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The Kartvelologist The Kartvelologist” is a bilingual (Georgian and English) peer-reviewed, academic journal, covering all spheres of Kartvelological scholarship. Along with introducing scholarly novelties in Georgian Studies, it aims at popularization of essays of Georgian researchers on the international level and diffusion of foreign Kartvelological scholarship in Georgian scholarly circles. “The Kartvelologist” issues both in printed and electronic form. In 1993-2009 it came out only in printed form (#1-15). The publisher is the “Centre for Kartvelian Studies” (TSU), financially supported by the “Fund of the Kartvelological School”. In 2011-2013 the journal is financed by Shota Rustaveli National Science Foundation. 
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1292. „აწ საყვარელსა მიუწერს გულ-ამოსკვნილი, მტირალი, Wardrop 1262. “Now will I, sobbing, weeping, write to my beloved; by the tear of that one who burns him is a man’s fire quenched.” She wrote a letter piercing the heart of the hearers. She splits the rose (opens her mouth); there appears the translucent crystal. Urushadze 1279. Nestan, bitterly weeping, writes her beloved a letter. Vivian. In heartrending Phrases Nestan wrote this letter for Tariel, strewn with tears: Stevenson. And now, sobbing and weeping, she penned her lover a letter: the tears that she shed quenched the fires that consumed her. The words that she wrote would pierce any heart through, like lances: her lips rose was opened to show her teeth, shining crystal. 1293. „ჰე ჩემო, ესე უსტარი არს ჩემგან მონაღვაწები, Wardrop 1263. “O mine own! this letter is the work of my hands; for pen I have my form, a pen steeped in gall; for paper I glue thy heart even to my heart; O heart, black (sad) heart, thou art bound, loose not thyself, now be bound! Urushadze 1280. “All my being”, she wrote, “is here in my letter, beloved. Vivian. ‘My own one, I send you this letter that my own hand has written. Myself am the pen, dipped in gall, and for parchment I bind my heart to yours – may it never be loosed from that bond. Stevenson. “See, O my beloved, here the work of my hand. My form serves for a pen, a pen steeped in gall: our two hearts, pressed together, are the paper I write on. – O heart, sad, captive heart, lie still where you are bound! 1294. „ჰხედავა, ჩემო, სოფელი რათა საქმეთა მქმნელია? Wardrop 1264. “Thou seest, O mine own! of what deeds the world is a doer. However much light shines, for me it is but darkness. The wise know it (the world), therefore they despise it, to them it is contemptible. My life without thee, woe is me! how exceeding hard it is! Urushadze 1281. “You have beheld, my beloved, destiny’s cruel compulsion, Vivian. Now see what is the way of this world: for all the light that illuminates it, darkness is mine in equal measure. Do not the Wise, who know the world, disdain it? How hard is life for me without you! Stevenson. “O my beloved, the workings of this word! No matter what light shines, there is for me only darkness. The world is disdained by the wise, for they know its true nature... Parted from you, how bitter is life to me! 1295. „ჰხედავ, ჩემო, ვით გაგვყარნა სოფელმან და ჟამმან კრულმან! Wardrop 1265. “Thou seest, mine own! how Fate and cursed time have parted us; no longer do I glad see thee, my glad loved one; what, indeed, can the heart rent by thee do without thee! Secret thought manifests to thee what is hidden. Urushadze 1282. “You have beheld, my beloved, how time and the world have conspired Vivian. See, my own, how the world and accursed Time have parted us – never again shall I rejoice in the sight of my beloved. What will become of my heart without you? Now my innermost thoughts are revealed to you. Stevenson. “O my beloved, Fate and evil fortune have severed us; never again shall we have the rapture of looking into each other’s eyes. What can avail the heart pierced by longing when you are denied to it? – But that must be made plain which until now has been hidden. 1296. „შენმან მზემან, აქანამდის შენ ცოცხალი არ მეგონე; Wardrop 1266. “By thy sun (life)! until now I thought not thou wert alive; as for me, methought my life and all my resource had passed away. Now when I hear (news of thee), I magnify the Creator and humble myself before God. All mine erstwhile grief I weigh as joy. Urushadze 1283. “I swear by the sun of your life, till now I thought you had perished. Vivian. By your sun, I swear that until now I did not believe that you were living. My own life and all my strength seemed to have passed away. When I heard news of you I glorified the Creator and praised God, and all the sorrow I had known was transformed to joy. Stevenson. I had believed, upon my faith, that you were with dead life, I thought, had gone from me, with nothing remaining. This news has made me praise the Creator, humble myself before the throne of God; the sorrow that was mine is now changed into joy. 1297. „შენი სიცოცხლე მეყოფის ჩემად იმედად გულისად, Wardrop 1267. “Thy life is sufficient for my heart to hope in, a heart all wounded and so consumed! Think of me, remember me as one lost to thee; I sit nursing the love I planted. Urushadze 1284. “Hope has returned to my bosom, to my heart laid waste by affliction Vivian. To know that you are alive – that is enough to give hope to my wounded heart. Remember me, keep me in your thoughts, as I who am lost to you tend the love implanted in me. Stevenson. to woe it added further woes yet more grievous, for, not content with all the sorrows I was already possessed of, it gave me as a captive into the hands of the Kajes, terrible to meet as foes. – O my beloved, we are the sport of Fate! 1298. „სხვად, ჩემო, ჩემი ამბავი ჩემგან არ მოგეწერების: Wardrop 1268. “Now, O mine own, my story is not to be written to thee by me; the tongue will tire, none that hear will believe! P’hatman took me from sorcerers; may God protect her! Now again Fate hath done what befits it. Urushadze 1285. “My story, beloved, can never be told or be written in letters. Vivian. ‘I will write no more about myself. The tongue grows weary and the listener too. Phatman - whom God preserve – saved me from one captivity. Stevenson. “I sit in a castle with walls so high that the clouds shroud the battlements: guards stand at their posts by the passage of entry, and neither by day nor by night does their watch ever cease. Any host that attacks them must meet with destruction; they will bring it to ruin like the flames of devouring fire. 1299. „აწ სოფელმან უარესი ჭირი ჭირსა დამისართა, Wardrop 1269. “Fate hath now added worse woe to my woe, my ill luck was not appeased by these manifold afflictions; and again it delivered me into the hands of the Kadjis, hard to combat; Fate hath done to us, mine own, all that hath befallen us. Urushadze 1286. “Fate was not appeased nor content with my many afflictions, Vivian. Now the world, as is its nature, has piled woe upon woe and my fate, not satisfied with my many afflictions, has made me a prisoner of the Kadjis who are hard to defeat. It is Fate that has brought about all that has befallen us. 1300. „ციხეს ვზი ეგზომ მაღალსა, თვალნი ძლივ გარდასწვდებიან, Wardrop 1270. “I am sitting in a castle so lofty that eyes can scarce see the ground; the road enters by a passage, over it stand guards; day and night knights miss not their turn as sentries, they will kill those that engage them, like fire will they envelop them. Urushadze 1287. “I sit in a tower so lofty that eyes can scarce see the ground. Vivian. I am kept in a stronghold so high that it towers up almost out of sight. The only entrance to it is by an underground tunnel which is guarded day and night, and any who attack will be slain as swiftly as if they were swallowed up in flames. Stevenson. “I sit in a castle with walls so high that the clouds shroud the battlements: guards stand at their posts by the passage of entry, and neither by day nor by night does their watch ever cease. Any host that attacks them must meet with destruction; they will bring it to ruin like the flames of devouring fire. 1301. „ნუთუ ესენი გეგონნენ სხვათა მებრძოლთა წესითა! Wardrop 1271. “Surely thou thinkest not that these are of the same kind as other warriors? Slay me not with woes worse than the present! I shall see thee dead, I shall be burnt up like tinder by steel. (Since) I am sundered from thee, renounce me with a heart harder than rock itself. Urushadze 1288. “Think not to challenge their anger, they are invincible warriors. Vivian. Do not imagine that the Kadjis are fighters like ordinary men – do not, I entreat you, attempt my release or increase my sorrow with grief for your death. Stevenson. “Temper, beloved, the madness of your grief: do you believe that I, the cypress-formed, would yield myself to another? I can have no life without you, can have nothing but sorrow: I would throw myself down on to the rocks below rather, or make an end with a knife. 1302. „შენ, საყვარელო, ნუ სჭმუნავ ჭმუნვითა ამისთანითა, Wardrop 1271a. “Beloved, sorrow not with such grief! Tell me, can there be for me another with the form of an aloe-tree! Life without thee is nought for me, henceforth I should be full regret; either I would cast myself down from the rock or slay myself with a knife. Urushadze 1289.”Grieve not so sorely, beloved! O my cypress planted in Eden! Vivian. Harden your heart to accept that I am beyond your reach Stevenson. “Temper, beloved, the madness of your grief: do you believe that I, the cypress-formed, would yield myself to another? I can have no life without you, can have nothing but sorrow: I would throw myself down on to the rocks below rather, or make an end with a knife. 1303. „შენმან მზემან, უშენოსა ვერვის მიჰხვდეს მთვარე შენი, Wardrop 1272. “By thy sun (life)! thy moon will fall to the lot of none save thee! By thy sun! to none shall she fall though triple suns shone forth! Here would I dash myself down; the great rocks are very nigh to me. To thee would I commit my soul; perchance wings would be given to me by Heaven. Urushadze 1290. “Believe me, my sun, your moon will give herself to none other! Vivian. By your sun, I swear I will belong to none but you, even though three suns should appear before me! I would cast myself down from these great rocks and entrust my soul to you – may Heaven give me wings. Stevenson. No man, I swear it, shall ever be possessed of your moon-fair one – no, not through he were three times as fair as the orb of day! I would leap forth from here, to fall on the great crags. . . . Pray that heaven might grant then the gift of wings to my soul! 1304. „ღმერთსა შემვედრე, ნუთუ კვლა დამხსნას სოფლისა შრომასა, Wardrop 1273. “Entreat God for me; it may be He will deliver me from the travail of the world and from union with fire, water, earth and air. Let Him give me wings and I shall fly up, I shall attain my desire – day and night I shall gaze on the sun’s rays flashing in splendour. Urushadze 1291. “Pray that the Lord will deliver my soul from the world and its sorrows, Vivian. ‘Pray to God for me, that He deliver me from the travail of this world, from the bonds of fire and water, earth and air. May I have wings to fly into the heavens where I shall attain my desire, day and night to behold the radiance of the sun’s majesty. Stevenson. “Pray to God, that he may deliver me from this world and its travail, release me from the bondage of water, earth, fire and air. May he give me wings to fly up to attain my desire; to gaze, day and night, on the sun’s flashing splendor. 1305. „მზე უშენოდ ვერ იქმნების, რათგან შენ ხარ მისი წილი, Wardrop 1274. “The sun cannot be without thee, for thou art an atom of it; of a surety thou shalt adhere to it as its zodiac (Leo), and not as one rejected. There shall I see thee; I shall liken thee to it, thou shalt enlighten my darkened heart. If my life was bitter, let my death be sweet! Urushadze 1292. “Without you the sun has no lustre, for you are bound up in its radiance, Vivian. How can the sun exist without you, who are a particle of its substance? Surely its satellite will not be repulsed: in the realm of the sun I shall behold you, who will flood the darkness of my heart with light. Then, however bitter life has been to me, death will be a sweet. Stevenson. Without you the orb cannot shine – you furnish too much of its radiance; and you will attend upon it in all glory and honor. I shall see you, and you will dispel then the darkness about my heart: my life was bitter, but death will be sweet. 1306. „მე სიკვდილი აღარ მიმძიმს, შემოგვედრებ რათგან სულსა, Wardrop 1275. “Death is no longer grievous to me, since it is to thee I commit my soul; but I have laid thy love in my heart, and there it rests. When I think of parting from thee, for me wound is added to wound. Weep not and mourn not for me, O mine own, for love of me! Urushadze 1293. “Death holds no terrors to frighten me since to you I yield up my spirit. Vivian. ‘Now since I have given my spirit into your keeping, death has no terrors for me. I keep my love for you in my heart and it rests there. The thought of parting from you adds to my pain. Do not grieve for me, my own. Stevenson. “Death cannot grieve me now; I have sent you my soul; I have laid your love within my heart, and there does it lie at rest. Wound is added to wound when I think how distance divides us; but do not weep, do not mourn, my beloved, for your lost one. 1307. „წადი, ინდოეთს მიჰმართე, არგე რა ჩემსა მშობელსა, Wardrop 1276. “Go, betake thyself to India, be of some help to my father, who is straitened by foes, helpless on all sides; comfort the heart of him who suffers separation from me. Think of me weeping for thy sake with undrying tears. Urushadze 1294. “Go to the land of the Indies; be a son to my father. Vivian. But go your way to India and bring aid to my father. He is beset by hostile forces, with none to support him. He has suffered greatly at loosing me: go to him and give him comfort. Remember me, who weep for you quenchless tears. Stevenson. – Set out, ride to India and bring aid to my father; he is beset by his enemies and has no one to help him. Comfort his heart for what he has lost in me... Think of me, and of the tears that flow for your sake without ceasing. 1308. „რაცა ვიჩივლე ბედისა ჩემისა, კმა საჩივარად; Wardrop 1277. “Whatever complaint I have made against my Fate is sufficient complaint. Know this, that true justice goeth from heart to heart; for thy sake will I die, I shall become the prey of ravens! But as long as I live I shall weep and suffer enough for thee, too. Urushadze 1295. “Whatever complaint I have made against fate is sufficient complaint. Vivian. Enough of protesting against Fate. By the path of true uprightness, heart can meet with heart. For your sake I will die and become food for ravens; for as long as I am living I can cause you nothing but sorrow. Stevenson. “A just cause must make its way from heart to heart; I have railed against Fate enough. For your sake I will die, the ravens’ calls will sound over me... While I live you can know only sorrow and suffering. 1309. „აჰა, ინიშნე ნიშანი შენეულისა რიდისა! Wardrop 1278. “Lo, mark the token from the veil that was thine; from one end I have cut off a strip, O mine own; this (the veil) is all that is left to me in place of that great hope; in wrath the wheel of the seven heavens has turned upon us”. Urushadze 1296. “Receive with this letter a token – a strip from the veil that you sent me. Vivian. I send you as a token this piece of the veil that you gave me: let it remain a symbol of that great hope of ours. The wheel of the seven heavens has turned in wrath against us.’ Stevenson. “Here as a token, beloved, is a piece cut from an end of the veil that you gave me: this is all that is left of the great hope that was once ours: the seven wheeling heavens have turned their anger upon us.” 1310. ესე წიგნი, საყვარელსა მისსა თანა მინაწერი, Wardrop 1279. When she had finished this letter written to her beloved, she cut off a fringe from those veils; bareheaded, the thick, long locks of her hair became her well, the scent blows from the aloe, breathing through the raven’s wings. Urushadze 1297. When she had finished her letter, Nestan cut the fringe Vivian. Nestan uncovered her head to cut a piece from the border of her veil, revealing the richness of her hair that was black as a raven’s wing. Stevenson. She cut off a piece from her veil when she had written her lover this letter: fair were the long, thick tresses to see when her head was bared; black as the raven’s wing, and fragrant with perfume.
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