with this staff of mine and turn you into food for the mice.”

But the dragon exclaimed, “Do not be angry, O servant of God Almighty! If you want me to go away from here, lead me up to the top of that mountain, and promise that you will not take your eyes off me until I have reached the river which flows on the south side of the hills, because I am afraid of thunderbolts and cannot endure them.” St. David gave his promise, and the dragon set out with St. David escorting him and reciting a psalm. And the rocks of that place wobbled from the tread of the dragon.

When Lucian saw this, he was afraid, and fell on his face and lay as if dead. And St. David led the dragon up as far as the top of the mountain, and the dragon began to scramble up to the peak. When the dragon had left the plain, St. David set off back towards his desert abode keeping his eye on the dragon. But the angel of the Lord spoke from behind him and said, “David!” So he looked round, and as he turned the dragon was struck by a thunderbolt and completely burnt up.

When St. David saw this he was very sorry and said, “O Lord, King of Glory, why didst Thou kill this dragon which put its trust in me, in spite of which Thou hast relentlessly destroyed him?” Then the angel of the Lord said to him, “Why are you sorry, O virtuous follower of our Lord Jesus Christ? for if the dragon had entered the river waters, he would have passed on into the sea. By eating the fish there, he would have grown enormous in size, and have overturned many ships in the ocean and destroyed many living souls in the seas. So do not grieve because the Lord has shown His mercy in this way, but go to your cavern, because your disciple Lucian has fallen on his face and is lying terror-stricken from fear of the dragon. Stretch out your hand and raise him up and strengthen and fortify him, and both together glorify God who has freed you from the fear of that detestable monster of a dragon.

On this the angel departed. David went and found Lucian quaking with fear, lying on the earth, and he stretched out his hand and raised him up and said, “Brother Lucian, why were you frightened of a worm, which God has shriveled up with fire in an instant? Now do not be afraid, for the might of God is with us, and God’s grace protects all that fear Him.” So Lucian was cheered by the hermit's words and gave thanks to the Lord.

Then several days went by, after which some hunts-men arrived from the borders of Kakheti, for in that wilderness, even up to the present day, there is abundance of game, including deer and wild goats and a countless variety of other sorts of game. When the hunters came they spied this way and that and caught sight of the hermit’s deer going into the cave in the rock. Then the hunters hastily turned aside to trap them in the cave in the rock. As they reached the hermit's cavern they saw the deer standing while St. Lucian milked them. When the men saw this, they were stricken with fear and ran in and fell at the feet of the holy hermit and said to him, “How is it, Holy Father, that these deer, wild animals of the field, are so tame as to be more peaceable than sheep brought up in a domestic farmyard?”

He said to them, “Why are you astonished at the glories of God? Do you not know that He tamed lions for Daniel, and saved the three children unharmed from the fiery furnace? So what is so wonderful about these deer? Now go and hunt other game, for these animals are granted by God for our feeble flesh.”

But they replied, “Great is the glory of the Lord it is fitting for us also to share in your holy way of life, saintly Father.” Their hearts were stirred, and they wept and said, “We will not return home again, but shall remain here with you and not leave you any more.”

But the hermit said to them, “My sons and brothers, this place is uncomfortable and confined. You had better go home.” And with difficulty he managed to persuade them to depart.

When they had finished hunting they went away and spread the news through all that country. From all sides people hastened to St. David's presence and begged to be deemed worthy to stay with him. But be said in reply, “Brothers, this place is lacking in comfort, and no food for the body is to be find in these parts.” But they treated him. saving, “Do not abandon us, Holy Father. If death should overcome us in your presence it would not seem like Tenth to us When he had failed to persuade them, he said “Since you have been granted faith in God, go and fetch spades and dig water cisterns, and also caves to live in. And they obeyed him and did what he told them.

After the brethren had gathered together, a worthy and virtuous monk, Father Dodo, heard this news. He also came before David, and they greeted one another. When a few days had gone by, a large number of other brethren collected, and David said to father Dodo, “Go, Brother, to the spur of that crag which stands opposite us, and take with you the other brethren, for they wish to be mortified externally in the flesh for the sake of the life of their souls.” St. Dodo obeyed his command and went and built the hermitage which is called after our most holy Queen, the Mother of God, the glory of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and from Dave to day the number of the brethren increased and all together they glorified God.

The holy father David came out every day to the caves in the cliff and there peacefully offered up sacred prayers, and with his sweat and tears watered those places as with a spring. One day when he was praying thus, there arrived a certain man belonging to a tribe of barbarians from the district of Rustavi, and he was hunting game. Now his hawk brought down a partridge near the place where St. David was praying, and the partridge took refuge by the hermit and perched by his feet, and the hawk perched close by. This vas by divine intent ,so that this hunter should himself be hunted by the grace of God. Then the barbarian hurried up to take the partridge from the hawk.

When he saw the saint standing in prayer, and the partridge sitting by his feet, the barbarian was amazed, and said, “Who are you?” David replied in the Armenian language. “I am a sinful man, a servant of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I am imploring His mercy, to forgive me all my sins, so that I may leave this transitory life in peace and quietness.” Then he asked again, “Who looks after you and feeds you here?” David replied, “He whom I believe in and worship looks after and feeds all His creatures, to whom He has given birth. By Him are brought up all men and all animals and all plants, the birds of the sky and the fishes of the sea. Behold, this partridge which was fleeing from your hawk has taken refuge with me, the sinful servant of God. Now go away and hunt other game, for today it has found a haven with me, so that it may be saved from death.”

The barbarian replied, “I intend to kill you, so how do you expect to save the partridge from death?” But St. David said, “You can kill neither me nor the partridge, for my God is with me and He is powerful to protect.”

At this word of the saint the barbarian, who was on horseback, drew his sword to strike St. David on the neck. When he raised his arm, suddenly it withered away and became like wood. Then the barbarian realized his wickedness and got down from his horse and fell at the hermit's feet, and begged him with tears to rescue him from the error of his ways.

Then St. David had pity on him and besought the Lord, saying, “Lord Jesus Christ, our God, who didst come down to give life to the human race, Kind and Merciful One who didst cure the hand that was withered up - likewise, O Heavenly King, just as Thou didst see fit to do this, so cure the arm of this barbarian, that he may understand and recognize Thee and glorify Thy name.” Then the saint took his hand, and when he touched it, in an instant it was healed by the grace of God.

When he witnessed the might of God he began to entreat him greatly with burning tears and said :O St. David, “O servant of the Living God, my son at home is lame in both legs and completely unable to get up. Now I place my trust in your saintly virtues that you may pray for him to the Lord. If he is cured, then God's kindness will be all the more glorified, and I will bring the child before your holy presence to be blessed by you, and I and all my household will worship the name of Jesus Christ. I will present you with abundant pr visions, and you and all your followers will be generously provided with the fruits of my estate.”

St. David answered and said to him, “Go to your house, and if it please God, you will End your son cured.” So he went home in a cheerful mood, especially as he had had a successful day's hunting. When he arrived at his home - Behold now Thy wondrous works, O Christ! this lame child of his, which used to crawl on all fours, walked happily out to meet his father! When his father saw him completely restored and perfect in limb he got off his horse and offered up thanks to God.

When it was dawn he loaded donkeys with great quantities of stores, including bread and vegetables, and went out to the holy hermit, bringing his son and two other children of his to receive his blessing. Then St. David collected all the brethren together and fed them with the stores he had brought. When they rose from dinner. Father David asked whether he had any boon to ask of him, and he begged to be accorded holy baptism. Then St. David told him to take some of the provisions and go to Father Dodo and feed also the brethren who were there and receive their blessing too. And the worthy Father Dodo gave a joyful and cordial welcome to the barbarian man and his children and servants, and blessed them. In accordance with Father David's orders he gave them a priest, from whom he and all his family received baptism, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

A certain time elapsed, and the assembled brethren became very numerous. Then the blessed David summoned his disciple Lucian and said, “Brother Lucian, if it be pleasing to God, I want to go to the holy city of Jerusalem to pray at the Holy Places and worship at the life-giving sepulchre of our Lord Jesus Christ.” With some difficulty he managed to persuade Lucian to remain with the brethren, and he himself set off for Jerusalem, accompanied by a few of the brothers.

When they had arrived at the place which is called the Hill of Mercy, from which the city of God, the holy Jerusalem, can be seen, they all raised their arms towards heaven and offered up thanks to God. But when St. David saw Jerusalem he fell upon the ground and said to them, “No, brethren, I may venture to advance no farther from this spot, for I judge myself unworthy even to approach those holy places. But you go and pray for me, a sinner.”

After he had spent much time there in praying and lamenting, bowed down towards the earth, he picked up three stones and packed them in his scrip as sacred relics, as if they had been hewn from the very sepulchre of Christ. After this he turned round and walked joyfully along the road which leads to Garesja. But God, astonished at his candour and faith, wished to make manifest the renown of His servant, who from excess of sincerity did not dare to enter Jerusalem. So that night He sent an angel to speak in a vision to Elias, Patriarch of Jerusalem, saying:

“There is come as far as my city of Jerusalem my own particular servant David, and by his faith he has carried away with him the grace and favour of Jerusalem. So now send runners out swiftly to catch lip with him, for he is going along the road leading away from the city dressed in a felt cloak. He has an old scrip in which there are three stones which he has taken as sacred relies from the place whence he turned back. Tell those men to take these stones away from him and give him back one only, and they art to speak to him as follows: Thus the Lord commands you - Through your faith, you have taken away the grace and favour from my holy city of Jerusalem, but it has seemed good to me to restore two parts to Jerusalem, so that the city may not be entirely excluded from my mercies; but I will present a third of it to you to take back to your wilderness. Go then in peace and take this stone as a sacred relic to your hermitage, as a memorial and a testimony to your faith.”

When the Patriarch had seen all these things in his dream he started up out of his sleep and immediately summoned swift messengers and told them everything he had seen and heard from the angel in the vision. So they left the city and quickly went about their errand, and overtook the holy father David and informed him of everything the Patriarch had told them. In the scrip which he carried with him they found the three stones, and they took two of them away from him. But one they gave him hack as the Patriarch Elias had directed them. Some time later, St. David reached his hermitage, and all tic brethren greeted him with joy and good wishes when they heard of the arrival of their spiritual shepherd. And even today that stone remains in the hermitage effecting great miracles of healing right up to the present time.

And David, this great shepherd and father of ours, went out from day to day to visit and encourage the brothers who lived in remote parts, and strengthen them in the campaign of virtue. Now when a considerable time had passed in this way, his ship was full of the good cargo and inexhaustible riches of virtue, and it was time for it to be carried up to the heavenly shores above. So he summoned all the brethren whom he had gathered together and instructed them with words of paternal exhortation. Afterwards he partook of the immaculate and immortal mysteries of Christ, being the sacred flesh and holy blood of our Lord Jesus. Then he raised up his hands towards God and committed his soul to Him, and relinquished his body, worn out with much toil, to he committed as earth to earth, while the brothers who had gathered round wept bitterly over the loss of their good shepherd.


David Marshall Lang (6 May 1924 – 30 March 1991), was a Professor of Caucasian Studies, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. He was one of the most productive British scholars who specialized in Georgian history.

Selected bibliography
    Lives and Legends of the Georgian Saints (New York: Crestwood, 1976)
    The Last Years of the Georgian Monarchy, 1658-1832 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1957)
    A Modern History of Georgia (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1962)
    The Georgians (New York: Praeger, 1966)
    The Peoples of the Hills: Ancient Ararat and Caucasus by Charles Allen Burney and D.M. Lang (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1971)

The material presented by D. M. Lang and B. Sisauri [Master of Divinity - Georgia, Email: b.sisauri(at)mailcity.com]

"Blame a friend to his face, an enemy behind his back"
Wise Saw


In  Rhetoric  it  is  written:  A  man  should  begin  everything  with  an  introduction.  This  is  true, Let us so begin.

Whoever recognizes himself in the image of Luarsab, whoever applies to himself what is written  of  Luarsab  willof  course  begin  to  throw  mud  and  call  the  simple  author  of  this  story  a  "fool".  Let  them  be  well  assured  that  we  have  naught  to  do  with  individuals,  we  write  of  a  general evil.

For  the  rest,  I  find  courage  in  the  truth  of  these  words:  "Blame  a  friend  to  his  face,  an  enemy  behind  his  back".  Where  now  art  thou  that  first  spoke  these  wise  words?  I  know  where  thou art: thou art in the people, unseen, and of the people.

I  know  too  what  thou  art  called,  thy  name  is  the  genius  of  the  people.  And  I  know  thy  nature: thou art infallible and always right. Thou and only thou givest to him whose heart is sore for "others". Thou doest this even when those "others" hold sympathy with their sorrows to be a sin. What are we to do? Some show .their sympathy by praising what is evil in a friend and some by blaming the evil. Of these two kinds of people the reader will himself perceive which has the greatest and truest sympathy and love.


I

Prince  Thathkaridze's  abode  was  a  fine  sight.  Imagine  to  yourself  in  the  midst  of  Kakhethi  in  a  little  village,  a  bare,  low-lying  spot  and  in  the  very  heart  of  it  a  two-story  stone  house. And after this manner were the stories: below was a wine cellar roofed with dry branches of vine and behind this cellar against the wall a little room with a balustrade.

On the balustrade, like a swallow's nest, there, was fixed up a narrow plank which played the part of a bed. A little way off stood a fireplace also of planks, on this side of it a shed upon which was placed a lop-sided grain-basket, a miserable, forlorn-looking object. There was a little garden  too,  fenced  round.  By  the  fence  could  be  seen,  near  a  leafytree,  an  old  straw  shed,  bent  and twisted on to its side by the vicissitudes of time. It was as if it would fain have lain down in the shade, but like an old woman suddenly stricken by an attack of rheumatism, it was stopped, all  crooked  and  surly.  The  courtyard  of  this  castellated  mansion  was  fairly  extensive.  It  was  engirt by an old paling which had been broken in more than one place and it had never come into the present owner's head to mend it. Evidently he is a Georgian!

The  fence  was  terminated  at  one  end  by  huge  red  gates,  of  which  one  side  perhaps  for  two years, — had been pursuing with a terrible frown a post, as if  it  would  seize  it and beat it, while the post bent still farther over as if to slip away. Beyond the red gate was a large barn. The straw of it was lying spread like a hillock on the southern side of the whole barn, so that the end of it lay on the chaff-place. The chaff-place was ludicrous, so idiotically meditative and raised on the one side, looking like nothing so much as a broken-winged goose.

In  my  early  childhood  I  have  seen  many  a  fine  sight  on  this  straw:  here  often  disported  themselves,  grunting  from  excess  of  sentiment,  tender  pigs,  many  a  time  with  their  soft  snouts  they burrowed in the fragrant straw, so energetically, with such delicacy as only pigs are capable of.  Then  their  fondling!  Their  caresses!  Oh,  these  are  indescribable.  However  contented,  these  pigs  treated  each  other  to  the  snout.  What  yelling  and  squealing  used  to  begin  then!  Thus  does  our peasant frequently bestow upon his newly made bride a blow of his fist as a sign of affection. Somebody has said: "Georgian love is an injury", and I say: a blow is after all, a kind of caress. In administrative matters this has yet another significance; there a blow is a means of instruction. That is not our affair.

The inside of the courtyard was as filthy as an old chinovnik's (official's) heart. It was a serious undertaking to reach the master of the house without dirtying yourself or  without  being  saluted by some unsavoury fragrance. This is the outside, — now, readers, we invite you to enter the house of Prince T'hat'hkaridze.

But we must warn you that if we go in we must be careful. The floor is of brick. That is nothing. This is the difficulty that here and there the bricks have been pulled up and in their place remain  hollowed  out  holes.  You  must  keep  your  eyes  very  wide  open,  for  if  your  foot  slips  in,  woe  to  your  enemy!  A  man  might  break  his  neck  or  else  his  leg.  It  is  true  indeed  the  host  will  make many apologies, but an excuse doesn't easily mend a broken neck nor is it the best remedy for  a  fractured  limb.  A  man  might  avoid  this  disaster  if  the  room  were  light.  But  alas!  it  is  not  even this. Although it has two windows, pretty small even for loopholes, still the room is dark, because  on  the  pine  window  frames  instead  of  glass  some  very  active  mind  had  fixed  oiled  paper. There is a proverb applicable to this sort of thing: "Cunning is better than force, if a man is ingenious". In ingenuity the cleverest European chatterer cannot excel a Georgian.

Many a time elsewhere have I seen such windows with ludicrous ornaments. Many a time have I seen the oiled paper on such a window pricked with patterns with a needle: sometimes a heart  is  portrayed,  sometimes  a  cross:  and  again  sometimes  something  like  the  following  is  is  written: "How did the bear go up the tree, lullaby, lullaby!"!

This of course must be a woman's work. And if it were indeed, what harm is there in it? Weary of reading her Psalter, with some sorrow on her heart, seated at the window to distract her mind and pass a wearisome day she may have taken her breast-pin and set her hand to this really entertaining work. She was idle and she acted in accordance with the proverb: "Useless work is better than useless sitting".

In T'hat'hkaridze's room there were two long divans opposite each other. So clean were the felt and carpets spread upon them, that when the Princess rose up, on every serene stop of the serene foot of her serene highness the clouds of dust rose so prettily that the beholder could not gaze enough. Between the two divans on the eastern wall was seen a besmoked, from the inside and  from  the  outside,  sad,  mournful  fireplace,  like  the  open  mouth  of  a  toothless  old  woman.  Here and there as adornments to the room were scattered various objects, such as: a muddy pair of white Qarabagh riding boots, a broken-mouthed copper jug, a greasy candlestick, dried herbs boiled in a copper teapot, a piece of the back of a dried fish, etc, etc.


II

Think not, readers, that this house belonged to some poor man and that therefore it was so pitiably neglected — no, he is the master of twenty men with well-built houses so that he is able to man as many as ten carts for agricultural purposes,  sheep  in  abundance  and  about  a  hundred  horses which are of no less value to an enlightened owner than so many slaves. So much for the live  stock:  now  let  us  count  up  the  property:  two  well  grown  vineyards  and  land  enough  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  days  ploughing  and  sowing.  These  possessions  serfs,  houses  and  land  in  the  hands of one who knows how to make the best of it are a choice morsel.

Then why does it stand in such ill condition, asks the astonished reader. Because he is a Georgian, we reply, fully convinced that we have given a good reason.

Yes,   in   that   beautiful   home   dwells   a   Georgian,   free   from   care,   Prince   Luarsab   T'hat'hkaridze, a man of forty, with his inseparable spouse, Princess Darejan.

Prince Luarsab T'hat'hkaridze was a well-nourished  Georgian of the olden time, as round — I make no apology for the simile — as a well fatted calf. His Highness had the appearance of a  gentleman:  a  head  so  big  that  it  seemed  as  if  by  its  weight  his  thick  neck  was  fixed  in  his  shoulders like a nave in a wheel; his poppy cheeks were ruddy as Thurashian apples, a soft chin with triple fold, apt to kindle love great big eyes, always bloodshot as if he had a rope tied round his neck; a swelled, very considerably protruding, highly respected and respectable paunch, inert, fat,  hairy  hands,  squat,  big  feet-here  you  have  a  general  and  particular  description  of  Prince Luarsab's  "heaven-breathed  soul's"  worthy  covering.  This  heaven-breathed  soul  was  nowhere  visible, as if it had been choked through being buried in His Highness's fat. A Georgian should be careful of breathing in or letting out wind. May not our prince have let this "heaven-breathed" soul escape in wind?

Of learning, by the grace of God, he had none at all. If he had he would not have been so fat.  It  often  happens  that  when  the  soul  languishes  the  flesh  makes  holiday,  when  the  soul  blooms the flesh fades. This is why, they say, that consumptives are wise. I do not think, it ever struck our Luarsab to ask why he had no education, — just for that reason:

"It is the plague of the present day", he used to say sorrowfully, just as if the country was suffering from this plague.

His  Highness  was  right  too:  in  his  opinion  man  was  a  bottomless  jar  into  which  all  day  there  should  be  poured  provender  and  drink,  but  it  could  never  be  filled.  His  Highness  saw  in  himself, with his serene wisdom, that an untutored man could fulfil this function perfectly well, all the more if he is lord of herds and serfs, serfs who do not differ much from the herds.

"Times  have  changed"  Luarsab  used  to  say  with  a  groan,  "times  have  changed.".  Since  these infernal schools have been introduced, Sir, the virtue has gone forth from the Georgian. No colour is left in our children. As for eating, they do not know how to eat, and as for drinking they can't drink. What sort of men are they?! They understand books? Though I don't know anything about books am I not a man, haven't I a hat on my head! (*1) I don't lack flesh and colour. Books are not a trade for men, — that's women's work. Give me back the good old days ! Then everything was  done  in  the  proper  way,  everything  was  in  its  own  place...  A  good  horse,  a  good  gun,  a  strong arm, and a man was respected then" Ah! my Luarsab! I know thou art sincere, like every old-fashioned Georgian, but thou art wrong in longing for the olden times. Dost thou not know who  was  desirable  in  the  old  days?  Are  there  not  horses  now?  Does  not  the  gun  hit  the  mark  nowadays? Are there few strong arms? We still have all these things, but we lack that heart, that ardour,  that  patriotic  devotion  which  was  wont  to  use  a  good  horse  and  a  good  gun  in  a  good  cause. The men of by-gone times gave beauty to horse and gun, but now it is the horse and gun that adorn the man. The olden days were good, but the poet Besarion Gabashvili was not wrong when he said. "One 'I have' is better than a thousand 'I hads?'", — we will say this and bite our tongues, lest...

Though  Luarsab  lamented  so  much  the  plague  of  the  present  day,  still  his  face  always  wore a smile of imbecility peculiar to him. There is a saying: "If you yoke one ox to another it will  change  either  its  colour  or  its  temper".  I  never  saw  this  proverb  so  justified  as  in  Prince  Luarsab's house. His dear consort, Princess Darejan was indeed her husband's other self and they were "One soul and one flesh" as it says in Holy Writ. But how? The same rotundity, the same corpulency,  the  same  smiling  face  and  almost  the  same  stupidity.  These  two  tender  wood  pigeons, one in soul and flesh, lived wondrous pleasantly together, far from the vapid turmoil of the world. At cockcrow the happy couple opened their eyes: Darejan immediately flew out of the nest  while  Luarsab,  the  selfish  Luarsab,  often  indulged  himself.  With  the  coverlet  thrown  back  from his chest to turned on the other side with a snore, a groan and other noises of the kind. It happened even that he passed the dull time until dinner in this luxurious manner.

The Georgians say: "He who has plenty of hair on his body is lucky" If this be true, then beasts should be happy! If it be false why should so many of us try to act like beasts? Because if beasts are happy they are only happy because they are hairy.

What can we say about Luarsab's body? As for his chest it was covered with bristles like a pig, so that many doubtful creatures were able in times of alarm to find shelter there, but "... but what? Was not Luarsab happy? As many healths had been drunk in his honour as a Prince of his  standing  could  desire.  The  hair  on  his  body  alone  was  enough  to  rouse  the  envy  of  an  unfortunate man, apart from anything else. What indeed troubled Luarsab? Did he lack colour or flesh? When did he, like any other simple man, allow thought or care to rob him of sleep or of appetite? He had a good colour, the best of flesh, enough of drink, food and sleep. What more is needed by a Georgian who considers that good and bad luck depend upon hair, and for him, if it be his lot, happiness consists in fanning away flies with his hat all his days.

Reader, are you not weary? Of course you are: here there is no love intrigue, no murder, no wailing of hopeless maids, no leaping into the water, in a word nothing that adorns the story written to amuse, here there is nothing of this kind. Then you must be weary, of course. But you ought to know this, reader, that I have not written down this simple story to amuse you. I want this story to make the reader think, and if it wearies him it is because thinking and boredom are inseparable brother and sister. I want the reader to be wearied, not because it is not amusing but because he is made to think. If this simple work can succeed in doing this I want nothing more, nor did I desire more, my weary reader! If I cannot contrive to do this, what's to be done? I can console myself with this that idle work is better than idle "sitting" How many a useless man has become useful by this blessed proverb. I too perhaps...

When  Luarsab  was  in  the  state  of  bliss  above  described  it  was  death  if  anybody  interrupted  his  enjoyment  and  luxury,  that  is,  turning  over  and  over  in  a  gentlemanly  and  honourable manner on the divan. He was angry if a guest came, said silly people, but surely this was not because he was mean? I wonder that you should think such a thing! Can meanness and a Georgian  be  found  together?  Do  not  frost  and  fire  destroy  each  other?  If  he  disliked  visitors  it  was only because he had to get up and dress. Getting up even was nothing, this had no terrors for Luarsab:  but  it  was  dressing  that  was  the  death  of  him.  He  passed  the  whole  summer  without  letting anything come near his body except his shirt and its companion garment, if he was left to his  own  devices;  if  not,  everything  additional  was  a  burden  to  him.  In  winter  he  put  a  fur  coat  over his shirt, unless any important personage was invited, for instance the district judge. At the time of which I write the judge was a big bogey: nowadays, since that weary learning has come in,  the  judge  is  not  looked  upon  as  anybody  in  particular,  but  formerly  ugh!  ugh!  What  a  great  man  he  was.  He  was  such  a  big  man  that  a  proverb  was  made  about  his  entertainment  by  the  lesser nobility: "Don't think it a joke to have a judge for your guest". That entertaining a judge is no joke every peasant even knows very well nowadays, and formerly the princes knew it too.

Darejan  was  not  as  lazy  as  Luarsab;  in  this  respect,  'fore  God;  they  were  certainly  not  alike;  it  turned  out  that  they  had  the  same  colour  but  not  the  same  character.  Whenever  the  princess opened her eyes wide she flew out from the divan like a falcon, fastened her petticoat, tied a kerchief round her neck, put on a chintz 'gown — sometimes in her haste, wrong side, first — thrust her bare feet into slippers, and, with a "Now boy!" went down to the strawhouse where the servants reigned, that is in misery and only to a certain extent, and brooded wrathfully over their pent-up feelings. This useless pottering about on the part of our princess was wonderful and ludicrous.  This  fat,  dumpy  woman  often  stood  on  her  feet  from  morning  till  noon  and  rolled  about like a ball. She was not as idle as she seemed: here she poked with her elbow a bleary-eyed girl  dozing  over  her  sewing,  here  she  slapped  the  head  of  a  smoky,  ragged  little  urchin,  who  yawning  and  lazily,  was  cleaning  for  the  evening  the  greasy  candle-sticks  of  the  night  before;  here  she  scolded  one  —  for  what?  The  princess  herself  hardly  knew  why;  there  she  abused  another — why? The princess did not know this either; she cursed, swore, raged; in a word, she poured  forth  on  her  subordinates  all  the  pent-up  wrath  of  the  night  and  then,  weary  and  exhausted, went into the house; if she met the maid she could not resist giving her another nudge, with a supplementary "May a thunderbolt strike you", if she was in a good humour — and thus worn  out  she  rolled  into  the  room,  where  sometimes  the  bloated  prince  had  rolled  over  like  a  wine-skin and if it was summer, counted the flies on the ceiling. On one noteworthy occasion he expressed an opinion and they started a discussion, This was in the middle of the hottest time in summer,  before  dinner,  when  Darejan  had  just  finished  a  journey  of  the  above  description  and  came back into the room with a throbbing in her head and wet with sweat. Luarsab looked round, and seeing that the sweat flowed in beads over her ruddy cheeks said to himself with satisfaction: she is a fair tower of strength in the household, she is a fine woman! I thank thee, my Creator, that thou hast vouchsafed me such an one.

When  he  had  said  this,  content  with  his  unclouded  lot,  the  prince  pleased  with  God  and  man,  turned  over  on  the  other  side.  This  turning  over  and  over  was  a  sign  that  Luarsab  was  pleased at something.

"Where have you been, my dear, that you are so tired?" he then enquired of the princess.

"How  can  you  ask  me  where,  my  dear?  if  you  have  a  house,  a  household,  a  yard,  you  must keep a sharp look-out, may your troubles light on my head!" replied the princess.

"Just so, my Darejan, just so, I honour you for it! it is woman's work.

"Well!" replied his consort, self-satisfied with his praise: "You must keep your eyes wide open with servants or they will do nothing but eat. Young people want looking after."

"Of course, of course!" "Many a woman does not know how to attend to her business".

"No, they don't know, if they did it would be a good thing, so it would!"

"Sometimes you must rage at them without a cause. If you abuse them it won't do them any harm. Now see how I abuse them, how angry I get, how I rage and curse, and all for what? So that they may fear and respect me, otherwise! ..."

"Of course, of course, otherwise! ..."

"That's what peasants are like; like a stubborn ass, if you once give it its head, then, even if you hold a bunch of berries before its nose you cannot make it budge a foot if you don't rage at it".

"Of  course  you  must  roar  at  it,"  replied  Luarsab,  again  enchanted  at  his  wife's  wisdom:  "of course, they are like stubborn asses".  "I am right, am I not?" "Of  course  you  are  right,  quite  right.  Even  the  dream  of  a  woman  would  be  true,"  chattered Luarsab inconsequentially. He himself did not know why he had dragged dreams into the conversation.

They were both silent. Luarsab fixed his eyes on the ceiling, where swarms of flies were sitting. Darejan began knitting a sock.

In a short time Luarsab called out:

"I  say",  Darejan,  of  you  are  a  clever  woman,  guess  how  many  flies  there  are  on  that  beam?"

"Where?"

"There, on that beam of the ceiling."

Now don't say that while they had been silent that ridiculous Luarsab had been counting the flies. How should Darejan know.

"How many are there?" said Darejan, "tell me, then I'll count them".

"I could find out that way. But guess, that is where the sport comes in".

"Is that how I am to do it? Very well, I say there are thirty."

"Oh! Ho! Ho! You, you can't guess.

"Well, how many are there?"

"How many? shall I tell you? No, I won't".

"Tell me if you know."

"As I am a man, there must be forty, Oh ! Ho! Ho! you ... I have guessed.

"Yes, you have guessed... you counted, as you did the other day; I could guess like that too".

"God bless you! may my good father be damned if I counted."

"Then how do yo know there are forty?"

"How? because I am intelligent".

"But am I not intelligent too?"

"Yes, but how can a woman's intelligence come up to a man's? I saw by looking carefully that there were forty".

"But if there are not forty?"

"I'll bet you there are".

"Then let us count them".

The pair began to count the flies. It turned out that there were more than fifty.

"So you guessed?!" said Darejan reprovingly: "yes, you guessed. My lord has intelligence and that's why he guessed".

Luarsab was ashamed and became somewhat confused.

"They  had  flown  away,  there  were  forty,"  said  the  stupid  fellow  to  justify  himself;  "of  course they had flown away".

"All  the  better  if  they  had  flown  away,  wouldn't  there  have  been  fewer  left?  There  are  more than fifty there now".

Luarsab grew angry and said to himself: "Why did I chatter like that".

When he found himself entangled in his own net, grinding his teeth, at which the princess laughed aloud, he said:

"God damn! I am not such a child! I counted them four times"

"But you said you hadn't counted them".

"I  wonder  to  hear  you  say  so!  If  I  had  not  counted  them,  I  should  have  been  another  Solomon the Wise if I had guessed. Of course I counted them, God damn! I made a mistake or else I should have won, my soul's delight! By my life and by God, I should have won."

Thus spoke the deceitful Luarsab, and became sweet as sugar to his consort who had won on this occasion.

"And so you didn't count them, you imp, you?" repeated the princess with a smile.

"I have acknowledged it, my dear, what more do you want?"

"Your long life and happiness, my pet! what more should I want".

"Darejan!"...  said  Luarsab  in  an  aggrieved  and  bashful  tone;  "Darejan,  if  you  love  me,  don't call me pet."

"Why, my dear, why?"

"It doesn't befit a man like me, let me tell you with all due respect: people call little lap dogs "pet", it's a dog's name, but what sort of name is it to apply to a man?"

"But aren't you my little doggie? Aren't you? This is the first time I have heard you say so," replied Darejan sobbing, for she considered that if he objected to be called her little dog he must have ceased to love.

Luarsab  perceived  that  he  had  grieved  her,  and  all  to  no  purpose,—and  in  order  to  dissipate the idea of his ceasing to love her, he said grinning his teeth:

"Oh! I give in! Oh! I am your little doggie, of course I am! What an eloquent woman she is!" said Luarsab to himself. How prettily and poetically she spoke about my being a little dog! What a mastery of language !... How could she think of it?!"

He too wanted to invent some endearing epithet, but while he was trying to think of one there  swam  before  his  eyes  visions  of  stock  fish,  middle  cut  of  sturgeon,  leg  of  mutton  with  garlic and such things. With these objects in view what caressing epithet could a man think of?

Nevertheless Luarsab contrived to utter eloquent words:

"Do you know what you are to me? Cress of my soul, tarragon of my heart and my mind's —  what  shall  I  say?  Let's  say  salt.  Haven't  I  spoken  well,  if  I  have  not  may  your  good  and  renowned father be damned! Weren't they pretty epithets?"

Chattering  thus  Luarsab  enchanted  by  his  own  eloquence  gnashed  his  teeth  as  a  sign  of  joy. Nor was Darejan unhappy. Often did our couple pass the time in this way. Would that they, O reader!


III

Luarsab well knew how to "terrorize" the servants, as he himself would say. It is true he was  inclined  to  be  lazy,  but  after  all  did  not  such  a  large  estate  need  supervision?  The  cares  of  this estate drove him to spring from his couch. Then you should have seen what a fair sight our Luarsab  was  barefooted,  with  a  blue  sheepskin  hat  upon  his  head,  in  a  red  shirt,  with  his  inseparable companion.


(*1) In Georgian a male is a "hat wearer", a female a "mantilla wearer".



Ilia Chavchavadze
Works
Translated by Marjory and Oliver Wardrops
Ganatleba Publishers
Tbilisi 1987

What will the good backgammon player do, if he does not throw  the six in time


I

I am just what is called a lover of the chase. I have a strange liking for sitting at the foot of a tree in a shady, voiceless forest waiting with bated breath for the sighted quarry. There is an untiring  pleasure  in  this  enviable  occupation.  I  agree  with  you  that  hunting  is  a  sin:  every  creature is the work of God's hands, each has an equal desire to live on this: wide earth, but what is  to  be  done?...  Holy  Writ  assures  us,  not  falsely,  that  it  was  man  who  shed  the  first  innocent  blood of man on earth. Man is a shedder of blood, and I am a man. Many a time have I seen a deer  frightened  by  the  hounds,  many  a  time  have  I  seen  it  and  many  a  time  has  my  mind  been  captivated  by  its  free  beauty.  When  it  has  set  its  branching  horns  along  its  back  it  runs  swift,  beautiful and proud, while behind it barks the trained hound. The poor beast outruns the dog and falls into the clutches of man, who in these circumstances is more merciless and less to be trusted than  the  dog.  From  afar  the  keen-eared  sportsman  hears  the  deer's  footfall.  He  hears,  and  his  bloodthirsty  heart  beats  and  beats  with  sheer  impatience.  Now  it  comes  within  gun  range,  between  the  leaves  and  bushes  is  seen  its  sad,  melancholy  head.  The  dog  draws  near.  The  deer  pauses,  then  darts  round  like  an  arrow  into  the  bushes.  Thou  thinkest  that  since  thou  hast  changed  thy  way  thy  beloved  wood  will  give  thee  full  freedom  from  danger,  but  no,  J  whistle.  Then  you  should  see  with  what  sadness  it  stands,  with  what  wondrous  beauty  it  draws  up  its  neck, how in terror and despair it begins to turn its melancholy eyes, to prick up its ears and to sniff  with  widened  nostrils!  It  is  so  pretty  and  so  tender  and  yet  in  its  timidity  there  is  such  an  attractive  pride  that  you  would  think  that  it  had  gathered  all  the  grace  granted  it  by  nature  in  order  by  its  worth  and  beauty  to  soften  the  heart  of  the  hidden  foe!  But  man  is  not  so  tender-hearted as to be deterred by this, when it smelt the smell of man the deer resolved to flee, but the gun  thundered  forth  and  the  deer,  hitherto  living,  free  and  bold  was  stretched  on  that  grass  in  whose lap he had first opened his eyes to greet the world and where he now finally closed them in an eternal farewell. It had been its cradle and at the end it was its grave. You should see how resignedly and quietly the proud free beast died. But its tearful eyes always seem to be asking me this question: My slayer, God's world is large and wide — Why dost thou grudge me, innocent and peaceful, a span's length on God's boundless earth? These words sadden the heart until, the earth  has  dried  up  the  blood  spilt,  and  when  it  begins  to  dry.  then  I  call  to  mind  that  even  we  lords of creatures, the crowns: of things created, we who are made in the image of God, do not suffer each other to have room, — when I remembered that on every foot of ground trodden by man, some of man's blood had dried, then I consoled myself and, justified, I said to myself: "this at  least  is  well,  my  friend,  that  thou  diest  there  where  thou  wast  born.  We  men  sometimes  are  deprived even of that happiness".


II

About  fifteen  versts  down  from  our  village  there  are  some  good  hunting  grounds.  But  why  there?  Everywhere  in  our  blest  land,  where  —  as  the  peasants  say  —  "Christ  God  has  shaken out from his generous bosom", everywhere are good places. Whatever you want is there, beginning with the graceful deer and finishing with the gentlemanly wild boar or the wise bear. Not  to  speak  of  birds.  But  down  from  our  village  were  my  favourite,  hunting  grounds.  Well  I  knew  their  disposition  and  I  had  my  game  marked  down  and  even  seen.  I  used  to  go  away  for  two  or  three  days;  when  night  drew  nigh  I  turned  into  a  little  village  where  I  had  a  worthy  peasant gossip. I would spend the night there and in the morning when the grey dawn appeared I went  down  to  hunt.  I  had  not  been  there  for  two  months,  when  at  last  I  longed  to  go  out.  One  fine,  summer  morning  I  said  my  prayers,  took  my  double-barrelled  gun,  called  my  hound  and went out. At the entrance to my gossip's village where the double hedge began, on the edge of a     cart road stood an old straw shed leaning against a byre. The entrance down into the stable was vaulted like the carpeted covering on a bullock cart. Round about this shed there was no trace of man.  It  had  been,  I  think,  abandoned  to  its  fate  and  forgotten,  like  its  owner  at  his  removal  or  death. Of course, I had frequently gone up and down past this shed, for it stood on the edge of the road, but for as many times as I had passed to and fro I had not once seen a living«creature here.

Perhaps  at  times  a  skinny  backed  peasant's  horse  which  could  go  no  farther  from  feebleness was enticed to the neighbourhood of the shed by the grass dried up with drought. But one  day  as  I  was  passing,  to  my  wonder,  I  saw  a  man  lying  at  the  door  of  the  stable.  That  was  nothing.  In  the  morning  when  I  went  past  I  looked  and  saw  the  man  still  lying  there.  In  the  evening, before twilight had quite yielded to darkness, I came back again I found the man there. It surprized me all the more as there was none but he. I resolved that I would certainly ask my godsire  who  he  was  that  evening.  My  godsire  answered  my  question  thus:  What  can  I  tell  you,  my son? No one here knows who he is. He is some needy peasant having no master; he is sick and came and settled there about a month and a half ago.

—Is he quite alone?

—How do I know? He has not any comforter there at any rate.'

—Then who provides for him?

—The world. On that road movement never ceases. There are always passers-by: it may be a man of God drops him a piece or two of bread. He asks for nothing more than that.

— He does not belong to these parts?

— What do you ask? If he belonged here how could he have so displeased God that his own folk would not have given to him. No, he is not of these parts. Have you spoken to the. man?

— Why not? I have spoken to him.

— Did he say nothing about himself?

— No. But the unhappy man was evidently educated.

— Perhaps you did not ask him about himself?

— How not ask him? Once he said to me: "I, says he, am a forgotten man, why dost thou want to know who I am? Look at me, my brother, and know me", — says he. He spoke no more of himself and I asked no more after that. I think he is hiding himself.

This made me wonder. By nature I am a lover of knowledge and now imagine how these fragmantary words of my godsire moved my heart to learn the man's story. What could he have to conceal? I thought to myself. I resolved that whatever might betide me, I would ask the poor man himself who he was.

One  day,  worn  out  with  wandering  in  vain,  and  empty-handed,  I  was  returning  to  my  gossip's. The sun was still high. It was the time when the cattle are let out of the byre. I saw the wretched man still lying in the same place. My heart could endure no more. I said: whatever may be, I will go and perhaps I shall persuade him to tell me something. I am a little tired too and it is a good way to my godsire's house. If it does no more good it will let the rheumatism out of my wearied knees, I went up and wished him "Victory" (*1)

God  grant  thee  length  of  days-he  replied  with  a  weak  voice,  and  he  came  forward  respectfully  when he saw I was of the princely class.

*  *  *
"Alas! O world, (Fate) what ails thee?
Why dost thou whirl us round?
What (ill) habit afflicts thee?  
All who trust in the weep ceaselessly like me.
Whence and whither earnest thou?
Where and whence uprootest thou?
But God abandons not the man forsaken by thee
(Rustaveli: "The Man in the Panther's Skin").

— He speaks truth who said that may thy troubles be upon me! If the world has turned to face away from me and not given me shelter,   still God's lap is broad!...

When  he  said  this  he  looked  up  to  God.  You  may  imagine  how  these  words  from  "The  Man in the Panther's Skin" astonished me from a beggar wrapped in rags!...

God bless the speech of that man whose words console even to the door of the grave such inconsolable ones! Peace be upon thy mighty soul, immortal Rustaveli.

— What shall I do? said I in my heart. This man cannot have been what he now is. My curiosity was unrestrained now that the man himself had prolonged the conversation with me and given  me  hope  of  learning  something  of  him.  I  wished  to  question  him,  but  did  not  dare:  I  recognized that a long familiar breath had suddenly inspired him with great melancholy. First I preferred that the cloud of melancholy should dissipate, then I would question him as to who he was. At last he turned towards me and for a long time fixed his black eyes upon me.  


(*1) The usual Georgian salutation.



Ilia Chavchavadze
Works
Translated by Marjory and Oliver Wardrops
Ganatleba Publishers
Tbilisi 1987

I

In the morning at six o'clock an unwashed, uncombed yamshtchik (Russian driver) drove up  with  a  post  cart  to  the  door  of  the  hotel  at  Vladikavkaz  where  I  had  alighted  the  evening  before.  It  is  wonderful  how  fair  Russian  artists  make  the  coarse  features  of  these  thicknecked  drivers,  their  slovenly  gait  and  inhuman  and  bestial  manners.  They  are  twice  as  disgusting  in  reality as they are portrayed attractive. But the Russians say "Even the smoke of our own home is sweet and pleasant to us". Of the sweetness of smoke I know nothing  but  certainly  I  can  say  that it is pleasant — very pleasant — especially when it draws tears from the eyes.

When I had packed, that is when I had put my little knapsack in the chaise, I turned to bid farewell to my newly made French acquaintance.

Who  invented  this  vehicle?  He  asked  pointing  to  the  postcart  on  which  the  sleepy  "yamshtchik" was stupidly nodding.

The Russians, I answered.

I  imagine  nobody  is  likely  to  dispute  the  honour  with  them.  I  pity  you  to  be  forced  to  addle your brain and shake up your stomach on a thing like that. What's to be done? If the whole of Russia travels in this: manner why should I complain?

That's why Russia doesn't advance more rapidly. God give you a safe journey. As for me, I tell you frankly I would not risk my life by getting into it. Good-bye! If we should meet again some day I beg you to remember me.

With these words he gave me his hand and grasped it firmly as only a European can.

I entered the postcart.

The "yamshtchik" first looked sulkily round then gathered the reins together, called "gee-up"  to  the  lean  horses  and  raised  his  whip.  The  lean  horses  did  not  budge,  not  even  an  ear  twitched.  "Now,  the  devil,  move  on  won't  you,"  he  shouted  to  the  horses  shaking  the  reins  and  beginning  to  stamp  with  his  feet.  Not  a  bit  of  it,  the  horses  did  not  move  a  step.  My  French  acquaintance was looking out of the window, dying with laughter. What made the silly fellow so merry?

"The whole of Russia travels like that? Ha, ha, ha," he laughed, "they travel like that?"

I  saw  nothing  amusing  in  it  but  I  laughed  too.  The  "yamshtchik"  wrath-fully  turned  his  cow-like  eyes  towards  me  and  began  to  scowl  like  a  beast.  Then  he  bent  his  thick  neck  to  the  horses again and gave them a couple of lashes. The horses, when they found there was nothing else to be done, managed to start from the spot and set off trotting. The tinkling bells began their unpleasing jangle, the carriage began to bump over the stones and I was shaken from side to side.


II

Thus I left Vladikavkaz behind me and set my face towards my native land. I passed over the Terek bridge so that I might not only not drink its waters but not even see it. I was afraid that my  eyes  might  light  upon  some  native.  To  us,  Georgians  there  is  something  unpleasant  and  disagreeable in a dweller on the Terek. For this there is very good cause: first we do not like him because a dweller by Terek is really a Terek dweller, then because... because, secondly he is a Terek  dweller,  thirdly  because...  because...  because...  thirdly  too  he  is  a  dweller  by  the  Terek.  Come now and dispute the validity of such a wise reason to our distressful Georgian people.

That baleful Terek! How two-faced it has been! See how dead it is. Whenever it turns its back to us and its face to Russia, when it gets into the plains and the flat country somehow that daemonic, heroic voice ceases. Is that our mad Terek at Vladikavkaz of which our poet sings:

"Terek rushes, Terek thunders
"The rocks give back its bass"

There it is as spiritless, as dead, as if it dwelt under the rod or had received a high official post. But perchance Terek is so silent there because the echoing rocks are not by its sides, those rocks:

"The clouds lie black upon the rocky heights
"And wrathfully threaten the earth with a deluge".

But  nevertheless,  woe  to  thee,  my  Terek!  Thou  my  foster  brother,  like  some  men,  wherever thou goest thou donnest the hat of the country. No sin is thy thunder, thine awful noise, thy fury and fretting, thine eternal strife with boulders, rock and glen, as if thy large desire could not  be  contained  in  thy  narrow  bed.  Much  is  there  that  is  worthy  of  thought  in  thee,  our  unsubdued Terek, in thy victorious and obstinate course. But here thou art drowned like a slain lion dragged alonge. Thou art pitiable and thou doest sin!

"Oh, fortune in what dost thou consist.
"Why dost thou turn us about, what instinct afflicts thee?" (*1)

It  was  midday  when  we  arrived  at  the  Lars  posthouse.  Up  to  Lars  my  heart  had  felt  no  particular  pleasure  except  that  the  nearer  I  came  to  my  native  land  the  more  familiar  became  nature about me and the more Terek raged and dashed.

I went into the empty room at the post house and as I wished to drink tea I told a broken-legged soldier, who stood as sentinel at the end of the post house, to bring a samovar. While he was getting the samovar ready I lay down on a wooden couch and gave myself up to thought.

For four years I had lived in Russia and had not seen my home. Four years!... What a four years these four years are dost thou know, reader? First of all it is a whole century for him who is far from his native land. Then these four years are life's foundation, life's head waters, the hair-like bridge thrown across between light and darkness. But not for all! Only for him who has gone to Russia to exercise his intelligence, to give his brain and his heart work, to move forward. It is in  these  four  years  that  the  tendril  of  life  knots  itself  into  the  brain  and  heart  of  youth.  This  tendril it is from which may come forth beautiful, bright clusters of grapes and bilberries too. Oh, precious  four  years!  Happy  is  he under whose feet the extended hair  bridge  does  not  give  way.  Happy is he who makes good use of you!


III

When I had left Vladikavkaz and the breeze of my native land began to blow on me my heart began to beat in another way. In the postcart my best thoughts were lost in rattling over the stones. Now, reclining like a grandfather on the couch in a room of a post house you may be well assured that I gave my thoughts all my attention and mind. All that I had left in my beautiful land adorned  like  a  bride,  all  that  I  had  seen,  suffered  and  learnt  crowded  upon  me.  Many  confused  thoughts were represented before my mind's eye, but quicker than lightning one thought changed to another, so that my mind's eye could not rest on one and the same object for one moment — in a  word,  there  was  a  perfect  revolution  going  on  in  my  brain;  thoughts  which  had  taken  a  low  place  came  up  high,  those  which  had  been  high  went  down  and  then  they  quarelled  among  themselves.

This was the state I was in. At last, all my thoughts took their proper in my brain. Among them one stood out more brightly, to this one followed a second to the second a third, so that at last  they  became  an  unbroken  string  of  beads.  How  shall  I  look  on  my  country  and  how  will  it  look  on  me,  thought  I.  What  shall  I  say  to  my  country  that  is  new,  and  what  will  it  say  to  me.

Who  knows:  perhaps  my  country  will  turn  its  back  on  me  as  on  one  transplanted  and  reared  in  another  soil.  Perhaps,  though  it  will  acknowledge  me,  since  in  any  case  my  native  rennet  is  in  me. But what shall I do if my country listens to me and tells me her story, and I, inexpert in her "language, can not understand her tongue, her speech? It may be, though, she will receive me as her son, clasp me to her heart, and eagerly listen to me. But am I indeed able to speak her very speech,  and  in  that  tongue  can  I  bring  consolation  to  the  hopeless,  can  I  wipe  the  tears  of  the  mourner,  and  lighten  the  work  of  the  labourer,  can  I  gather  in  one  those  separate  sparks  which  without doubt animate every man? Am I able for this? Can I express what I feel? I decided that my  country  would  receive  me  and  acknowledge  me  because  I  am  her  blood  and  her  flesh;  I  should understand her words and speech because a son hearkens to his father not only with his ears, but with his heart which understands even the unspoken words; I will make them hearken to my words too, for a parent always listens to the words of his child. But I say all this of words, and what of deeds? If thy country demand deeds of thee what wilt thou do? I asked myself, and again I stopped. I felt that this question made a break in the variegated string of my thoughts.

And what should I really do? I asked myself aloud. You should take some tea, replied the soldier, who at this moment brought in the samovar and placed it on my couch.

Tea!

Wasn't that why you ordered a samovar, replied the stupid orderly, and went out. A few moments  after  this  the  door  opened  again  and  an  officer  presented  himself.  His  face  clearly  showed that he was very intimately acquainted with wine and spirits. It was easy to see that he was not a traveller.

Allow me, he said, to make myself known to you: I am, at your service, a Sub-lieutenant, I am quartered here at Lars in charge of a squad.

I am very glad to make your acquaintance, I replied, rising and offering him my ungloved hand.

Where do you come from?

From St. Petersburg.

Very pleasant! In this desolate desert I have only one pit sure and that is to meet travellers from a civilized land. It is the duty of man, who lives by reason, both to God and to the world, to meet enlightened men to talk to awaken his intelligence. I am very glad to see you. Discourse is the mind's food.

Speaking thus, he again offered to shake hands; a second time I offered him my hand.

Who are you? he asked me.

I am, at your service, an Armenian clerk.

A clerk! he said, and pursed his lips.

Yes, sir.

My new acquaintance when he learnt this immediately put on the airs of a personage of importance: he drew up his shoulders and changed the tenour of his conversation to another key.

Where do you come from? he asked me with surprise and scorn.

From Petersburg.

Hm! sneered the officer, from Petersburg. Very good!... So you have been lucky enough to  see  Petersburg.  Petersburg!...  It's  a  very  fine  city,  he  said,  and  sat  down  comfortably  on  a  bench.  Petersburg!...  Oh,  oh!  It's  a  great  city,  Petersburg.  It  is  a  spacious  city.  It  isn't  like  your  dirty little town. What sort of a town is yours? You can spit from one end of the town to another. But Petersburg... have you seen Petersburg j! It is the heart of Russia. It is true that up to now the  whole  of  Russia  thought  that  Moscow  was  its  heart,  but  I  have  dispelled  that  false,  foolish  idea: I am an author. I beg you to know me. Don't look at me like that. I affirm that Petersburg is the heart of the whole of Russia. Have you seen Izler's garden?

I  listened  to  this  officer  and  thought  to  myself  that  he  must  be  mad,  but  I  could  see  no  sign of it except in his confused conversation.

No, have you seen Izler's garden or not? he asked me again.

How do you prove that Petersburg is the heart of Russia? asked I, giving no answer to his last question.

No,  first  tell  me  have  you  seen  Izler's  garden  or  not?  You  people  are  not  used  to  intelligent  conversation  and  that  is  why  you  jump  from  one  subject  to  another.  You  do  not  understand logical, orderly reasoning. This, of course, comes from your lack of enlightenment. I suppose    that    you    do    not    even    know    the    meaning    of    "civilization",    "association",    "argumentation",  "intelligent",  "cassation"  and  "philology".  But  that  is  nothing  —  that  is  temporary. Even you will be taught. Thank God, many officers and officials come from Russia to enlighten you. No, first tell me, have you seen Izler's garden or not? If you haven't seen that, you haven't seen Petersburg.

I have seen it.

You have seen it. Then you have made a step forward on the road to enlightenment. I am very glad, delighted. Izler's garden! What a garden it is, eh! It is a paradise full of fairies, ah! Do you  know  what      fairies  are?  That  is  a  scientific  word,  perhaps  you  don't  understand.  If  we  translate it into the vulgar tongue that means that the garden is full of merry-eyed damsels. If you like you can take one by the arm, and, if you like, a second. See what civilization can do. Your women  —  if  they  even  see  a  man  —  they  hide.  No,  Petersburg...  is  a  great  city,  a  very  enlightened city and Izler's garden is the crown of civilization, it is such a garden that "phew!"

At these words the scientific officer kissed his finger tips.

I hope that this samovar is standing on the table for you.

Your hope does not deceive you.

I  hope  too,  that  you,  as  a  man  who  has  come  from  a  civilized  country,  will  be  polite  enough to offer me tea.

That hope I will not disappoint.

Of course, you have rum too.

I am sorry I have not.

That doesn't matter. Are you an Armenian or a Georgian?

A Georgian.

I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  a  Georgian.  Although  our  Lermontov  writes  that  "the  timid  Georgians  fled"  yet  even  Georgians  are  better  than  those  blackguards.  You  have  cigarettes  of  course.

I have.

I hope you will give me one.

With great pleasure, take one.

Well then, you pour out the tea and then we can have some scientific conversation. It will be difficult for you, but I will translate scientific words here and there into simple language and so thus make it easy for you.

I  poured  out  the  tea  and  handed  him  a  glass.  When  he  had  drunk  it  he  smoked  his  cigarette and started the conversation.

Your country is not civilized, to use learned language, that is to say in the vulgar tongue it is uncivilized, do you understand.

Very clearly.

There,  I  told  you  I  would  simplify  the  learned  language  so  that  you  would  understand.  Now I will begin from this: your country is not enlightened, that is, it is unenlightened. This tea is from Moscow?

No, I bought it in Stavropol.

It's all the same. Now let us begin as I said before with the fact that your country is not enlightened, which mean? that your country is dark.

Do you understand?

Yes, quite well.

Now  when  we  begin  by  saying  that  your  country  is  not  enlightened  it  is  as  if  we  said  there  is  no  light  in  it.  I  will  explain  this  by  an  exam,  pie:  imagine  a  dark  room  —  have  you  imagined it or not?

I have imagined it.

No, perhaps you have left a window open somewhere, fasten it too.

I have shut it, said I, and smiled.

Very good. When you fasten the window you must let down the blind.

I have drawn it down.

When you have let down the blind the room is darkened, you can see nothing. Suddenly a candle  is  brought  and  the  room  is  illuminated.  That  is  enlightenment.  But  really,  I  tell  you  this  cigarette is not bad. Is it from Petersburg?

No, I bought them in Vladikavkaz.

It's all the same. Now do you understand the meaning of enlightenment?

Very clearly.

Now,  since  I  have  explained  to  you  the  meaning  of  enlightenment,  let  me  ask  you  how  civilization is progressing among you.

I cannot tell you. I have not been home for a long time.

That's nothing: I will learn directly how it is progressing. Have you had any generals, you Georgians?

We might be able to muster about a score.

What do you say? a score. Oh, that is a great thing, said our learned officer solemnly; a score  do  you  say?  This  handful  of  people  and  twenty  generals.  You  must  have  a  great  civilization, sir. You cannot understand — twenty generals! I don't believe it. Perhaps you count as  real  generals  what  we  call  in  learned  parlance  "actual  councillors  of  state",  or  in  simpler  language  "civil  generals  or  still  more  simply  "un-striped  generals"  or  if  we  put  it  still  more  simply "unmoustached generals". This is of course what you have done.

No, by your sun! I swore; by your san! I was speaking of real generals only.

A score of real generals! Glory be to Orthodox Russia! Glory and honour. Wherever she sets  her  foot  she  establishes  civilization!  How  many  years  will  it  be  since  Russia  came  down  here?

About seventy.

Two generals for every two years. It's a great thing, that is a great civilization. And what sort of generals? Real generals. If by the power of God civilization marches like this among you in another seventy years you will have twenty more generals and that will be forty. That's a great thing. I didn't know this. But where was I to find it out? It is not yet three years since I came to this country. To tell you plainly, I have had no time to fix a learned eye on your country, I have been  studying  a  very  deep  subject,  I  have  made  deep research, I have read histories and all my time  has  been  spent  on  this  scientific  work.  But  my  labour  has  not  been  in  vain,  future  generations will remember my name.

What have you done?

What have I done? It is easy to tell you. You see in Russia the serfs have been taken away from their masters. The masters have no servants left. They were left at the mercy of hirelings. Sorrow  came  upon  the  land,  for  these  hirelings  began  to  steal  everything  in  the  house.  I,  like  a  heart-sore  son,  was  grieved  at  the  sorrow  of  my  land.  I  said  to  myself:  the  country  must  be  helped, said I. Thank God, I have helped it too. I have invented a means by which hirelings can no longer steal in the house. Quite a simple occurrence made me discover the cure. My orderly was a very great thief, he didn't even let the sugar in the sugar box alone. I thought and thought; what can I do, thought I, I began to lock the box, but sometimes I used to forget and when I went out of the house the orderly stole my sugar. At last I caught two flies and put them in the sugar-box, shut the lid and left it unlocked. Now you will ask me, why? This was why, — if the orderly wanted  to  steal  sugar  again  he  would  have  to  open  the  box.  When  he  raised  the  lid  the  flies  would fly away. Then when I came in I would open the box and if I saw no flies inside then it was  evident  that  somebody  had  raised  the  lid.  Who  would  do  it  except  my  orderly?  Since  I  invented this my orderly couldn't steal from me. Now every morning when I finish my tea I catch flies in the room, I put them in the box and all night I am calm. I know that no one can steal my sugar.  How  do  you  like  my  idea?  It  is  cheap,  and  a  cure  for  stealing.  It  might  be  used  for  everything  that  we  keep  in  a  box.  I  have  never  told  this  idea  of  mine  to  anybody  before,  but  I  love  your  land  so  much  that  I  tell  you  and  I  beg  you  to  make  it  known  to  your  unenlightened  masters. There is one thing I have not found a way to stop, the stealing of vodka. I did try to put flies  in  the  vodka  bottle,  but  the  cursed  things  drowned  themselves  in  it  —  they  know  what  is  good for them. But I shall soon think of a cure for that. Well, how does my cunning please you? The French invent devilish sorts of things like that, but to buy their machines is dear, while my invention doesn't cost a farthing. What expense is there in catching two flies and putting them in a box? It is nothing, but now see what maybe the result of my invention: when it spreads perhaps there will begin to be a trade in flies. There will thus be a new industry in the land; some fine day you  will  go  into  your  town  and  you  will  find  a  fly  shop.  That's  not  bad.  How  many  hungry  mouths  may  be  filled  by  the  help  of  flies!  What  are  flies  at  present?  Nothing.  Of  what  use  are  they? None at all. Now you see of what great significance the labour and work of a learned wise man is to the land. I did come here although many entreated me not to do so. I said to myself: If God has bestowed some talent on me I should use it for my people, said I, but said I, these newly annexed  countries  need  more  enlightenment;  enlightened  men  are  needed.  But  wait  a  little  and  see  what  will  happen.  I,  as  I  told  you  already,  have  invented  one  thing,  now  others  may  invent  other  things,  and  it  may  happen  that  there  will  come  a  man  who  will  make  an  Izler's  garden  in  your  town;  all  things  are  possible  to  the  educated  man.  In  that  case  all  the  civilization  of  Petersburg  would  be  brought  here.  Then  some  fine  day  you  will  see  how  there  will  be  a  promenade in your Izler's garden, your women will begin to walk boldly, you could say "Sheni Chirime" (*2) to one or another and they will not say a word. Then the people will see their paradise, as the learned say, that is to put it simply but what shall I say, paradise is just paradise. Do you understand?


IV

That evening I came up to Stepantsminda. It was a beautiful evening so I decided to stay the night that my eyes might open on the lovely view.

Oh Georgia !

"Where is there another Georgia!
In what corner of the world?"

I  went  out  from  my  room  and  looked  over  at  Mqinvari,  which  they  call  Mount  Kazbek.  There  is  something  noble  about  Mqinvari.  Truly  can  it  say:  the  heavens  are  my  head-dress  and  the earth my slippers. It rose in the azure sky, white and serene. Not a cloud, even of the size of a man's  hand,  dimmed  its  lofty  brow,  its  head  silvered  with  frost.  One  solitary  star  of  great  brilliance shone steadily,  as  if  marvelling  at  Mqinvari's  noble mien. Mqinvari! Great is it, calm and peaceful, but it is cold and white. Its appearance makes me wonder but doesn't move me, it chills me and does not warm me — in a word it is Mqinvari /frozen/.

Mqinvari with all its grandeur is to be admired but not to be loved. And what do I want with  its  greatness.  The  world's  hum,  the  world's  whirlwind  and  breezes,  the  world's  ill  or  weal  makes  not  even  a  nerve  in  his  lofty  brow  twitch.  Although  his  base  stands  on  mother  earth  his  head rests: in heaven; it is isolated; inaccessible. I do not like such height nor such isolation nor such  inaccessibility  .Thank  God  for  the  desperate,  mad,  furious,  obstinate,  disobedient  muddy  Terek!  Leaping  from  the  black  rock's  heart  he  goes  roaring  and  shouting  on  his  way.  I  love  Terek's  noisy  murmur,  its  hurried  struggle,  grumbling  and  lamentation.  Terek  is  the  image  of  human awakened life, it is a face mobile and worth knowing; in its muddy waters can be found the lye to wash a whole world's woe. Mqinvari is the noble image of eternity and death: cold as eternity,  silent  as  death.  No,  I  do  not  love  Mqinvari  —  all  the  more  because  it  is  inaccessibly  high. The foundation of the earth's happiness is placed at the base, all buildings are reared from the bottom, no building is begun from the top. Therefore I, a child of this earth, am better pleased by Terek and loveit more. No, I do not love Mqinvari; its coldness stings me, its whiteness ages me!  It  is  high,  you  say.  What  have  Ito  do  withits  height  since  I  cannot  reach  up  to  it  and  it  cannot reach down to me. No I do not love Mqinvari. Mqinvari reminds me of the great Goethe. Terek  of  the  stormy  and  indomitable  Byron.  Happy  Terek!  Thy  charm  lies  in  thy  restlessness.  Stand  still  but  a  little  while  and  dost  thou  not  turn  into  a  stinking:  pool  and  does  not  this  fearsome roar of thine change to the croaking of frogs! It is movement and only movement, my Terek, which gives to the world its might and life.


V

Night  had  fallen.  Gazing  on  Mqinvari  and  the  Terek,  occupied  with  various  thoughts,  time  had  stolen  on  so  imperceptibly  that  I  scarcely  noticed  how  the  sun  had  bidden  farewell  to  the earth which he had warmed and was hidden by the mountains. It was night, nothing could be seen, the world's din ceased, the earth was silent.

It was night, but I know not what I should have done had I not had hope that dawn was coming  again.  Would  life  have  been  worth  living?...  O,  nature  I  love  thy  order  by  whose  aidevery night dawns into day.

It  was  night  but  still  I  stay  outside  the  posthouse  and  obstinately  I  make  my  keen  mind  follow  the  sough  of  Terek's  desperate  rush.  All  was  still,  but  not  thou,  O  Terek!  I  assure  you  I  hear  in  this  voiceless  world  Terek's  complaint  not  to  be  hushed.  In  human  life  there  are  such  moments of solitude when Nature reveals thee. to thyself and at the same time reveals herself to thee.  Therefore,  canst  thou  say  that  even  in  solitude  thou  art  nowhere  alone.  Oh,  biped  who  callest  thyself  human.  This  night  I  feel  that  there  is  as  it  were  a  secret  bond  —  a  concord  —  between  my  thoughts  and  Terek's  moan.  My  heart  is  moved  and  my  arm  trembles.  Why?  Wemust tarry for an answer.

It  is  dark,  man's  footfall  is  hushed,  man's  noisy  pomp  has  ceased,  no  more  is  heard  the  moan of those disquieted by weariness and longing, earth's pain slumbers, no being save myself is to be seen. Alas! how empty were this full earth without man!... No, take away this dark and peaceful  night  with  its  slumber  and  its  dreams  and  give  me  light  and  restless  day  with  its  sufferings, its tortures, its struggles and its lamentations. Dark night, I hate thee. Hadst thou not been  created  upon  earth  me  thinks  half  man's  ills  had  not  existed.  At  first  by  thy  coming  thou  struckest horror into the mind of man and frightened him.

Since  then,  terrified,  he  could  not  find  his  way  —  and  lo!  man  struggles  and  even  till  today one in a thousand cannot accustom his once frightened mind to its terror. Oh, dark night! I hate thee. In the shelter who knows how many evil foes of mankind are lurking even now? Who knows how many smiths and tyrants are forging the chains to fix man's fate under this dark veil which  covers  my  sight?  Thou  art  the  abettor  of  that  craft  called  sorcery,  which  to  man's  terror-stricken  mind  makes  woe  seem  joy;  thou  art  the  hour  and  time  of  the  witches'  feast  when  the  toasts of darkness are heard. Evil one, avaunt, O day of light, approach!...


VI

At  the  posthouse  I  learnt  that  there  was  frequently  much  delay  in  travelling  by  post  through the mountains, owing to the lack of horses at the stations. I was advised to hire a horse as far as Phasanaur and to cross on horseback. This advice suited me well, I gave myself up to sleep, intending to hire a saddle horse on the morrow and to cross the mountains thus.

The  day  broke.  How  beautiful  art  thou,  morning  dawn!  How  beautiful  art  thou,  dew  washed  earth!  It  seems  to  me  that  on  this  morning  all  earth's  pains  should  be  alleviated,  but  Terek still roars and struggles. The earth's pain it seems is not to be calmed.

The  day  broke  and  the  world  began  to  speak  with  human  voices.  The  day  began  its  restless bustle. An awakened man is good!... But still better is that man who in sleeping sleepeth not, his heart afire for the misery of the land. My lovely land, be there such in thee? I will search, and if I find any I will do him reverence.

I went outside the station and met a glensman. I hired a horse from him on condition that he should accompany me on horseback. Not only did I not repent but I was very glad that I had arranged  matters  thus.  My  glensman  turned  out  to  be  very  useful.  He  was  a  grizzled?  elderly  man. In the end it appeared that he was an interested observer of that little land which fate had stretched round him and which was appointed to vary his colourless life.

We mounted our horses and set forth from Step'antsminda. I gave a last look at Mqinvari. He stared down in a lordly way from his height. Hedisturbed my morning peace, of mind. Again my  heart  began  to  beat  and  my  arm  to  shake.  With  perfect  hatred  I  turned  my  eyes  from  Mqinvari's greatness and with more respect I took my leave of Terek madly rushing at his feet. He, as if he ... sat on a little mountain horse which trotted almost the whole way with a comical "wolf's "trot. My glensman's longhaired fur hat slipped over his eyes, and so easily he sat astride his wide saddle, so comfortably and untroubled he suited his valiant form to the horse's trot, so peacefully and with such enjoyment he smoked his "chibukh", that you would have thought — it would be hard indeed to find another man in such fettle on the face of the earth.

What is your name, brother, asked I.

They call me G'unia of the reeds, he answered.

Where do you come from?

Where? From Gaibotani, here in the mountains on Terek's banks.

— Are you Osset or Georgian?

— Why will I be Osset? I am Georgian, a glensman.

— Your home is in a good place.

— It's not so bad: it suits our poverty.

— Water like this and air are happiness.

— Hm! laughed the glensman.

— What are you laughing at?

— I laugh at the ridiculous. An empty stomach cannot be filled wi'these.

— You should have a good harvest here.

— What for no? The place is not bad; we get a pickle, each man will have less than a two weeks harvest. We have not much room.

— This big road will give you help.

—  What  difference  does  the  road  make!  It's  only  of  use  to  him  who  is  saved  work  by  carrying things to sell.

— Then you do not hire yourself out?

— Why not? Of course I do.

— Then you get money from hire.

—  I  get  it.  It  doesn't  stay  in  my  pocket,  though;  a  glensman  is  the  portion  of  the  Armenian. Food and drink are not in the house; the money goes to the dukan. (*3)

— Then it must be better in the plains; there the people have more to eat.

—  Who  knows?  There  too  there  are  ills.  The  climate  is  unhealthy.  The  folk  thereabouts  have  no  colour,  they  are  not  strong.  Here  we  are  healthy.  The  Maker  of  the  round  sky  has  decreed it; there Satiety, here health.

— Which is better, the fat land or the healthy?

— Both are alike. No place is bad.

— If you were made to choose one of them?

— One? To choose! I prefer these broken rocks. It is healthy. Adam's son is but grass, he has  wants,  he  satisfies  them,  why  should  he  suffer  pain?  (At  this  moment  my  glensman's  rope  stirrup  suddenly  gave  way,  he  could  not  balance  himself  and  slipped  to  the  side  of  the  horse.  Then he recovered himself, leapt from his horse and began to mend the stirrup).

— A caparisoned horse is a necessary evil, the glensman called out with a smile; blessed is the barebacked horse; you have only to... and jump on.

I did not wait for the glensman but went on.


VII

— Tell me, by your troth, said I to the glensman when he caught me up: What monastery is that opposite Step'anstminda?

— Beyond the Terek?

— Yes.

—  May  God  be  merciful  to  you  while  living  and  pardon  you  when  dead!  that  is  the  church of the Holy Trinity, the hiding place of treasure in former days, the seat of justice.

— How the hiding place of treasure, the seat of justice?

— The Georgian King's treasure was hidden here from foes, many a time has the treasury been brought here from Mtzkhet to be concealed.

— How is it the seat of, justice?

—  The  seat  of  justice?  Here  there  is  a  cell,  where  justice  was  dispensed  by  judges.  Whenever any serious affair arose in the glens it was judged there.

— Canst thou not tell me what this justice was like and what it was about generally?

— Why not tell thee? What I know I will relate to thee. When there took place among the people a great pursuit, any important affair, a big election, the people betook themselves thither, chose judges from among the wise old men, men famed for their wisdom. They set them up in that  cell  to  judge.  Whatever  these  mediators  then,  in  the  name  of  the  Trinity,  having  asked  for  grace from God, speak and decide, none breaks, none infringes.

— Hast thou been present at such a tribunal?

— How should I have been present? I am telling thee tales of other days.

— Why is it no longer as it was?

— Nowadays? My glensman was sunk in thought and gave no answer. After a short, pause he asked me:

— What countryman art thou?

— I am a Georgian, couldst thou not recognize me?

— How should I recognize thee? Thy garb is not of the Georgians; thou art dressed like a Russian.

— Can a man's Georgianness only be recognized from his clothes?

— To the eyes he is known by his clothes.

— And his tongue and speech?

— Many speak the Georgian tongue: Armenians, Ossetians, Tatars, and other people.

— And do few wear the Georgian clothes?

— The look of a Georgian's garments is quite different. In Russia a Georgian becomes a foreigner.

— A Georgian should be a Georgian at heart; or what is the use of clothes.

— Thou  art  right.  But  who  can  see  into  the  heart?  The  heart  is  inside,  invisible,  the  clothes are outside, visible.

— Although I am dressed like a Russian, believe me, I am a Georgian in heart.

— May be.

I do not know whether my glensman believed me or not. But after this a conversation of the  following  sort  took  place:  Thou  hast  not  replied  to  my  former  question,  I  began  again:  I  asked thee why they no longer judge in the cell of Trinity.

Now?...  Where  is  our  nationality?  We  are  under  Russia.  Now  everything  is  destroyed,  everything is changed. At the foot of Sameba (Trinity) is the village of Gergeti. The men of the village  were  sworn  sentinels  of  the  Church  by  the  Kings.  In  return  the  Kings  gave  the  whole  village  franchise  and  gave  them  a  charter  to  be  handed  down  from  son  to  son.  In  days  of  old  every night three men were sent from Gergeti to watch. The men of Gergeti still hold themselves responsible  for  theguarding  of  the  church,  but  the  Russians  have  taken  away  their  franchise.  Russia pays no heed to the King's charter. Gergeti now pays taxes like the rest. The old order has passed away, the justice, asked from God's grace, in Trinity is no more.

— Then the former state and time were better?

— Why not?

— How were they better?

— In those days for evil or for good we belonged to ourselves, therefore, it was better. In those days the people were patriotic, their hearts were full of courage, men were men and women women.

In those days! We leaned one on the other, we asked aid one of the other. We cared for the widow and orphan, we kept in their places the devil inside and the wicked outside, we did not trouble the calm of God and the lords judges, we hid each other from bold foes, we cared for the fallen, we comforted those who wept; and thus there was human pity and unity. Now the people are spoilt, they have fallen into adultery, avarice and greed overcome us, unity is no more, and enmity  and  rending  to  pieces  have  increased.  Now  who  listens  to  the  plaint  of  the  widow  and  orphan, who makes the weeper smile, who raises the fallen? Nowadays there are no men and if there  are  in  face  and  in  heart  they  are  spiritless.  The  people  are  down  trodden,  torn  to  shreds,  courageless. The glory of the Georgians is passed and their supremacy. Then was our day. Our land  is  no  more,  it  has  perished,  what  now  remains  to  us?  Food  and  drink  must  be  bought  at  a  price, wood must be paid for, the road must be paid for, prayers and blessings must be paid for justice must be paid for, what is left for the poor glensman? ...

— Is there not peace now?

—  What  good  can  an  empty  peace  do  an  empty  stomach.  Rust  eats  an  unused  dagger,  frogs,  worms,  and  reptiles  multiply  in  stragnant  water.  Are  there  trouts  in  the  rushing,  restless  Terek? What is peace for a living man? What are enemies if a people is free? Peace brings us to earth.

—  But  enemies  trod  you  down,  laid  you  waste,  and  distressed  your  wives  and  children  frequently.

—  Now  these  Armenians  who  have  come  distress  us  more,  waste  our  houses  more.  In  former  days  we  could  at  least  play  with  our  foes  with  shield  and  buckler,  we  could  defend  ourselves, but what can be done with the Armenian, there is no defending oneself against him, he is not to be played with. In former days too, in the fight with foes, we gained glory, in showing our superiority, but what glory can a man get from the Armenians. In other days, thou art right, there were foes, but there were also great rewards for faithful men: they received land, their taxes were  waived.  There  on  Terek's  banks  stands  a  fortress  not  built  with  hands.  That  fort  is  well  known as Arshi's fort.

— How is it not built with hands?

— It is built by God, impregnable, not to be broken.

— Then what wouldst thou say?

— In other days Kakhetian army attacked it, fought, and took it. The glen thought to get help from the terrified lord. He could give them none. A great number of people were slain, The Kakhetians  massacred  man  glensmen,  they  came  into  the  fort,  pulled  down  the  standard.  There  was  an  old  glensman  there,  a  man  famed  for  his  wisdom.  He  had  a  daughter,  not  betrothed,  unseen  of  the  sun.  This  glensman  decided  to  make  the  Kakhetian  soldiers  drunk.  He  brought wine  and  sent  it  into  the  fortress.  H  also  sent  his  daughter,  unseen  of  the  sun,  to  the  drunken  feast.  The  Kakhetians,  thirsty  of  wine,  admirers  of  fair  women,  became  as  swine,  and  were  completely drunk. The maid discovered the keys of the fortress and let the glensmen know of the swinish  state  of  the  Kakhetian  soldiers  glensmen  came  and  entered  the  Castle  unperceived,  raised cries and m sacred all the drunken Kakhetians. Again the fortress fell into the hands of the glensmen.  The  Eristav  of  Aragva  heard  of  this.  He  gave  the  castle  as  a  reward  to  the  maid's  father, he also gave him a charter...

— What sort of bravery was there in that?

— Why not? That is cunning; where force cannot prevail, there cunning persuades.

— What canst thou say to this massacre of Kakhetians?

Now all Georgians are brothers. I am not speaking of Kakhetians in enmity. This I want thee to understand, that formerly if we gave our lives in service there were rewards, there were great gifts; we found our livelihood in glory and in deeds of heroism, a man did not live in vain Now we have to find our livelihood in lying, immorality, perjury, and i betraying one another.


VIII

Whether my glensman spoke truth or no I will not now enquire. And what business is it of mine? I merely mention in passing what I as a traveller: heard from him.

My  one  endeavour  in  this  has  been  to  give  to  his  thoughts  their  own  form  and  to  his  words his accent. If I have succeeded in this I have fu filled my intention.

My glensman told me much more, but for various reasons it would not do to write down all  his  conversation...  I  will  only  say  that  in  his  own  words  he  made  me  a  sharer  in  his  heart's  woe.

I  understood,  my  glensman,  how  thou  art  pierced  with  lancets.  "We  belonged  to  ourselves", saidst thou, and I heard. But as I heard a sudden pain shot from my brain to my heart, there  in  my  heart,  it  dug  itself  a  grave  and  was  buried.  How  long  will  this  pain  remain  in  my  heart, how long Mow long, oh, how long?... My beloved land answer me this!...


(*1) Rustavel: "The Man in the Panther's Skin"

(*2) An expletive which no Georgian gentleman uses to a lady though men use it among themselves

(*3) Village shop



Ilia Chavchavadze
Works
Translated by Marjory and Oliver Wardrops
Ganatleba Publishers
Tbilisi 1987

I was born on October 27 (o. s.) 1837 in the village of Kwareli (*1), in the district of Telavi, in the province of Tiflis in the region comprising also the district of Signakh, called Cakheti. My father (Grigol) was a man of some education, he served as an officer in the Nizhegorod dragoons and had a good knowledge of the Russian language.

My mother was remarkable for her intimate acquaintance with the Georgian literature of her day, she knew almost by heart nearly all the poetry and all the ancient tales and stories then to be found in manuscript and print. She loved to read in the evenings to us her children stories and tales, and after reading would tell them over again in her own words and in the next evening whoever  of  us  repeated  best  what  he  had  heard  the  night  before  was  rewarded  by  her  praise,  which we greatly prized.

I  began  my  studies  by  learning  my  native  Georgian  language  with  the  deacon  of  the  parish at the age of eight. This deacon was distinguished for his knowledge of Georgian; he was famous  as  a  good  reader  of  the  holy  books  and  was  especially  gifted  with  the  fascination  of  a  splendid narrator. His stories, suited to the childish comprehension in form and substance, dealt with separate episodes of the religious, but more particularly the civic history of our country and consisted of narrations of various heroic exploits in defence of the faith and fatherland. Many of these  tales  left  an  impression  on  my  memory  and  served  me  many  years  afterwards  as  subjects  for  a  poem,  "Dimitri  the  Self-sacrificing"  and  a  short  Christmas  story.  Some  passages  in  my  Story of a Beggar exhibitmarks of this influence. I learned my lessons at the deacon's with the peasant children of my native village, of whom there were only five or six as far as I recollect. We  all  lived  at  home  and  only  came  from  morning  till  midday.  So  far  as  I  remember  we  only  spent an hour a day learning to read and write, and all the rest of the time till noon was spent in games  under  the  supervision  and  guidance  of  the  deacon,  and  especially,  in  listening  to  his  alluring stories.

In  my  eleventh  year  my  father  took  me  to  Tiflis  and  sent  me  to  Raevski  and  Hacke's  boarding-school,  then  the  best  of  all  the  private  schools  in  Tiflis.  I  was  fifteen  when  from  this  Boarding-school I proceeded to the fourth class in the Tiflis Grammar School, still remaining as a boarder in the former house, which was now managed by Hacke alone.

Hacke  was  a  German,  a  thoroughly  educated  man  in  every  way.  He  had  been  engaged  from Germany by Neidhart, who was at that time commander of the detached Caucasian Corps, for  the  education  of  his  children,  and  after  the  termination  of  his  engagement  with  Neidhart  he  opened a boarding school with Raevski who had been previously engaged in educational work in Tiflis. Hacke, though, strict and exacting, was so paternally attentive to his pupils, so painstaking and anxious for their moral and intellectual development, that he devoted to then nearly all, his time  after  school  hours,  conversing  with  them,  diverting      them  with  music,  giving  them  improvised concerts on the pianoforte, which he played to perfection.

Having  gone  through  the  eighth  class  of  the  Grammar  School  and  not  passed  the  final  examination in 1857 I entered the University of St. Petersburg as a student of the then-existing cameral  section  of  the  Faculty  of  Jurisprudence,  and  in  1861,  when  I  was  in  my  fourth  year  of  residence, I left the University in consequence of the so-called "Student Affair" (political) of that period.

In 1863 I founded the journal "Sakarthvelos Moambe" (Georgia's Messenger) which only lasted a year. In the same year 1863 I married Princess Olga Guramishvili.

At the beginning of 1864, when the reform for the liberation of the peasants in the district of the Viceroy of the Caucasus was planned, I was sent to act in the province of Kutais as official private  Secretary  to  the  Governor  General  of  Kutais,  in  order  to  determine  the  nature  of  the mutual relations between landlords and peasants arising from the servile dependence of the latter on the former.

In  November  of  the  same  year,  1864,  the  liberation  of  the  peasants  from  servile  dependence had already been effected in the province of Tiflis and I was appointed Arbitrator of the Peace in the Dushet district of the province of Tiflis and in that office I remained down to the year  1868,  when  upon  the  introduction  of  the  new  judicial  organization  in  the  Caucasus  I  was  given  the  office  of  Justice  of  the  Peace  in  the  same  district  of  Dushet.  In  this  latter  office  I  remained  till  1874.1  think  it  may  not  be  superfluous  to  remark  here  that  the  nobility  of  the  province  of  Tiflis,  having  received  on  the  abolition  of  servile  dependence  an  imperial  grant  for  the personal liberation of the peasants, a part of this grant was allotted for the establishment of a credit  institution,  capable  of  meeting  the  need  for  a  regularly  organized  system  of  credit,  and  especially  with  the  proviso  that  its  profits  should  be  exclusively  devoted  to  the  education  and  instruction of the children of the nobility of the province of Tiflis. After much hesitation in this search for a suitable form of credit institution, the nobility in 1874, on my advice, decided upon the  establishment  of  a  Land  Bank  and  entrusted  a  special  Committee,  of  which  I  was  elected  a  member, to draw up the statute .The statute formulated by the committee in accordance with the models supplied by the Government for their guidance and passed in the same year 1874 by the nobility  differs  from  all  other  statutes  of  land  banks  in  this  noteworthy  peculiarity,  that  all  the  profits of the Bank, excluding the obligatory deductions on account of sundry capital sums, are applied  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  common  needs  not  only  of  the  landowning  nobility  but  of  the  agricultural  population  of  the  province  of  Tiflis.  Thus,  the  Land  Bank  of  the  Tiflis  Nobility  is  probably  the  only  agrarian  credit  institution  in  all  the  Russian  Empire  whose  statute  entirely  eliminates the personal interest of gain for the sake of attaining aims of a social character.

In  the  same  year  1874  the  nobility  commissioned  me  to  proceed  to  St.  Petersburg  and  procure the confirmation of the statute they had passed and in consequence of this I retired from the Government Service.

The statute with the above mentioned peculiarity was confirmed by Government in 1875, From  that  year  the  Bank  began  its  operations  and  from  a  founder's  capital  of.  only  240  000  roubles ( £ 24 000) it has now (1902) reached such a position that it yields a yearly profit of over 360  000  roubles  (£  36  000),  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  all  the  founder's  capital  subscribed  by  noblemen, has already been paid back to the nobility. From the day of the opening of the Bank down to the present time I have been President of the Board of the Bank. This office is elective and tenable for a term of three years.(*2)

In  1877  I  founded  a  weekly  Georgian  newspaper  "Iveria",  which  afterwards  became  a  monthly magazine, and from 1885 a daily political and literary paper. In 1902 I handed over the paper to another person who now edits it.

Of my works in translations by various hands there are in Russian only some short verses and  one  poem  "The  Hermit"  in  Mr.  Tkhorzewsky's  version.  The  Russian  translations  of  my  verses  are  partly  comprised  in  a  separate  collection  published  in  Tiflis,  and  partly  appeared  in  "Russkaya Mysl", "Zhivopisnoe Obozrenie" "Viestnik Evropy" and I forget where else.

My  poem  "The  Hermit"  was  translated  into  English  (verse)  by  Miss  Marjory  Wardrop  and  also  into  French  (prose).German  translations  of  some  of  my  short  pieces  in  verse  were  put  into the collection first published at Leipzig in 1886 by Arthur Leist under the title "Georgesche Dichter"  and  re-issued  at  Dresden  in  1900.  Critical  notices  duly  appeared  in  the  local  Russian  newspapers "Kavkaz" and "Novoe Obozrenie", and as well as I can recollect, in the metropolitan journals "Russkaya Mysl" and "Zhivopisnoe Obozrenie", also in another Moscow periodical the name of which, to my regret I have forgotten.

Abroad,    criticisms    were    inserted    in    some    German    periodicals    including,    the    "Litterarisches Echo" and in the "Academy" and the Italian review "Nuova Antologia" No. VI of 1900 Notices with reference to my public and literary  work  are  found  in  "Le Caucase Illustre", Tiflis 1902.

In  1877  I  was  elected  Vice  President  of  the  Imperial  Agricultural  Society  and  held  that  office for some time, and I was elected President of the Georgian Dramatic Society from 1881 to 1884.  I  am  President  of  the  Society  for  the  Propagation of Literacy among the Georgians since 1886, I was member of the committe of the Society of the Nobility of the province of Tiflis for the  Assistance  of  Necessitous  Scholars.  I  have  taken  part,  whether  by  invitation  or  election,  in  almost all committees charged with the ...

My  literary  labours  began  in  1857  with  the  printing  in  the  magazine  "Tziscari"  (The  Dawn)  of  short  verses,  then  my  works  appeared  in  the  newspaper  "Droeba"  (Time),  "Crebuli"  (the  Garner),  in  "Sakartvelos  Moambe"  (Georgian  Messenger)  and  "Iveria"  both  of  which  I  founded) and partly in the now-existing magazine "Moambe".

In  addition  to  shorter  verses,  I  have  written  some  poems:  "Episodes  from  the  Life  of  a  Brigand",  "The  Vision",  "Dimitri  the  Self  Sacrificing';  "The  Hermit"  and  a  dramatic  sketch  "Mother and Son". Of my tales I may mention: 1) "Katzia Adamiani?!" (Is that a man?!) printed in  1863  in  "Georgia's  Messenger"  and  afterwards  published  in  Petersburg  by  the  Society  of  Georgian students, 2) "The Story of a Beggar" printed in the same journal and in the same year, which also appeared as a separate work; 3) Scenes from the early days "of the emancipation of the peasants", printed in 1865 in "Crebuli" and afterwards published separately. 4) "Letters of a Traveller" printed in 1864, also in "Crebuli", 5) "The Widow of the House of Otar" 1888; 6) "A Strange story" printed in "Moambe", 7) "A Christmas Story" 8) "The Four Gibbets" in "Iveria".

I translated Pushkin's "Propheth" Lermontov's "Prophet", "Hadji Abrek" and "Mary" and Turgeniev's  "Verses  in  Prose"  and  some  verses  of  Heine  and  Goethe.  I  also  translated,  in  collaboration  with  Prince  Ivane  Machabeli,  Shakespeare's  "King  Lear".  I  took  part  in  the  restoration  of  the  original  text  of  the  famous  Georgian  poem  "The  Man  in  the  Panther's  Skin",  also  in  editing:  a)  the  poems  of  Prince  Alexandre  Chavchavadze,  b)  the  poems  of  Vakhtang  Orbeliani", for which I wrote a preface, c) The ancient Georgian story of "Vis and Ramin".

In  addition  to  these  literary  works  I  have  written  many  short  articles  of  political  journalistic,  critical  and  polemical  character,  also  articles  on  educational  questions.  Among  the  most bulky of the journalistic publications may be mentioned "The Khizan Question", "Life and Law", "Concerning Brigandage in Transcaucasia". Of the critical and polemical articles may be mentioned two which were printed as feuilletons in "Iveria": "And You Call that History?!" (on Rustaveli) and "Armenian Savants and Outcrying Stones" the last of these recently appeared in a ussian translation and caused much ado in the local Armenian press.

Of  the  edition  of  my  complete  collected  works  undertaken  by  the  local  Georgian  Publishing Society, so far 4 volumes have appeared out of the proposed 10 or 12 volumes. The volumes already published include verses, tales, stories and dramatic sketches.


(*1) The translator's style and spelling of Georgian and Russian names are preserved intact.

(*2) By  1907  a  private  Grammar  school  was  supported  from  the  profits  of  the  Bank,  with  a  boarding  -  house  for  children of the poorest among the nobility and a day school for children of all classes; also an agricultural school for children of all classes.


Ilia Chavchavadze - Works (Translated by Marjory and Oliver Wardrops)

by
Professor Tengiz Simashvili
Iakob Gogebashvili Telavi State University, Georgia
Email: tengizsimashvili(at)yahoo.com

Electronic Research Journal of Social Sciences and Humanities
ISSN: 2706 – 8242 www.eresearchjournal.com
Vol 2: Issue III
Jul - Sep 2020


Abstract

The archives of Georgia contain many interesting documents about Joseph Stalin. One of the most significant documents among them is a letter on September 5, 1907. It is mention, that somebody with last name Nizharadze was the suspect in Ilia Chavchavadze’s assassination. It is quite possible that this surname contains extremely important information to the study of Joseph Jughashvili (Stalin)’s biography. The point is that in 1908, Joseph Jughashvili (Stalin) was arrested in Baku with a false passport under the name of Gaioz Nizharadze. According to the archival materials which I have discovered so far, it becomes evident that the false passport under the name of Nizharadze was issued on April 7, 1906. On the one hand, such a coincidence of surnames directly indicates Joseph Jughashvili (Stalin)’s involvement in Ilia Chavchavadze’s assassination. However, on the other hand, while working on the archival documents in Georgia regarding Ilia Chavchavadze’s assassins: Iliko Imerlishvili, Ivane Inashvili, Pavle Fshavlishvili,
and Gigila Berbichashvili, I could not find any information about Joseph Jughashvili’s or “Nizharadze’s” involvement in Chavchavadze’s murder. Although the information and documents, examined in this article, are to some extent
contradictory, the analysis of them makes it evident that Joseph Jughashvili’s Biography is not sufficiently studied.

Keywords: The Georgian achieves, Murder of Ilia Chavchavadze, Joseph Stalin, Biography, Terrorists, Historiography


Introduction:

There are quite interesting materials about Joseph Jughashvili (Stalin) in archival materials of the murder of Ilia Chavchavadze. Ilia Chavchavadze was the great Georgian writer, sometimes called “Father of Nation”. On August 30, 1907, the killers awaited Ilia Chavchavadze’s phaeton on the road near Tsitsamuri and Saguramo villages, near Tbilisi capital of modern Georgia. Ilia Chavchavadze and his servant were killed and Ilia’s wife was brutally beaten.

According to archival and other historical documents, four or five people participated in the assassination of Ilia Chavchavadze. Today we know that the killers were Ivane Inashvili, Pavle Pshavlishvili, Gigla Berbichashvili, and “Imereli,” who is referred to as “One Imereli” in some documents, and “Imereli” in others. In one document he is called “the leader of Ilia Chavchavadze’s killers’ gang”. According to acceptable documents, the fourth killer under nickname “Imereli”, was Iliko Imerlishvili. He was an active member of the Bolshevik party in Georgia.

According to the memories of revolutionaries, Joseph Jughashvili (Stalin) participated in the meetings of “Red Detachments” where Gigla Berbichashvili and Iliko Imerlishvili were, and he had with them close relations. There is a question, who was the fifth member of the Ilia Chavchavadze killer group? I try to give the answer in my research.


Methodology:

For analyzing information archival documents I guided with the following methods and principles of modern scientific research:

i. Comparative Method – comparing historical objects with time, analyzing and revealing similarities and differences;

ii. System Method – making a generalized model by using materials found out during the process of investigation, which will be the reflection of the real situation taking, place in social interrelations and upheavals typical to historical process, or present-day situations;

iii. Retrospective Method – investigating past gradually, in order to find out genuine reasons for occurred historical events;

iv. Logical Method – making objective analysis about the situations in order to shed light on the historical development stages and define boundaries for separate historical ones;

v. Chronological-Problematic Method – studying problems of chronological occurrences thoroughly;

vi. Historical-Comparative Method – investigating the past from present including the current situation by using comparative analysis of historical events and processes.


Content:

I found out quite interesting materials about Joseph Jughashvili (Stalin) in “Ilia Chavchavadze’s (*1) Murder Investigation Case of Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department” kept in the Central Historical Archive of Georgia.

A few days after Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder, an operating officer of the Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department, someone called Pitskhelauri writes two letters to Piotr Evtushevsky, Head of Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department (*2). Actually they are unofficial notifications about the identity of the persons participating in this murder. Here is a translation of the Russian text (Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department Materials, 1907):

“Dear Piotr Alexandrovich! Ilia Mtskheteli resident of village Mtskheta, Dusheti District, should know about Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder. If he did not participate in the crime, then he will know who did it as he knows who commits such a crime, that’s why I suppose to arrest him. Besides, it is inevitable to arrest a driver of phaeton. As I’ve investigated he knows people who committed Chavchavadze’s murder.

Sincerely, Yours
Pitskhelauri
Tpilisi city
September 4, 1907.”

This letter is interesting for the researchers as on 4 th September of 1907 it was known for the investigation that Bolshevik terrorist Iliko Imerlishvili was participating in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder. The fact is that Iliko Imerlishvili’s nickname in a terrorist organization, which was created by Social-Democrat Labour Party members in Tbilisi, “Mtatsminda Group” was “Ilia Mtskheteli.”

Accordingly, about the identity of Iliko Imerlishvili and “Ilia Mtskheteli” was known for the police, however, the investigation is not done in this regard. This letter, existing in the above-mentioned archive material, is followed by the second letter sent to Piotr Evtushevsky, head of Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department by Pitskhelauri, dated to the 5 th September of 1907 (See photo 1) (Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department Materials, 1907). Here is an English translation of the Russian text:

“Dear Piotr Alexandrovich! Nizharadze, a suspected in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder, is arrested in Borjomi; as I clarified secretly, a watch of the murdered was found with him; the driver of the Phaeton is arrested as well. They do not want to divulge about the watch as they think participants of the murder can be hid.

Sincerely, Yours
Pitskhelauri’
5 th of September 1907 year.”

I have mentioned about presumable participation of “Ilia Mtskheteli” and “Nizharadze” in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder in my book published in 2011 “Social-Democrat Bolshevik Terrorists, Murderers of Ilia Chavchavadze.” (*3) I think that by highlighting a number of newly found documents, in my research I clearly substantiated that both identities or nicknames – “Ilia Mtskheteli” and “Imereli“ – belong to Iliko Imerlishvili and Iliko Imerlishvili directly participated in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder. However, I did not publish the results and detailed analysis of my research carried out in order to identify “Nizharadze” – presumably participant in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder. I was trying to find additional materials as this surname may contain too much important information about Joseph Jughashvili’s (Stalin) biography.

The fact is that in 1908 Joseph Jughashvili was arrested in Baku with a fake passport on the name of Gaioz Nizharadze. There are copies of the archived documents related to this issue in archive of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Georgia. One of the papers is a secret letter sent by the head of Gendarmerie Department Baku Governorate on 31 st May of 1908 to the deputy head of Gendarmerie Department of Kutaisi Governorate in Batumi (Former Party Archive Materials, 1908):

“On 25 th March of the current year a person residing at Baku with a fake passport on the name of Gaioz Nizharadze was arrested in Baku. During interrogation Nizharadze confessed that his real name is Joseph Jughashvili and he is a peasant of Didi Lilo village society of Tbilisi Governorate and District, and in 1902 he was arrested by Gendarmerie Department of Kutaisi Governorate in Batumi for propagation and exiled in Yakutsk for three years; in 1904 he left the place of exile willfully.

Attaching the photo in order to identify the person depicted on it and personated himself as Joseph Jughashvili; if he was accused and what kind of information do you have about him.
Gendarmerie Rotmister ...”

This document is well known for the historians, but the document retrieved by me about “Nizharadze” participating in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder was unknown. That is why I have mentioned above that I would like to find out more materials and then publish my analysis. Unfortunately, because of objective reasons, which I will mention at the end of this paper, I did not have an opportunity to do this.

From currently discovered materials it becomes clear that a fake passport on the name of Gaioz Nizharadze was issued on 7 th April of the 1906 year (Островский, 2004). It is likely that Joseph Jughashvili “bought” it instead of the passport issued on the name of Giorgi Berdzenishvili which was seized by the police in March 1906.

There is another document which is related to the identity of Joseph Jughashvili and Gaioz Nizharadze. This is a copy of superscription (resolution) on a letter of the Head of Gendarmerie Department of Tbilisi Governorate dated by 10 th June of 1908 and sent to the Head of Gendarmerie Department of Baku Governorate on 31 st May of 1908 (Former Party Archive Materials, 1908):

“... A person with a fake passport on the name of Gaioz Nizharadze residing at Baku confessed that his real name is Joseph Jughashvili – a peasant of Didi Lilo village society of Tbilisi Governorate and District, and in 1902 he was arrested by Gendarmerie Department of Kutaisi Governorate in Batumi for the activity in Tbilisi Social-Democratic Party and exiled in Yakutsk for three years; in 1904 he left the place of exile willfully.”

In this document, Joseph Jughashvili’s party affiliation is already specified. In the next document – a secret letter by Deputy Head of Gendarmerie Department of Kutaisi Governorate in Batumi Region dated on June 13, 1908, sent to the Head of Gendarmerie Department of Baku Governorate (Former Party Archive Materials, 1908):

“In response of your letter dated by May 31, 1908 I would like to let you know that Joseph Jughashvili, a peasant of Didi Lilo village society of Tbilisi Governorate and District, was arrested and exiled in Yakutsk for three years for propagation in 1902. In fact in my subordinate clause he was related with the investigation of an anti-state case (*4). His crime was that he was a main head and teacher for Batumi labors as well as labors’ revolutionary movement which was expressed in distribution of propaganda leaflets and calls for overthrow the existing system. According to the photo, none of my employee and police officers could identify Jughashvili because of passing a long period of time.

Also, I think, it is necessary to add that the above-mentioned Jughashvili, as it is shown in the materials collected under my guidance, as accused person, he was indeed related with the investigation on the case of “the circle of Tbilisi Social-Democrat Labor Party” lead by Gendarmerie Department of Tbilisi Governorate and he was the main accused person.

Signature
Gendarmerie Rotmister...”

As I mentioned, the copies of the above-mentioned documents are kept in Party Archive of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Georgia. And below mentioned document is a resolution of General-Major Kozintsev, ahead of Gendarmerie Department Baku Governorate, dated by August 4, 1908, and sent to the head of Gendarmerie Department of Tbilisi Governorate (*5). The original document is kept in one of the materials of the Central Historic Archive of Georgia (See photo 2) (Caucasus Region Secret Police “Okhranka” Materials, 1908):

“Resolution No. 4287

On 4 th of August 1908 in Baku I, the head of Baku Gendarmerie Province Department, General-Major Kozintsev, discussed the correspondence in order to state the political reliability of a person who was named as Gaioz Nizharadze and in fact, who seemed to be Joseph Jughashvili, and I found out as follows:

On 25 th of March of the current year Baku Criminal Investigation Department arrested an unknown person who names himself as Gaioz Nizharadze resident of village Maglaki of Kutaisi district, and which had a party correspondence during searching. In the correspondence on this issue it was cleared out that Nizharadze is Joseph Jughashvili - a peasant of Didi Lilo village society of Tbilisi Province and District, and in 1902 he was related with the investigation by Kutaisi Gendarmerie Province Department according to article 251 and Tbilisi Gendarmerie Province Department, the first part of article 251. Finally the case has been solved administratively and Jughashvili was exiled in the Eastern Siberia under an open supervision of police and from where he has escaped and he was wanted by the police department circular on the 1 st of May 1904. Since 25 th of March of the current year Joseph Jughashvili is arrested in Baku prison. I suppose to exile Joseph Jughashvili for three years in the Eastern Siberia under supervision of police.

Verified: the above-mentioned correspondence should be sent to Baku in a disposal of city head.
Signature:
Gendarmerie General-Major Kozintsev.” (*6)

Information about Joseph Jughashvili’s activity under the surname of “Nizharadze” and his arrest in March 1908 is provided not only in Lavrenti Beria’s book but in other authors’ works as well, including modern ones; I will mention this below. Now, I would like to note that in the archive document mentioned above considering “Nizharadze” as a killer of Ilia Chavchavadze, put things in a new light on the version drawn by a friend of the youth of Joseph Jughashvili (Stalin),
Iioseb Iremashvili. His point of view is expressed in his book published in 1932 in Berlin: “Stalin und die Tragödie Georgians” (Stalin and the Tragedy of Georgia). There is written that Joseph Jughashvili had a relation with Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder.

Consequently, on the one hand, the concurrence of the surnames directly suggests Joseph Jughashvili’s participation in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder. On the other hand, while working on the materials of Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder, while researching materials kept in Georgian archives about physical murderers of Ilia – Iliko Imerlishvili, Ivane Inashvili, Pavle Pshavlishvili, and Gigla Berbitchashvili, I could not find any other allusion about the participation of “Nizharadze” or Joseph Jughashvili in this murder.

As it is said in the above-mentioned document “Nizharadze”, suspected in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder, had Ilia’s watch with him when he was arrested. I consider it interesting for the reader that Stalin, as well as many other people, had a hobby – he was collecting the watches. In 1940-1949 years in the memories of ahead of “Sovnarkom” (*7) affairs I. E. Chaadaev mentioned that Stalin was collecting the watches and he had a collection including both wristwatches and the so-called pocket watches (Куманев, 2005). I have investigated identity, revolutionary activities of terrorists, and members of “Red Detachment” acting in that period in Borjomi and surrounding territories. One among them was Alexander Tsagurishvili – “Poria”. He was one of the most famous robbers and terrorists acting in Borjomi Gorge for that period of time. This person was connected and had friendly relations with the participants of Ilia Chavchavadze’s
murder, Bolshevik terrorist Iliko Imerlishvili, as well as with Kamo (Ter-Petrosyan), Batchua Kuprashvili, and others. However, I could not find any terrorist acting under the name of Gaioz Nizharadze or just Nizharadze in Borjomi in 1906-1908.

But, during my academic research, I was able to found out that in March 1908 there was someone Sh. Nizharadze, who was imprisoned at Bailov prison in Baku with Joseph Jughashvili. In one of the documents we read (Former Party Archive Materials, 1908):

“Stalin was imprisoned at Bailov prison, in the third cell, there was Sergo Orjonikidze in this cell as well... we wanted to escape from the third cell and we brought Sh. Nizharadze inside.”

I have discovered a photo of Shalva Nizharadze son of Vasil in the files of Gendarmerie Department of Tbilisi Governorate, but I could not find any additional material about him yet and I still continue my investigation concerning this issue.

Herewith, I would like to mention that some authors of the works about Joseph Jughashvili variously refer “Nizharadze” in connection with him. For example, V. S. Kraskova in her book “Crimes into the Kremlin Walls” writes (Краскова, 1999):

“There were more people inside the dungeon in which Vishinski had appeared than it was possible. Bed was occupied by one person who was brought there in March. In police papers he was mentioned as Gaioz Nizharadze. Prisoners called him Koba, but his real name was Joseph Jughashvili, or Stalin. In the corner, a leg-bended, backwarded from everyone, he was learning “future language” Esperanto during the hours.” (*8)

M. S. Aldanov wrote (Гусляров, 2003):

“After a “failure” of the first revolution Lenin’s right hand in implementation of “expropriation” became – at that time already a well-known Caucasian “militant” with a revolutionary nicknames: “Koba”, “Davit”, “Nizharadze,” “Chizhikovi,”“Ivanovich” – almighty Russian dictator Joseph Jughashvili.”

According to another author, Soviet diplomat (*9) G. Z. Besedovski, a fugitive in the Western Europe in 1929, Stalin was in agreement about the actions of robberies with Lenin (Беседовский, 1931):

“Joseph Jughashvili – Koba ... started executing the orders of his leader and got a new nickname. Now he was called Nizharadze. He started leading a militant activity under this nickname. Soon Nizharadze found a very good leader for a combat organization, Armenian, Petrosyan.” (*10)

According to Besedovski, Nizharadze – Stalin was not only a leader of expropriations, but he was participating in those actions as well (Беседовский, 1931):

“Nizharadze fired the first bomb from the roof of Sumbatov’s house during the expropriation in Tbilisi at Erevan Square on June 13, 1907.”

For various reasons, I was unable to find the archival documents, which can prove the opinions of the above-mentioned authors. However, considering that a number of authors think that Stalin was directly leaded and participated in the expropriation on June 13, 1907. I think maintaining the research in this direction will give us quite interesting results. Moreover, several archive materials unknown until now were discovered, as well as separated documents which are about episodes concerning the participation of Joseph Jughashvili’s closest surrounding in the expropriation on Erevan Square on June 13, 1907.

As for Nizharadze, while investigating his identity, it was found that knyaz (*11) Nizharadze is mentioned concerning the event that is taking place on the edge of 1905 and 1906, in a book of a famous mystic and philosopher George Gurdjieff residing in Georgia – “Meetings with Famous People.” (*12) At the beginning of the 1900s “Knyaz Nizharadze” was a participant of an expedition in the countries of the Persian Gulf with George Gurdjieff in order to search a secret (esoteric) knowledge. According to existing notes, in the above-mentioned book of George Gurdjieff a separated chapter was dedicated to “Knyaz Nizharadze”, but for some reason, the author did not publish it.

Some of the authors consider Joseph Jughashvili under the name of “Knyaz Nizharadze,” as they think he was a student of George Gurdjieff and they interpret the relation of these two persons variously (*13). From the documents discovered during my research, it is clear that in March-April 1906 George Gurdjieff was teaching how to make explosives, barricade fighting in the city, and other “useful skills” to the group of six persons including Bolsheviks and Mensheviks.

The teaching place was located on the second floor of a famous “Avlabari Illegal Printing House” building. Moreover, a number of sources name him as a police agent, a traitor of the so-called “Military – Technical Group” and “Avlabari Illegal Printing House”. Historian Alexander Kotchlavashvili dedicated broad research to this issue under the title – “His Real Identity,” which is kept in his archive and is not published yet. Furthermore, the author translated his research in Russian as well, but the title of the Russian version is “George Gurdjieff – an Agent of Tsarist “Okhranka” (Kotchlavashvili Personal Archive, Division of the Literature and Art Materials, 1961). According to Alexander Kotchlavashvili, George Gurdjieff was “a Secret Agent” of Tsarist Government. However, from the analysis of archive materials that I have found, George Gurdjieff espionage activities cannot be established for that period of time. On the contrary, as it turns out that he was in close relation with Social-Democrats. According to one source, George Gurdjieff was recommended as a teacher for “Military – Technical Group” by Bolshevik Mikha Botchoridze, and according to another one, by a famous Menshevik Silibistro Jibladze. It is interesting that during the Soviet period George Gurdjieff was named as a Menshevik (Заря Востока, 1937).

According to archive documents, George Gurdjieff lived in Khashuri (*14) in January 1906 (Gendarmerie Department of Tbilisi Governorate Materials, 1906). Moreover, he was teaching the activists of the Social-Democrat Party including Vladimer (Valerian) Bilanov (Bilanishvili) how to make explosives. Presumably, Iliko Imerlishvili, Alexander (Sasha) Oboladze, Gigla Berbitchashvili (*15) and others together with him were mentioned as members of armed detachments
of both parties (*16) of Social-Democrats, created in order to avoid Armenian-Tatar clashes in autumn 1905. According to various accounts, these armed detachments were commanded by Isidore Ramishvili from the Menshevik party and Joseph Jughashvili from the Bolshevik party.

Therefore, it is interesting and noteworthy as some authors consider that not George Gurdjieff, or another person, or even a group of persons, but Joseph Jughashvili himself was an apostate of “Avlabari Illegal Printing House”. At the beginning “Avlabari Illegal Printing House” was located in a basement and in March-April, 1906 rooms of upper floors were used for “teaching” of the united so-called “Military – Technical Group” of Bolshevik-Mensheviks. In addition, if we consider that the closest friend of Joseph Jughashvili, Mikha Botchoridze (Botchorishvili) was connected to “Avlabari Illegal Printing House.” I think it is required to carry out additional research about this issue.


Conclusion:

In foreign archives and fonds including France, the United State of America, there are a number of materials and documents which deals with Joseph Jughashvili’s (Stalin) biography. For example, from the analysis of materials that I have revealed, we can find more answers on issues concerning identification of “Nizharadze”, a presumable participant in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder, and his possible equating with Joseph Jughashvili in the Russian archive materials of Hoover Institution at Stanford University. Those materials can provide answers that can confirm or deny such identifications.

Although the information and documents, examined in this article, are to some extent contradictory, the analysis of them makes it evident that Joseph Jughashvili’s Biography is not sufficiently studied.


(*1) Ilia Chavchavadze was the great Georgian writer, sometimes called “Father of Nation”. According to archival and other historical documents, four people participated in the assassination of Ilia Chavchavadze. On August 30, 1907, the killers awaited Ilia Chavchavadze’s phaeton on the road between Tsitsamuri and Saguramo, a few kilometers away from Saguramo. Ilia Chavchavadze and his servant were killed and Ilia’s wife was brutally beaten.

(*2) Peotr Evtushevski was investigating Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder.

(*3) It is interesting that “Nizharadze” and “Ilia Mtskheteli” are mentioned as suspected in Ilia Chavchavadze’s murder in the table of contents of above-mentioned archive material.

(*4) There was a subordinate department of Tbilisi “Okhranka” in Batumi, so-called Batumi “Okhranka.”

(*5) Received on August 7, 1908

(*6) The copy of this document, as it seems from the analysis of the text that it is taken from Baku archive, I found it in Lavrenti Beria’s report published as a book, see: L. Beria. On the Issue of History of Transcaucasian Bolshevik Organization (Report at Tbilisi Party Meeting July 21-22, 1935). The 6 th edition. Tb. 1945, pp. 208-209. (In Georgian)

(*7) Council of Public Commissars of the Soviet Union.

(*8) В. С. Краскова. Преступления за кремлевской стеной. Минск. 1999, с. 113–114

(*9) the former left-wing Socialist-Revolutionaries

(*10) Kamo (Arshak Ter-Petrosyan).

(*11) Nobleman.

(*12) The fact that George Gurdjieff was in Tbilisi during those years is confirmed by the archival documents that I have found. I will devote special research about this issue in another paper.

(*13) There are a number of materials about the relation of George Gurdjieff and Stalin-Nizharadze in currently published popular occult, esoteric literature, as well as in Internet resources. The speech is about the topic such as esoteric-mystical schools, occult practice

(*14) Mikhailovo at this time.

(*15) They all were Bolsheviks.

(*16) Mensheviks and Bolsheviks

Photo 1 Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department Materials, 1907

Photo 2 Caucasus Region Secret Police “Okhranka” Materials, 1908


References

Caucasus Region Secret Police “Okhranka” Materials. (1908). Secret documents and materials. The Georgian Central Historical Archives. Fond 94. Description 1. Case 157, p. 34

Former Party Archive Materials, (1908). Relation with prisoners. Archive of Ministry of Internal Affairs of Georgia. Division II. Fond 8. Description 2 (I). Case 42, p. 33-39

Former Party Archive Materials. (1908). Copies of secret documents. Archive of Ministry of Internal Affairs of Georgia, Division II. Fond 8. Description 5. Case 207, p. 27, 28, 53

Gendarmerie Department of Tbilisi Governorate Materials. (1906). Documents from region. The Georgian Central Historical Archive. Fond 153. Description 1. Case 761, p. 51

Jurakhonovich, K. S. (2020). Pilgrimage Tourism in Uzbekistan; Problems and Solutions. Electronic Research Journal of Social Sciences and Humanities, 2 (II), pp. 262-265

Kotchlavashvili Personal Archive. (1961). George Gurdjieff and secret police. Central Archive of the Contemporary History. Division of the Literature and Art. Fond 269, Case 3. p.1-37

Simashvili, T. (2020). Fake Grave of Stalin’s Father and Modernity: Materials for Biography of Joseph Stalin. Electronic Research Journal of Social Sciences and Humanities, 2 (III), pp.
23-37

Tbilisi Criminal Investigation Department Materials. (1907). Murder of Ilia Chavchavadze, The Georgian Central Historical Archive. Fond 97. Description 2. Case 35, p. 25, 26.

Беседовский Г., З. (1931). На путях к термидору. Париж. с. 350, 351

Гусляров Е. (2003). Сталин в жизни: систематизированный свод воспоминаний современников. Москва. с. 60

Краскова.В.(1999). Преступления за кремлевской стеной. Минск. с. 113–114

Куманев Г. (2005). Говорят сталинские наркомы, Смоленск., с. 512

Островский А. (2004). Кто стоял за спиной Сталина?, Москва. с. 291