Dear Tornik, my time has come. The bright morning of my life is over, the noon is over, the last of the day is here and evening is closing in. Now I have to sleep, and rest in a way that means I never get up again. You can see that my strength is gone. My steps shake, and even the staff is no help to me any more. My hands have stopped working. My eyes have grown dim, like the patriarch Isaac's. My whole body has become good for nothing. I am no use now, not to you and not to the world. When a man can no longer work, his going on living is one thing too many. I am a burden to our family and to the villagers alike. To eat bread my own hand has not plowed for, has not sown, has not reaped, how bitter that is, and how contrary to God's commandment that you must eat your bread by the sweat of your face.1 My body has turned to dry bone. No sweat rises from my forehead any more, because sweat comes from work.
Children and grandchildren do carry a heavy duty. They must tend their aged fathers and grandfathers with real care, without complaining, until the day they die. The presence of the old is a blessing on a house and a family. That is why holy Scripture says, "Let no elder be missing from your house."2
But I have seen it and heard it, Tornik. Often enough, in families where the old fathers, the grandfathers, the old women lie suffering a long time in their beds, those same loving households of theirs begin to grumble. If only he would die and set us free. What is this we are putting up with? They forget. They do not remember their parents' and their grandfathers' love and tenderness, the kindness of a father and a mother whose care raised them and made them grown men.
Let that go, Tornik. You do not yet know the things that go on inside a family. Sometimes the father of a household is very rich, his chests full of gold, but grasping and tight-fisted by nature. He runs the expenses of his house with the harshest stinginess and lives like a beggar. Do you know what such a man's family prays? God, take his soul, and free us from his hard-hearted housekeeping.
Sometimes God hears that prayer and takes the miser's soul. The family weep for a while, until the grand funeral is over. Then, once they have shut the miser's body in the grave, they open the chests of gold. Extravagance, waste and display move into the miser's house and take over. It does not last long. The season of extravagance is short. The chests of gold are soon empty. Extravagance goes out, and poverty comes in to stay for good.
I am glad, Tornik, that you are a good boy. You are not waiting for your Papik to die, and your Papik is no miser. A peasant cannot be a miser as long as his door stands open. You were a little orphan, and I raised you like a rose. I have no chests of gold for you to look at and think, how fine it would be if my Papik died, and the gold were mine, and I could live my life as I pleased.
The inheritance I leave you is not gold. It is worth far more than gold, and it yields more. What is gold, anyway? It never stays in one place. It scatters like quicksilver, it runs off, it disappears. And often enough clever thieves break through and steal the miser's hoarded treasure.3
What I leave you is our fathers' inheritance, the fields and the land, which stay where they are, solid and unchanged. I leave you the gutan, our great ox-plow, with its two relays of oxen. I leave you milk cows and sheep by the hundred. These are Papik's red gold pieces. All I ask is that you work to keep your accounts, till the ground, and look after the animals exactly as I taught you in the long, plain, homely lessons I gave you on the art of working the soil.
Let me talk to you again, Tornik. I can feel it in myself, my death is close. The angel of death has come, and he is knocking at Papik's door. I could throw a thousand bolts and bars behind that door and it would do no good. He would come in through the window, because angels have a piercing power. They pass through bodies as hard as steel. And if I said, I will go and hide in the depths of the ocean, the angel of death would find me there too. He follows a man everywhere.
Tomorrow is Sunday, Tornik. Take my arm and lead me to church. Like Musho, I need to speak, and confess, and pray, and see my last Liturgy, and receive holy Communion. That is my last provision for the road. I believe that with that provision, the Bread of Life that Christ left us, I will be counted worthy of the holy kingdom. When we come back from church, Tornik, have my felt bed spread so I can lie down and rest. My head has grown very heavy. My heart has started to race, and my feet are already cold. I know that cold will climb slowly toward my heart, the center of the body, and in that hour my whole body will go cold, and suddenly you will see that Papik is dead and the lamp of his life has gone out. I am asking God for a few more days of life, just until I finish my testament.
Here is the first part of my family testament, Tornik. Your widowed mayrik, who bore you and who today is the mistress and steward of our house, you must honor with every respect, as the mother who gave you life, just as holy Scripture commands. "Honor your father and your mother, that it may go well with you."4 Your father is dead. You have only a mayrik, and you are the one child who is her consolation. You see how she watches over you both. In her old age take every care of her, and be careful never to give her grief in any way at all. She is a hardworking mistress and steward. The whole running of our house is in her hands, and she alone gives the orders.
And you, Shushan. The great duty of a bride is obedience. With your mother-in-law, be a bride who is loving, gentle, obedient and willing. She is a very good woman, and she loves us with a mother's tenderness. You may have heard that there are mothers-in-law who humiliate and torment their brides, though who knows, maybe those brides have plenty of faults of their own. But you have been a bride in this house for years now. Did you ever once hear your mother-in-law say a bitter word to you, or see her treat you with contempt? Remember, Shushan, that one day you will be a mother-in-law yourself. What you give is what you will get. Do not forget Papik's advice.
I entrust to you the dignity and the decency of our patriarchal house. Keep that virtue of our line unspoiled. Read the story of the patriarchs in holy Scripture, always. Their lives and their innocence are written down there.
By the holy crowning the Lord God gave you a flower, Tornik, and her name is Shushan, the lily. And He gave Shushan a Tornik. There is no other for either of you until the day you die. I bless you both. May you live long and live in love. May the tree of your holy marriage bear new children again and again, and may your sons be many, like the house of the patriarch Jacob.
But understand this, Tornik. Many children are no credit to their parents if they grow up untaught and turn out badly. Do you know what a disgrace such children are to the parents who bore them? Work to give your children a good education while they are young, while they are still green shoots, soft as wax. If you let them thicken and harden, teaching them gets difficult, because everything has its own season. Do not let the right season slip past.
Keep your life and your conduct straight, Tornik. Walk straight, so that your children follow you. Do not be like the crab, who walks sideways herself and then instructs her young, walk straight.5 You can be sure they will answer, "Papa, we can see how you walk."
I charge you solemnly, Tornik. In everything you do in your life, keep straight. Straight dealing builds the people's confidence and trust in you, and that is how you will win a good name and honor among them.
The greatest moral wealth you can have, Tornik, is to draw the people's love and goodwill toward you. All the gold in the world does not weigh as much. You live in one village, off by itself. Do not tell me the circle of your virtue is too narrow. It is enough and more than enough, Tornik, if first you are loved and respected by the people of one village. A good name has wings. It flies from village to village, it reaches as far as Van, and it spreads through the whole land of Vaspurakan. Remember Hako the shepherd, and remember the name our village's great householders had, known through all the villages.
Now ask, Tornik, what the moral means are, the good works that raise a man's worth and his name in people's eyes. Here they are. To love, to do good, to have a merciful heart. Not only to give a hungry man bread, but to crumble the bread into his tanapur, the poor man's yogurt soup, with your own hand. To take a fallen, unlucky family by the hand. To protect people who have been wronged, and the rest along with it. You read the Gospel, Tornik, and you will remember that on the day of judgment Jesus sets aside all the many other virtues of good men and speaks most about the mercy of the merciful. They took in the homeless, helpless strangers left in the street. They went to see the poor and the sick who had no one. They visited the prisoners. They gave bread to the hungry and water to the thirsty.6 And who received all this kindness at the hands of the merciful? Plainly it was the oppressed and afflicted part of the people, the ones who cannot pay their benefactors back. So Christ pays the poor man's debt. And do you know what He pays with? The kingdom of heaven, for a piece of bread and a cup of water.
But you should know this too, Tornik. People do not love a man for nothing, and they give no thanks for what they have not received. Does the beggar at the door bless you before the bread is in his hand? Does a man who has been helped open his mouth to thank you before he has been given anything? In this world everything is an exchange.
Yes, there are mouths that never thank anyone, mouths that often repay a kindness with ingratitude. Spiteful and graceless, they may even pay you back with harm, and tie the very hand that helped them, until the man regrets his kindness and does no more good.
But leave those reckonings aside, Tornik. Listen to the Gospel, which commands us to do good to the people who hate us.7 Maybe they do not deserve it. But have you not seen that our Father in heaven gives His rain to our fields alike, making no distinction between the wicked and the good, and makes His light-giving sun rise the same way over the whole world? A kindness works like a powerful medicine. It softens a wicked man's spirit and turns the bitterness in his heart, when he sees that his malice has been answered with good, and that good burns like fire on his conscience. This is why Paul says, "In doing this you will heap burning coals on his head."8 Nothing works better than answering evil with good, every time. Goodness is water, and it puts out the fire.
Charity is a duty a man takes on freely, out of fellow feeling and Christian love, setting aside part of what he owns for the needy among his people. But charity alone is not what makes the people love a man and know him for a benefactor. It is his own personal worth, his upright life, that raise a good man's standing before the people. Let me set out for you, Tornik, what those virtues of the soul are.
Faith in the church of our fathers. A reverent and honest devotion to God. A gentle and kindly nature. Love that loves its neighbor as much as itself. Justice that divides its own share and its neighbor's share equally. A good conscience that never harms or cheats a neighbor, and would rather be cheated than cheat. A public spirit that always thinks of the people's good and the people's interest. A cheerful generosity, which the people love. And great undertakings for the common benefit, a church, a school, a hospital, a poorhouse, an orphanage, gifts of every kind, bequests and the rest, whatever the people's life and progress require.
And then there are the men who give themselves away, whether they belong to the clergy or to the laity. They put themselves wholly at the people's service, sparing nothing, sacrificing everything, their own lives too if it comes to that. Then the people are not content just to love them. They want to worship them. Even when such men die they are not forgotten. The people keep their names like a feast day, and raise a lasting monument to their memory.
There it is, Tornik. That is what love of the people brings. Work to earn that reward and that honor, so that after your death you remain immortalized. The people will remember you, and bless your memory.
Dear Tornik, I still have things to say to you. But today I want you to call our village's priests, the householders and the hambans, the great men of the village. Papik owes the village people his last farewell. I have lived among them all this time, and had a great deal of their respect and their honor. I have my testament's commands for them, just as I have for you.
Welcome, my dear villagers, light of my eyes. You see that Papik is laid down, and there is no hope of his getting up again. I called you here to say my last goodbye to you and set out on my road, the road that leads straight to heaven. Papik, His servant, believes he will be found worthy to see his Lord.
Do you remember Tornik's wedding day? You ate the wedding meal, you drank the wine of Shahpaz, and you started up your happy songs. We have eaten Tornik's meal, may we eat Papik's in good time. Now the day has come, and you will eat my soul-meal.
Eat it and enjoy it, dear villagers. But along with the meal you must eat Papik's last counsels. You know that for years now I have given my Tornik many lessons and much advice, both about the happy life of a village and about the soil and the progress of the farmer's art. And at the last I laid it on Tornik as a testament that he should pass those same lessons on to your children.
And now, with a living voice, I leave you my testament. Papik lies on his deathbed and still wants to talk to you. Listen to what I say, good villagers.
The Lord God has given the village people the best share of this world's beauty. Do you see it? To you He gave the broad fields for plowing, the mountains, the valleys, the rivers, the springs, all of it covered in plants and flowers of every kind, and God Himself tends them. You live in the very garden of nature, and you enjoy the abundant, endless good things that nature gives, while the townspeople live outside that garden. What they enjoy are the great buildings they put up with their own hands. All their splendors are fleeting and changeable, here today and gone tomorrow. But your splendor, which Providence prepared long ago, is here and stays here. The fields, the mountains, the plants, the rivers, the springs are always there, always the same. The one thing a man must know is how to enjoy the rich good things that nature has prepared for him.
What the Lord God said to Adam He is still saying to Adam's children today. Work the earth, and keep it. You know from experience that a field with no wheat sown in it grows no wheat, that no tree grows without planting and watering, that without the labor of farming no one can draw a yield from the earth and gather it into his barn. A farmer's life bears fruit only through work. The farmer lives by the soil, and lives happily, and once he has fed himself, he gives the city people their bread as well.
So with your land, your fields, your mountains, your milk cows and sheep and your other useful animals, you are far, far richer than the townspeople. As a villager, and a man who has learned by experience, Papik gives you this advice. Never, never leave the village. Never leave the soil and go and live in the city. Know that you will be wretched there. When you lose the soil, your life is lost with the soil. Want and misery will overtake you, and then you will be trapped in despair, with no other hope left in front of you but exile for bread, casting off your family, leaving your children with no one to care for them, going into a foreign country to suffer at cruel work, trading away the sweet and free labor of the fields, and, oh, carrying loads on your back. Giving up the green meadows of the village, the plow-handle and the yoked oxen, the trees and the flowers, the cool mountains, the water of springs that never die, the sweet healthy air, the milk and the madzun, our curdled yogurt, the cream and the butter, and all the many natural, patriarchal pleasures that the mother country gives her children. Papik knows the bitter life of exile all too well, and many of you know it too. Work, work, so that you never taste the bitterness of life in a foreign land. And I will pray for you, my fellow villagers, that you never see the face of exile, and that you find your bread in the mother country.
But you know, devout villagers, that people do not live by bread alone. You go to church, you listen to the Gospel. Hear what Jesus says. "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by the word of God."9 If our body lives by bread, the soul has to live too. The soul's life and the soul's bread are God's commandments, and the first of the commandments is love. So people live by love, and they live by one another.
Let me give you a plain example. One yoke of oxen cannot pull a gutan. One man cannot carry a millstone, or the beam of an oil press, and set it in its place. Everything hard in this world, men have learned to do with the joined strength of a community. You know it from experience. When something heavy falls on our village, we all join together, and that is how we get it done. Do you remember, some years back, when the Kurds raided our village's sheep and drove them off? Every young man in the village turned out, some on horseback, some on foot. They took scythes instead of swords, and they went and brought the stolen flock back. Now tell me yourselves, could one man have brought back the whole village's stolen flock?
So now you understand that people live by helping one another. Ask why they live by one another. Listen, and I will put it plainly. Everywhere in this world, in village and city alike, people's lives are unequal. One is rich, another poor. One is a lord, another common folk. One is a master, another a servant. One is a householder, and another a laborer. It is exactly this inequality that binds people to one another and makes a society. It binds the people to the lord, the servant to the master, the poor man to the rich, the way our village's poor laborers are bound to the rich householders.
Tell me, if those laborers were not poor, would they agree to put their necks under the heavy yoke of service? "Poverty humbles a man," holy Scripture says.10 Otherwise, a man who feels his own worth never stoops to serve. But would it be a good thing if every man alike were free, and rich, and an agha? No. Then the order of this world would break down. The Armenians have a proverb. "I am an agha, you are an agha. Who will grind our grain?"11 Yes, the servant and the miller have to make the flour, so that the agha can eat his bread without going to the mill.
The greatest part of the world's people are workmen, laborers, farmhands and servants, and it is the fruit of their poured-out sweat that feeds the world. By the eternal law of Providence, human society is arranged so that people live by one another. You see it with your own eyes, and you know it from experience. Our village life is unequal too. One part of us are landowners and householders, and another part are hired laborers, who trade their bitter sweat for a very small wage. Never cut your laborers' wages, and never put them off from today to tomorrow. The Lord God commands that a hired laborer's wage must not be held back until evening, that is, the day must not pass over it,12 because the protest of the reapers rises all the way to heaven, and God rebuked the landowners of Israel through the mouth of the prophet Isaiah. Do not treat your laborers with cruel harshness. I have seen men torment them past all measure, curse them, hit them with their fists, and cheat them on top of it. You are not the laborers' master. God is, and He will avenge them and judge the case of those who were wronged. The more kindly and justly you deal with the men who work your fields, the better and the more profitable it is for you. They will be more loyal and more faithful, they will work with all their heart, and the yield of the land will bring the master far more.
Householder brothers, never count the free working men, your laborers, as contemptible slaves, and never treat them with contempt. You go to church, you listen to the Gospel. Do you really not know, have you not understood, that Jesus formed all His faithful, great and small, rich and poor, lord and people, master and servant, equally into one brotherhood of love, and said, "You are all brothers"?13
By that word Jesus does not abolish the honor and respect due to each class and rank of human society. He does not. Paul the Apostle, explaining these words of Christ, teaches us to give every man the honor and the respect that belong to his station, and to do it morally as well.14 The Gospel's debt of love makes no distinctions. Whatever his position and his rank, every man owes it to his neighbor. And when it came to outward debts, Jesus spoke decisively, and He acted on it. "Give to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's."15
My turn has come to speak to you, villager brothers. Be conscientious in what you owe, and stand faithful always in paying your debts, whoever they are owed to. But the first, the greatest, the most important debt of a subject people, the one no man may shirk, is the taxes of the state, which the people of the land, townsman and villager, are bound to pay exactly and in good faith. A man who cheats and defrauds in these dues is guilty, not only before the laws of the land, but before God's revealed commandments.
Always work to pay the state's taxes exactly, and to pay them on time. Do not let them pile up and grow heavy on you, until you are forced to sell what you have to pay the tax. And what do you have? Land and plow oxen. If you sell them, you are selling your life, and you will die alive, in misery.
I put our village's poor in your care, kind-hearted householders. Divide the state's taxes straight and just. Lay the burden light on the poorest houses, and those of you who can, take the poor men's burden on yourselves. Know that a man who carries his neighbor's burden fulfills the great law of the commandment of love.
After the state's dues, I know it, our villagers owe a great deal to the townspeople too. The unluckiest of them are the ones who sold their land to pay their debts. And some, mortgaging their fields, pile debt on debt at heavy, heavy interest, and the end of it is unlucky and bitter, because at the last they will not be able to pay, and then the creditor will have the right to seize your fields.
So Papik gives you this advice. First, work so that you never go into debt at all. And when hardship and need press down on you, when there is no way out and you must borrow, work to pay off the small debt quickly, before it has grown. In matters of debt be honest, always. Whether you are taking or giving, practice no deceit at all. Deal straight, and keep your accounts straight. A village people's credit and honor rest on their honesty. Whoever cheats and denies what he owes, his credit and his honor are dead from that day on in the townsman's eyes. Whoever he turns to, whoever he begs, he will not be able to borrow. You will say, Papik, do you not know your own villager, who knows neither writing nor arithmetic? How is he supposed to know his accounts and keep them? All he has is an unwritten reckoning in his head, with nothing on paper, and so he often forgets, and takes refuge in denial.
That is all true. You confess it with your own mouths, and I bear witness along with you. The one great cause that wrecks a villager's house is that he knows neither writing nor arithmetic. The management of our lives has to be done with writing and accounts, because a man's mind is forgetful. What he does today he forgets tomorrow. Writing and arithmetic were invented to keep what is in our minds from being forgotten. A man with no writing and no accounts has a household in disorder, and he takes the loss on every deal he makes. I have said this to you many times, and today, for the last time, I hand you my advice as a testament.
Take care of our village school, so that your boys are educated and learn writing and arithmetic. You let your own season pass. You have lived without accounts, and you will die without accounts. At the very least let your boys be educated, and become men who know something and understand the business of running their own lives. The townsman does everything with writing and accounts. Why should the villager not know his accounts like the townsman? What a shame it is for a villager, when he has been cheated, to start grumbling, the townsman cheated me, and so on. Is a villager not a man? Does he have no reason? Yes, we are men too. Only, the eye of our reason is shut with ignorance. We have eyes, and we go about the world like blind men, and that is why the townsman counts us dull and stupid, and sometimes insults us further and calls us idiots outright. That unbearable insult will never be lifted from us as long as we have no schooling and no learning. As long as the eye of our mind is not opened, we will go on lost in this world. And you know that the lost man's road through life is full of the thorns of misery, and it ends in ruin.
So, dear villagers, to be saved from that road to ruin we need a straight road that does not wander. And what is it that opens the straight road in front of our eyes? Not the sun of the day, and not the lantern and the lamp of the night. No. The lights of this world are not enough for our lives if there is no light in the mind, and that light is learning and education, which a man receives from his childhood years. So educate your small children, so that they grow up to be men, and the eye of their mind is opened, and they do not go about the world like blind men. Educate your girls too, so that they become sensible housekeepers and good mothers. You should know that the building of a house, and the well-ordered running of it, is done by the women's hands alone. Are women not human? Do they have no soul, no mind? The Lord God gave a wife to a man for more than bearing children. He gave her as a companion and a helper, to be his partner in work. The man works in the field, the woman in the house. Have you ever seen one ox pull a haror, the light one-yoke plow? Husband and wife are a matched pair in the yoke, and if we look closely, the heavier share of the work lies on the women. After the poor women have nursed the children they bore, how heavy and hard it is for them to see to all the business of the household besides. Listen, and I will count out for you, one by one, the tasks of a village woman's work. Every day she kneads the dough and bakes bread in front of the scorching tonir, the sunken clay oven. She cooks the food and carries bread out to the laborers in the field. Morning and evening she milks the buffalo cows and the cows, and goes to the peratekh, the milking ground, to milk the ewes. She sees to all the dairy work, beats the churn or the churning skin, makes the butter and the cheese. She looks after the guests. Often enough she cleans out the stables. She bakes the thin ptir bread. She builds up the fuel store and gets the winter's fuel ready. She cards the wool and spins it, knits stockings and footlets and works other things of homespun. She washes, sews and patches. She goes out over field and mountain gathering dye flowers and roots. She weaves patterned carpets. Which of them shall I name next? There are still many other tasks that have fallen to the village women's share, and the poor women carry all of it in silent obedience. And you know it, and you see it. Some of these hardworking women take savage beatings from their brutal, conscienceless husbands, and hear themselves cursed on top of it.
I know the answer you will give me. Eh, Papik, what kind of talk is this? If we do not beat our graceless, sharp-tongued wives and knock them about, how are we to keep them in hand? And you advise us to let the girls learn to read like the boys. Do you know what will happen then? Their minds will open. They will get sharp tongues and lose all shame. They will answer back boldly to everything. They will tear away the veil of their natural modesty and break the yoke of obedience, and then you will see the war between husband and wife. The peace of the house will be wrecked, and our old patriarchal rule and order will fall apart. We learned it from our grandfathers, that women should keep quiet and say nothing. That is why our brides have learned to stay tongue-bound for seven years in the house,16 and speak to no one but their own husbands, and not in front of people either, only in private. If our girls learn to read, and then marry and become brides, will their tongues be held then? Especially if they become learned, and read books, and find out about the world. And leave all that aside. Do peasant girls even have the time to go to school and learn reading and writing? Who is going to see to the work of our house and our fields?
We have been to Bolis and back, and we have seen it and we know it. Once the women of Bolis learned reading and writing, every one of them turned into a clever lawyer. Their poor husbands have become prisoners in their hands. They even dare to lodge complaints with the Armenian Patriarchate and drag their husbands into court. We see these things, and we are afraid. Better that our wives stay ignorant and obey us.
I understand what you are saying, dear villagers. Now listen, and let me answer. Some forty years ago, I confess it honestly, Papik thought and talked exactly as you do. But once I learned to read, and got a taste for books, and in my years of exile saw with my own eyes the things of the world and how they change, from then on my thinking began to change too. You should know that time changes everything as it goes. And you, what do you think? Do you want to stay unchanged in your old ways? If you stay in the state you are in now, still as standing water, and do not go forward like the streams of living rivers, you will dry up and wither in ignorance and misery. A man has to walk with the times. He who lags behind goes hungry for bread. And know this, in this world it is the ignorant, above all, who have the wretched and miserable lives.
There was a time when townsman and villager alike were ignorant, and they lived on equal terms in their ignorance. Now the townsman goes forward with his schools, and boys and girls are educated equally. If we villagers get no schooling, even a little, if not as much as the townsman's, then we will be slaves in front of the townspeople, because it is ignorance that makes a man a slave and a captive. This is why the townsman goes forward and grows rich, while the villager stays behind and sinks into poverty.
You suppose, and you argue, that when girls learn writing and reading they turn sharp-tongued and graceless, and lose their natural modesty and decency into the bargain. That judgment of yours is very wrong, and the proof is right in front of our eyes. Our own village runs to more than two hundred houses. The women of our village are all equally ignorant, and not one of them can write or read. Now tell me, are these graceless, sharp-tongued women you talk about in any short supply among them? You do not yet understand that ignorance is the source of every bad character, and that a woman's ignorance does more harm to a household than a man's. Listen to what Solomon the wise says. "The wise woman builds her house, but the foolish tears it down with her own hands."17 You suppose that building a house, making it prosper, keeping it up, is the men's work alone, and that women count for nothing in the building. But the building of a house and its fullness are in the women's hands. You bring in the earnings of the field and pour them into the house. But if the wife is ignorant and foolish, if she does not know how to govern a house, does not know how its needs must be supplied, or how to manage with measure and thrift, then you will watch the year's provisions used up in half a year. No flour left in the bin, no butter, no cheese, no other stores in the larder. Managing a house takes wit and wisdom, and when the mistress has none, the house begins to come apart from the inside.
Leave aside the material fabric of a house and the managing of its bread. For a house, for a family line, to stand firm, what it needs even more is a moral fabric, and if that fabric does not hold the house up, the material one will soon fall in. And what is it that builds a house's moral fabric from the foundation? Listen, and I will tell you. It is the mother's teaching and the mother's care. And how can a mother teach the little ones she has borne, when she herself is untaught and ignorant? This is why our children turn out badly. The mothers know so little that they cannot even feed the children they gave birth to properly. That is the reason our children die so young, so very young. It is strange. Many people think the village population has more children and is multiplying. That opinion is very wrong. We see that not even half of those born survive. The poor children die as victims of their mothers' lack of schooling. And we have no right to blame those mothers. Do you think bearing and raising children is an easy thing? Children are not the wild grass of our fields, which grows and grows strong by itself with no one tending it. Only an educated mother's care knows how to nourish and raise her children well.
Do not suppose, and do not tell me, that milk and bread are enough to raise a child on. The birds and the animals care for their young only that far. As soon as the fledglings' wings have grown, they fly off and look after themselves. And the calves, once they are weaned, begin to go out to the field, to graze, and to find their own feed.
Come now, dear villagers. Do you not know that you are creatures who can reason, and that your lives are nothing like the lives of birds and animals? When the Lord God laid His curse on Adam He said, you shall eat your bread by the sweat of your brow. That is, you will earn your bread with grinding labor. But to the birds and the animals He said nothing of the kind, because the heavenly Father feeds them, as Jesus tells us.18 If we live by bread alone, then we turn into animals. That is why Jesus said, man does not live by bread alone, but by the word of God.
And what do you say? Is God's word, is the kingdom of heaven, only for men? Do women have no share in it? Are they shut out? Did God give the book of Scripture, the law, the commandment, the Gospel, to men alone? No, He did not. The Lord God gave His commandment to Adam and to Eve equally, and He handed His divine commandments down to their descendants equally, through Moses and through Jesus.
So womankind too must know and understand those divine commandments, which are held in the Old and the New Testament. And how is a woman to read and understand the word of God if she does not learn it in school from the time she is small, so that later, grown up, she becomes an educated mother, able to teach the small children she bears? Do you not know that those little ones are handed over to the teaching and care of their mother alone? Fathers take no trouble over it, village fathers least of all, taken up as they are with their work in the fields. Who first teaches a child to make the sign of the cross on his face? The Christian mother. Who answers every question of a curious child, sweetly, with a mother's tenderness, and never tires of it? The mother. When a child turns his eyes up toward heaven, and sees the bright things on the face of the blue sky, and asks what they are, who answers? The mother. She tells him, those are the sun, the moon and the stars, and God made them for us, to give light by day and by night. And when the child sees the things close around him and asks about those, who answers them all? The mother again. Yes, a child learns his language from his mother. God, and the things of God, he learns from his mother too. People think that children must learn all this only from the schoolmaster or the vardapet, the preaching priest. It is not so. Listen, and let me explain. Our newborn babies are carried to church. The priest baptizes them in the font. The godfather stands as interpreter for the speechless child, and asking for faith, hope and love, makes the Christian confession in the child's place. But who baptizes the child in the font of its own home? That baptizer, that natural priest, is the very mother who bore it. When the child's tongue and mind begin to open, she begins to teach it the short, plain, natural lessons of Christianity. She sows the seeds of the holy faith in its young heart, and they bud, little by little, as the child grows.
Now do you see that the first natural and great teacher and educator, in the family school of the home, is the mother who bore the child? We are not wrong if we say that in Christian learning and in a child's first schooling, the first schoolmaster, the first vardapet, the first theologian and tutor is the mother, and above all the devout mother, who does not teach with words only, but educates her children by her own good motherly example. Look at our churchgoing village mothers. They take their babies in their arms and go to church, light candles in front of the images of the Holy Mother of God and of the Cross, kneel, and pray. And the child, watching its mother do this, takes the impression of it like a seal on its clean young heart. Then it grows a little and begins to ask. Mayrik, who is the Holy Mother of God? Who is Christ? Why was Christ crucified? How did He rise again and go up into heaven? And the unschooled, ignorant mother cannot tell the child about Christ's birth, or about anything else He did.
Do you understand now, villager brothers, that the mothers are the first and only teachers and educators of their own children? That is enough. I have preached you a sermon and a lecture as long as a vardapet's. Keep this last testament of mine. From now on see to it that your children, boys and girls alike, are educated. As I said in my Tornik's lessons, our village schools have no great expenses. If every house gives one kot of wheat at threshing time, all the school's charges are covered. I know you have many troubles and many taxes to see to. But the school tax is so necessary, and so profitable, that it will be the cure for all those troubles of yours. You do not understand these words now. You will understand them on the day you see what education produces, and then you will remember me, and say a God-have-mercy for Papik's soul.
Dear villagers, I think that is enough and more than enough. Keep my counsel and my testament, and leave them to your children as an inheritance. There was much more to say to you, but my breath is spent, and I cannot go on. Goodbye, and peace be with you. Pray for me, that a good angel takes my soul gently. I am not worthy of the shining court of the kingdom of heaven. It is more than enough for me to be a servant and a doorkeeper at its gate.19 Pray for me from the earth, and I, kneeling in spirit before the gate of the kingdom of heaven, will pray to God our benefactor to have mercy on the whole world, and on our poor Armenian nation. Amen.
Well, dear Tornik, the time has come for me to give up my soul. The angel is waiting. I have one last testament left for you all. Carry it out with complete faithfulness and exactness, and so inherit Papik's blessing.
I am dying, Tornik. Carry me out and bury me in our walled field, the one near the graveyard. Have my grave dug in the corner of the field where the poplars and the willows stand. You know how often Papik, worn out with work, went and sat under those trees to rest. Sometimes he even laid his head against a tree trunk and slept sweetly. Now I will sleep in the grave, until Gabriel sounds his trumpet.
When you plow that field where my grave is, and sow it with wheat, here is my instruction. From the clean wheat of that field grind flour, enough of it, and give it to the village priest, so that he can make the nshkhar, the wafer bread, and offer the Liturgy for Papik's soul on the days of the dead of the five tagavar feasts.20 In the same way, when you gather our vineyard, pick out the good ripe grapes with your own hand and press them, prepare the whole year's chalice wine, and give it to the priest to keep in the church.
Prepare my soul-meal generously. At your wedding we killed the black crooked ox. Now look again. Among our gutan oxen there is never a shortage of crooked ones, the kind that will not pull level with their yoke-fellow and are forever dragging the share out of the furrow. If there are any, kill them, make them a matagh, an offering, for Papik's soul, and feed all the village's poor until they are full. And now send someone quickly to the monastery of Varag. Have them call Daniel vardapet, who is a good worker for the village's progress. Let him come and bury me, and say the office of the dead. Give a young buffalo calf to the monastery of Varag as a soul-portion, because it is thanks to that monastery that we learned to read.
Tornik, set up a khachkar, a carved cross-stone, over my grave, and have my memorial carved on it in these words. "This is the tomb of Papik of Archak, who loved the soil and the plow-handle, taught his Tornik the lessons of farming, handed down his testament, and died. You who pass by, say God have mercy on Papik's soul."
The hour of my soul's leaving is coming, Tornik. Call your mayrik. Call Shushan and her children. Come all together and kiss Papik's hand, take my last blessing, and go out. Leave me alone, so that I can rest a moment and give up my soul.
My good guardian angel, you have stood over my head like a watchman. Do you see? My whole body is swimming in the sweat of death. It is the same sweat I used to pour out in the field, and this is the last of it, the sweat I pour for death. I have no more need of this world's bread. May I only be worthy of the bread of the kingdom of heaven.
Good angel, I owe you a great deal. From the swaddling clothes of my birth to this dying state of mine, you have kept me safe. Many times I grieved you, and many times I gladdened you. When I sinned, you turned your face away in sorrow. When I repented, you rejoiced. In all my life I do not know how much you wept, or how much you laughed. Blessed be God, in this last hour, as my soul goes out, you look very bright. My spirit fills with hope. I believe I will give up my soul in faith. I ask only one thing, angel of death. Tell me, when you have taken my soul, where will you carry it?
Do you not know, Papik, you who have studied the book, that the souls of the faithful must first come up before Christ the Judge? Only the Judge who examines them assigns to men's souls their portion and their places. Do not trouble yourself over it. The house of Christ's Father is very wide, and it has many rooms made ready.21
Then I beg you, good angel, speak for me before Christ. I want no house and no room. I am a man of the field, a farmer, trained to work. From the fields of the kingdom of heaven I ask only one little plot, to plow and to sow. I know the kingdom's fields are far richer and more fruitful than the fields of this world, which push up thistle and thorn and weeds among the grain.
Poor Papik. You have given your mind to the soil and to work, and you do not know what you are saying. It seems to me you have forgotten the words of Jesus' Gospel. Perhaps old age has brought its dotage on you. Do you not know that in the kingdom all labor has ceased for mortal men? Blessed be Christ, who lifted from your grandfather Adam that curse, the one that said by the sweat of your face you shall eat your bread. Understand, Papik, that in the kingdom there is no labor, no sweat, no pain, no suffering, none of it. The kingdom is nothing but the enjoyment of God's glory. Men of flesh become angels like us. No bread is needed there, no water, no clothing. Man and angel alike are filled with the glory of God and bathe in light. But this much I will tell you, Papik. Every man born will reap whatever he has sown in this world.22 Whatever he has done, he will be repaid by the measure of his works. For good works the portion is Christ's kingdom, and for evildoers, hell.
That much I know, good angel. And still, in this narrow minute of my dying, I want to learn one thing from you. If every man is to reap in the world beyond whatever he has sown in this one, then there is work for me in the kingdom of heaven. What I sowed here will have come up there, and by now it is ripe. Let me take my scythe with me, so that I can reap what I sowed.
You say there is no eating and drinking in the kingdom. Then what is that rich table which Christ prepares for those He loves, where He girds Himself and serves at the table with His own hands?23 Papik would love to work, and make the bread for that heavenly table. Can there be a table without bread, or wine without planting a vineyard? I am a laborer of bread. Let Noah, the patriarch of Masis, plant the vineyard and make the wine.24
You are very simple, Papik. The things you say. Jesus came into the world and told you everything in the Gospel. He became a man like you, and He saw men, and tested them, and testified that the children of this world are wiser than the children of light.25 But you astonish me, Papik, wanting to joke with the angel of death. Do you not know that angels do not like jokes? Zechariah made one joke out of unbelief, and he was punished on the spot.26 You say, let me take my scythe with me, as if we angels had no reaping scythe of our own. Have you not read the book of Revelation, and the scythes that appear in the visions of the prophets?27 In one night we reaped a hundred and eighty thousand men out of Sennacherib's army as it besieged Jerusalem.28 And this astonishes me even more, that you want a little field given to you in the kingdom, and that you would make the bread for the kingdom's table.
Come, Papik, you cannot grasp the heavenly banquet now. Its table is immortal, its bread is immortal, its wine is immortal. Who are you, a mortal and helpless man, to presume to make bread for that table, which Jesus alone prepared, with His Cross and with His blood? Say no more, Papik. The hour is late. Give up your soul. Believe, and be at peace. God knows how to reward His faithful servants. I know, Papik, that your wages are great in heaven. You have paid the debt of loving your neighbor, you have cheated no one, you have eaten your bread by the sweat of your brow to this very day, and now you will fall asleep with a good death.
Papik was holding fast to his soul, and he wanted to keep talking. But when he saw that the angel had no patience left, he crossed his hands on his heart, closed his failing eyes, and murmured his last words. He said, there, take my soul, good angel. And Papik gave up his soul as lightly and as easily as a man takes an apple out of his coat, an apple that had hung eighty-two years on the tree of life, and was red all through and fully ripe.
The apple dropped from the tree, and the angel reached down from above, caught it, and flew away.
So Papik died. He gave up his soul, and with his soul he ended his PAPIK AND TORNIK as well.
God have mercy on the soul of Papik the patriarch. Amen.
(THE END)
Notes
- Genesis 3:19. ↩
- Quoted as holy Scripture. Cf. 1 Samuel 2:31-32, where the loss of an elder out of the house is Eli's curse, here turned into a blessing. ↩
- Cf. Matthew 6:19-20, "where thieves break in and steal." ↩
- Exodus 20:12 and Ephesians 6:2-3. ↩
- The fable of the crab and her young (Aesop). ↩
- Matthew 25:34-40. ↩
- Matthew 5:44-45. ↩
- Romans 12:20. ↩
- Matthew 4:4. ↩
- Quoted as Scripture. The exact text is uncertain. Cf. Proverbs 10:4 in the Septuagint reading, "poverty humbles a man." ↩
- The Armenian proverb turns on the pun of agha, "lord," and aghal, "to grind." ↩
- Deuteronomy 24:14-15. Cf. James 5:4 (the cry of the reapers) and Isaiah 5:8. ↩
- Matthew 23:8. ↩
- Romans 13:7. ↩
- Matthew 22:21. ↩
- The custom of the bride's ritual silence (munj) before her husband's elders, kept in the patriarchal households of the Armenian provinces sometimes for years at a time. ↩
- Proverbs 14:1. ↩
- Matthew 6:26. ↩
- Cf. Psalm 84:10, "I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God." ↩
- The five tagavar (tabernacle) feasts of the Armenian Church. The day after each is a merelots, a day of remembrance of the dead. The nshkhar is the unleavened wafer-bread of the Liturgy. ↩
- John 14:2. ↩
- Galatians 6:7. ↩
- Luke 12:37. ↩
- Genesis 9:20, Noah the farmer, who planted a vineyard at the foot of Ararat (Masis). ↩
- Luke 16:8. ↩
- Luke 1:20. ↩
- Revelation 14:14-19. ↩
- 2 Kings 19:35, where the source's "hundred and eighty thousand" stands for the 185,000 of the text. ↩