Every blossom in its kind
To that Flower knelt and bowed.”
Grigoris of Aghtamar was born about 1418 and was Catholicos of Aghtamar, an island in the Lake of Van, which has picturesque surroundings fit to inspire a poet; so that it is not surprising that our Catholicos became a singer animated by poetic fire, the exponent of love and beauty—of the Nightingale and the Rose.
It is evident, from his works, that Grigoris had a great love of life. We see this especially in a poem entitled The Gardener and his Garden. The Gardener, says the poet, enters his garden every morning and hears the sweet voice of the nightingale as he examines the newly planted flowers of various colours. This beautiful spot he surrounds with a hedge, bringing stones from the river, thorns from the mountain. He has just built arbours, made a fountain, introduced little running brooks, and planted vines, when, all of a sudden, a voice utters the command: “Come out of thy garden.” It is Death who beckons him out. He expostulates: “I have not yet seen life and light; I have not yet seen the fruit of the garden; I have not yet smelt the rose; I have not yet drunk my wine or filled my casks; I have not plucked flowers for a nosegay. I have not yet rejoiced over my garden.”
But his prayers are not heeded; obedient to the unchangeable law of the universe, he at last capitulates to the Angel of Death.
After describing the Gardener’s death and burial, the poet goes on to tell what happens to the garden after its owner has left it; the rose fades; the other flowers disappear; the hedge is broken down, and what was once a lovely garden becomes a scene of desolation.
This is his description of the face of his lady-love. He likens her eyebrows to a sword; the sparkle of her eyes to a sharp lance; her eyes to the sunlit sea. She is, he says, as straight as a willow; her lips are like harp strings; her teeth, a row of pearls; her tongue is sugar; and, wherever she rests, the place becomes a garden. She has fragrance sweeter than the violet of the spring; she is like a white rose, pure and sweet, like a newly opened flower; a young almond plant. Her face is red and white, like an apple of the forest. She soars high, like a daring eagle. She is brilliant as a peacock with golden feathers.
We have in this volume (page 52) a translation of one of Grigoris’ longer poems, entitled “Concerning the Rose and the Nightingale,” in which it is interesting to note that—quaintly enough—the poet gives the text of a letter sent with great pomp, by special messengers, to the Rose; adding the consequence which followed, and the verbal answer returned.
The subject of the Rose and the Nightingale is a Persian one originally, but the outstanding characteristics of the Armenian versions consist in the refinements and subtleties of the feelings described, the deference paid to the Rose, and the idea of continuity and faithfulness in love. These feelings are minutely described in this beautiful poem, and summed up in the Rose’s message to the Nightingale on p. 56:—
“I cannot there return immediately;