Vanya and Masha in a big fairy tale. Fairy tale we are looking for a blot to read

Story

This poem in its original form has not reached us. Over the centuries, the text of the poem was distorted a lot and almost mutilated in the hands of successors - imitators and many copyists. Many interpolated later editions of the 16th-18th centuries have been preserved, and the debate continues among researchers both regarding the content as a whole and regarding the interpretation of individual passages of the work. There is also a continuation of the poem, known as “Omaniani”. Of all the editions of the poem “The Knight in tiger skin“The canonized and most widespread is the so-called Vakhtangov edition, printed in Tiflis in 1712 by Tsar Vakhtang VI and supplied with special commentaries. There are up to thirty new editions of the poem, but with the exception of two, all of them essentially represent more or less to a lesser extent repetition of the Vakhtangov edition. The official church of that time recognized Rustaveli’s philosophical and religious views as heretical; she opened persecution against the poem. The persecution continued for centuries, as a result of which the first complete edition of the poem in 1712 was almost completely destroyed.

To this day, the question of where Rustaveli borrowed the plot of his poem remains unresolved. Three opinions have been expressed in the literature: the first is based on the words of Rustaveli himself, who in the 16th stanza of the poem states that “he found a Persian story and translated it into verse, like a large pearl passing from hand to hand”; however, the Persian original, despite all the searches, has not yet been found.

The second opinion was first expressed by Professor D.I. Chubinov, who proves that Rustaveli did not borrow the plot of “The Knight in the Tiger’s Skin” from Eastern writers; it was created by him and aimed at glorifying Queen Tamara.

The third opinion belongs to A. Khakhanov: comparing Rustaveli’s poems with folk songs about Tariel, he suggested that the artificial poem of the 12th century has its basis in folk poetry, just as Faust and Hamlet go back to the medieval folk traditions. Rustaveli used a folk tale to depict the great historical era. Comparison of those applying among Georgian people songs about Tariel with Rustaveli's poem, where Tariel is the main character, reveals their unconditional similarity in the general plot and in details.

On the other hand, a comparison of Tamara’s life with the events described in the poem gives reason to think that Tamara herself is hiding under the name of the main character, Nestan-Darejan. One might think that the poet deliberately transferred the plot of “The Knight...” to an ideal location - “India, Arabia, China” - in order to divert the reader from guessing and hide his love, “for which there is no cure...”

Although there are suggestions that the events described in the poem were transferred to other countries in order to show that racial differences between peoples are insignificant, and this story could have happened in any other country, not just in Georgia.

Name

The poem is known in Russian under the names “The Knight in the Tiger Skin”, “The Knight in the Leopard Skin”, “Wearing the Tiger (Leopard) Skin”, “Leopard Skin”, etc.

Plot

Page from a book

The plot of the poem “The Knight in the Tiger's Skin” boils down to the following: the eminent but elderly king of Arabia - Rostevan, having no son-heir, enthrones his only daughter - the lovely and intelligent Tinatin, who had a love for the outstanding commander (spaspet) and knight -to the courtier Avtandil. One day, while hunting, the king and Avtandil met a strange crying knight by the river. Attempts to speak to him remained in vain, he maimed and killed many of the king’s envoys, and then disappeared, not daring to fight the king himself and Avtandil. The king instructed his servants to search for him for a year, but no one could find the mysterious knight. Then Tinatin instructed her lover to bring the mysterious stranger at all costs. If he cannot find him within three years, then he must return. Avtandil, after long and dangerous wanderings, found this knight named Tariel, who had secluded himself in a desert cave. Having sealed his friendship with an oath and fraternized with Avtandil, Tariel told him his sorrowful story: he is the great courtier of the great Indian king Farsadan, tormented by passionate love for the sun-like princess Nestan-Darejan. But fate is not merciful to lovers; King Farsadan planned to marry Nestan to the son of the Khorezm Shah, who was also declared the heir to the Indian throne (as Tariel was rightfully considered). At the instigation of Nestan-Darejan, Tariel killed his rival and was preparing to seize power into his own hands. Nestan was accused of vicious love for a rebel and, after severe beatings, was removed far beyond the borders of India without a trace. Tariel set out in search, but to no avail... Finally, the desperate knight left the world, secluded himself, bitterly mourning his life in the desert. Nestan-Darejan’s maid, Asmat, also lived in the cave with him.

Avtandil consoled and reassured his glorious brother-brother. He went to his homeland, since the three-year period after which he was supposed to be considered dead was coming to an end, but promised to return and help Tariel. Upon his return, Tsar Rostevan refuses to release the military leader again and Avtandil has to leave against the will of the tsar, since he cannot break his oath, given to a friend. In the end, he really picked up the trail of Nestan-Darejan. She found herself imprisoned in the impregnable fortress of Kajeti. Tariel and Avtandil, with the assistance of their third brother-in-arms Fredon, took possession of the fortress, freeing Nestan, and joyful and happy returned to their lands.

Poetics

Rustaveli is a legislator and unsurpassed master dominant in ancient Georgia poetic meter called shairi - sixteen-syllable verse. Rustaveli uses two types of this meter: high (4+4) (4+4) and low (5+3) (5+3). The variety of types of meter in the poem is linked to a certain order of the rhyme system. The quatrains of the poem (up to 1500 in number; and according to the edition of Academician Brosset, the poem has 1637 stanzas, 16 syllables per verse) are replete with alliteration, increasing its organic musicality.

Among other features of Rustavel's poetic system, the artistic clarity of his metaphor should be noted. The stanzas of the poem are full of complex and detailed metaphorical series. And in all this complexity of Rustavel’s brilliant poetics, simplicity of language, ideological depth and artistic spontaneity dominate.

Noteworthy is Rustaveli's ars poetica, given in the famous prologue of the poem. For a poet, the high social purpose and ideological value of poetry are indisputable. Rustaveli defends his advantage epic genre before the lyrical, suitable, in his opinion, only for “amusement, courtship and fun.” A true poet, in his opinion, is an epic, a creator of large narratives.

Analysis

Author's political views

The poem “The Knight in the Skin of a Tiger” in all its complexity reflects the era of Georgian feudalism, known as “patronkmoba” (patronage). The main and ideal heroes of the poem - Tariel and Avtandil - are types of devoted and respectful “kme” - vassals, selfless servants of their patron, well-mannered and sedate, thoughtful courtiers, brave and selfless knights.

The poem idealizes the vassal's devotion and duty to the king, the highest patron. The king's direct vassals, courtiers and other nobles or noble people also have their own subjects, vassal nobles (such as Avtandil, Tariel, etc.) Thus, the public reflected in the poem is, as it were, a link of patronage or, rather, suzerainty - vassal relationships, Rustaveli romanticizes the humanistic forms of these relationships: “better than any couple in love is a suzerain and a vassal who mutually love each other,” he declares. The author deliberately warns readers: “service to your overlord (patron) will never be in vain.” But the poet accepts overlords only as “dear, sweet, merciful, like the sky, exuding mercy.”

Rustaveli is an ardent supporter of humanistic monarchism, based on the principles of suzerain-vassal relationships and dynastic legitimism. One of the central motifs of the poem is the cult of chivalry, military valor and courage. The hero-knight idealized by the poet is devoted and selfless in friendship and camaraderie. Friendship and camaraderie are the basis of knightly law and order; solidarity and self-sacrifice are Rustaveli's cherished ideals. Knights selflessly and free of charge protect merchants from pirates and robbers, treat women with the greatest respect and respect, patronize and help widows and orphans, the needy, and the poor. Rustaveli preaches generosity, equal mercy “to great and small,” “as the sun equally illuminates roses and litter with its rays.” He stands up for free love, for free “choice as a spouse.” Singing love that is alien to selfish feelings, Rustaveli passionately condemns heartlessness and unbridled sexual lust. It is noteworthy that Rustavel’s love - “mijnuroba” - is also characterized by forms of patronage (suzerain-vassal) relationships. The beloved woman, by her position, is the highest patron-suzerain, while the knight in love is only the “most devoted” vassal-servant (kma). It is also characteristic that the heroines (Nestan and Tinatin) and socially belong to the circle of patrons (suzerains).

The poem also reflected features of the life of the merchant class. Instead of Tariel and Avtandil, we already see Usen, and Nestan and Tinatin here, in this environment, are replaced by Fatma. But what a gulf lies between them and how their physical and moral qualities. The closest friend (“arifi”) of King Gulansharo (representative of the merchants), like the courtier Usen, is shown as a physical deformity and a morally fallen personality, although he is quite successful in trade. The same negative figure is Fatma, a woman of easy virtue. In the merchant environment, instead of aristocratic-knightly generosity and abstinence, cowardice and greed dominate. Generosity and modesty here give way to stinginess and greed; devotion and moral purity - moral unbridledness and depravity. Rustaveli definitely contrasts the knightly traditions merchant morals. In this regard, his sympathies are certainly on the side of the feudal-knightly environment.

Religious views

Rustaveli is an artist-thinker. The Christian-clerical dogmatism of the medieval West, the mysticism of Persian Sufism, and official Islam are alien to him. This, of course, does not mean that Rustaveli is an atheist: his philosophical and religious thinking bears traces of the strong influence of Neoplatonism, which took deep roots in Georgia and had prominent representatives here; “Neoplatonic speculation expanded the mental horizon of Georgian society... Neoplatonism broke the exclusivity of the religious-national thinking of the Georgians and facilitated their close literary communication with Muslim world"(N. Ya. Marr). Rustaveli is also alien to nationalistic isolation. The poem lovingly depicts people of different nationalities.

Composition

The composition of the poem is characterized by dynamic drama, often leading to unexpected situations. The poem is almost completely devoid of fairy-tale fantastic elements: the genuine, human-earthly, strong experiences of living people are shown in a vitally truthful, artistically direct, convincing manner. Each hero of the poem, whether main or secondary, is revealed in its most typical features. In this regard, every detail, even the slightest, of the poet is natural. These are Nestan-Darejan, Tinatin, Asmat, Tariel, Avtandil, Fredon, Shermadin, who have become household names, the most popular names in Georgia.

In developing the plot, the poet uses the technique of [[[contrasting]]: different social strata and artistic images masterfully contrast each other with a great sense of proportion.

Aphorisms of Rustaveli

There are more than 50 editions of the poem in Georgian.

Characters

• Avtandil - spaspet in Arabia
• Asmat - slave Nestan-Darejan
• Dulardukht - Queen of Kajeti
• Melik Surkhavi - King Gulansharo
• Nestan-Darejan - daughter of Farsadan, beloved of Tariel
• Nuradin-Freedon - ruler of Mulgazanzar
• Ramaz - ruler of the Khatavs
• Rosan and Rodya are Dulardukht’s nephews; Dulardukht wanted to marry Nestan-Darejan to Rostan
• Rostevan - King of Arabia
• Roshak - warlord of Kajeti
• Tariel - knight in tiger skin
• Tinatin - daughter of Rostevan, beloved of Avtandil
• Usen - head of the Gulansharo merchants
• Farsadan - Indian king
• Fatma - Usen's wife
• Shermadin - Avtandil's servant, who led the estate in Avtandil's absence
• Chachnagir - Fatma's lover, killed by Avtandil

Dictionary

• Abdul Messiah(literally - slave of the messiah) - probably the title of the ode to “Queen Tamar and David” by the 12th century Georgian poet Ioann Shavteli.
• Absal- the nurse of the Greek prince Salaman, the heroine of the legend of their love, widespread in the Middle Ages in the countries of the East.
• Aloe is an incense tree used for burning in incense burners.
• Amiran is a hero of Georgian mythology, punished by the gods and chained to a rock in the Caucasus. The image of Amiran was used by Mose Khoneli, the alleged author of the stories “Amiran-Darejaniani”.
• Amirbar - in the East, the Minister of the Navy or the Minister of the Court.
• Arabia is a fictional country in Vityaz.
• Aspirosis- Venus.
• Badakhshan is a country in the Southern Pamirs, now a province of Afghanistan, where rubies were mined, called "Badakhshan stone" or "Badakhsh".
• Basra is a city in the southeast of modern Iraq
• Bezoar - gem organic origin.
• Wazir- vizier.
• Vis - main character poem by the 11th century Persian poet Fakhr ad-din Asad Gurani “Vis and Ramin” based on the Parthian story about the love of Queen Vis for the king’s brother Ramin. It is believed that the author of the translation into Georgian is Sargisu Tmogveli.
• Gabaon is an area near Jerusalem that was considered sacred land. The spruce and cypress trees that grew there were considered the most beautiful.
• Geon(Jeon, Jeyhun) - Amu Darya River.
• Gisher- jet.
• Goliath is a huge Philistine warrior in the Old Testament.
• Gulansharo(from “gulan” (roses) + “shahr” (city) = city of roses) is a fictional city and state.
• David- apparently David Soslani, husband of the Georgian Queen Tamara.
• Dilarget- alleged main character the work “Dilargetiani” that has not reached us, the author of which is considered to be Sargis Tmogveli.
• Divnos- Dionysius the Areopagite, Christian saint and philosopher of the 5th century, author of the doctrine of Areopagitica.
• Dostakan- a healthy cup.
• Drachma is a unit of measurement of mass in Ancient Greece, equal in various policies from 4 to 7 grams; also a silver weight coin.
• Devs - in the folklore of the peoples of the Caucasus, Asia Minor and Central Asia, Western Siberia, etc. - are evil spirits, mainly giants of an anthropomorphic or zoomorphic appearance.
• Zaradhana(pers.) - armory.
• Zual- Saturn.
• Kadj is an evil spirit, in “Vityaz...” Kadzhi are insidious sorcerers. Kadzheti is the country of the Kadzhi.
• Qais, or Qais - the main character of Nizami Ganjavi's poem of love
• Caravanserai - inn.
• The cymbal is an ancient oriental percussion musical instrument, consisting of a metal plate, in the middle of which a belt or rope was attached to be put on the right hand.
• Kulan is a species from the equine family. Outwardly very similar to a donkey, but has a lot common features with a horse, which is why the kulan is often called a half-donkey.
• Lal - ruby.
• Maidan - lists or market square.
• Marikh, or Marrikh, Marrikh - Mars.
• Mijnur is the nickname of Kais, the main character of Nizami Ganjavi’s (1140-1202) poem “Leyli and Majnun,” who was mad with love. Subsequently this nickname became common noun for, denoting a person passionately in love.
• Merani is a winged horse in Georgian mythology.
• Meskhi, or Meskhetians - residents of Meskheti.
• Mourav- manager.
• Mukr - reciter of the Koran.
• Mulganazanzar(from the Persian “murgzar” - lawn) - a fictional country.
• Mullim is a Muslim theologian.
• Mushtar - Jupiter.
• Nye - brass musical instrument.
• Backgammon is a board game for two players on a special board divided into two halves.
• Ninevites- inhabitants of Nineveh
• Otarid- Mercury.
• Romagna- one of European countries, inhabited by Romanesque peoples.
• height- a giant hero, the main character of the epic “Shahname” by the Persian poet of the second half of the 10th century, Ferdowsi.
• Sirin is a maiden bird.
• Spasalar- commander of the troops.
• Spaspet - commander of the troops.
• Stages are a unit of measurement of distances in the ancient systems of measures of many peoples.
• Talent - a unit of mass used in ancient times in Europe, Western Asia and North Africa.
• Tmogveli, Sargis - Georgian writer of the 12th century, who is credited with translating Fakhr ad-din Asad Gurani's novel "Vis and Ramin". The poem mentions him as the author of the work about Dilarget.
• Khataeti is a country of Khatavs, located north of China and inhabited by Turks.
• Khatun- a noble lady.
• Khoneli, Mose - Georgian writer of the 12th century, the alleged author of the cycle of stories “Amiran-Darejaniani”.
• Khorezm - ancient state Central Asia, centered on the lower reaches of the Amu Darya.
• Ezros- unknown ancient sage, possibly a 12th-century Jewish poet.

In Georgia, there is an ancient tradition: to give girls chess and the book “The Knight in the Skin of a Tiger” for their wedding.

Sources

• Rustaveli- article from

The narrow path of death is not a delay, not a hitch.An oak tree in front of her, or a blade of grass, weak or strong, will twist the thread.No one is right in front of her. Young, old, mowing the grass.It is better to die, but die with glory, than to live a shameful life.

According to the poet, man is the crown of creation, and he has every right to enjoy earthly blessings. Boundless faith in man is the highest pathos of “The Knight in the Leopard’s Skin.” From this position one should evaluate Shota Rustaveli as the greatest humanist of the Middle Ages.

It would be impossible to reach such heights while remaining within the framework of the Christian religion or even Christian philosophy. In the final liberation of Rustaveli from religious dogma and limitations decisive role played by the Georgian reality of the 12th century, which, after a kind of “oppression” of Christianity, put forward new, secular ideals. The artistic intuition of the poet himself played a huge role in this. Shota Rustaveli reached new heights of free worldview not only through reflection and logical thinking, but also with his brilliant poetic intuition.

The cornerstone of Rustaveli's worldview is sublime humanism. It permeates the poem “The Knight in Leopard’s Skin” and its entire artistic system from beginning to end. He inspired the characters of the poem, who, with the amazing power of their clearly Renaissance spirit, destroy the Christian-ascetic framework of the Middle Ages. In this sense, Rustaveli can be called a remarkable predecessor of the great movement that arose in subsequent centuries and became known as European humanism.

In “The Knight in Leopard's Skin” two ideological and thematic motifs dominate - love and friendship. In completely different ways, in accordance with this, two couples shine in the poem: Nestan-Darejan and Tariel, on the one hand, and Tinatin and Avtandil, on the other. The knight, as the poem portrays him, cannot be imagined without two components: he must be in love and, at the same time, an impeccable friend. In Shota Rustaveli’s homeland, thanks to “The Knight in Leopard’s Skin,” this idea has become firmly rooted. When people talk about a “knight,” they first of all mean the heroes of “The Knight in the Leopard’s Skin”: Tariel, Avtandil and Fridon. Those who get acquainted with these heroes will understand that a knight is not just a hero, a hero, driven only by the desire to distinguish himself. Chivalry, along with courage and heroism, requires modesty, devotion and selflessness in friendship; the most fine features The character of a knight is manifested in his respectful attitude towards a woman. Shota Rustaveli, in his “The Knight in the Skin of a Leopard,” brought these qualities to the fore and with great poetic power painted the sublime ideal of chivalry.

The Arabian military leader, the incomparable knight Avtandil, is in love with Princess Tinatin, carefully hiding the feeling from everyone - this is how the laws of chivalry, the code of true love, dictate to him. Not with words, but with deeds and heroic deeds, he must prove to his beloved his eternal devotion. Avtandil conscientiously carries out Tinatin’s difficult assignments.

Let us remember the first meeting of Nestan-Darejan and Tariel. Tariel suppresses the mental suffering caused by this meeting, and on behalf of Nestan, he sets off to fulfill his duty to his beloved and to his homeland - in a heroic battle he crushes the rebellious Hatays.

The knights - the heroes of "The Knight in the Leopard's Skin" - are characterized by admiration for true friendship. Tariel, Avtandil and Fridon are selflessly devoted, selfless friends. Academician N. Marr saw in the friendship described in “The Knight in the Leopard’s Skin” a peculiar manifestation of the ancient Georgian folk custom - twinning or, better, new level his development, which, along with mutual personal sympathy, implies sublime intellectualism. Friends not only feel an irresistible attraction to each other, but also comprehend with their minds the troubles and adversities of each other, and deeply analyze their behavior. Let us remember the same scene of the meeting of heroes, in which Tariel’s despair is contrasted with Avtandil’s sober mind. It was Avtandil’s prudent advice and foresight that brought Tariel out of a state of deep depression and returned him to active work and struggle.

Knight in leopard skin

Introductory four lines

He who created the vault of heaven, he who with miraculous power

The incorporeal spirit was given to people - this world was given to us as our inheritance.

We possess the limitless, the multifarious, the whole in different ways.

Each king is ours, in a practical face, his face is among the royal affairs.

Not with daily praises, but with bloody tears,

Like a prayer in a bright temple, I will praise her in verse.

I write with black amber, I draw with patterned reeds.

Whoever clings to repeated praises will receive a spear in his heart.

This is the queen's command, to sing to her eyelashes,

The tenderness of lips, lightning eyes and pearly teeth.

Cute appearance of the black-browed one. Lead anvil

A hard and harsh stone is crushed by well-aimed hands.

Oh, now I need words. May they remain in friendly relations.

Let the pearl melody ring. Tariel will meet with help.

The thought of him is in words of cherished, reminiscent greetings.

My pipe will sing to the three stars of the stars.

Sit down, you have matured the will from the cradle of the same destinies.

So I sang, Rustaveli, and a spear entered my heart.

Until now there was a coherent fairy tale, a quiet monotonous sound,

And now - diamond size, song, listen to it.

He who loves, who is in love, must be completely illuminated,

Young, fast, wise, must see dreams vigilantly,

To be victorious over enemies, to know what to express in words,

To entertain thoughts like moths - if not, he doesn’t like it.

He who persists in the expected feeling will remain constant,

Unchanged, undeceitful, he will accept the oppression of separation.

He will accept anger, if necessary, sadness will be his joy.

The one who knew only the sweetness of a glance, only a caress, he does not love.

Who, burning with heart's blood, clung with longing to the headboard,

Will he call this easy game love?

To cling to one, to replace another, I call this a game.

If I love with my soul, I take on a whole world of sorrows.

Love is worthy only in that, loving, anxiously, sultryly,

Hiding the pain, it passes harmoniously, going into solitude, into sleep,

Only he dares to forget himself, fights, cries, flames,

And he is not timid of kings, but he is timid of love.

Bound by a fiery law, like walking in a green forest,

He will not betray the name of his dear one for shame with an indiscreet groan.

And, fleeing exposure, he will gladly accept torment,

Anything for my dear, even being burned, is a delight, not a misfortune.

Who can believe that he will put the name of his beloved

Into gossip? He worries both her and himself.

Once you slander, there is no glory in that, only a breath of poison.

He who is not wicked at heart protects love by loving.

I, Rustaveli, composed the song, dying of love.

My illness is incurable. Is it only from my beloved?

The light will come unquenchable - or, Death, call to you.

I poured the tale of the Persians, their hints, into Georgian lines.

Valuable pearls were in the stream. The beauty of the depths is quiet.

But in the name of that beautiful one, before whom I am in passionate torture,

I squeezed the clear reflection of pearls into the frame of a verse.

The gaze, having once seen the light, is filled with eternal thirst

Be with your sweetheart every minute. I'm mad. I went out.

The whole body is burning again. Who will help? Only singing.

Threefold praise for the one in whom everything is a diamond.

What fate has given us, we should be pleased with it.

Invariably, no matter what, we love our native land.

The worker has work, the fighter has war to worry about.

If you love, then believe in love without counting, and burn in it.

Singing a chant in four lines is wisdom. Knowledge - for sure.

Who is from God, - he sings with authority, burnt out.

He will say a lot in few words. He will connect his spirit with the listener.

Thought will always respect the singer. The world is dominated by chanting.

How easily a free horse of a noble breed runs,

Just like a natural player hits the target with a ball,

So the poet in a complex poem will direct the untroubled course,

The tow will clearly spin the fabric as if impossible.

Inspirational - in the most difficult situations shines with emerald light,

Having burst out with a loud word, it will justify a strong verse.

The word of Georgia is powerful. If someone's heart is singing,

Shine will be born in a dark cloud, in the summer of carved lightning.

Whoever once puts together two or three lines, the song is sung,

Still, he has not yet flashed the poet’s flame.

Two or three songs, he is a putter, but when such a giver

He thinks that he really is the creator, he is just a stubborn mule.

And then, who knows the singing, who understands the poem,

But the heart does not know the piercing, burning, sharp words,

He is still a small hunter, and unprecedented in hunting,

With a belated arrow, he is not ready for big game.

And further. The melody of funny songs at the feast hour is wonderful.

The circle will close, cheerful, tight. These songs make us happy.

Truely sung at the same time. But only he is marked by light,

The one who sang the story for a long time will be called a poet.

The poet knows the score with effort. The gift of songs will not be thrown into dust.

And he orders everything to be an abundance of delight - her,

The one he calls love, before whom he will shine with newness,

Who, possessing his blood, orders him to sing louder.

In Arabic, whoever is in love is crazy. Just sleepy

He sees an unfulfilled dream leading away.

The nearness of God is therefore desirable. But that road is long.

These ones reach beauty right from the threshold.

If the one who loves cries, that's all it means

That he hides the sting in himself. If you love, know silence.

And among the people, amid the noise, let there be one thought.

But beautifully, not gloomily, secretly, still love one.

1. The Tale of Rostevan, King of the Arabs

There was a melodious king from God in Arabia, a mighty king,

The army of the strong is like clouds, the exalted Rostevan.

For many knights, a permanent sign and an incomparable image,

Bird-watching, in the foamy swell he will see everything through the fog.

He was also beautiful in words. He had a daughter, a child of love:

The sun is the eyes, the nights are the eyebrows, the whole is a star among the luminaries.

Only a wise man can sing about a lusciously curly maiden,

The appearance of the black-haired maiden instantly enslaved many.

Tsar, when the beauty of the princess merged into her full-song age,

He summoned the nobles and, without anger, seated them around him.

He said: “This is the subject of the advice. Rose knows the time of color.

Has faded - no more summer, - dries, crushing its whisk.

The sun rises and sets. The village, we look, the darkness is smoking.

The moonless night swirls. My day is completely spent.

The gilding has faded. Old age is a burden. There is no worse oppression.

If I die, that's my only concern. And the road is the same for everyone.

Where is the light that will enlighten the darkness? Let your mind answer me.

Let the crown mark the brow of my bright daughter.”

Everyone answered, sighing: “Why is your speech like that?

The rose, even when it fades, is all fragrant and brighter.

And the flawed month is clear. The ray of a star is quite beautiful, -

The dispute between the star and the moon is in vain. So, oh king, don’t talk.

Even an evil word from you is a strong foundation for all of us.

The face of the golden sun, your daughter, is brighter than the dawn.

Give her the kingdom, give her the reign. She was meant to be a wife.

But from God the meaning of government was shown to her from above.

Once you were absent, and you shone without sunset.

When there are lion cubs in the cave, the lioness and the lion are quite equal.”

Avtandil was the leader's son. He is in grace alone

Cypress shone along the valleys between the slender ones.

Like crystal it was famous, it walked in a starry orbit,

Merged with Tinatin's dream, without her he faded.

Like a flower among the fog, passion was a hidden wound in him.

The rose of passion, blushed again, appeared slightly before her.

Oh, love is torture. The one who loves is all torment.

Still, he longs for the command to become a coal among the fires.

At the hour when the sinless virgin the king ordered, unquestioningly,

The authorities have received the supreme gift, Avtandil rejoiced:

“Tinatin is like the shine of a wrist. She deserves full power.

Seeing the sun is happiness, its face is a source of strength.”

All the Arabs came. Noble brilliance is multiplied in strength.

The fortress in Avtandil sees many thousands of fighters.

The whole order of the armies is revealed. And when the throne was installed,

He is glorified by all the people: “His light is above words.”

Tinatin, with a shining face, obeying the royal will,

Everything was burning, golden, and he laid a crown,

He gave the black-browed scepter, gave her royal veils,

And she shone like a new star among the stars.

The king left, paying respects. Blessings abound.

Praises were spoken. The ringing of cymbals with the sound of trumpets.

The new king with the face of the queen was like the face of a morning star in a cloud -

The colors of a crow are the eyelashes, the purple of the dawn is the curves of the lips.

It seems to her that she is unworthy to take her father’s throne, and harmoniously

The camp bows, restlessly sheds tears like rain in a garden.

And the father, exhorting, says: “Child - a double life.

You are my equal, my dear daughter. I'm on fire and I'm delirious.

Don't cry like a flower in the valley. You are now the King of Arabia.

Mountain castle at the top. Be vigilant and kings.

The day is turning scarlet for everyone. So be kind to the little ones.

He who bends down to the weary will multiply the altars.

Be open to charity. Be like a generous firmament.

Know that hearts obey good zeal.

He will bind the free - light in his gaze. Be the same as the sea -

Having hidden the rivers in your vastness, donate moisture endlessly.

Virgo listens with attention to those words that breathe knowledge,

She has only one greeting to all her father’s admonitions.

The king drinks and has fun. There is no reason for it to be eclipsed.

The sun wants to compare in brilliance with the bright Tinatin.

He sends for his old butler, so that he comes with a magnificent gift,

So that in giving generously - ardently destroy the treasury in full.

“Bring everything. Everything is not enough for me.” And she gave it away without measure.

I didn’t guess, I didn’t count. “I won’t deceive anyone.”

All the gifts that I knew from childhood, I collected from childhood,

I gave away the entire brilliant inheritance on one day.

Her father's science is a reliable guarantee.

Like an arrow flying from a bow, it was so hasty.

“Bring all the mules and donkeys.” She commanded the magnificent retinue:

“Show me your dear horses.” Stomping, neighing, horses are here.

Silk shines. A crowd of soldiers, rich in royal favor,

They have fun like pirates, like robbers.

It’s like the Turks are being beaten in the mountains - and there are no number of happy ones.

A swarm of Arabian bushy-maned light-footed horses are racing.

Scattered, giving away like a snow storm: -

Whether old or young, they were all rich in her.

The day has passed. It was a fun feast. They drank and ate like bees.

On flowers. Alone, the king was clouded with heavy thoughts.

With his head bowed, he sat in front of the crowd.

A noisy whisper came in waves: “Why is he sad?”

Painting the face of a honey feast, the imperious one leads into a stern battle,

And ready to gallop like a lion, sun-faced Avtandil

Was with Sograt noble by his side, and his agile gaze

“Why is the king so alien to joy?” he quickly asked.

“That’s right, a thought came to me, something unpleasant and evil,”

Sograt answered, sighing: “There is no grief, and there is joy in the hour.”

Avtandil said: “So let’s ask. Let's throw in a funny word.

We carry the weight to no avail. Why does he shame us?

Avtandil and Sograt stood up, they were given full cups,

And the merry ones fell to their knees before the king.

The playful Sograt says: “Tsar, you are definitely a rainy day,

There is no smile, no beauty on your dumb face.”

Your daughter is fun, she gave away all the riches.

Do not give her a magnificent part, and, having deprived her of royal power,

You will be saved from misfortune and freed from evil.”

The king grinned. He could not have expected such a word.

He nevertheless looked brightly at the stingy adviser.

“I appreciate your diligence. And you are worthy of praise.

But stingy care never suited me.

No, that's not my concern. Old age is approaching, dormancy.

And you don’t want to be left without a worthy fighter.

Days have faded all the blooms, and the skills have not passed on

I will be a fighter without shame to anyone until the end.

Proud, young, full of aspiration, he listened to these praises.

And with a smile of humility he concealed his triumph.

How that smile stuck to the face of the young man, where there was scarlet

His mouth was burning; the whiteness of his teeth shone like snow.

The king asked: “Why are you laughing? And why are you timidly huddling?

Well, why don't you answer? Or am I funny to you?

The young man said: “Give me permission to say this, as an insult

Without imputing boldness. May I not be condemned."

The king replied: “Speak a word. I won't take it harshly.

The bond of the oath is the sanctity of shelter, the name of the bright Tinatin.”

Avtandil said: “So I boldly say: it’s not a matter of boasting,

But my arrow would have hit the target more accurately, oh lord.

I am dust under your feet. But, measuring arrows,

I will be the first - I take this oath in front of the regiments.

Who can compare with me in shooting? You said. What's the point of suing?

This dispute can only be resolved with a ball, with an arrow, in battle.”

The king said: “Let’s not quarrel, I won’t argue in words.

Give me the onion. Whose name will be echoed after, we will decide.

Before witnesses in the field we will be free,

There they say about our fate: whoever is the catcher, victory is with him.”

Avtandil obeyed. And with that their argument was interrupted.

Everyone was cheerful and laughing. The sidelong glance was alien to them.

There was a pledge between them: whoever was defeated

With his head naked, he walked like this for three days.

And the king called twelve exemplary servants for these faithful

Unparalleled competitions, so that they would be given arrows.

“Let twelve of them follow me with an arrow.

Shermadin is one with you, at least one, he is incomparable.”

He said to the hunters: “Across the plains, like a thunderstorm to herds of animals,

Get together and wrap a ring around them as one.

Let the soldiers help you." The feast is over, the feast is rich.

There were wines, aromas, and fun at the table.

Avtandil, as soon as the sun rose, was already dressed in the color of coral,

The face of ruby ​​and crystal in gold burned with fire.

Under the cover of goldenrod, he was all a lily flower.

So he appeared as a miracle worker on a white horse.

The Tsar was famously dismantled. All the people around are like a retinue.

The field is covered with armies. Everyone is happy to see hunting.

Many-eyed raid. Laughter, and jokes, and fun.

Will fame look upon anyone? They will bet.

The king orders to prepare arrows to send limits to everything.

The score tells them to make a bold, correct count of all strikes.

And twelve faithful slaves are waiting for those exemplary shots.

There will be arrows in goats and chamois. Game is coming from everywhere.

Herds without number are like shadows. Fleet-footed deer.

Goats gallop in white foam. Wild donkeys are racing.

It’s a miracle to see - and what a miracle! “Running is in vain,” the two of them beat.

The bowstring cannot sleep at rest, the arrow whistles repeatedly.

Horseshoes trample dust. The veil rises harshly.

The sun was hidden. And in the new victim, the arrow whistles and trembles.

Blood flows through white fur. A new whistle, arrows are flying,

The beast trembles and, numb, collapses - immediately life is gone.

If someone is only wounded by an arrow, he runs away, but the run is deceived,

There is no outcome, this current of striking arrows is tireless.

And not green, not new, all the fields were covered with blood,

God, filled with love, burned with anger in the sky.

Who looked at Avtandil, how his hand strove

The course of the arrow, how faithfully it struck, how everything went towards him,

Seeing such a spectacle, the word doubled my heart:

“He is as beautiful as the aloe that grew in Eden.”

The day has passed, sad for the animals. Smeryan runs across the distant plain.

At the edge, a crystal stream crushed the wave against the cliff.

The animals disappeared into the dark thicket. The horses wouldn't have gotten through there.

Rostevan and Avtandil were relaxing and having fun.

There is no limit to their joys. And one said with a laugh:

“I’ll be more accurate!” Another echoed: “I’m more accurate!” - said in response.

And the twelve faithful are called. “Whose arrows are more exemplary?

The account must be reliable. It’s all truth, but no flattery.”

They answer: “There is no obscuring the truth, and, without mitigation,

You cannot stand the comparison, king, the score is hostile to you.

Even if you kill us, we don’t care, but we will boldly tell you:

Where his arrow flew, the beast did not take a step forward.

All two thousand were killed. Twenty plus in Avtandil

Death was found. In that precise force, a miss is unknown to the bow.

As he outlines, so strictly - the road is over for the beast.

And yours have collected many arrows, scattered all around.”

The king laughs, his laughter is crystalline. Not stung by an evil thought,

He's not at all sad. “Well, the victory is not mine.”

He is happy for his adopted son, that’s happiness, not sadness.

The heart loves what is one, the nightingale loves the rose.

Tasting the present moment, they sit by the thicket.

The crowd of warriors looks at the army rustling like ears of grain.

Near them are twelve brave men, unafraid of anything.

A water path can be seen winding through the forest.

2. The tale of how the Arab king saw a knight dressed in leopard skin

At the edge of the forest, above the stream, in lonely melancholy,

The strange knight was in deep thought over the river.

He held the black horse by the reins, and again

Tears flowed from a mute heart, compressed by melancholy.

Like heavenly stars, everything shone with pearls,

Both the armor and the saddle were enchanted by gentle lights.

He was like a lion, but tears flowed down, full of sadness,

On the cheeks, where the roses withered and did not sparkle brightly.

He was dressed in a brown caftan, with a leopard skin on top,

And he sat there, dejected, bowing in his leopard hat.

The thick whip in his hand was visible. So he sat unsociable.

It was as if he was shrouded in smoke, all magical, all languishing.

The slave comes to him with a question from the king, but in front of the cliff

The sight of those tears, like dew, as if told him to become.

Before such power of grief, shut up, or don’t argue,

Cry as the rain cries into the abyss of the sea, having learned its limit.

The slave was in great confusion, trembling and doubt,

And he looked in surprise at the sad fighter.

“The king orders you to come,” he finally said, he sighed and waited.

The knight is mute, and he did not hear, he will not raise his face up.

With his face tilted downwards, all in great oblivion,

He did not listen to the surrounding screams and poured out blood with tears.

He continued to sob strangely, trembled in the fire of combustion,

There is no end to the torment, tears flow again and again.

His mind is wandering somewhere. His thoughts are filled with lead.

The slave walks the path of return, having achieved nothing,

Again I repeated the royal message, but no attention,

There is no broadcast from his rose-colored lips.

The slave returned without answering: “To my words hello

He was deaf. My gaze went out from the bright sun.

I felt sorry for him involuntarily. My heart was beating painfully.

I see it’s already been a long wait, I’ve been tired for a whole hour.”

The king marveled. The wonder turned to indignation.

He speaks a command to the twelve slaves:

“You take your weapons, go to him with the whole crowd

And quickly bring me the one who is hesitating there.”

Fulfilling orders, here are the slaves. rustling

You can hear their feet, the clanking of their armor rings. The Knight stood up

Still in tears. But he looked up. He sees, in close choir,

People with military attire. Crying out: “Woe!” fell silent.

He wiped his eyes with his hands, strengthened his quiver of arrows,

Sword with a shiny scabbard. Here he is on a fast horse.

What does he need - slaves, their word? Guides the raven

Away somewhere, no answer to them - he is in a dream.

Corpses fell left and right. The king is seething, filled with anger.

He shouts to the slaves, but the sowing of Death is the harvest.

The young man will not even look at the one he hurts.

Whoever runs away will become dead, the fate before him is the same.

The king is angry, gets excited, and quickly mounts his horse.

He rushes together with Avtandil to overtake the arrogant one.

But, as in a sparkling fog, as on fabulous Merani,

Without accepting a fight with them, he hid, without calling out.

Seeing that the king was in pursuit, that horses were rushing after him,

He, in instant defense, suddenly whipped his horse and disappeared.

As if he had fallen into an abyss or disappeared into the sky,

They are looking, no, and the trail has disappeared. Nothing. Like in the darkness of curtains.

Although they were looking for hoof marks, no, he disappeared into some distance.

It was as if they had seen a ghost, the ghost was only for a moment.

Someone is crying for the dead. And care for the wounded.

The king said: “The work has come. Apparently, evil fate has overtaken us.”

He said: “All the days have been nothing but pleasure.

God has known the weariness of seeing happiness without end.

So the delight has become deceived, - like everyone else, fickle, -

I have been wounded to death by the Almighty, he turned away the light of my face.”

So he returned, gloomy, shadowed by sad thoughts.

The noises of competitions and feasts were instantly forgotten.

The groaning all around was replaced by a groan. The king's sadness was law.

Not accustomed to obstacles, the spirit is ready to fall easily.

Hidden from everyone, the king sat in the distant bedchamber,

He thought more and more sadly that the light of joy had gone out.

I only saw Avtandil. Everyone scattered sadly.

The harp did not stream sighs, the sound of castanets was not heard.

Tinatin hears about that loss of happiness. Fully

The feeling in her. She's at the door. And a question for the butler:

“Is he sleeping or is he awake?” He answered: “He sits in anguish.

And he doesn't talk to anyone. It became dark like a cliff.

Avtandil was only accepted as a son by his sadness.

The knight is the reason for all this, a strange knight on the way.”

Tinatin advertised: “I’ll leave. But if he asks, yearning,

I will come to him at the same hour, as he orders me to come to myself.”

The king said: “Go quickly and call her to me.

In only one string of pearls, beauty is always bright.

Let my father get his breath back. Let it cure longing.

I’ll tell her what the torment is about, why life suddenly went away.”

Having heeded his father's command, Tinatin, like an epiphany,

A full moon vision, shining with beauty before him.

He sits her down next to her, looks at her with a look full of affection,

And he kisses, and his soul is again open to joy.

“Why didn’t you come? Or should I have called?”

The virgin meekly objected: “King, when you frown,

Who dares to come to you? Even the day will be darkened before you,

Let this mournful smoke of dreams be resolved now.”

He said: “Dear child! Being with you is my delight.

The sadness has passed, you are a joy to look at, as if you gave a potion,

To dispel the flour with authority. But, although I was tormented passionately,

Know that it is not in vain, not in vain that the thought of sadness has gone.

I met an unknown young knight. vault of heaven

I was pierced by his wonderful beauty as if by a rainbow.

I could not find out the reasons for his tears, his sadness.

Although he was one in beauty, he angered me.

Turning his gaze slightly towards me, he wiped away his tears, quickly

He jumped onto the horse - I ordered the spores to take over, but instantly

He scattered my people. Who is he? Devil? Is he a villain?

I was ridiculed without a word. Suddenly he disappeared, just as he suddenly appeared.

If the knight was physical, not a miraculous vision,

On earth, he must be known to others, of course.

The news will arise, it will come to us by ear. If he has an evil spirit

Was there and disappeared with light feathers, why ruin yourself with melancholy.

This is my advice, lord: you are a ruler over kings.

Whoever wants to see, where is the viewer so that your light can be measured?

So send people, let them search, let them search the whole world.

They will find the answer, whether he is mortal or not.”

The king calls prompt messengers, among the best selected,

So that no effort is spared in searching for the sentinels,

No effort, no effort to ask everyone

The translation of the poem, published in 1964 in France, by Sergi Tsuladze, was highly praised. He was awarded French Academy Langlois Prize.

In the history of translations of "The Knight in the Leopard's Skin" into foreign languages, the English poetess Marjorie Wardrop occupies an honorable place. Together with her brother Oliver Wardrop, also a famous writer, she lived for some time in Georgia, studied the Georgian language, met centuries-old history and culture of the country, became close to prominent Georgian public figures of the late 19th century and decided to translate into native language immortal creation of Rustaveli. She devoted more than ten years of her life to this difficult task, never living to see the day when her translation saw the light. In 1912, Marjorie Wardrop's translation was published in London under the supervision of Oliver Wardrop. The translation is made in prose, but highly artistic and, at the same time, distinguished by sufficient scientific accuracy. The translation is provided with comments and necessary references. It should be noted that Academician N. Ya. Marr, a remarkable expert on the Rustaveli language, considered this translation the most accurate and scientifically scrupulous at that time. Translation by Marjorie Wardrop played important role in the popularization of "The Knight in the Leopard's Skin" in Europe.

The first attempt to translate Rustaveli into German belongs to Arthur Leist, who also lived and worked in Georgia for several years. He was unable to translate the entire poem, but in 1889 a translation of a fairly significant part of the poem was published in Dresden. There is information that in those same years, Austrian writers, the spouses Bertha and Arthur Zunter, worked on the German translation of “The Knight in the Leopard’s Skin.” However, their translation was lost without a trace. The German translation of the poem by the famous Georgian orientalist Mikhail Tsereteli also remained unpublished. One of its copies is kept in Georgia. A complete poetic translation of "The Knight in the Leopard's Skin" into German was published in 1955 in Berlin. Its author is the Austrian poet Hugo Huppert. (A new translation was also released yesterday, authored by the famous German poet Hermann Budensig).

In the 19th century, along with the above-mentioned attempt by Evgeniy Bolkhovitinov, translations of some episodes of the poem into Russian were made. Among them, it should be noted the translations of passages made by the poet I. Bartdinsky and published in 1845 in St. Petersburg on the pages of the magazine "Illustration". This translation was quite voluminous and contained about 600 stanzas. The Russian poet, who did not know the Georgian language, was helped in his work by the writer G. Dadiani (Kolkhideli) and professor D. Chubinashvili. The translation received various assessments at the time, but despite all the pros and cons, it played a positive role, as it gave the Russian reader the opportunity to get acquainted with a significant part of Rustaveli’s work in poetic translation. In the same XIX century Several more incomplete translations of the poem were made.

Thus, although Konstantin Balmont was the first Russian poet to complete a complete translation of Rustaveli’s poem, he still had predecessors in this matter. This circumstance, of course, does not in any way diminish the importance of the work he did. The main thing, it seems to us, is that the Russian poet loved Rustaveli’s creation with all his soul; being a rather deep connoisseur of European languages ​​and literatures, he was able to appreciate this work, comparing it with some masterpieces of the literature of medieval Europe. The poet first became acquainted with Rustaveli's work through the English translation by Marjorie Wardrop. As he himself later recalled, a completely unknown poetic world opened up before him. Rustaveli, inflamed by the spirit of the Renaissance, was placed in the ranks by Balmont greatest poets peace. Subsequently, he dedicated a special article “Great Italians and Rustaveli” (1917) to the work of the great Georgian poet. Individual passages of the poem in Balmont's translation were published over a number of years, but the full translation was published in 1933 in Paris under the title "Wearing the Leopard's Skin." This complete translation was also published in several editions in the Soviet Union.

Balmont, who believed that before him “they did not know how to write sonorous poetry in Russia,” attached enormous, perhaps even overly exaggerated importance to the musicality of a verse, forgetting that the latter should never become an end in itself for a poet. Having refused to render Rustavel's quatrains, he tried to compensate for this by introducing internal rhyme, but as a result, he essentially created an eight-line stanza rhymed according to the scheme: a-a-a-b - c-c-c-b and has nothing in common with the metrical structure of Rustaveli’s minted verse. This largely determines the numerous deviations from the original.

Now, in addition to Balmontov’s, we have several other Russian translations, completed at a sufficiently high level. high level. In 1937, a translation by G. Tsagareli was published, and in 1938, a translation by P. Petrenko, carried out with the participation and editing of the famous Georgian poet Konstantin Chichinadze. It should also be noted here that after the tragic death of Panteleimon Petrenko, the translation of the final chapters of the poem (starting from stanza 1515) was carried out by Boris Brik, with the participation of the same Konstantin Chichinadze.

In 1941, a new translation of the poem into Russian was published, owned by academician Shalva Nutsubidze. This work represented an undoubted step forward, for its author tried to preserve and convey both the rhythm of the original and its unique alliteration.

For a number of years (since 1937), the famous poet and translator of masterpieces of Georgian poetry Nikolai Zabolotsky worked on translating the poem into Russian. Starting with a free adaptation of the poem, N. Zabolotsky subsequently completed its complete poetic translation (first published in 1958).

One of best translations"The Knight in the Leopard's Skin" is considered Ukrainian, belonging to the poet Mikola Bazhan.

The poem has also been translated into Italian, Spanish, Hungarian, Polish, Japanese - in total into more than 40 languages ​​of the world, including almost all the languages ​​of the peoples of the Soviet Union.

It should be noted, however, that none of these translations is perfect and, of course, gives the reader an incomplete idea of ​​the merits of Rustaveli’s creation. Pavel Antokolsky rightly spoke about this: “Many of the poets tried to convey Rustaveli’s poem “The Knight in the Leopard’s Skin” in their own language. There are also complete translations into Russian... But none of the Russian translations can fully satisfy the discerning reader.”

However, these translations still play an important role. After all, with their help, the reader gets acquainted with the content and ideological world of “Vityaz...”. The famous Icelandic writer Halldor Laxness wrote about this: “Even though I don’t know the Georgian language and have read and studied the immortal “The Knight in the Tiger’s Skin” on French, but I still understood and felt in it not only the enchanting heroism of the era, but also the wonderful victory of the eternal values ​​of folk wisdom, loyalty, friendship, wonderful love. Therefore, Rustaveli’s poem is close to the peoples of different eras, close to us."

Through French and Russian translations, the outstanding French writer Louis Aragon, who called Rustaveli’s creation one of the masterpieces of world poetry. According to Louis Aragon, "The Knight in the Tiger's Skin" is the most remarkable creation of the Middle Ages. Unlike great poems Western Europe of the same era, it is free from all mysticism and, like the creations of the Renaissance, stands above Christian teaching...Georgia gave birth to its Dante when we barely reached Chrétien de Troyes"

Introductory four lines

He who created the vault of heaven, he who with miraculous power
The incorporeal spirit gave to people - this world was given to us as our inheritance.
We possess the limitless, the multifarious, the whole in different ways.
Each king is ours, in a practical face, his face is among the royal affairs.

God who created the world once. Every appearance here is from you.
Let me live with the thirst for love, let it drink deeply.
Let me, with passionate aspiration, live in languor until death,
The burden of the heart, with a light song, is easy to carry into another world.

Lion, who knows the shining sword, the shield and the flying spears,
The one whose hair is like a thicket, whose mouth is a ruby, Tamar, -
This forest of agate curls, and that fragrant ruby,
With repeated praise I will lift you into the radiance of enchantment.

Not with daily praises, but with bloody tears,
Like a prayer in a bright temple, I will praise her in verse.
I write with black amber, I draw with patterned reeds.
Whoever clings to repeated praises will receive a spear in his heart.

This is the queen's command, to sing to her eyelashes,
The tenderness of lips, lightning eyes and pearly teeth.
Cute appearance of the black-browed one. Lead anvil
A hard and harsh stone is crushed by well-aimed hands.

Oh, now I need words. May they remain in friendly relations.
Let the pearl melody ring. Tariel will meet with help.
The thought of him is in words of cherished, reminiscent greetings.
My pipe will sing to the three stars of the stars.

Sit down, you have matured the will from the cradle of the same destinies.
So I sang, Rustaveli, and a spear entered my heart.
Until now there was a coherent fairy tale, a quiet monotonous sound,
And now - diamond size, song, listen to it.

He who loves, who is in love, must be completely illuminated,
Young, fast, wise, must see dreams vigilantly,
To be victorious over enemies, to know what to express in words,
To entertain thoughts like moths - if not, he doesn’t like it.

Oh, to love! Love is a mystery, a light that clings unusually.
The light of that fire shines inexplicably, endlessly.
It’s not just a desire, it’s smoky, it’s decay.
There is a subtlety of discrimination here - when you hear, understand Me.

He who persists in the expected feeling will remain constant,
Unchanged, undeceitful, he will accept the oppression of separation.
He will accept anger, if necessary, sadness will be his joy.
The one who knew only the sweetness of a glance, only a caress, he does not love.

Who, burning with heart's blood, clung with longing to the headboard,
Will he call this easy game love?
To cling to one, to replace another, I call this a game.
If I love with my soul, I take on a whole world of sorrows.

Love is worthy only in that, loving, anxiously, sultryly,
Hiding the pain, it passes harmoniously, going into solitude, into sleep,
Only he dares to forget himself, fights, cries, flames,
And he is not timid of kings, but he is timid of love.

Bound by a fiery law, like walking in a green forest,
He will not betray the name of his dear one for shame with an indiscreet groan.
And, fleeing exposure, he will gladly accept torment,
Anything for my dear, even being burned, is a delight, not a misfortune.

Who can believe that he will put the name of his beloved
Into gossip? He worries both her and himself.
Once you slander, there is no glory in that, only a breath of poison.
He who is not wicked at heart protects love by loving.

I poured the tale of the Persians, their hints, into Georgian lines.
Valuable pearls were in the stream. The beauty of the depths is quiet.
But in the name of that beautiful one, before whom I am in passionate torture,
I squeezed the clear reflection of pearls into the frame of a verse.

The gaze, having once seen the light, is filled with eternal thirst
Be with your sweetheart every minute. I'm mad. I went out.
The whole body is burning again. Who will help? Only singing.
Threefold praise for the one in whom everything is a diamond.

What fate has given us, we should be pleased with it.
Invariably, no matter what, we love our native land.
The worker has work, the fighter has war to worry about.
If you love, then believe in love without counting, and burn in it.

Singing a chant in four lines is wisdom. Knowledge - for sure.
Who is from God, he sings with authority, burnt out.
He will say a lot in few words. He will connect his spirit with the listener.
Thought will always respect the singer. The world is dominated by chanting.

How easily a free horse of a noble breed runs,
Just like a natural player hits the target with a ball,
So the poet in a complex poem will direct the untroubled course,
The tow will clearly spin the fabric as if impossible.

Inspirational - in the most difficult situations shines with emerald light,
Having burst out with a loud word, it will justify a strong verse.
The word of Georgia is powerful. If someone's heart is singing,
Shine will be born in a dark cloud, in the summer of carved lightning.

Whoever once puts together two or three lines, the song is sung,
Still, he has not yet flashed the poet’s flame.
Two or three songs, he is a putter, but when such a giver
He thinks that he really is the creator, he is just a stubborn mule.

And then, who knows the singing, who understands the poem,
But the heart does not know the piercing, burning, sharp words,
He is still a small hunter, and unprecedented in hunting,
With a belated arrow, he is not ready for big game.

And further. The melody of funny songs at the feast hour is wonderful.
The circle will close, cheerful, tight. These songs make us happy.
Truely sung at the same time. But only he is marked by light,
The one who sang the story for a long time will be called a poet.

The poet knows the score with effort. The gift of songs will not be thrown into dust.
And he commands everything to be an abundance of delight - to her,
The one he calls love, before whom he will shine with newness,
Who, possessing his blood, orders him to sing louder.

Only for her is his grief. Let him hear that praise,
In whom have I found glory, in whom is my brilliant destiny.
Although cruel as a panther, my whole life and faith are in her,
I will later add this name to the current size with praise.

I sing about supreme love - unearthly and sinless.
It’s hard to sing a full-length verse about this, the words run out.
That Love, from a narrow share, rushes the soul into the heavenly expanse.
An unknown light sparkles in it, here it is only barely visible.

It's difficult to talk about this. Many wonders even to the wise
That Love. And here it is not sparse, - generous, - sing and sing.
There is no power to say everything about her. I’ll just say: earthly passions
They imitate it in part, igniting their own reflection.

In Arabic, whoever is in love is crazy. Just sleepy
He sees an unfulfilled dream leading away.
The nearness of God is therefore desirable. But that road is long.
These ones reach beauty right from the threshold.

I wonder why, without the right, what is a secret should be done openly.
Human thought is capricious. Why is love used to shame?
Any deadline here is too early. The day will come, don't touch the fog.
Oh, love is a continuous wound. Does the wound need to be opened?

If the one who loves cries, that's all it means
That he hides the sting in himself. If you love, know silence.
And among the people, amid the noise, let there be one thought.
But beautifully, not gloomily, secretly, still love one.

1. The Tale of Rostevan, King of the Arabs

There was a melodious king from God in Arabia, a mighty king,
The army of the strong is like clouds, the exalted Rostevan.
For many knights, a permanent sign and an incomparable image,
Bird-watching, in the foamy swell he will see everything through the fog.

He was also beautiful in words. He had a daughter, a child of love:
The sun is the eyes, the nights are the eyebrows, the whole is a star among the luminaries.
Only a wise man can sing about a lusciously curly maiden,
The appearance of the black-haired maiden instantly enslaved many.

Whoever looks at this sun, suddenly he will become her slave,
The heart, soul, and mind will be lured by the one whose name is Tinatin.
May he remain glorious forever, full of rights among the centuries,
This name, equal to the sun, will be the name - ruler.

Tsar, when the beauty of the princess merged into her full-song age,
He summoned the nobles and, without anger, seated them around him.
He said: “This is the subject of the advice. Rose knows the time of color.
It has faded, there is no more summer, it dries, its corolla splits.

The sun rises and sets. The village, we look, the darkness is smoking.
The moonless night swirls. My day is completely spent.
The gilding has faded. Old age is a burden. There is no worse oppression.
If I die, that's all I have to worry about. And the road is the same for everyone.

Where is the light that will enlighten the darkness? Let your mind answer me.
Let the crown mark the brow of my bright daughter.”
Everyone answered, sighing: “Why is your speech like that?
The rose, even when it fades, is all fragrant and brighter.

And the flawed month is clear. The ray of a star is quite beautiful, -
The dispute between the star and the moon is in vain. So, oh king, don’t talk.
Even an evil word from you is a strong foundation for all of us.
The face of the golden sun, your daughter, is brighter than the dawn.

Give her the kingdom, give her the reign. She was meant to be a wife.
But from God the meaning of government was shown to her from above.
Once you were absent, and you shone without sunset.
When there are lion cubs in the cave, the lioness and the lion are quite equal.”

Avtandil was the leader's son. He is in grace alone
Cypress shone along the valleys between the slender ones.
Like crystal it was famous, it walked in a starry orbit,
Merged with Tinatin's dream, without her he faded.

Like a flower among the fog, passion was a hidden wound in him.
The rose of passion, blushed again, appeared slightly before her.
Oh, love is torture. The one who loves is all torment.
Still, he longs for the command to become a coal among the fires.

At the hour when the sinless virgin the king ordered, unquestioningly,
The authorities have received the supreme gift, Avtandil rejoiced:
“Tinatin is like the shine of a wrist. She deserves full power.
Seeing the sun is happiness, its face is a source of strength.”

The king, crushing the darkness like a diamond, commanded with his order:
“May Tinatin be the royal eye, the royal will.
Come all Arabs. Don't be weak in your praise.
There is sparkle here, and whenever there is night, it is a ruby.”

All the Arabs came. Noble brilliance is multiplied in strength.
The fortress in Avtandil sees many thousands of fighters.
The whole order of the armies is revealed. And when the throne was installed,
He is glorified by all the people: “His light is above words.”

Tinatin, with a shining face, obeying the royal will,
Everything was burning, golden, and he laid a crown,
He gave the black-browed scepter, gave her royal veils,
And she shone like a new star among the stars.

The king left, paying respects. Blessings abound.
Praises were spoken. The ringing of cymbals with the sound of trumpets.
The new king with the face of the queen was like the face of a morning star in a cloud -
The colors of the crow are the eyelashes, the purple of the dawn is the curves of the lips.

It seems to her that she is unworthy to take her father’s throne, and harmoniously
The camp bows, restlessly sheds tears like rain in a garden.
And the father, exhorting, says: “Child – a double life.
You are my equal, my dear daughter. I'm on fire and I'm delirious.

Don't cry like a flower in the valley. You are now the King of Arabia.
Mountain castle at the top. Be vigilant and kings.
The day is turning scarlet for everyone. So be kind to the little ones.
He who bends down to the weary will multiply the altars.

Be open to charity. Be like a generous firmament.
Know that hearts obey good zeal.
He will bind the free - there is light in his gaze. Be the same as the sea -
Having hidden the rivers in your vastness, donate moisture endlessly.

Spending twice, three times, you will bloom like an aloe,
This is an age-old tree, whose existence is in Eden.
Generosity is power, like the power of temper. Where is the betrayal? She ran away.
What you hide is lost. What you gave is yours.”

Virgo listens with attention to those words that breathe knowledge,
She has only one greeting to all her father’s admonitions.
The king drinks and has fun. There is no reason for it to be eclipsed.
The sun wants to compare in brilliance with the bright Tinatin.

He sends for his old butler, so that he comes with a magnificent gift,
So that in giving generously, he ardently destroys the treasury in full.
“Bring everything. Everything is not enough for me.” And she gave it away without measure.
I didn’t guess, I didn’t count. “I won’t deceive anyone.”

All the gifts that I knew from childhood, I collected from childhood,
I gave away the entire brilliant inheritance on one day.
Her father's science is a reliable guarantee.
Like an arrow flying from a bow, it was so hasty.

“Bring all the mules and donkeys.” She commanded the magnificent retinue:
“Show me your dear horses.” Stomping, neighing, horses are here.
Silk shines. A crowd of soldiers, rich in royal favor,
They have fun like pirates, like robbers.

It’s like the Turks are being beaten in the mountains, and there are no number of happy ones.
A swarm of Arabian bushy-maned light-footed horses are racing.
Scattered, giving away like a snow storm: -
Whether old or young, they were all rich in her.

The day has passed. It was a fun feast. They drank and ate like bees.
On flowers. Alone, the king was clouded with heavy thoughts.
With his head bowed, he sat in front of the crowd.
A noisy whisper came in waves: “Why is he sad?”

Painting the face of a honey feast, the imperious one leads into a stern battle,
And ready to gallop like a lion, sun-faced Avtandil
Was with Sograt noble by his side, and his agile gaze
“Why is the king so alien to joy?” he quickly asked.

“That’s right, a thought came to me, something unpleasant and evil,”
Sograt answered, sighing: “There is no grief, and joy is an hour.”
Avtandil said: “So let’s ask. Let's throw in a funny word.
We carry the weight to no avail. Why does he shame us?

Avtandil and Sograt stood up, they were given full cups,
And the merry ones fell to their knees before the king.
The playful Sograt says: “Tsar, you are definitely a rainy day,
There is no smile, no beauty on your dumb face.”

The king grinned. He could not have expected such a word.
He nevertheless looked brightly at the stingy adviser.
“I appreciate your diligence. And you are worthy of praise.
But stingy care never suited me.

No, that's not my concern. Old age is approaching, dormancy.
And you don’t want to be left without a worthy fighter.
Days have faded all the blooms, and the skills have not passed on
I will be a fighter without shame to anyone until the end.

It’s true, I have a daughter, I cherished my daughter, I treated her kindly.
Still, I don’t cherish my son. God didn't give it. And I have no strength.
Who will distinguish himself with a bow here? Or will he fight me with a ball?
Avtandil can hardly compare, for I taught him.”

Proud, young, full of aspiration, he listened to these praises.
And with a smile of humility he concealed his triumph.
How that smile stuck to the face of the young man, where there was scarlet
His mouth was burning; the whiteness of his teeth shone like snow.

The king asked: “Why are you laughing? And why are you timidly huddling?
Well, why don't you answer? Or am I funny to you?
The young man said: “Give me permission to say this, as an insult
Without imputing boldness. May I not be condemned."

The king replied: “Speak a word. I won't take it harshly.
The bond of the oath is the sanctity of shelter, the name of the bright Tinatin.”
Avtandil said: “So I boldly say: it’s not a matter of boasting,
But my arrow would have hit the target more accurately, oh lord.

I am dust under your feet. But, measuring arrows,
I will be the first - I take this oath in front of the regiments.
Who can compare with me in shooting? You said. What's the point of suing?
This dispute can only be resolved with a ball, with an arrow, in battle.”

The king said: “Let’s not quarrel, I won’t argue in words.
Give me the onion. Whose name will be echoed after, we will decide.
Before witnesses in the field we will be free,
There they say about our fate: whoever is the catcher, victory is with him.”

Avtandil obeyed. And with that their argument was interrupted.
Everyone was cheerful and laughing. The sidelong glance was alien to them.
There was a pledge between them: whoever was defeated
With his head naked, he walked like this for three days.

And the king called twelve exemplary servants for these faithful
Unparalleled competitions, so that they would be given arrows.
“Let twelve of them follow me with an arrow.
Shermadin is one with you, at least one, he is incomparable.”

He said to the hunters: “Across the plains, like a thunderstorm to herds of animals,
Get together and wrap a ring around them as one.
Let the soldiers help you." The feast is over, the feast is rich.
There were wines, aromas, and fun at the table.

Avtandil, as soon as the sun rose, was already dressed in the color of coral,
The face of ruby ​​and crystal in gold burned with fire.
Under the cover of goldenrod, he was all a lily flower.
So he appeared as a miracle worker on a white horse.

The Tsar was famously dismantled. All the people around are like a retinue.
The field is covered with armies. Everyone is happy to see hunting.
Many-eyed raid. Laughter, and jokes, and fun.
Will fame look upon anyone? They will bet.

The king orders to prepare arrows to send limits to everything.
The score tells them to make a bold, correct count of all strikes.
And twelve faithful slaves are waiting for those exemplary shots.
There will be arrows in goats and chamois. Game is coming from everywhere.

Herds without number are like shadows. Fleet-footed deer.
Goats gallop in white foam. Wild donkeys are racing.
It’s a miracle to see – and what a miracle! “Running is in vain,” the two of them beat.
The bowstring cannot sleep at rest, the arrow whistles repeatedly.

Horseshoes trample dust. The veil rises harshly.
The sun was hidden. And in the new victim, the arrow whistles and trembles.
Blood flows through white fur. A new whistle, arrows are flying,
The beast trembles and, numb, collapses - immediately life is gone.

If someone is only wounded by an arrow, he runs away, but the run is deceived,
There is no outcome, this current of striking arrows is tireless.
And not green, not new, all the fields were covered with blood,
God, filled with love, burned with anger in the sky.

Who looked at Avtandil, how his hand strove
The course of the arrow, how faithfully it struck, how everything went towards him,
Seeing such a spectacle, the word doubled my heart:
“He is as beautiful as the aloe that grew in Eden.”

The day has passed, sad for the animals. Smeryan runs across the distant plain.
At the edge, a crystal stream crushed the wave against the cliff.
The animals disappeared into the dark thicket. The horses wouldn't have gotten through there.
Rostevan and Avtandil were relaxing and having fun.

There is no limit to their joys. And one said with a laugh:
“I’ll be more accurate!” Another echoed: “I’m more accurate!” – said in response.
And the twelve faithful are called. “Whose arrows are more exemplary?
The account must be reliable. It’s all truth, but no flattery.”

They answer: “There is no obscuring the truth, and, without mitigation,
You cannot stand the comparison, king, the score is hostile to you.
Even if you kill us, we don’t care, but we will boldly tell you:
Where his arrow flew, the beast did not take a step forward.

All two thousand were killed. Twenty plus in Avtandil
Death was found. In that precise force, a miss is unknown to the bow.
As he outlines, so strictly - the road is over for the beast.
And yours have collected many arrows, scattered all around.”

The king laughs, his laughter is crystalline. Not stung by an evil thought,
He's not at all sad. “Well, the victory is not mine.”
He is happy for his adopted son, that’s happiness, not sadness.
The heart loves what is one, the nightingale loves the rose.

Tasting the present moment, they sit by the thicket.
The crowd of warriors looks at the army rustling like ears of grain.
Near them are twelve brave men, unafraid of anything.
A water path can be seen winding through the forest.

2. The tale of how the Arab king saw a knight dressed in leopard skin

At the edge of the forest, above the stream, in lonely melancholy,
The strange knight was in deep thought over the river.
He held the black horse by the reins, and again
Tears flowed from a mute heart, compressed by melancholy.

Like heavenly stars, everything shone with pearls,
Both the armor and the saddle were enchanted by gentle lights.
He was like a lion, but tears flowed down, full of sadness,
On the cheeks, where the roses withered and did not sparkle brightly.

He was dressed in a brown caftan, with a leopard skin on top,
And he sat there, dejected, bowing in his leopard hat.
The thick whip in his hand was visible. So he sat unsociable.
It was as if he was shrouded in smoke, all magical, all languishing.

The slave comes to him with a question from the king, but in front of the cliff
The sight of those tears, like dew, as if told him to become.
Before such power of grief, shut up, or don’t argue,
Cry as the rain cries into the abyss of the sea, having learned its limit.

The slave was in great confusion, trembling and doubt,
And he looked in surprise at the sad fighter.
“The king orders you to come,” he finally said, he sighed and waited.
The knight is mute, and he did not hear, he will not raise his face up.

With his face tilted downwards, all in great oblivion,
He did not listen to the surrounding screams and poured out blood with tears.
He continued to sob strangely, trembled in the fire of combustion,
There is no end to the torment, tears flow again and again.

His mind is wandering somewhere. His thoughts are filled with lead.
The slave walks the path of return, having achieved nothing,
Again I repeated the royal message, but no attention,
There is no broadcast from his rose-colored lips.

The slave returned without answering: “To my words hello
He was deaf. My gaze went out from the bright sun.
I felt sorry for him involuntarily. My heart was beating painfully.
I see it’s already been a long wait, I’ve been tired for a whole hour.”

The king marveled. The wonder turned to indignation.
He speaks a command to the twelve slaves:
“You take your weapons, go to him with the whole crowd
And quickly bring me the one who is hesitating there.”

Fulfilling orders, here are the slaves. rustling
You can hear their feet, the clanking of their armor rings. The Knight stood up
Still in tears. But he looked up. He sees, in close choir,
People with military attire. Crying out: “Woe!” fell silent.

He wiped his eyes with his hands, strengthened his quiver of arrows,
Sword with a shiny scabbard. Here he is on a fast horse.
What does he need - slaves, their word? Guides the raven
Away somewhere, no answer to them - he is in a dream.

Here, wanting to grab him, instantly - a living crowd approaches him,
Here's a hand, and here's another rushing out. This is death to them
He crushed one against the other, with his hand again
He waved a little, killed, and cut another to the chest with a whip.

Corpses fell left and right. The king is seething, filled with anger.
He shouts to the slaves, but the sowing of Death is the harvest.
The young man will not even look at the one he hurts.
Whoever runs away will become dead, the fate before him is the same.

The king is angry, gets excited, and quickly mounts his horse.
He rushes together with Avtandil to overtake the arrogant one.
But, as in a sparkling fog, as on fabulous Merani,
Without accepting a fight with them, he hid, without calling out.

Seeing that the king was in pursuit, that horses were rushing after him,
He, in instant defense, suddenly whipped his horse and disappeared.
As if he had fallen into an abyss or disappeared into the sky,
They are looking, no, and the trail has disappeared. Nothing. Like in the darkness of curtains.

Although they were looking for hoof marks, no, he disappeared into some distance.
It was as if they had seen a ghost, the ghost was only for a moment.
Someone is crying for the dead. And care for the wounded.
The king said: “The work has come. Apparently, evil fate has overtaken us.”

He said: “All the days have been nothing but pleasure.
God has known the weariness of seeing happiness without end.
So the delight has become deceived - like everyone else, fickle -
I have been wounded to death by the Almighty, he turned away the light of my face.”

So he returned, gloomy, shadowed by sad thoughts.
The noises of competitions and feasts were instantly forgotten.
The groaning all around was replaced by a groan. The king's sadness was law.
Not accustomed to obstacles, the spirit is ready to fall easily.

Hidden from everyone, the king sat in the distant bedchamber,
He thought more and more sadly that the light of joy had gone out.
I only saw Avtandil. Everyone scattered sadly.
The harp did not stream sighs, the sound of castanets was not heard.

Tinatin hears about that loss of happiness. Fully
The feeling in her. She's at the door. And a question for the butler:
“Is he sleeping or is he awake?” He answered: “He sits in anguish.
And he doesn't talk to anyone. It became dark like a cliff.

Avtandil was only accepted as a son by his sadness.
The knight is the reason for all this, a strange knight on the way.”
Tinatin advertised: “I’ll leave. But if he asks, yearning,
I will come to him at the same hour, as he orders me to come to myself.”

The king asked: “Where is the one in whom is the living spring that wears away the mountains,
The light of love that delights the eyes? There was an answer to him then:
“To the pale one, to her, the word reached that the sadness in you is severe.
I was here. And it will happen again. Just tell him, he will come here.”

The king said: “Go quickly and call her to me.
In only one string of pearls, beauty is always bright.
Let my father get his breath back. Let it cure longing.
I’ll tell her what the torment is about, why life suddenly went away.”

Having heeded his father's command, Tinatin, like an epiphany,
A full moon vision, shining with beauty before him.
He sits her down next to her, looks at her with a look full of affection,
And he kisses, and his soul is again open to joy.

“Why didn’t you come? Or should I have called?”
The virgin meekly objected: “King, when you frown,
Who dares to come to you? Even the day will be darkened before you,
Let this mournful smoke of dreams be resolved now.”

He said: “Dear child! Being with you is my delight.
The sadness has passed, you are a joy to look at, as if you gave a potion,
To dispel the flour with authority. But, although I was tormented passionately,
Know that it is not in vain, not in vain that the thought of sadness has gone.

I met an unknown young knight. vault of heaven
I was pierced by his wonderful beauty as if by a rainbow.
I could not find out the reasons for his tears, his sadness.
Although he was one in beauty, he angered me.

Turning his gaze slightly towards me, he wiped away his tears, quickly
He jumped onto the horse - I ordered the spores to take over, but instantly
He scattered my people. Who is he? Devil? Is he a villain?
I was ridiculed without a word. Suddenly he disappeared, just as he suddenly appeared.

Whether he was or not, I don’t know. Bitter hell replaced by heaven
I accept from God. Last days the lights were turned off.
I will not forget this sorrow, such a miracle will not happen,
No matter how many days I live, I have no more fun.”

Putting the sound of a chant into her voice: “If you please,” said the maiden,
Listen to the word without anger. Is it good for us to blame?
Is this fishery all-seeing? God is also kind to the flying midge.
If he spread thickets, did he give us pain in them?

If the knight was physical, not a miraculous vision,
On earth, he must be known to others, of course.
The news will arise, it will come to us by ear. If he has an evil spirit
Was there and disappeared with light feathers, why ruin yourself with melancholy.

This is my advice, lord: you are a ruler over kings.
Whoever wants to see, where is the viewer so that your light can be measured?
So send people, let them search, let them search the whole world.
They will find the answer, whether he is mortal or not.”

The king calls prompt messengers, among the best selected,
So that no effort is spared in searching for the sentinels,
No effort, no effort to ask everyone
Where is that knight, proud in strength, and let them go there quickly.

Here are the messengers in the distant distance. Whole year they wandered.
They didn’t see anyone who would meet the knight.
All questioning is in vain. Their searches are useless.
There were long periods of wandering, but their success was very small.

The slaves appeared before the king. Filled with sadness
This is how they informed him: “Even though we searched everywhere,
The work was fruitless, although it was honest, the mourning face is appropriate for us,
He is unknown to anyone. Tell us where to look?”

The king said: “My daughter told me the truth. There is little meaning in grief.
Here the snake showed a sting - it was an unclean spirit.
My enemy was revealed to me from heaven, it was he who ridiculed me.
Let him fornicate in the midst of inventions—my eyes are pure and my ears are free.”

They have forgotten the evil spirit. More games and fun.
The singer seeks glory. The acrobat spun.
The king ordered the young and old to have fun. Light charms
No limit. Not only is he rich in the royal gift again.

Avtandil – half dressed. Lights play around him.
Harps are ringing and songs are sung. Suddenly a messenger from Tinatin,
The black slave in his rest: “She whose image is the face of an aloe,
He sends the following command: go to her, oh lord.”

Fascinated by the bright news, Avtandil gets up, excited.
The outfit he chose was the best, he put it on.
Seeing a rose, being with your beloved, is an irreplaceable delight.
To be with incomparable beauty is a captivating destiny.

Avtandil goes to her boldly. I didn’t feel intimidated in front of anyone
His thought. And let a tear burn for her many times,
Wants to see the melodious face of the one whose flame is a combustible light
Lightning bursting from the clouds, who burns more powerfully than the moon.

That pearl of pearls. The light is friendly with the ermine.
The gaze is disarmed. Soft fabric - no price.
The heart's burning eyelashes are like lightning around the night.
The queen's neck is milky, her braids are heavy and black.

Although she was dressed in coral light, she did not hide her sadness,
Avtandil greeted him, she told him to sit down.
The young man sat down humbly before her. The heart loves, the heart is captivated.
The gaze looks into the gaze with oblivion. The thought is kindled with delight.

The Knight says: “You, golden one, shine, dispelling fears.
Look, I'm dumb. Entering the dawn, the month was instantly burned by the sun.
I don't think in my spare time. I am not a whirlwind in a free meadow.
But in what magic circle is your sad mind confused?”

Here are elegant words, choosing them, like between flowers
Those with brighter petals attract more eyes,
The Virgin says: “Even though you are not the same wall with me
Divided, but I won’t hide it - your fear is strange to me now.

But first I’ll tell you in front of a friend that I’m tormented by it like an illness.
Do you remember the day when, above the meadow, near the cliff, above the river,
Over the water of the crystal river, a certain knight was sad,
He shed crystal tears like tears, tormented by melancholy,

Since then I have always languished. The thought of him, without getting tired,
It stings and stings, like an evil, fast-flying wasp.
I know that you are one of the brave ones. So look for it within.
The whole earth - to the white clouds that rise into the heavens.

The heart is happy in the feeling. Even though there was a barrier between us,
But without words, only with the power of my gaze, I saw clearly,
In the lonely distance, that in love you are captivated,
That you are burning in exhaustion, and your soul is trembling.

We see each other keenly. Will you do me a favor?
It’s like chain mail for a knight, and it’s coming towards you.
You are an incomparable knight. And, loving, you love, captive.
That knight is your forgotten brother. Thought must seek it.

You will double my love. You will calm my sorrow.
You will hide the evil demon. And beckoning with violets,
You shine roses, you blossom. And then you will be enlightened.
Leo, you will return to the sun, you will meet me, you will meet me.

So seek to please me. Three times a year will go by the year.
But he didn’t sink into the water. If you find him
Come, crowned with glory. If not, he is an evil spirit.
The rusty cold does not shine its evil on the tender rose.

My prime will not be dimmed. Oh I swear love will last.
Let at least the sun become incarnate, becoming a husband, and merging my heart with him,
Let the evil underworld cut me off from heaven,
Love, tormenting me, will enter my heart with death, stabbing a knife.”

The Knight said: “The face of the morning star! Why do my eyelashes tremble?
Why is the queen's agate in a flutter of fire?
Did he deserve suspicion? I waited for death - and the command to live
Received. I will be your slave in obedience."

He also said: “Golden one! You are the dawn, you are the sun of paradise.
God Almighty, creating, gave you to be the sun here.
You command, the planets are coming. I'm all dressed up in glitter with you.
My flower, having taken the living lights into itself, will remain al.”

Beam - to ray, and to word - word. So they swear again.
A tender heart is honeyed, and love is confirmed.
All the past sorrows have become something very light.
The white teeth shone as if from lightning - height.

Oh, what a joy it is for them to be together, like with an echo of an echo,
In the midst of fun, jokes, laughter, they talk about a hundred things.
He says: “You, golden one, can only be known by losing your mind.
The heart flared up, burning, the heart was ashes, burning dust.”

But the pleasures came to an end. He glanced at the crystal.
He turned pale and began to cry. Although he left, he didn’t leave.
Unfamiliar with deception, his heart is in zealous fire,
Gave it to my heart. So the touch of bees clings to rosy roses.

He said to himself: “Golden one! Now the separation is evil.
And my ruby, fading, became yellower than amber.
How can we be apart without you? But the arrow is ready in the bow.
In honor of the beloved sweet flour. I will accept death - I will grieve you."

He is in bed, dreams are restless. Splashes of tears flow abundantly.
So the aspen leaves beat, as he trembled in grief.
Every rustle is strange to the ear. His spirit is filled with thirst.
Torture became torture twice—he had a dream about it.

In that torment of excommunication - jealousy, thoughts, torment.
The flow of hot tears is like a string of pearls.
But the anxious dream is in vain. The day is dawning - it is clear again.
On his horse, beautiful, riding, ready to take the path.

The receptionist sends for the butler into the hall, and although modest,
But indefatigable, he sends a message to the king:
“I will not hide my thought, O king: You reign over the whole earth.
The news of glory taken from battle will come to everyone around.

I will go on the road and not get tired. I will fight with my enemies.
If I am an enemy, I will inflict a wound in my heart in honor of Tinatin.
Let the disobedient be troubled, but let the submissive rejoice.
The flow of gifts will not stop. Let the ruby ​​burn with fire."

Expressing gratitude, the king replied: “Lion! Aspiration
Your hands are always in battle. Courage speaks your advice.
Go on your journey to a foreign country, I grant permission.
But if you continue to prolong the evil separation, I will not be happy.”

Having appeared before the face of the king and paid respect,
The Knight says: “Hearing the sound of praise, I am amazed.
There is so much happiness in this sound. It’s easier with him - partings are torment.
God will shorten the hour of separation. Your bright face is my law.

I cherish the thought of a date.” The king fell on his neck.
With his full tenderness he kissed his son.
There is no one like these two. A good heart beats in them.
The zealous crystal began to shine in Rostevan.

Here the brave knight leaves for foreign lands.
For twenty days now he has merged white day and black night into one.
In it, golden one, is the delight of the universe, a hidden treasure trove,
With Tinatin he is captive in thought, her heart is set on fire.

Enters the mountains, enters the valleys. As soon as he is there, there is a merry feast.
Speeches hover like bees. Everyone brings a generous gift.
Sun-faced, bright-eyed, in this rapid transition,
Inclining his ears to talk, he does not hesitate in the light of the spell.

He had a stronghold. Mountain castle on top.
He has been lingering there for three days now. Shermadin - how faithful he is with him.
His whole soul, all his strength, all his heart is for Avtandil.
But he didn’t know what kind of fire he was burning with.

The Knight says to Shermadin: “I am ashamed, but I will remove the shame.
I hid my sadness. But now I will open up, believe me.
There were tortures, there were thunderstorms. I shed countless tears.
But from that cruel rose is a ray of consolation for me now.

My languor goes to Tinatin. There is love for her, everyone dreams about her.
Near the pond, the narcissus poured tears endlessly towards the rose.
I couldn’t open up the pain until now. I languished as if in the desert.
But now the misery is over. My hopes were kindled.

She told me: “Tireless one, look for where the strange knight is.
And when you return, awaited, you will take everything with your heart.
You are like a flower to a flower over a meadow. I will only take you as my husband.”
Let me lose track of the services. Slave, let me lift her up.

I am a knight, so it is fitting for me to serve her endlessly.
Loyalty to the throne is only common. Once a servant, serve forever.
Taking her sweet balm, the indomitable fire subsided.
If troubles are visible in the distance, meet them, meet them - like a person.

Among all those who are subordinate, you are the only one close to me.
I am bound by unwavering friendship with you. Because
Above my entire squad, you, lord, be one,
I will entrust that eagle swarm only to you.

Rule with a firm hand. For fighters heading to battle,
You set an example. And the messages went to the court.
And in gifts, be beyond comparison. Be my repetition here,
So that they wouldn’t even notice my disappearance.

Be me in military glory and in hunting fun.
So for three years, ruling honestly, sacredly keeping the secret.
Maybe my aloe will bloom in peace.
If I meet something fatal, cry for me, mourn, sigh.

Send a message to the king that, alas, an eclipse has arrived.
Be drunk with grief. “Death is undesirable,” say, “
He went to a land from which there is no return.” Silver and gold
Give away everything that life has in store, and don’t value anything.

So if you help me, that’s great. Let that which is perishable perish.
But always remembering about the soul, don’t hesitate to forget.
Sleep and death are within the neighborhood. Remember our childhood,
And, remembering my childhood, be like a mother with your heart.”

The slave hears and bursts into tears like pearls.
His gaze fades, with restless lights shining through.
“Will the heart be happy if it loses you?
But when your spirit strives, you cannot be restrained.

You tell me to take over. What a resemblance I have
Is there with you? I see superiority in thoughts, I am different -
If you are alone, I will listen. It’s better that I go into the ground.
But I don’t accept separation. Oh, take me with you!”

The Knight said: “Throw away all doubts without delay.
The one who loves, in whom there is languor, even if only in his company
He yearns, wanders, fights. Are pearls given for free?
Whoever is a traitor, let him be swept away, wounded in the heart by a spear.

The secret of who is worthy of me? I am calm for you.
You will be loyal to me like a warrior. Strengthen the stronghold of the strongholds.
The enemy will forget the approach. And perhaps the days go by
Brings me back. God, don't leave me at all.

Rock, destroying, does not know whether there are a hundred here, or whether there is only one.
Care will not leave good spirits. Believe in fate.
If I don’t return within three years, put on a darker, more colorless fabric.
To make you more respectful, I will give you a letter.”