Ananur is connected with the darkest page in the mournful latter-day history of Georgia. The Persians had taken Tiflis in 1795, and reduced it to a smouldering heap of ruins. King Irakli, with a few servants, had escaped almost by a miracle, and had taken refuge in the mountain fastness of Ananur; abandoned by his cowardly, faithless children, betrayed by his most trusted dependents and allies, sick in body and weary in mind, the old man of seventy-seven was a sight sad enough to make angels weep. "In the old, half ruined monastery of Ananur, in an ancient cell which used to stand in the corner of the monks' orchard, one might have seen a man dressed in a rough sheepskin cloak, sitting with his face turned to the wall. That man, once the thunderbolt of all Transcaucasia, was the king of Georgia, Irakli II. Near him stood an old Armenian servant. 'Who is that sitting in the corner?' asked those who passed by. 'He whom thou seest,' replied the Armenian, with a sigh, 'was once a man of might, and his name was honoured throughout Asia. His people never had a better ruler. He strove for their welfare like a father, and for forty years kept his empire together; but old age has weakened him, and has brought everything to ruin. In order to prevent quarrels after his death, he determined to divide his kingdom among his children while he still lived, but his hopes in them were deceived. He who was chief eunuch of Tamas Khuli Khan when Irakli was a leader of the Persian army, now marched against him in his feeble old age. His own children refused to help him and their native land, for there were many of them, and each thought he would be striving, not for himself, but for his brother's good. The King of Georgia had to ask the help of the King of Imereti, but if thou hadst been in Tiflis thou hadst seen how shamefully the Imeretians behaved. Irakli, with but a handful of men, fought gallantly against a hundred thousand, and lost his throne only because his children pitilessly forsook him, leaving him to be defeated by a wretched gelding. His ancient glory is darkened, his capital in ruins, the weal of his folk is fled. Under yon crumbling wall thou seest the mighty King of Georgia hiding from the gaze of all men, helpless and clothed in a ragged sheepskin! His courtiers, all those who have eaten his bread and been pressed to his bosom, have left him; not one of them has followed his master, excepting only me--a poor, despised Armenian.'"