Latest / The Story of Armenia: Survival Through Empires and Genocide — Fexingo History / Armenian Merchants of Madras: The First Printing Press
Transcript
- Lucas: So, we've talked a lot about the Armenian merchant networks stretching from New Julfa to the East Indies. But there's one node in that web that often gets overlooked, and it's where some of the most radical ideas of the modern Armenian era took shape. I'm talking about Madras, on the southeastern coast of India. Luna: Madras? That's a long way from the Caucasus. Lucas: It is, and that's exactly the point. By the mid-eighteenth century, Armenian communities had been thriving in India for generations, trading in textiles, gems, and spices. Madras was one of their key hubs. And in 1772, a small group of merchants there did something that would change Armenian history: they published the very first Armenian-language book ever printed. Luna: Wait, the first? What about all those beautifully illuminated manuscripts from the Middle Ages? Lucas: Right, the manuscripts were hand-copied, and they were incredible. But the printing press was different. The book was called 'Nor Tetrak' — 'The New Pamphlet' — and it was a compilation of legal and historical texts. But the real bombshell came two years later, in 1774, when the same circle published 'Snare of Glory' — 'Vorogayt Parats' — a manifesto that essentially proposed an independent, democratic Armenian state, with a constitution, an elected government, and even a national army. Luna: A democratic Armenian constitution in 1774? That's decades before the American and French ones. Lucas: Exactly. It's astonishing. The author, Hakob Shahamirian, was a wealthy merchant, and his vision was radical. He imagined an Armenian republic that would rise from the ashes of Ottoman and Persian rule, and he even dedicated the book to the Russian Empress Catherine the Great, hoping she might help establish it. Luna: Did she ever respond? Lucas: No. Catherine had her own designs on the Caucasus, but not as a patron of Armenian democracy. Still, the very act of writing and publishing that text was a statement. It planted an idea that Armenian independence wasn't just a nostalgic dream about the medieval kingdom of Cilicia, but a practical possibility for the modern era. Lucas: Now, to understand how this happened, we have to look at the man who set it all in motion. His name was Mkhitar Sebastatsi — we've mentioned him in earlier episodes. He was a Catholic monk who founded the Mkhitarist order, and he was obsessed with printing. He established a press in Venice in the 1780s, but before that, he had a rival in Madras. Luna: A rival? Same goal, different methods? Lucas: something like that. There was a group of merchants in Madras who were, let's say, more politically minded. They weren't just interested in preserving classical Armenian texts; they wanted to change the present. They saw the printing press as a weapon for enlightenment and national awakening. So the Madras group and the Mkhitarists were often at odds, but both understood that the technology of print was the future. Lucas: The Madras press was actually set up by a man named Shmavon Ghananjan, who was a printer and a priest. He worked with Shahamirian and others to produce books that circulated widely across the diaspora, from India to Persia to the Ottoman Empire. They weren't just religious or historical works; they included practical manuals on law, commerce, and even educational texts. Luna: So it was a kind of toolkit for a modern Armenian society, even if that society didn't exist yet. Lucas: Precisely. And that's what makes the Madras project so fascinating. It was a nation-building exercise in print, years before any Armenian state was re-established. They were creating the intellectual infrastructure for a future republic. Lucas: Now, the 'Snare of Glory' is an extraordinary document. It's not just a political treatise; it's a blueprint. It lays out a constitution with separation of powers, a parliament, an independent judiciary, and rights for all citizens, including non-Armenians. It even specifies the borders of the future Armenia, stretching from the Mediterranean to the Caspian. That might sound like fantasy, but it was a serious work of political theory, and it was written in a language that any literate Armenian could understand. Luna: But it was written in Grabar, the classical language, right? Wasn't that a barrier for ordinary people? Lucas: You're sharp. Yes, it was written in Grabar, the classical Armenian, which by then was mainly the language of the church and the educated elite. But the book was still a radical departure because it wasn't a religious text. It was political. And it was printed, not hand-copied, which meant it could be distributed in the hundreds. That was a leap from a single manuscript to a mass medium. Lucas: So, what happened to this vision? The Madras press continued for a few decades, but it eventually folded as the merchant community's fortunes shifted. Shahamirian's dream of an independent Armenia wasn't realized until 1918, and even then, the first republic lasted only two years. But the legacy of that press is huge. Luna: In what way? I mean, beyond the obvious 'first book' story. Lucas: It established a pattern. Armenian intellectuals would use print to rally the nation, wherever they were. Think of the journals published in Istanbul and Tbilisi in the nineteenth century, or the newspapers that fueled the national awakening. They all owed something to that first press in Madras. And the 'Snare of Glory' became a touchstone for later constitutional thought, even if it was a bit utopian. Lucas: But there's a personal angle too. Shahamirian was a merchant, not a philosopher. He was a practical man of business. And yet he spent his fortune on publishing books that he knew might never sell widely. That's a kind of patriotism that goes beyond commerce. Luna: It's like he was investing in a future he wouldn't see. Lucas: Exactly. And that resonates with the broader Armenian experience — surviving through empires by investing in culture, in education, in the word. The printing press was their way of building a fortress of words when they couldn't build a fortress of stone. Luna: That's a powerful image. A fortress of words. Lucas: And if that image sticks with you, if today's episode gave you something to hold onto, that's exactly what we hope for. And the way we keep these conversations ad-free and accessible is through listener support. If you ever want to help, it's as easy as buying me a coffee at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. Luna: Yeah, it's a small way to keep the stories coming. Lucas: So, back to Madras. The press eventually closed, but its influence spread. When the Armenian national movement gained steam in the nineteenth century, activists looked back to Shahamirian's vision as a foundational text. It was reprinted and studied. And the idea that a republic could be a legitimate aspiration for Armenians — that took root, slowly but surely. Lucas: One more thing: the Madras community also built a church, the Armenian Church of St. Mary, which still stands today. It's a quiet reminder that this small trading enclave was not just about commerce; it was a cradle of Armenian identity on the other side of the world. Luna: It's remarkable how a few dozen families could have such an outsized impact. Lucas: It is. And that's a lesson that runs through Armenian history — that a determined group, even far from the homeland, can shape the course of a nation. The first printed book, the first constitutional vision, were not born in Yerevan or Ani, but in a bustling port city on the Bay of Bengal. And that's a story worth remembering.