G. G. Byron
Opens the poem stanzas about the beautiful nature, torn by the storms of violence and arbitrariness of Greece, the country of the heroic past, bent under the heels of the invaders: “These are the islands: Here – Greece, she is dead, But in the coffin is good, One scary: ? ” Intimidating the peaceful population of the blossoming valleys, a gloomy figure of the demonic horseman appears on the horizon – a stranger and for the enslaved, and for the enslavers, always bearing the burden of the fatal curse (“Let the storm come, fierce and gloomy!” – “He is brighter than you, Giaur! “). Symbolical is his name, which literally means in translation from Arabic “not believing in God” and with Byron’s light hand became synonymous with robber, pirate, and other faith. Looking at the idyllic picture of the Muslim holiday – the end of Ramazan,
The anonymous narrator melancholy notes the desolation that reigned in the once noisy and lively house of Turk Hassan, who perished by the hand of a Christian: “There are no guests, no slaves since the Christian saber turban to him!” A brief, enigmatic episode invades the sad lamement: a rich Turk and servants hire a boatman, ordering him to drop a heavy bag with an unidentified “load” into the sea. (This is a wonderful Circassian Leila that has changed her husband and master, but we have not yet been given her name or the essence of her “sin”).
Unable to turn away from the memories of his beloved wife and his wife, which is painfully punished, Ghassan lives only with a thirst for revenge against his enemy, Giaur. Once, having overcome a dangerous mountain pass with a caravan, he encounters in a grove with an ambush set up by robbers, and, having learned in his leader of his abuser, grasps him in a deadly battle. Giaour kills him; but tormenting the character with mental torment, mourning for the beloved, remains unsatisfied, like his loneliness: “Yes, Leila is asleep, taken in a wave, Hassan lies in a thick blood… Anger is satisfied, the end is to him, And away to me – alone!”
Without a clan, without a tribe, rejected by a Christian civilization, a stranger in the camp of Muslims, he tears of sorrow for the lost and departed, and his soul, according to the prevailing beliefs, is doomed to the fate of a vampire from generation to generation bringing
trouble to the descendants. Another thing is the death of the brave Ghassan (the news of his death the assistant on the caravan brings the character’s mother): “He who fell down with the giaour in the battle, All is rewarded in paradise above!”
The final episodes of the poem take us to a Christian monastery, where for the seventh year a strange stranger has lived (“He is dressed monk, But he rejected the holy vow and does not cut his hair.”). Having brought generous gifts to the abbot, he is accepted by the inhabitants of the monastery as an equal, but monks are alien to him, never catching up for prayer.
The bizarre ligature of the stories from different people gives way to the confused monologue of Giaour, when he, powerless to spare the suffering that does not leave him, seeks to pour out the soul to the nameless listener: “I lived in peace, my life gave me a lot of happiness, more – evil… Nothing was death to me, believe me, / And in the years of happiness, and now?! ”
Carrying the burden of sin, he is not killing himself for killing Gassan, but because he could not, he could not get rid of the painful execution of his beloved. The love for her, even beyond the grave, became the only thread that binds him to the ground; and only pride prevented him from doing the judgment himself. And yet – a dazzling vision of the beloved, who was dreaming of him in a delirious delirium…
Saying good-bye, Gyaur asks the newcomer to give it to his long-time friend, who once foretold his tragic destiny, the ring – in memory of himself – and buried without the inscription, having forgotten oblivion in the offspring.
The poem is crowned with the following lines: “He died… Who, where he is from – the Monk is dedicated to those secrets, But he must conceal them from us… And only a fragmentary story About the one that we remembered, Who he loved and whom he killed “.
G. G. Byron