THE MOST HONORABLE BEGGARS
By Hagop Baronian (1843-1891)
Published in 1985 by Shirak Printing, Los Angeles
Translated from the original Armenian by Shant Norashkharian
(Italics are by the translator)
In one thousand eight hundred seventy and...I don’t recall, on September thirtyfirst -
forgive me, I meant thirty, since September has thirty days only - a chubby man of medium
height rolled in a long and spacious *, who had just come out of the steamboat from Trabzon,
was standing on the quay* of Ghalatia and trying to get his trunks out of a boat.
Do you see with how I began so simply. I did not say, in the effort of making my story
more interesting and to sell a few hundred more copies, that on that same day there was a
strong wind, that rain was pouring, that a wild crowd was running to the Ghalatia square with
curiosity, that police had arrested a girl and other phrases with which novelists begin their novels.
I could say all that as well, but I did not, because on that same day there was no wind, no rain,
no wild crowd and no arrested girl.
Therefore, believe my story which is a contemporary event without doubting. This traveller
was endowed with a pair of large and black eyes, a pair of thick, black and long eyebrows, a
pair of big ears and a pair of noses...no, no, with one nose, even though it was so huge that by
mistake I thought it was a pair of noses. He had such a stare, that if B.H. Vartovian had met that
man he would have asked with his eyes: “How much salary do you want to perform the role of
an idiot in my theatre?”
As soon as the traveller pulled out the trunks and the bed, which were wrapped with a
rag, and paid what was due to the boatman, he called a porter. Five porters showed up. There
is no doubt that if he had called five, twenty five would have shown up according to the custom
of this capital.
“Which way shall we go,agha ?” Asked one of the porters, putting one foot on one of
the trunks.
“Pera, Flower Street, number 2”, replied the large man.
“I understood well; Flower street in Pera...it’s a respecatable street”, said the porter who
had asked the question and started going after carrying a trunk.
“I know Flower street too”, said the second porter, and headed for the road carrying a
trunk as well.
“I go to Flower street everyday”, said the third, and after lifting his bed from the ground,
he put it on his shoulder and ran in the same instant.
These actions had taken place so quickly that the man got confused, looked around in
four directions to see the porters who had disappeared in the crowd.
“What kind of mischief is this?” He finally shouted, beating the ground with his feet,
“where did they take my bed and my trunks, what right do they have to get mixed up with my
bed and my trunks, how shameless the men in this place seem to be! Whatever they see, they
take and leave.
“We know Flower street as well, agha , give us something to take there also”, said the
other two porters.
“May Flower street go to hell and may you go to hell”, answered the man, whose cheeks
were becoming red with anger.
The two porters went away laughing; and the traveller was getting ready to go after his
trunks, when a tall, dark man with small eyes and stiff shoulders, approached him rubbing his
hands together and with a forced smile, and politely held his hands and said:
“Are you Apisoghom agha ? When did you arrive, with which steamboat, how are you,
how is your brother? How are the Armenian affairs in Trabzon? What is the price of bread there?
Did it rain in your city these days...? Oh no, Apisoghom agha , oh no...”
“I am Apisoghom agha, I just arrived, with a Turkish ship; I am very well, my brother is
doing well also, the Armenian affairs in Trabzone are doing well also; the price of bread is one
cent, there was no rain these days in our city”, replied with haste this dweller of* , without
recognizing the person.
“Forgive me, give me atonement, for not coming to the steamboat to welcome you.
They had written to me that for sure you would arrive from Trabzon some time this week...”
“I am not concerned about such things.”
“Indeed, our capital must consider itself lucky that an honorable Armenian like you, a
graceful young man, a healthy-minded individual...”
“My trunks...”
“A noble heart, a valiant soul...”
“My Por...”
“A patriot...”
“...ters...”
“A man who loves his nation, schooled, cultured...”
“My tru...”
“Educated...”
“...nks...they took and left...”
“Noble-hearted, noble-minded, noble-faced is now in it.”
“There are no such things in my trunks”, replied Apisoghom agha, starting to walk to find
the porters.
“Even though you don’t recognize me, I know your ancestry very well; your blessed late
father was a subscriber to my newspaper. He was a very kind man, he gave charity to the poor,
arranged marriages for poor girls, and was benevolent to those who asked him. Blessed men
like that ought to live long. But, what can I say, the cruel death always takes the good men
away and lets the wicked live so that they may hurt the nation. But let us leeave old things and
talk about something else. Were you comfortable in the steamboat?”
“Very comfortable, I ate like a dignitary, drank and slept”, replied Apisoghom agha,
starting to take quick and large steps.
“If you had not been comfortable, I would have written about it in tomorrow’s
newspaper and would have invited the company’s attention to it”, said the editor running after
him.
“Thank you”.
“I beg you, tell me, how old are you?”
“Forty.”
“You are a merchant, I think”.
“Yes, if you intend to make me an identity card, there is no need since I already have
one.”
“No, I shall write in my paper tomorrow, that most honorable Apisoghom agha the
previous day arrived at our capital from Trabzon, the notable merchant, who is known to our
compatriots because of his linguistic knowledge and merchant shrewdness. You know Turkish, I
presume.”
“No!”
“French?”
“No!”
“English?”
“No!”
“German?”
“No!”
“No problem. I shall call you a linguist and will shower you with praise.”
“Do you write the names of everyone who comes to Istanbul in your paper?”
“Almost all, if they are honorable patriots like you”.
“Do you write about the ones leaving Istanbul as well?”
“We almost write about them, if they are honorable patriots”.
“Very well, write my name also, I am an honorable patriot as well. In our city, I am the
owner of lands, oxen, cows and farms...Write about those as well”, he said which such a face
that expressed that he was to gain greatly from the publishing of these words.”
“Don’t worry! To pay a debt of conscience and justice, I shall write about them as well.”
“I also have two or three servants...Couldn’t you mention them as well in one corner of
your paper?”
“Why not?”
“I also have a gold watch and chain, but did not wear them in fear of having them
stolen in the steamboat; should you write about those as well?” Asked Apisoghom agha, who
had completely forgotten the trunks.
“There is no need to write about those.”
“Very well, but include everything else I mentioned in your paper, so everyone can read
about them.”
“That’s what I intend to do.”
“Write in big letters”.
“Be assured; the biggest letters.”
“You only write about the goings and comings of wealthy people, don’t you?”
“Yes!”
“If you write about poor people also, I don’t want my name...”
“Never, we never write the names of those who have no money, even if they donated a
thousand gold pieces for the construction of a school.”
“This means that you wait here every evening to see the wealthy who come to Istanbul
or leave Istanbul, and to publish their names so that people would know who has come and
who has left... There is no doubt, that tomorrow evening I shall read my name in your
newspaper...”
“Yes, give me your address, so that I may send it to you with the local courrier”.
“Pera, Flower Street, Number 2.”
“Very well”, said the editor, and taking a piece of paper out of his pocket, added
Apishoghom agha to the list of subscribers.
“Tomorrow morning, send it before daybreak, so that I may read my name in the
newspaper.”
“Let me send it in the evening, since my paper is printed every evening”>
“How happy would I be, if you printed your paper in the morning...but ther’s no harm, let
it be evening, it is enough that my name is written in big letters.”
“Be assured of that; tomorrow evening I shall send it for sure with COD.”
“COD? I thought you were sending with a local carrier but...Who is COD, does he know
my house?”
“COD is a piece of paper, on which I write, ‘please receive from the most honorable
Apisoghom agha...the payment for the annual subscription of the paper, one and a half pieces
of gold’, and I will hand you that piece of paper so that you may have the right to receive my
paper for a year.”
“You will publish my name for a whole year?”
“No, but you will be a subscriber to my paper by paying me one and a half pieces of
gold.”
“One and a half pieces...it’s too much...Isn’t a three quarter piece enough?”
“Editors don’t negotiate about the price of subscription...”.
“Very well. Send me that newspaper and the piece of paper, and we’ll do something.”
“But don’t think, that I came to see you to gain a subscriber, may God have mercy, I
don’t accept that smallness; I came to see you to pay a debt to a friend.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Do not ever think that this man came to see you to grab one and a half pieces of gold
from you.”
“I’ll never think that.”
“Because there are some editors who approach those who come to Istanbul to rob them
and subscribe them; I cannot do such a thing, because it is not in my nature...I want to live as an
honorable man.”
“I understand; you want to live as an honorable man.”
“Don’t even mention this meeting that I had with you, because there are some
adventurous, * individuals, who write astrological* biographies to chew on my personality.”
“I understand. They chew on your personality.”
“For example, do I have any fault in this situation? I came to welcome you and promised
to publish your name in my paper; and you, as a healthy-minded patriot, subscribed. I beg you,
tell me, did I squeeze your throat to subscribe?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Did I show you a gun?”
“Never”.
“Did I pull a knife?”
“No; but do they subscribe in other places by pulling a gun or a knife?”
“I don’t mean to say that, but I want to say this, that you subscribed willingly”.
“Yes!”
“And I behaved valiantly in this situation.”
“No doubt.”
“I did not behave like those editors, who, as soon as hear of the arrival of a foreigner to
Istanbul, they run to his home to subscribe him.”
“Those swindlers* have no right to chew on your personality...be sure of that...”
“I am thankful. Goodbye, Apisoghom agha; visit our office one day to have a cup of
coffee.”
“Very well; I’ll come some day. Don’t forget to put it in tomorrow’s paper.”
“Don’t worry.”
Apisoghom agha and the editor became separated from each other at the intersection
of Pera, where they had reached talking.
Apisoghom agha, now left alone, continued on the road making the following
contemplations:
“I didn’t think of myself as much of a great man as this editor thinks; but of course he
knows better than me how great I am, because he is an editor and educated...Tomorrow, those
who see my name in the paper will of course become excited and interested to meet me;
tomorrow I must wear my Sunday clothes and my gold watch and chain; I should have brought
my servants as well; who could ever know? Everyone will be informed tomorrow, that a great
man has arrived in Istanbul; someone noble-minded, noble-hearted, linguist, schooled,
educated, cultured, someone that is...etc...and every wife will tell her husband: “Let us give our
girl to this Apisoghom agha.” And the husband will answer to the wife: “Let’s see, would
Apisoghom agha take our girl? He probably wants to take a girl from a wealthy home.” Because
of this answer there will be an argument between the husband and the wife and they will tear
each other’s heads; Who cares...? The advantage of my name being published in the paper will
be that, by taking a wealthy girl in two days I shall complete this marriage business, for which I
came here...this marr..”
One of the caravan of donkeys which were carrying bricks crossed in front of Apisoghom
agha, interrupted his contemplations, in which he had sunk so much that he did not pay
attention to the donkeys in front of him, with which Pera boulevard was always full.
“Stand aside”, said the Persian donkey-driver to Apisoghom agha, trying to justify his
donkey.
“You should have said that before, to caution me”, replied Apisoghom agha, and
continued on his road.
THE MOST HONORABLE BEGGARS
By Hagop Baronian (1843-1891)
Published in 1985 by Shirak Printing, Los Angeles
Translated from the original Armenian by Shant Norashkharian
The porters had never seen or heard of Flower Street, but being encouraged by some
people who pretended to know what they did not know, and who are very numerous in our
nation, had dared to tell Apisoghom agha that they knew Flower Street very well.
The audacity of the porters was not to be condemned as much as that of those who
had studied cooking and did literary criticism, or those who having practised a little
engineering, lectured about the movement of stars, or having raised two geese and four cows,
get involved in educational issues, or having had a child, they evangelize about the world in
which the first man was born, or finally they discuss such matters that are totally foreign to the.
Yes! These men’s audacity is more condemnable, because literary criticism or astronomy or
pedagogy etc. is not Flower Street, which one could get to know immediately by asking others.
And indeed, the porters having asked the people coming toward them at every step,
immediately found Flower Street and knocked on door number 2; while I have listened to many
evangelists, who after talking for eight hours continuously, were unable to find the street that
they looked for, and had to wander in other streets and made their listeners wander by holding
their noses.
As soon as the porters knocked on the door, the door was opened and a woman with a
dark and long face appeared, a face on which time had drawn as many lines of correction as
the editor of “Massis” draws over four handwritten lines, which announced one’s death or
another’s wedding.
The porters, having entered inside, left the their loads on the floor and started wiping their
sweat.
“These must be Apisoghom agha’s, aren’t they?” The dark-faced woman asked the
porters.
“He did not tell us his name”, answered one of the porters, continuing to wipe his sweat
on his head with a black handkerchief.
“What kind of man was he?”
“He was wearing a large*”.
“What color, white or dark?”
“No, it was black.”
“Yes, black, but nice; whoever hugs it in the winter does not get cold.”
“What kind of talk is that, what hugging is that...? I am not one of those women that you
know, do you understand?” Said the woman emphasizing her words.
“I didn’t say anything harmful, what’s wrong with hugging?” Answered the porter,
spreading his handkerchief on a chair.
“What can be more harmful than that?”
“We don’t understand very delicate things.”
“I’ll make you understand...do you know me...?”
“What harm comes from hugging?”
“I have a husband, why should I hug that?”
“Those with husbands hug as well, husband is one thing, that is another; that will keep
you warm. Suppose you went out to the street one winter night, you can’t hug your husband,
but you can put that on your back...”
“Apisoghom agha?”
“The cape*, madam...can Apisoghom agha be carried on the back?”
“Until now you were talking about the cape*?”
“Isn’t that what we were talking about...? What did you think?”
“I thought you said that I should hug Apisoghom agha”.
“God have mercy, God have mercy, Lord my God”, said the porter pulling his
handkerchief from the chair.
The lady, being satisfied with the porter’s explanation, said in an ordering tone:
“Take this bed and these trunks upstairs.”
The porters obeyed and lifted the loads again, and as soon as they stepped on the first
step of the stairs, the lady shouted:
“Did you come from the mountain?”
“No, from the bid boulevard”.
“I know you came from the big boulevard; can one go upstairs with those shoes? Look
what you did to my wood floor, I wiped it today, and I was exhausted.”
“What can we do, we have no other shoes?”
“Why are you standing and staring at me? Shouldn’t you take them off?”
“Don’t shout, madam, don’t shout! We’ll take them off.”
And they took off their shoes, which were cleaner than their feet.
“You are going upstairs with those feet?”
“Do we have other feet? We are going upstairs with these feet,” answered the aliens
with such a pathetic voice, that as if because of their poverty they did not possess more than
two feet, and as if the wealthy had four, five or six feet.
“Come down, I don’t want this, leave them on the floor, I will carry them.”
“That would be better.”
“Ah, what can I say about the one I have, who does not go to work, and from morning to
evening visits the coffeeshops, sits and discusses Armenian affairs, he makes me so poor that I
am forced to get someone to rent from me”, murmured the lady to herself and with a wet rag
which was placed in front of the stairs started wiping the first step of the stairs.
“Madam, shall we still wait...?”
“If he were someone with a brain in his head”, continued the lady talking to herself, “I
would be living now the life of a queen; I have neither a child, nor anything else; but what can I
do, if all he cares about is electing or firing community leaders. May God curse them all, those
community leaders who are causing the misery of us all. What’s it to you, whoever wants the
position let him have it, and whoever does not let him not have it, are you the one left to
arrange the affairs of the nation...?”
“Madam, give us our pay, so that we may go rather than wait here idly”, said the
porters.
“Come back tomorrow”, answered the lady, and the porters who were used to hearing
the word ‘tomorrow’, went out after the lady’s answer.
“He is after a community leader”, continued the lady again, “and you can never
complain, that in order to eat one must have bread, one must have meat, one must have oil,
one must have rice; to cook those one must have wood, one must have coal; he never asks
about that; he leaves before daybreak and comes back in the evening after dark. Our guest
has already come today and will be here in an hour; probably the man is hungry, we must put
something in front of him to eat, but we have nothing, because when he comes home in the
evenings he does not bring even a piece of meat or fish so that there would be some food at
home...we have nothing in our house but community leaders, every evening community
leaders...”
The lady had not finished her criticism when a man around seventy, who had opened
the door with a key, entered with a smile and greeted the lady. This man was the lady’s
husband. His wrinkled * forehead was extraordinarily noticeable and he had such a face that it
seemed someone tickled *him.
As soon as this man had set foot on the threshold the woman faced him and asked:
“Where were you until now, for God’s sake?”
“Don’t say it, wife, we finished the community leader’s work today. Sunday there will be
an election, and all the members will become honorable men. Toros agha has been running
after me for a few days and buying me oghi to drink, so that I would vote for the men he wants,
but I voted for my men, because my men buy me oghi to drink every night and they are very
good honorable men, unlike others they don’t steal money from the community’s treasury and
the school...”
“This is not the time for these words; go quickly and bring a piece of meat.”
“Toros agha got a little upset, and from now on he won’t play cards with me, so let him
not play...!”
“What am I telling you...hurry up, go!”
“I shall play checkers with the priest Mardiros from now on.”
“We’ll talk about that later, Manoug agha, go to the butcher and bring a little meat.”
“You don’t ask, wife, about priest Mardiros’s problem; the poor man’s wife almost died
tonight...”
“Why?”
“She gave birth to a son, but with great difficulty; four midwives and sixteen doctors
could barely pull the boy out.”
“Poor woman!”
“Go visit her tomorrow for a little while!”
“I’ll go. Now you go ahead and get this meat job done”.
“Does it have to be meat tonight?”
“Sure, they brought Apisoghom agha’s bed and trunks, and he will be here soon.”
“Really, wife?”
“Why would I lie?”
“Very well then; I’ll go and get an honorable piece of meat.”
Manoug agha immediately came out and as soon as he took a few steps his wife
started calling him:
“Manoug agha, Manoug agha...!”
Manoug agha came back.
“What shall we cook the meat with?”
“Whatever you like, potatoes or beans”.
“That’s not what I mean; we don’t have coal, get some coal also.”
“Very well”, answered Manoug agha, and started leaving.
“Manoug agha, Manoug agha!” Called the lady again.
Manoug agha came back.
“Well, only meat is not enough, get a little rice also, so that we could make some soup.”
“You said it well, wife, let’s get a little rice also.”
Manoug agha this time started running, and just when he was about to turn the corner of
the street, the wife called him at the top of her voice:
“Manoug agha...Manoug agha...Ma..”
The husband stopped and came back again, this time putting a little discount on the
cheerfulness of his face.
“What do you want...?”
“For God’s sake, you’re running like a steamboat, my voice is gone. We don’t have
onion, we must get a little kerosene or a lantern to have light; shall we have the man sit in the
dark?”
“Fine! Tell me everything at once, so that I can go to the grocer and buy everything
there; you called me back a hundred times.”
“We don’t have a bottle for water either...I have nothing to tie around my head, and no
shoes to wear; in this condition how can I see Apisoghom agha?”
“Let’s get the food now, and tomorrow we’ll worry about the clothes”, said Manoug
agha, and left after forcefully pulling the door.
“Manoug agha...!Manoug agha...!”
“I don’t care how many times you call, I am not going back!” muttered Manoug agha
and continued walking.
Manoug agha had passed a few streets, when he heard a woman’s voice calling him:
“If you have nothing to do, run after me shouting”, said to himself Manoug agha, without
turning his head back to see who was calling him.
“Manoug agha! Manoug agha!” Repeated the voice, which was the voice of priest
Mardiros’s ten year old daughter.
Manoug agha continued walking, and priest Mardiros’s daughter, taking faster steps,
came as close as ten steps to him. The poor girl who was out of breath, called him one more
time:
“Manoug agha!”
Again she did not get an answer, so she had to walk faster and pull the edge of Manoug
agha’s clothes.
“Let me go, wife!” Said Manough agha, without looking back.
“I want to say something”.
“I have no time to listen; I can hardly remember what you said, now you want to tell me
more...”
“I was going to ask where the midwife’s house was...”
As soon as he heard the word ‘midwife’, Manoug agha woke up and seeing behind him
priest Mardiros’ daughter,
“Aghavni, was that you running after me?” He asked her.
“Y...e...s...” replied Aghavni, who could not talk anymore from breathing hard.
“How is your mother?”
Aghavni was breathing hard.
“Won’t you tell me, how is your mother, did something bad happen?”
All of Aghavni’s answers were hard breaths.
“I am going to crack from my anxiety, won’t you tell me, girl, is this the time to breathe
hard, how is your mother?”
“My mo...ther...is...fine...but...the...ba...ba...by...is...not...hol...ding...her...breast..
the...mid...wife...will...”
“Very well, very well, my girl, you go back home, I’ll send the midwife.”
Aghavni left Manough agha, who changed his way to find the midwife’s home.
Not wanting to bore our readers, we shall leave Manough agha, who at every stepwould
meet a friend and announce to him either about the election of the community leader, or priest
Mardiros’ wife’s having a new baby son, or Apisoghom agha’s arrival. Let us return now to
Apisoghom agha.
THE MOST HONORABLE BEGGARS
By Hagop Baronian (1843-1891)
Published in 1985 by Shirak Printing, Los Angeles
Translated from the original Armenian by Shant Norashkharian
(Italics are from the translator)
It has been a custom for quite a few years, that many of those who go to France or
Germany to have an education return to our capital to take a wife, and the reader already
knows that Apisoghom agha had no other purpose for coming to Istanbul.
The reader also did not forget how much this business of taking a wife occupied
Apisoghom agha’s mind, who without seeing the donkeys crossing in front of him, was hit by one
of them.
Perhaps it should be asked whether this donkey that hit Apisoghom agha also had a
marriage-related business, because he also missed seeing a big man like Apisoghom agha.
Those who are familiar with history more or less, know that the donkeys, one of whose
forefathers had once seen an angel, never give any importance to us mortals and they want
that we always yeild the way to them. If Apisoghom agha had been familiar with history, or did
not have his mind occupied with the business of taking a wife, of course he would have yeilded
the way to those creatures, who with their ears also have the honor of being the representatives
of King Mitas (see Footnote 1) .
So, Apisoghom agha, after being separated from the donkeys, was asking this or that
person questions for directions to Flower Street, because it was the first time that he had vome to
Istanbul and one of his friends who lived in Trabzon had advised him that for eating and sleeping
comfortably, he must stay at the street and the number mentioned before. That friend also had
informed Manoug agha with a letter a week earlier that Apisoghom agha was going to stay at
their home. Apisoghom agha, according to the directions that he was given, entered one street
and came out another, sometimes by mistake he entered dead end streets, he became angry,
he turned back, and on the other hand he suspected that the porters escaped with his bed and
trunks, even though he had heard from many people that they were trustworthy.
After going up and down on Pera’s streets for an hour, Apisoghom agha finally
succeeded finding Flower Street, which should not be confused with the other street of the same
name, which had turned to ashes from the fire in Pera which took place in one thousand eight
hundred seventy and I don’t recall what. This street was called Flower street, because there
were always flowers in front of all the windows of the houses there.
“Which is number two?” He asked without knowing Manough agha’s wife, who was
waiting for her husband in front of the door.
“This is it, please come in, Apisoghom agha”, answered the lady.
“Did they bring my bed and my trunks?”
“They brought them , Apisoghom agha; please come upstairs, Apisoghom agha, if you
like, and sit in this small room to rest a little”, said the lady showing him a small den on the first
floor.
“I am very tired, I’ll sit here for a while.”
“Whatever you wish, please do so Apisoghom agha, the house is yours, Apisoghom agha,
please feel at home.”
“Thank you”.
“Apisoghom agha entered the small room following the lady, who was holding a lantern,
which was almost out of oil.
“How are you doing, Apisoghom agha, how is everyone at home, doing well?”
“They are fine.”
“Let them be well. How are your children, Apisoghom agha, do they go to school?”
“I have no children”.
“How about your wife? Is she doing well?”
“I don’t have a wife yet.”
“You are not married, Apisoghom agha?”
“No”.
“Very well, we shall find a very pretty girl here for you and make you an Istanbulian.”
“I have a thought like that, but before the girl I want some food, because as of this
morning I have not put anything in my mouth.”
“Very well, Apisoghom agha, very well, I’ll bring your dinner now.”
The lady came outside, opened the door and waited for Apisoghom agha on the
threshold, who as the readers remember had gone looking for a midwife.
Having been left alone in the room, Apisoghom agha picked up a book called “Spiritual
Weapon” (footnote number 2), which was placed on a pillow and started looking through it;
but because one cannot read a book when he is hungry, and cannot write a book as well, he
placed the “Spiritual Weapon” back on the pillow, since his belly informed him that he needed
the “Body Weapon”, and started pacing in the room.
“I beg you, Apisoghom agha, to rest as if you were at home”, said the lady, entering the
room.
“I have no problem with comfort, I am just hungry and want some food.”
“Your food is being prepared, I shall bring it now”, said the lady and came outside again
to wait for her husband in front of the door.
“What kind of woman is this?” Said Apisoghom agha when he was left alone, “she keeps
me hungry and asks me to be comfortable; can a hungry man be comfortable...?”
“Just assume that I am your sister or your daughter”, said the sixty year old woman after
coming inside again, “if you wish something, don’t be shy, tell me so I can bring it.”
“Thank you”.
“I want that the guests who come to my house are not uncomfortable.”
“I understand; for now I don’t want anything except food.”
“The food is being prepared, don’t worry.”
The lady was still going to continue the conversation, but since the door was knocked,
she ran outside quickly to open it, to greet her husband, to take the supplies to cook dinner.
“Greetings, lady”, said someone as soon as the door was opened.
“There was no need to say that the newcomer was a cregyman, because only they use
the word “Greetings”.
“May God bless”, answered the lady.
“How are you, are you well, lady?”
“Glory to God”, Father.
“Manough agha informed me that a guest has arrived today, and I came to see him.”
“You have done well, please come in Father”, said the lady, showing him to the den
where Apisoghom agha was waiting with his hunger.
The priest entered inside.
Apisoghom agha stood up.
“Greetings, Apisoghom agha.”
“May God bless”, Father.
“This sinner, being informed of your pious person’s arrival, came to ask about the state of
your honorable zestfulness; how are you, Apisoghom agha?”
“Fine”.
“I hope you will always do well, (old Armenian) may God our Lord grant kingdom to your
dead and long life to the ones alive.”
“Thank you, how are you doing, Father?”
“Don’t ask about our wellness...wellness in our times... (old Armenian) May God our Lord
keep you away from all temptation and evil; when the people are doing well, the priests’ faces
will laugh as well.
“That is so, Father”, answered Apisoghom agha, never taking his eyes away from the
den’s door, from where he was expecting food.
“Blessed man, the times are bad, the people are having a hard time, and because of
that our vitality is becoming less from one day to the other.”
“That’s true.”
“But what can we do? What are we able to do beside being patient...? The Bible says,
(old Armenian) “ Whoever has patience shall live”.
“That is so.”
“If we are not patient, we shall be angry, and the prophet says, (old Armenian) ‘Don’t sin
from anger’ ”.
“It’s true”, replied Apisoghom agha, who never understood the priest’s words and was
disturbed by the priest’s presence, because as the readers know, he did not need anything
beside food.
“(Old Armenian) ‘Because man does not live by bread alone but by the word of God!”
The priest pulled out a box of ‘nose-grass’, filled his nostrils with it using two fingers, and
then putting it in front of Apisoghom agha, said:
“Be my guest, blessed man!”
Apisoghom agha took the box thankfully and snorted some ‘nose-grass’.
“You didn’t snort enough, Apisoghom agha, I beg you, snort one more time, ‘nose-grass’
is not something harmful.
Apisogho agha snortd one more time, to cut the conversation short and to let the guest
leave.
“Why don’t you snort it harder, Apisoghom agha? Repeated the priest, “Please snort a
lot”.
“Thanks, Father, I don’t have the habit.”
“Please, don’t reject the word of this sinner, snort a little more!”
“You don’t feel shame anymore!” Said Apisoghom agha in his mind and snorted a little
more.
“The prophet David said, (old Armenian) ‘Man, your days are like grass...’ ”
“He said that about nose-grass?”
“No, about us...and we must try in this transient life to do good to others, to care for the
poor and sometimes pray for the souls of our dead.”
“That is so.”
“We must be ready so that as soon as we are called we could go.”
“It’s true.”
“This sinner will dare to ask your pious person for a favor and I hope that you won’t refuse,
because this sinner is very familiar with your piety and zestfulness.”
“Be my guest!”
“(Old Armenian) May the Lord our God always keep his infinite treasure open to the
zesful ones like your highness”.
“Thank you.”
“May He give you a thousand for one, a million for a thousand for building the holy
church and for the glory of the nation. The favor I ask is that next Sunday I offer a mass for the
souls of your dead. Forgive my daring, but it is my duty always to inform that we ought not forget
the dead.”
“You are right, Father.”
“So if you wish, tell me so that accordingly I make an arrangement. Don’t think that the
expense is too much; it’s all covered with two gold coins. We can announce in the church on
the same day, that the sacred and immortal mass is being offered for the souls of the dead of
Apisoghom agha.”
“I thank you.”
“It’s nothing, it’s our duty.”
“Be my guest, take the two gold coins”, said Apisoghom agha, taking them out of his
moneybag and giving them to the priest.
“Keep them for today...no need to hurry”, answered the priest opening his palms.
“No, take them!”
“Since you insist, I’ll take them not to break your heart. Be blessed, may the Lord our God
always prosper your home, may He always fill your moneybag; whatever you have in your heart,
may the Lord our God realize; may He give you success in your business and keep you free of all
misfortunes.”
As soon as the priest finished his best wishes he said goodbye and left.
“I am finally free”, said Apisoghom agha to himself, “of this man’s hands; what are these
misfortunes that fall on my head today since I set foot in Istanbul? As soon as I leave the
streamboat, some editor gave me headache for two hours; I left him and until I found the house,
I had to deal with a thousand hassles. When I came here to take a breath and eat something,
the landlady keeps me hungry and always comes in and begs me not to have any worry and to
look for my comfort. As if that wasn’t enough, there comes this man, forces me to snort
‘nose-grass’, and speaking of the prophet David takes two gold coins and then leaves; may he
leave me and go. I endured all this with an empty belly; but why don’t hey bring my dinner? Are
they going to keep me hungry tonight...? What kind of scandal is this...?”
Apisoghom agha was asking himself these questions, when the oil which was already
burning with a weak flame, burns out completely and leaves the guest in the dark.
“This is not something that one should put up with!” Continues the large man. I must
either go somewhere else or call the woman and tell her a few words. I had two servants in my
city who were ready for my beckoning call; they set the table early and looked after my affairs;
why should a man used to servants have to endure such hassles?”
“What is this, the light is out...? Asked the lady opening the door of the room.
“Yes, it is out!” Answered Apisoghom agha restraining his feelings of anger, which were
getting stronger.
“Don’t worry, Apisoghom agha, it is our job to look after such things.”
“Yes, but I am hungry and unable to wait.”
“What did I tell you, don’t worry about that, leave everything to me, I’ll take care of
them.”
The lady immediately ran to the neighbor’s house and brought some oil to light
Apisoghom agha’s den.
First Footnote: Midas, Phrygian king. According to legend, Midas being the judge of the
choirs of Apollo and Pan, gives preference to Pan’s choir. Because of that, Apollo pulls his ears
and turns them to donkey’s ears.
Second Footnote: “ Spiritual Weapon” is a book of religious content, known under the
name of “Book Called Spiritual Weapon”. It is composed of three parts, of which one part is in
Turkish with Armenian letters. The author is Patriarch Nalian. It was printed in Istanbul in 1757.
THE MOST HONORABLE BEGGARS
By Hagop Baronian (1843-1891)
Published in 1985 by Shirak Printing, Los Angeles
Translated from the original Armenian by Shant Norashkharian
(Italics are from the translator)
Not even half an hour had passed from having the light on again, when a young man
appeared in front of Apisoghom agha, who did not look like a merchant, or an office clerk, or a
craftsman, or a laborer, and basically looked like something that does not look like anything else.
He seemed to be barely thirtytwo years old. He was adorned with blue eyes, blond hair and a
beard two finger-widths long, which in our capital is a sign of mourning or of poverty. His clothes
were so old, that antique dealers would offer him a great sum of money for them. But if he was
repelling because of his clothes, there was something very attractive about this person’s face.
“I am the servant of your majesty, most honorable master!” This young man yelled
coming into the room and approaching Apisoghom agha.
“What is it, what do you want?” Asked Apisoghom agha becoming frightened.
“Most noble master, I hurried to come here when I heard of your arrival, to offer my deep
respects * to put under your feet.”
“Under my feet? Very well, put them!” Said Apisoghon agha, who thought that he had
brought him slippers*.
“Thank you, highly honorable master”, said the young man, took his hat off, climbed and
stood up on the table.
Apisoghom agha being completely confused with this scene, impatiently wanted to see
what this gentleman would do on the table.
The young man took out a paper from his pocket and directing his eyes toward
Apisoghom agha yelled with all his voice:
“Gentlemen and ladies...”
Apisoghom agha being frightened of this terrible voice, jumped up two feet from where
he was sitting and not being able to restrain himself, yelled:
“Who is this man, is he a madman who has escaped from the madhouse or a fool who
should be going to the madhouse?”
“The Armenian nation”, continued the young man lowering his voice a little, “today
performs such a celebration, which is dedicated to the most courageous hero of our nation...”
“What’s in your mind, brother?”
“There was a time, when darkness fought against light, ignorance against knowledge,
past against future, * tense with * tense, sword against pen, hatred against love, fire against
water, meat against vegetable; but now those times are gone; they are past, we are future,
they are darkness, we are light, they are ignorant, and we are knowledgeable, they are sword,
we are pen; they are hatred, we are love, they are fire, we are water, they are meat, we are
vegetable, they are cucumber, we are apple, they are thorn, we are rose; they are gone, those
centuries are gone, when mankind in the swing of ignorance went one way, then another, then
came this way...”
“What’s in your mind, brother, I didn’t do anything to you, what do you want from me?
Go and tell these words to the one who made you angry...”
“Yes, mankind was being tortured, disgraced in the hands of cruel tyrants and did not
know to whom to go and to whom to complain.”
“God have mercy...! God have mercy”, said Apisoghom agha to himself; we had this to
endure also...I can pull him down from the table right now, but I am afraid that he might pull a
gun from his pocket and shoot me, because he speaks with extreme anger.”
“But when science came”, continued the preacher, “and abolished ignorance, as light
to darkness, love to hatred, pen to sword, future to present, only then, ah, only then...yes, then,
yes, I say, only then it was understood, that the words humanity, nation and homeland were not
made to fill up the dictionaries, but these words were to be stamped in every person’s mind,
heart, soul, with iron letters and in a way that they are not erasable.”
“Brother, I beg you, come down and then tell me about your pain...!”
The place where the preacher stood was shaking so much that Apisoghom agha was
very worried that the lantern would fall on the floor.
Therefore not wanting to wait any longer, he yelled at the face of the self-proclaimed
preacher:
“Get down from there!”
“I beg you, don’t scold me!”
“Get down, or else...”
“Don’t break my heart, which beats for the nation!”
“Whatever you have to say, come close to me, sit down like a human being and say it;
why is it necessary to get up there?”
“I beg you, let me finish, ah, you don’t know how much sadness I feel when I make a
speech.”
“Come down!”
The preacher comes down from the stage and goes and sits on a chair.
“Now tell me, what’s in your mind?” Said Apisoghom agha with anger.
“I beg you, don’t get angry.”
“Whatever you want, tell me, fast, now!”
“Don’t treat me with anger, I kiss your feet, my heart is full, I shall start crying now.”
And the preacher starts crying.
“What is there to cry about, my brother?”
“Your servant desires to serve the nation with literature, but this nation treats its writers
with much ingratitude.”
“Where is my guilt in that?”
“You have no guilt and perhaps you have right...I have written poems about the
homeland, magnificent pieces, honorable sentences, in which the imagination, the sap*, the
vitality, the fire and the flame soar like airplane’s wings.”
“Very well, should one cry because of that?”
“Our nation does not recognize their respectability and honor, it considers them boyish
things and allows their writer to be left hungry.”
“What should I do?”
“I beg you, treat me with sweetness!”
“What am I doing to you?”
“I would beg you to...”
“What, say it quickly...!”
“Don’t shout at my face, for the love of your soul, I am beginning to cry...”
The writer began crying again.
“Lord our God, give me patience”, said Apisoghom agha to himself.
“My request is that I would like to print the speech I was reading a while ago...”
“Go and print it, is there anyone holding your hand?”
“I would ask from your greatly honorable person to pay the cost of printing.”
“Why...? What is the reason that I should pay for your speech? Is this ever heard of, that
someone prints a book for his own profit, and Apisoghom agha pays for the cost?”
“I entreat you, my heart is already pierced, don’t open another wound as well!”
“Why would I open a wound? Go away, brother, you have been a misfortune for me.”
“Do you know how hard it is for a writer to hear such words...?”
“I don’t know and don’t want to know.”
“A poet’s heart is very tender, he becomes wounded from the slightest remark. I have
written a poem on this subject, let me read it so you may hear it.”
“I don’t have time to hear a poem.”
“I beg you, don’t treat my poem harshly; I have worked two months on this poem that
you don’t want to hear, and when it is put down my sense of honor becomes wounded. I beg
you, don’t say bad things about my poem...! I entreat you, let me read it just once...”
“I didn’t come here to hear a poem.”
“Very well, I have written a tragedy, let us go over it.”
“I don’t want; I am hungry now, I shall eat.”
“Very well; let me make a speech on food.”
“I don’t have time to hear it.”
“I beg you, don’t say that again, there are no words more hurtful to a writer, who
expresses the desire to read one of his ouvres to someone else. I entreat you, most honorable
master, treat authors with sweetness.”
“Shall I have you sit on my head?”
“I kiss your feet, don’t laugh at me, why would you have me sit on your head?”
“What should I do then? Should I give you my moneybag to have authors treated with
sweetness?”
“No, just the cost of printing my speech!”
“How many gold coins does it take?”
“Four gold coins, it is nothing, you will be my Sponsor, and I shall put your name with a
poem on top of the cover.”
“Right on top of the cover?”
“Yes!”
“For what reason?”
“So that everyone would know that the book was printed with your money.”
“Very well”, replied Apisoghom agha, took out four gold coins from his pocket and gave
them to him. The author left after offering a thousand respects.
Apisoghom agha called him back and asked:
“Isn’t it possible that you also put the names of my servants on top of your book’s cover
and inform the nation, that Apisoghom agha has cows, sheep, donkeys and farms in his city?”
“The things you say are related to pastoral songs.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Poems are written about those things; if you wish, I’ll compose a poem.”
“What shall I do with a poem?”
“You can print it in a newspaper.”
“Will they print it?”
“Why won’t they print it? If you give them half a gold coin, they’ll print it forty times.”
“Very well; write what you mentioned.”
“With pleasure.”
“But make it something good.”
“Very well.”
“Such that, the one who sees it will like it.”
“Of course!”
“Can you bring it tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow morning...? What do you say...? I can make it ready in at least one month.”
“One month?”
“Barely; it’s easy to read a poem, but hard to write it. For a beautiful poem at the
minimum two months are needed.”
“What do you say...?”
“Yes! but I shall try to finish it in a month.”
“How hard is that to do!”
“What did you think then? I must wait two month for my muse to come and inspire me, so
that I can write it; a poem cannot be written without a muse.”
“What if that muse didn’t come...?”
“It will come for sure.”
“Is it possible, that you write a letter to him and beg him to come quickly, so that you
won’t have to wait two months?”
“It comes by itself, it does not need a letter, most honorable master.”
“Where does he live...? Is he very far from here?”
“Yes, he is very far, but he will come.”
“By land or by sea?”
“No, most honorable master, no!”
“Then who is this damnable man...? Where will he come from...? Tell me so that we could
contemplate a way to bring him... If we gave him one or two gold coins, would he come this
week?”
“Yes, as soon as you give two gold pieces, things get easier, and my muse will come
running this week”, replied the musa-less poet as soon as he heard the word gold.”
“Write to him then, and send him my special greetings and tell him that Apisoghom agha
wants to see him!”
“With pleasure. Goodbye, master, I am thankful, I am a servant to your greatly honorable
person and I beg you to accept...”
“No”, said Apisoghom agha angrily, “you made it too long! I already accepted
everything that you said, what should I accept more...?”
“With my great respects, master...with which I shall remain the humblest servant of your
most honorable person.”
“Very well.”
The poet left, promising to bring the muse with two gold coins, whom others can bring for
less than that. The daily wage of a muse is not more than the daily wage of a * nowadays.
Apisoghom agha, as the readers observed, would forget his hunger every time someone
promised him to put his name in the newspaper or to make an announcement at the church,
just like he would open his moneybag and reward all those who promised to him to make his
name to the people. Love of glory is also a kind of hunger, which people satisfy with money. The
love of glory to be mentioned in the papers, which some consider an addiction, and some
others wish to classify with virtue, and which today is present in all classes of our people, has
taken over Apisoghom agha as well, who, after the departure of the poet, started worrying his
mind over the poem instead of his hunger.
“I wonder”, he asked himself, “if the poem will be as I want? Would this man’s muse
come in a few days? And if he didn’t come, can another one be brought instead...?”
He was asking himself these questions, when the landlady came in and said:
“Dinner is ready, be our guest, Apisoghom agha!”
According to the clock of the Moslems (First footnote), it was four o’clock at night.
First Footnote: The clock of the Moslems starts from sunset, which is twelve o’clock at
night.
THE MOST HONORABLE BEGGARS
By Hagop Baronian (1843-1891)
Published in 1985 by Shirak Printing, Los Angeles
Translated from the original Armenian by Shant Norashkharian
(Italics are from the translator)
The room where Apisoghom agha had repented and asked for salvation, had another
room across from it, which was close to the kitchen and was used for eating. Apisoghom agha
entered that room following the lady who had finally set the table.
Apisoghom agha as he came into the room greeted Manough agha, who was busy
arranging the chairs around the table.
“Please sit here, Apisoghom agha!” said Manoug agha, showing his guest the head of
the table.
“Your lordship must sit down first, and then I shall sit”, answered the guest, sitting in the
place that was shown to him.
“Forgive us for having dinner so late, other evenings you may eat anytime you wish;
tonight because of a few reasons the table could not be prepared on time; I’ll tell you those
reasons later. How are you, let’s see, Apisoghom agha, are you comfortable?” asked Manoug
agha lowering his voice.
“Very comfortable”.
“We thank you, how is our friend in Trabzon?”
“He is fine. He had special greeting for you.”
“May the one who brings and takes greetings live. If I gave you a glass of oghi, would
you like it? It will stimulate your appetite.”
“I’ll have one glass only.”
“Very well. Be my guest!”
Manoug agha handed the glass to Apisoghom agha, who swallowed it with one gulp, I
mean the oghi not the glass.
“May it be sweet, Apisoghom agha”.
“Thank you”.
“To your life.”
“May you live.”
Manough agha, after mixing the oghi with water, drank it with four gulps.
“Until the lady heats and brings the dishes, we can talk and pass the time, isn’t it so,
Apisoghom agha?”
“Yes”, replied the guest, in such a tone of voice, that he was trying to say that it is better
to eat first than to talk.”
“Listen then to the problems that poured on our heads today. For a few weeks now we
have been involved with the election of a community leader. Now you will say in your mind,
‘what business do you have with the community leader?’ Isn’t it so, Apisoghom agha, if I didn’t
look after the business of the nation, you didn’t, he didn’t, who will? It is a worthless bad thing,
everyone shies away from it, and the nation’s business remains undone. As far as I know,
everyone to the extent he can ought to take care of the nation’s business. Will you drink one
more glass, Apisoghom agha? It stimulates the appetite.”
“I don’t have the habit of drinking more than one glass.”
“Our glasses are small, and specially since the air in Istanbul can bear it.”
“Very well.”
The two friends drank one more glass to each other’s lives, and Manough agha started
his speech:
“This morning”, he said, “when I went to our community courtyard, I met one of our
friends, may he not be better than you, Melkon agha. This Melkon agha had first taken the
daughter of Bartholomew agha as wife. This Bartholomew agha was once pointed by everyone
as a good man, hospitable man, patriotic and pious man, and he had many shops in the market
from which he earned a lot of income. After a few years Melkon agha’s wife died, and Melkon
agha married the daughter of * Nicholas. This girl has a few brothers, one of whom does clerical
work for Ampagoum agha. This Ampagoum agha had a son, who wasted a lot of his father’s
money playing cards and then escaped to Russia. This boy was the nephew of the grandson of
the sister of archbishop Markar. The other brother is a goldsmith in the market; a tall and
handsome man. The third brother used to wander around doing nothing, fell in poverty, was
going to die from hunger when he got elected as community leader and matured in one or two
years. To cut it short, Melkon agha after taking the daughter of that Nicholas agha as wife had a
very comfortable life for a few years, but then his luck turned around, one failure after another
followed him, and lost everything he possessed. Let me take him and bring him here one day,
and you will see what a good man he is. He also has a brother, who is a skillful watchmaker; he
once lived at Boyuk Dere, then he lived in Skudar for a few years, then after moving to Koum
Kapou he couldn’t live there either, and now I don’t know where he lives. But he is a very skillful
watchmaker. Toros agha, who would never trust any other watchmaker with his watch, gives his
watch to him for cleaning. Do you know this Toros agha? He is a different kind of man; I’ll tell you
one of his stories and you listen to see whether there is really such a man in the world, who...”
“Shall I bring the soup?” asked the lady stretching her head into the entrance to the
room.
“Be a little patient, lady, let me finish my word, then you may bring it. Isn’t that so,
Apisoghom agha, more talk is what we need! If you have no time to listen and I am giving you a
headache, tell me!”
“What kind of word is that...?”
Apisoghom agha could not continue his word, which was interrupted by Manough agha
who had started the story of Toros agha:
“This Toros agha”, he continued, “is a fur dealer, may he hear us, and he leads a
comfortable life with his family. He buys the food, the furniture and the clothes needed for his
household with his own hands, and he trusts no one beside himself, may he hear us. He buys
meat from the butcher, as soon as he comes home he weighs it and always finds it a few grams
less, goes back to the butcher, he gets into a fight with him and then brings back home the
same meat which was a few grams less. He is such a strange man, may he hear us. One day this
Toros agha, may he hear us, goes to a watch maker to have his watch cleaned from the dust,
starts bargaining with him, and finally agrees to pay him fifteen pennies, under the condition
that the watchmaker cleaned his watch in front of him, because Toros agha, may he hear us, as
I said, since he does not have any trust in anyone, did not want to give his watch to the
watchmaker and leave, being afraid that something may be stolen from the watch, or the
watchmaker intentionally damages the watch to create a big expense, as many watchmakers
do when they remain unemployed for a few days. The watchmaker considers Toros agha’s
proposal to be an insult to his honor, and becomes angry. If you were in place of the
watchmaker, wouldn’t you get angry as well?”
“I would get angry”, replied Apisoghom agha, whose brain and mind were so
preoccupied with the soup, that he never gave ear to Manough agha’s story.
“Toros agha, may he hear us, becomes furious because of the watchmaker getting
angry at him, and he tells him a few insulting words, which he should not have done; Isn’t it so?”
“It is so”, answered Apisoghom agha again mechanically, always giving answers in
agreement to the questions directed to him so that the story did not become longer, and the
dishes were brought in.
“The watchmaker, may he hear us, kicks Toros agha out; And Toros agha, may he hear
us, refuses to leave the shop, thinking that being kicked out would be an insult; if it were you, you
wouldn’t leave either!”
“I wouldn’t leave”, answered Apisoghom agha, who did not know where he would not
leave and why he would not leave, since as we said, not one word from Toros agha’s story had
entered his ears; he only answered the questions.
“The fighting starts; the watchmaker, may he hear us, gives Toros agha a slap, ans Toros
agha, may he hear us, gives the watchmaker a kick. I think, whoever was in the place of Toros
agha, he would not have responded to the watchmaker’s slap in any other way. Let me kiss
your feet, Apisoghom agha, tell me, isn’t that so?”
“You cook it with tomatoes?” suddenly asked Apisoghom agha.
“With tomatoes...?”
“Yes, I heard in other places they cook it with tomatoes.”
“The watch?”
“Which watch?”
“Toros agha’s watch.”
“Who is Toros agha?”
“So you did not listen to my story?”
“I did, I completely did”, said Apisoghom agha, who confirmed with his question about
tomatoes that his mind went from the soup to the tomato, from the tomato to how the rice soup
in Istanbul was cooked, and had never given ear to the words of Manoug agha.
Apisoghom agha had a lot of right in not listening to his landlord’s longwinding speech,
specially when he had an empty stomach.
There are people in the world, who believe that they have the right to hold someone
from his nose and to give him a headache for hours. There are others, who look for people to
listen to their words, and if they did not find anyone, they would be ready to willingly offer
someone a daily wage; some others look for listeners who would take a monthly salary. Many
times this misfortune has happened to me, and as I pretended to listen, I thought about my
work; giving signs of agreement to the questions directed to me, I have replied “that is so”, when
I was asked “isn’t it so?” I have answered “this is justice”, when I was asked “Isn’t this justice?”
I have said “You have right” when I was asked “Don’t I have right?”, to cut the story short. It may
be unfortunate though, if the one giving you the headache asks you such a question which is
hard to answer, because he leaves the verdict to you. For example, after he finishes the speech
which you never heard, he may ask you:
“Who has the right, Margos agha or Giragos agha?”
What can one answer? You do not know anything about it; To whom should one give
the right? One must specially know to whom he should give the right so that he won’t hurt the
heart of the one who is hurting his head. I have found an easy way out of that also:
“One must finish this business with goodwill.”
“Yes, but who has the right?”
“What’s the use...? It’s not possible to deal with a bad man”
“Yes, but I beg you, tell me which one of the two has the right?”
“Why do you insist that I say it, brother, it is as obvious as two times two to whom the right
belongs.”
I have satisfied many with these answers of mine; but there are some, who would as if
deliver you to the police, if you didn’t tell them that Margos has the right and Giragos is unfair. To
get rid of those, I have told them that I have some urgent business and walked away. But lately,
seeing that this behavior of mine encouraged the talkative ones, putting politeness aside I said
to one of them:
“Sir, to listen to you for two hours I request two gold coins. If you give me one penny less
than two gold coins, I will not accept.”
The man gave me half a gold coin, and I refused and got rid of him. These days I hear
that this man hired two more listeners for a quarter of a gold coin. How I envy “Massis”, which
instead of paying its listeners receives money from them.
Apisoghom agha did not behave like me and as it became apparent, when with his
tomato questions he made his preacher feel that he had not heard the speech at all, to cover
up his impoliteness immediately he said:
“I listened to you completely.”
Did he do well? It is obvious, that he did badly; if I were in his place, I would have simply
said to Manough agha:
“Manough agha, look at me my brother, when one starts talking he must not put his
conscience aside. I have been hungry for eight hours, and I never need to know whose son is
Mardiros agha, whose father is Kevork agha, that the watchmaker slapped Toros agha, and that
Toros agha kicked the watchmaker”.
I would have spoken openly like that, not just to those in society who give headaches,
but also to those priests, who preach for four hours just to talk a lot, and they get hurt when
someone from the congregation leaves the church during their preaching. And I have already
told a bishop one day, who after preaching for five hours had left the church to go to his room:
“Where are you going, your holiness? I asked him.
“I am going to my room to change since I am sweating a lot.”
“Where are you going?” He asked me.
“I am going home to change.” I answered him.
From that day the bishop started to make his preaching short.
Apisoghom agha did not have this daring and gave way to Manough agha to continue
his speech after answering the tomato question.
“We use tomatoes here in soup, in pilav, and a few other meat dishes, but never in a
watch.”
“Thank you; so it is used in soup, I just wished to know.”
“Do you like soup with tomatoes or without?”
“I like it with tomatoes”.
“Very well. Now let us turn to our conversation...where were we...? Yes, it was about Toros
agha. He is a strange man, this Toros agha, may he hear us, he has many stories; another night I
shall narrate those to you. and we shall pass the time. Let’s not make it long, this morning I met
Melkon agha.”
“I brought it in, so that you may eat it while it’s still hot”, said the lady entering inside and
bringing the soup.
“Yes, yes, let us eat since I am very hungry”, said Apisoghom agha.
“Be my guest...!”
“Thank you”, said Apisoghom agha, and as soon as he took the spoon to his mouth, he
jumped from his place.
“I think it was very hot, forgive me, Apisoghom agha”, said the lady.
“Drink some water, Apisoghom agha”, added Manough agha.
“No problem, no problem...”
“Lady, why don’t you pay attention to the hotness or coldness of the food?” said the
husband to the wife.
“Tonight you must ignore our shortcomings, Apisoghom agha.”
“No problem, it’s nothing.”
“Until the soup cools, let me at least tell you what happened today”, said Manough
agha.
“Manough agha, don’t give Apisoghom agha a headache tonight, perhaps he doesn’t
like it.”
“I was going to talk to pass the time, so that he is entertained rather than upset.”
“Leave it for another night; can he listen to you tonight when he so tired?”
“I think Apisoghom agha will listen to the affairs of the nation with pleasure, never with
boredom.”
“Yes, Ilisten with pleasure!” answered the guest, but as the lady said, let’s leave it for
tomorrow, since I am very tired today.”
“Very well, very well, let it be as you wish; but our community leader’s work is very funny. If
Melkon agha was here to narrate, you would be cracking from laughing.”
“The soup has cooled, help yourself!” said the lady.
Apisoghom agha, as soon as he heard the invitation, attaced on the spoon.
“Will you drink another glass of oghi, Apisoghom agha?”
“No, thank you.”
“Lady, fill Apisoghom agha’s glass with wine.”
“Manough agha, you are saying strange things tonight; can one drink wine with soup?”
“Why not? Let’s see if he will like our wine.”
The lady went out, brought back boiled meat and put it on the table.
Apisoghom agha ate with such an appetite, that he swallowed the pieces of meat
without chewing them.
“May glory be to you, Lord, we are full tonight as well”, said Apisoghom agha, he left the
table and looked for water to wash, after filling up his belly like a minister and crossing his face
and saying “Our Father” with a low voice.
“Do you wash after eating”? Asked the lady to the guest.
“If there were water...”
“We don’t have the habit, but let me bring a little water for you to wash.”
Apisoghom agha washed and as he dried his hands he asked the lady in which room
was he to sleep.
The lady led the guest to a room on the second floor and came down.
This sleeping room was small, and we would be giving you its exact measurement by
telling you that it had the length of Apisoghom agha’s body. The bed was placed in front of that
only window which looked out toward the street. A chair, a small square table, a small mirror, a
bottle of water and a glass, a comb, and a brush made up the furniture of this room.
Apisoghom agha, as soon as he entered the room opened his arms and gave glory to
God again, for finally getting over the misfortunes and being left alone. A prisoner just released
from jail could not have felt so much happiness. As soon as he finished his praise to God he
threw himself into the bed.
“From now on I know what to do”, he said in bed, “I shall not meet with anyone because
I didn’t like these Istanbulians very much; they are either after taking your money, or giving you a
headache for two hours. What do I need this for? I have come here to take a wife and to leave;
the daughter of whomever that I like, I shall ask for; if they gave her to me, I’ll take her, and go
after my business; if they don’t give her, if they don’t give her...but why wouldn’t they give her...?
Will they give her to someone better than me...? If tomorrow this newspaper writes my name
gloriously, then many of them will beg me to take their daughter...What shall I do with more than
one...? From them I shall choose an honest girl...propose to her...get engaged...get married...
As he makes these decisions Apisoghom agha falls asleep.
THE MOST HONORABLE BEGGARS
By Hagop Baronian (1843-1891)
Published in 1985 by Shirak Printing, Los Angeles
Translated from the original Armenian by Shant Norashkharian
(Italics are from the translator)
Apisoghom agha had a good sleep that night, since he was very tired and perhaps he
would not have opened his eyes the next day also, if the street merchants had not disturbed his
sleep in the morning with their horrible voices, sleep which is that part of death which is not only
the resting place of weary people but also the temporary cure for many eternal pains. I envy
those who sleep or wake up late or never wake up, since they never feel or at least do not feel
as much those pains that wear people out. But there is not even the freedom to sleep in
Istanbul; At night the guards hit their canes against the ground with so much force, and in the
morning the street merchants advertise their merchandise so loudly, that even sleep gets
confused and does not know where to escape. If on the day of the Last Judgement the angel
Gabriel fails to wake the dead up with his trumpet, I will suggest that this function should be
delegated to the street merchants or the night guards. Apisoghom agha also, who was sleeping
in a room which overlooked the street, was forced to wake up early. As soon as he opened his
eyes he got out of bed, opened his trunk and changed his underwear, then washed and put on
his clothes.
The landlady, who was aware that the guest was up, went upstairs and offered him to sit
in a decorated room, and informed him that someone waiting downstairs wanted to see him:
“Let him come in”, said Apisoghom agha.
“Very well, I beg you tell me, do you drink your coffee with milk or without milk?”
“I drink milk without coffee.”
“I shall bring milk then.”
“Yes, bring milk”.
The lady went downstairs.
“Let’s see who this man is”, said to himself the big man, “perhaps he has a daughter for
marriage and having heard of my coming to Istanbul, has come to talk with me early in the
morning. But until I examine what kind of nature this girl has, I shall not give him my word; first I
must understand everything, check out the girl, then I must ask my father; because it is not
enough for me to like her, my father must also like my wife; not only my father, but everyone
should like her.”
“Hello, most noble sir”, said a thirty year old and vivacious young man entering the room
and running toward Apisoghom agha with fast steps, to shake his hands.
Apisoghom agha stood up and offered his hand to the young man, for him to squeeze
and shake them as much as he wanted, offering a thousand and one respects.
“Sit down, Apisoghom agha, I beg you, it’s not proper that you stand up”, said the young
man, returning the hands offered to him by their owner, kept stepping back looking humbled,
and sat on an armchair.
Apisoghom agha stretched on the pillow.
“Indeed it was our debt to come yesterday to congratulate your arrival; but we heard
late of your coming ; specially because of that we as for your forgiveness”, said the young man
rubbing his hands together.
“I do not see a shortcoming in you today for you to ask for forgiveness.”
“That is your politeness, which makes you speak like that, but we always recognize our
shortcoming. Indeed it was our great shortcoming; for a notable man like you to arrive at our
capital and for a photographer not to go to welcome him immediately, it is the shortcoming of
ahortcomings, and in no way will it stop being a shortcoming.”
“It is not a shortcoming at all, and if you had never come, even then I would not have
considered it to be a shortcoming.”
“You are so valiant.”
“I am not valiant at all.”
“Let it be as you say; I don’t see a reason to argue about that now; I only put myself
under your disposal and wait for your commands; if you like, you can have them pulled here, or if
you wish to honor our studio with your visit, we shall pull them there. For me it’s the same thing; as
you prefer, I am ready to do likewise.
“What are you pulling...? My teeth are fine.”
“I know that your teeth are fine, just like you are fine; I would like to take your
photograph.”
“Until now I have never had my picture taken and I don’t see a need to do that now,
since every day I look at the mirror and I see myself.”
“If you wanted to send your picture to someone else, could you send the mirror,
Apisoghom agha?”
“Why should I send the mirror, I shall go myself.”
“You speak well, but I cannot rest until I take your picture; for me it is smallness not to take
your picture, let it be the same for you as well.”
“Why?”
“Is it ever heard, that a notable man like you comes to Istanbul, but does not have his
picture taken? Are you going to make the whole world laugh at you?”
“Why?”
“The reason is obvious; great men naturally have great friends; you are a great man, so
today or tomorrow you will begin receiving the visits of great men. Many of them will will give you
their pictures as gifts, and you will be obliged to give one of yours to each of them.”
“And if I don’t, will they laugh at me?”
“Is there any doubt? In social gatherings they will point at you with their fingers.”
“Strange thing...”
“Is it ever heard, that a nobleman like you does not have his picture taken? That is great
shame...”
“Great shame...?”
“Yes, very great shame; it is less shameful for one to walk around without underwear,
than not to have his own picture.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Civilization and enlightenment impose this debt on us, that we all have our pictures.”
“Will the newspapers write, that Apisoghom agha had his picture taken?”
“This is not a matter related to newspapers...”
“That means there won’t even be announcements in the churches?”
“Why is an announcement needed, Apisoghom agha, are you laughing at me...?”
“Laughing at you? I am very much against that...what right do I have to laugh at
you...?”
“Don’t get angry...!”
“No, I’ll get angry, I have a nature that everything should be right.”
“Very well; in which position do you want your picture taken?”
“I have no intention of having my picture taken, since it seems to me to be something
useless.”
“What do you say? What is there more useful than that? If you wanted to pay a visit to
one of your friends and did not have the time, you could send one of your pictures and
everything would be fine. If you were married, you could send it to your spouse, so that she
could look at it and miss you during your absence; if you were not married, many girls would see
your picture and get to know who you are, so that in social gatherings people would talk about
you. A photograph today is more needed than bread; I beg you to become convinced, so that
we can go before too long to take your picture.”
“How will the girls see my picture and where?”
“Aren’t you giving them to your friends? Then they will put them in special albums and
show them to everyone.”
“What happens when they show them?”
“What did you want to happen...? You will always be remembered...”
“If I didn’t get remembered, what would I lose? Who cares, if they remember me?
Whether they want or not want to remember me, I don’t spend money for useless things like that
and I don’t believe your words either.”
“This is a small (French) insult.”
“What is (French) insult?”
“Sir, you know that you have hurt (French) an artist badly.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“Yes, you...!”
“Are you starting to talk badly about me because you are not taking my picture...? I
have never hurt anyone.”
“You hurt me today.”
“Go and tell the police; I have no time to hear empty words.”
“There is no need to go to the police; I entreat you to reconcile the words from your
mouth with your politeness.”
“I do not get involved in fights; if there are those who are fighting, you can go and
reconcile them.”
Manough agha brings Apisoghom agha’s breakfast and after putting it on a tri-legged
table, he says:
“Be my guest, drink your milk!”
Apisoghom agha takes a chair, sits in front of the table and starts to drink his milk.
“So what did you decide, will you take Apisoghom agha’s picture from the waist up or
standing?” Asked Manough agha.
“Neither from the waist up, nor standing”, answers Apisoghom agha.
“Will you photograph his whole body sitting on a chair?”
“No!”
“Will you photograph him sleeping?”
“No!”
“Sideways?”
“No!”
“What did you decide then?”
“We decided that we will not have a picture taken.”
“That’s not possible; that’s a big smallness, Apisoghom agha; starting from the small ones
to the big ones, they all have their pictures taken several times a year, even the two month old
boys; only the ones in their mother’s wombs don’t have them; if they had an easy way to do
that, they would take pictures of them as well.”
“I could not convince Apisoghom agha, who thought that I have come here to deceive
him”, said the photographer.
“No, no, our photographer is not a man like that”, added Manoug agha.
“I said that a great and notable man like Apisoghom agha must surely have his own
picture.”
“Yes, he must, and several kinds. For example, twelve small ones, twelve medium, twelve
big, twelve standing up, twelve sitting on an armchair, twelve sitting sideways, twelve sitting
straight, twelve crossing legs, twelve crossing arms, twelve with his head resting on his hand,
twelve with his hand on the table, twelve sleeping, twelve with a cane in his hand, twelve with a
happy face, twelve with a sad face, and twelve with neither happy nor sad face. Yes,
Apisoghom agha, if any one of these sets are lacking, your honor will be damaged.”
“Are you saying the truth?”
“I have no reason to lie; if you don’t have these, they won’t have a good opinion about
you; all great men have these.”
“Great men have them? Do you know that for sure?”
“Yes, they have them.”
“But you said the small ones have them too”.
“The small ones don’t have as much; they only order either three or at the most six
pictures.”
“I had no idea, that they give that much importance to pictures here.”
“Yes, they give importance only to pictures now, and the better they are hte more
importance they have.”
“Since everyone has his own picture, how will it be understood that I am a great man? If
only the great men had pictures taken, then...”
“But the ones for the great men are different, with a large posture and on glossy paper.”
“Isn’t it possible to have the picture taken with my servants standing in front of me and
saluting me?”
“It will be very good”.
“Are you saying the truth?”
“Yes!”
“For example I have farms as well, in which there are many cows, sheep, horses, geese,
ducks; isn’t it possible to put them also in the corner of the picture?”
“Those are not possible, but your servants, yes, isn’t that so Mr. Terenig?”
“Yes, that is so”, answered the photographer.
“Isn’t it possible?” asked Apisoghom agha again, “to write under the picture that this
man has farms, horses, cows, donkeys.”
“That can not be written; it can be written, but until now it has not been the custom. But
what’s the need to write about them, since everyone will soon know.”
“Can you take it sitting on the horse?”
“Yes!” replied Terenig.
“But with the horse running...”
“That’s difficult.”
“Very well, we shall see tomorrow.”
“If you like, tomorrow I can bring the machine here.”
“Yes, yes, bring it here”, repeated Manough agha, because it is not proper for
Apisoghom agha to go to your studio. Great men always have their pictures taken in their
homes.”
“With pleasure”, said Terenig and starting to rub his hands, he stood up and looked so
humble, that he wanted to say a word but was too shy to say it.
It is obvious, that whoever wants to say something but is too shy to say it, will certainly ask
for money.
“Tomorrow bring the machine here.”
“Very well”, replied the photographer, always looking humble and rubbing his hands.
“Bring the machine here tomorrow, we said so!” repeated Apisoghom agha, seeing that
the photographer is not leaving.
“Yes, I understand, I’ll bring the machine here tomorrow”, replied Terenig again, “but we
have a custom that...forgive me...”
“Say it!”
“But I beg you, don’t feel bad!”
“I won’t feel bad”.
“We have a custom, that if it is needed to take the machine to someone’s home, then
we take the cash upfront...not because we don’t trust you, but to respect the custom.”
“What a bad custom that is!”
“After all it’s a custom.”
“Fine...two cold coins are enough?”
“Yes, enough.”
Apisoghom agha gave two gold coins to the photographer, who in one instant opened
the door and disappeared.
THE MOST HONORABLE BEGGARS
By Hagop Baronian (1843-1891)
Published in 1985 by Shirak Printing, Los Angeles
Translated from the original Armenian by Shant Norashkharian
(Italics are from the translator)
There are people, who want to show everything they don’t have; there are some, who
don’t want to show what they have; and there are others, who want to show everything they
have. Apisoghom agha belongs to the latter group; he wished for the whole world to know that
he had farms, and to realize his wish he did not spare any money. So, when they told him that
distinguished men have their own pictures, he agreed to have pictures taken as well, but
suspecting that he had been deceived and had given his money for nothing, he asked
Manough agha immediately after Terenig had left:
“If I didn’t have my picture taken, they wouldn’t consider me an important man?”
“God forbid, but since other men of your calibre have had their pictures taken, it is
appropriate that you do the same. If someone wished to have your picture, and you answered
that you had not had your picture taken...”
“What happens?”
“Nothing happens...but...”
“But what...? Would they take my farms from me...?”
“Certainly not.”
“Would they seize my sheep, my cows?”
“Never...but...they treat you like a backward man, they don’t give you the honor that
they reserve for distinguished men.”
“I understand; then how should I have my pictures taken, so that there is no doubt left,
that I am not a small man, since you said that small people have their pictures taken as well.”
“To make them understand that you are not a small man, you must have a large picture
taken on an armchair.”
“I must wear my new clothes, isn’t it so?”
“Yes!”
“Of course, I must wear my watch also.”
“No doubt.”
“Smoking a pipe, with two men saluting in front of me and one behind me holding my
horse.”
“Yes, yes!”
“What else is needed to have a glorious look?”
“That much is enough.”
“I would have wished, that I were insulting both my servants and kicking them out of my
sight, and they came out hanging their heads down. After all things like that happen...or if I were
beating someone...for example, if I shouted at the face of the supervisor of my farms...: ‘Man,
how many times did I order you to treat the farmworkers gently, to be loving to my cows, to plow
and sow on time? Since you didn’t do all that, then I will fire you’. And the supervisor then would
fall to my feet and wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, would beg and whine saying: ‘For the
sake of my children forgive my guilt; for so many years I have been eating your bread, you are
my benefactor, I have carried you in my arms and took you around when you were little...’ After
all, can’t we also put such things in the picture?”
“We’ll worry about those things tomorrow; let us now start with our story from yesterday,
which was left unfinished. Melkon agha, as soon as he saw me...”
“Or if I stretched out on my back and my servants pulled my pants off...”
“As soon as he saw me he approached me and...”
“Isn’t it more glorious with a waterpipe...?”
“He approached me and holding my hands he said: ‘If we don’t do anything today, the
people we don’t want will be elected as community leaders’.”
“May be a ten-foot long waterpipe...”
“Those are tomorrow’s concerns, Apisoghom agha, allow me to finish my story. Melkon
agha, as soon as he grabbed my arm he pulled me to the Armenian reading room, where the
young men were sitting playing cards.”
“But I would say, that if the waterpipe were shorter, it would look better in the picture.”
I have come across this scene over a thousand times, when two actors snatching words
from each other’s mouths, want to make the other hear what they have to say. Yes, I have been
there a hundred times; twice in social gatherings and ninetyeight times in the meetings of the
National Assembly. This was the hundred and first time, and the devil kept inciting me to tell one
of these two: “Let the other finish his sentence and then you may speak.” But because at other
times I have broken the heart of someone or another for talking like that, I decided to keep my
neutrality, to let them interrupt each pther and to wait to see what would be the end of this
scene, which in the meetings of the National Assembly almost always ends in fighting.
“You have right”, replied Manoug agha, the short waterpipe would look good in the
picture, but also someone who is elected community leader must be honest and straight.”
“Do you know him well?”
“My knowing alone does not help, he is elected by voting.”
“Voting?”
“Yes, voting will elect him according to the constitution.”
“What do you say? The neighborhood will vote to choose a good waterpipe?”
“We are talking about a community leader.”
“Where did you come up with community leader? We are talking about the
waterpipe.”
“Don’t get upset, Apisoghom agha, let it be as you say.”
“Why would I get upset...? Let’s go tomorrow and buy one.”
“We’ll buy one.”
At that moment the room of the door was opened and the head of a woman
appeared.
This woman was called Shoushan and she was a love broker; she found wives for men,
she supplied the women with men, and by getting them married she earned her living. And
sometimes she would separate the husband from the wife and still receive a payment. Her age,
if you asked her, was thirtysix, but if you asked me, since I have the habit to add ten years to the
age that a woman confesses to have, I would say she is fortysix. Smallpox had left its marks on
her face. A dark and tall face, half of which was the chin, and in the middle of which stretched
out a nose, which had a high and rich mine of two small black eyes, which every moment
looked around in four directions. Her forehead was barely as wide as two finger-widths; her
eyebrows were shed because of a disease.
Mrs. Shoushan, after she pushed her head in, opened the door and came inside saying:
“If you have something private to say, I’ll leave.”
“No”, replied Manoug agha, “we were talking about a community leader.”
“May this community leader problem be damned!”, said Mrs. Shoushan and moving her
head heavily toward Apisoghom agha, went to sit on a pillow.
“It is good of you to come, madam”, said Manoug agha.
“It is good to see you, and welcome Apisoghom agha; how did you find our city, did you
like it?”
“Yes, I like it, it is very good.”
“What kind of business do you have around here? asked Manoug agha, “is there an
engagement again or what?”
“I came to the house across the street and then thought of paying you a visit as well. I
want to get this Antaram’s daughter together with the son of your neighbor across the street.
The business was almost finished, but since Mrs. Martha wanted to give her daughter to him, she
has told him all kinds of things about Antaram’s daughter, so now he is less interested in her. I
came today to see him and pursuade him, but since he was out I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Can’t you find a girl for our Apisoghom agha?”
Apisoghom agha smiled.
“The lady already told me downstairs, that Apisoghom agha was not married, and to be
honest, I came upstairs because of that”, replied Mrs. Shoushan wiping her nose with a white
handkerchief.
“I have a thought like that”, said Apisoghom agha standing up and offering a cigarette
to Mrs. Shoushan.
“If you have such a thought, we can find a girl for you that is just as you wish; I have been
in this business for twenty years, I know everyone. What kind of girl does your lordship desire, let
me understand that first.”
Manough agha, seeing that Apisoghom agha got involved in a conversation with Mrs.
Shoushan, left and saved the community leader’s story which he had not been able to finish, for
another time.
“I want a pretty girl”, replied Apisoghom agha laughing.
“I know that you want a pretty girl, does she have to be rich?”
“Yes!”
“Honest?”
“Of course!”
“Sixteen to eighteen years old?”
“Exactly.”
“She must know how to play the piano?”
“She must know that.”
“To dance well?”
“Indeed.”
“Very well, I have a girl like that under my disposal, but girls like that don’t work at home;
from morning to evening they put one knee on top of another and sing, dance, or walk around
all day; I’ll tell you from now, so that later you don’t accuse me; there are some good ones, but
they are very hard to find. Also among the girls that you like there are those who fall in love with
someone they like and many times they flee to a village with him, and then you’ll have to wait
for your wife to come back.”
“What do you say? If it’s like that, I don’t want that.”
“But there are those who will be crazy over you.”
“If it’s like that, I want that.”
“But there are also those, who live with their lover for a month and never mention your
name.”
“If it’s like that, I don’t want that.”
“But there are those, who will not get separated from you not even for a moment.”
“If it’s like that, I want that.”
“Don’t blame me for telling you these things! Because there are also those who allow
their wives to have an affair with someone else and by taking some money from the girl’s father
they look the other way.”
“Really? Is there such a man in the world?”
“More numerous than my hair.”
“And who cares for that kind of men and women?”
“Everyone; they justify the woman by saying that she was deceived by the devil, and
they make him look like a saint by saying that the poor man was not aware of his wife’s
conduct.”
“Oh, I shall crack now...I don’t want that, I don’t want that, let’s forget it, I’ll get married
in my city.”
“But there are also those, who will even give you their souls.”
“If I find one like that, I’ll get married.”
“I’ll find someone like that for you; I am only asking to know what kind of a girl you
want.”
I think Shoushan is right; because everyday we see such marriages, which make us
surprised. Once for curiosity I kept the love ledger of a married man and after looking at the
bottom line at the end of the year, I saw that he was morally bankrupt. I cut my relationship with
him, but I found out with great surprise that this man received a lot of honor during social
gatherings and was respected by everyone as a highly moral person. My curiosity increased; I
re-examined my ledger and observed, that the woman whom I had marked as the girlfriend of
this man was moved to the asset column in the main balance sheet. If one day I publish a love
ledger, I shall create agreat disturbance among accountants; because I know many men who
classify their women under general expenses, many classify them under furniture, some under
general merchandise, some under accounts payable and some under accounts receivable.
Those marriages are very few, in which the woman is recorded in the love ledger as a partner to
the husband.
“Getting married is a very sweet thing”, remarked the love broker, “if you found the right
girl for you, you will be in heaven everyday...”
“And I want to get married just for that.”
“If your wife was not compatible, every day you will in hell boiling in the fire.”
“And because of that I am afraid to get married.”
“Look, let me tell you something, agha, your lordship of course wants to take a girl from a
distinguished place, because you are a distinguished man as well.”
“Yes, yes, I want her from a distinguished place.”
“And I shall find you a girl from a distinguished place, but does your lordship speak
French?”
“Is it necessary to speak French to take a girl from a distinguished place?”
“Yes, because the girls of distinguished places speak French, since if the wife spoke to
someone else with a language that the husband did not know, it could cause jealousy.”
“I”ll study French too.”
“Beside that, there is rarely happiness in a marriage where the wife knows more than the
husband.”
“That is so, I also hold the same opinion.”
“Does your lordship understand anything from European songs?”
“I don’t understand them at all, and I even get bored.”
“What will you do then, if your wife sat at the piano for hours and played European songs
on that instrument?”
“I won’t allow her, I get bored.”
“But she enjoys it.”
“What right does a wife have to give her husband a headache?”
“What right does a husband have to deprive his wife from enjoying herself?”
“If it will come down to this, I won’t get married.”
“It’s not possible not to get married; you will only be obligated to learn how to play the
piano to get along with your wife’s taste.”
“Can I learn the piano?”
“Why not, specially because it is easier for you to learn how to play the piano, than for
your wife to forget how to play it.”
“If that’s the case, we found a solution for that as well.”
“The reason I tell you these things is because I don’t want to burden my conscience; I say
everything beforehand, so that later they won’t accuse me. I have under my disposal girls from
every class; the high class, the middle class and the low class; I have merchandise for sale from
all these classes; your lordship must deliberate with his moneybag and tell me which class he
wants. It is obvious, that the high class is very expensive, the middle class is less expensive and
the low class is cheap.”
“I don’t want a very cheap one.”
“Very well; should the girl be white or a little dark?”
“Black eyes or blue?”
“Believe me when I say that I like both the black and the blue...”
“It will have to be one or the other; because there is no such girl who has one eye blue
and the other black.”
“Let it be blue.”
“Very well. The height and the hair...”
“Long, long...”
“The waist...”
“Thin waist, but I don’t like a weak one; I want her flesh bouncing when she walks.”
“I understand, this much is enough; there is a girl just like the one you want, who is also
very honest and she seems that she would give her soul to her husband.”
“I want someone just like that.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, as soon as I mention your name to her, she will fall in love with you.
Give me your picture, so that I may show it to her.”
“I shall have my picture taken tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow...? If you have it taken tomorrow, you will receive it in eight days, will you wait
eight days?”
“Why should we wait? We can go tomorrow; is the girl from a distinguished place?”
“Yes!”
“Is her father wealthy?”
“Very wealthy, but he does not show his wealth.”
“Does he have many shops?”
“About twenty.”
“Houses?”
“About forty.”
“Very well, the day after tomorrow we shall go to see this girl.”
“With my pleasure; I’ll come during the day, and we shall go together. Goodbye,
Apisoghom agha, don’t worry, I don’t deceive, I am not one of those who rips people off.
Goodbye, not tomorrow, the day after.”
Mrs. Shoushan leaves.
