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The Sko­morokhi

Copy­right 1997 by Eliz­a­beth Lear

Nov­gorod was the largest and rich­est city in Rus­sia from the 12th to the 15th cen­turies af­ter Kiev was con­quered and di­vid­ed. Its rel­a­tive­ly shel­tered lo­ca­tion pro­tect­ed it from much of the Tar­tar in­va­sion, but it sur­vived in style dur­ing the oc­cu­pa­tion of Rus­sia pri­mar­i­ly by sub­mit­ting them­selves com­plete­ly to Tar­tar rule. They paid trib­ute, did homage to the “Tar­tar Tsar”, and ad­mit­ted Mon­gol tax-­gath­er­ers. In re­turn, Nov­gorod was spared and be­came a mer­chant city and a great cen­ter of the art­s. Rus­sian art and lit­er­a­ture flour­ished.

Mu­sic was im­por­tant in Rus­sian dai­ly life - cer­e­monies, re­cep­tion­s, fes­ti­vals and hunts all were oc­com­pa­nied by mu­sic. It was a pop­u­lar pas­time of the no­bil­i­ty de­spite the church’s at­tempts to ban sec­u­lar mu­sic. Some no­bles be­came pa­trons of mu­si­cian­s, even com­pos­ing byli­ni or play­ing in­stru­ments them­selves. The byliny (al­so writ­ten as “bylin­i”) were epic songs loose­ly con­nect­ed with ac­tu­al peo­ple or events, though much em­bel­lished with fan­ta­sy. Byliny is a term coined in the 1830s, and trans­lates to “what hap­pened”. The peas­ants con­tin­ue to call these songs stari­na, which means “what is old”.

The sko­morokhi were known as min­strel­s, but they had many tal­ents. They were al­so clown­s, mum­mer­s, buf­foon­s, ac­tors, dancer­s, ac­ro­bat­s, pup­peteer­s, ma­gi­cian­s, an­i­mal train­er­s, and cre­ators of epic songs and tales. They were ul­ti­mate­ly de­scribed as umeltz - a ver­sa­tile per­son.

Sko­morokhi were skilled and re­source­ful artists pop­u­lar in all lev­els of so­ci­ety. They par­tic­i­pat­ed in ev­ery na­tion­al fes­ti­val, and their pres­ence was re­quired at fam­i­ly cel­e­bra­tions. Their place in so­ci­ety can be traced back to roles in pa­gan rit­u­als and plays. They of­ten used masks in these per­for­mances, and were said to have mag­ic pow­er­s. Even­tu­al­ly, they evolved in­to the role of buf­foon.

Old pa­gan fes­ti­vals were re­placed by Chris­tian ones, but pa­gan cus­toms still had a part in them for a long time af­ter­ward­s. At each great fes­ti­val, Christ­mas, East­er, Pen­te­cost and Trans­fig­u­ra­tion, there were spe­cial church ser­vices. There were al­so songs, dances, and so­cial gath­er­ings with spe­cial food. The prince was ex­pect­ed to open his doors to the city peo­ple for ban­quets at which the peo­ple were en­ter­tained by mu­si­cians and jon­gleurs.

Sko­morokhi were doc­u­ment­ed in Nov­gorod as ear­ly as 1036. An an­cient byli­na men­tions sko­morokhi be­ing hon­ored at Prince Vladimir’s ban­quet in Kiev. They were al­so ac­cept­ed at Ivan’s court - he had them brought to Mos­cow from Nov­gorod, and em­ployed them to sat­i­rize the bo­yars.

This fres­co shows sev­er­al sko­morokhi wear­ing jester cos­tumes and per­form­ing in­stru­men­tal mu­sic, danc­ing and ac­ro­bat­ics for the roy­al court. The cos­tumes are de­scribed as Byzan­tine, and one the­o­ry is that these were vis­it­ing Byzan­tine min­strels who would in­flu­ence the rise of lo­cal jesters in Rus­si­a.

Sko­morokhi are men­tioned in folk songs, proverb­s, and adages. One prover­b, lit­er­al­ly trans­lat­ed, is “Don’t teach me to dance, I am a clown my­self.” “Clown” is not a good trans­la­tion in­to Eng­lish for this be­cause of our pre­con­cep­tions of what a clown is. An equiv­i­lent of this would be “bring­ing coals to New­castle”.

The church frowned on the sko­morokhi, is­su­ing con­dem­na­tion­s, in­ter­dic­tion­s, and warn­ings against their “s­in­ful plays”. These plays, of course, at­tract­ed the com­mon peo­ple and left the church­es emp­ty. Church lit­er­a­ture even likened these en­ter­tain­ments to the dev­il. They al­so dis­liked the fact that sko­morokhi played in­stru­ments like the gus­li, the gu­dok, and the dom­ra, since on­ly trum­pets and drums were sanc­tioned by the church - all oth­er church mu­sic was vo­cal on­ly at this time.

Sko­morokhi pre­served and cre­at­ed folk mu­sic. They trav­eled the coun­try and were wel­comed wher­ev­er they wen­t, but they did not have so­cial rights and the pro­tec­tion of the law un­less they be­came at­tached to a no­ble house­hold who would act as their pa­tron.

Yet they gained so­cial sta­tus in Nov­gorod. They had le­gal rights and were re­spect­ed as cit­i­zen­s. They lived in spe­cial ar­eas of the city, and passed their skills and arts on to their chil­dren.

Sko­morokhi in that city de­vel­oped the Rus­sian pup­pet show, which has singing and in­stru­men­tal mu­sic in it. The char­ac­ters have on­ly slight­ly changed over the cen­turies, and sur­vive in the present in the masks of Petroush­ka.

Gus­li play­ing was de­vel­oped in Novo­gorod, and some who showed great tal­ent in the play­ing of the gus­li of­ten end­ed up im­mor­tal­ized in byli­ni them­selves.

Some sko­morokhi be­came very wealthy and fa­mous. Sad­ko was a gus­li play­er who lived in the 12th cen­tu­ry. He was not­ed as a wealthy mer­chant who built a stone church at his own ex­pense, but he’s pri­mar­i­ly known as the sub­ject of byli­ni that praised the pow­er of his mu­sic-­mak­ing. One byli­ni goes so far as to re­call the Or­pheus leg­end.

Vasili Bus­layev is an­oth­er re­al per­son who be­came the sub­ject of a num­ber of byli­n­i. He lived al­so lived in the 12th cen­tu­ry, and in ad­di­tion to be­ing a not­ed gus­li play­er he was a posad­nik, a vice-re­gent of the Prince of Nov­gorod.

The sko­morokhi al­so de­vel­oped a sort of short sto­ry com­ic bylin­i, bylin­i-nov­el­ly, based on hu­mor­ous fam­i­ly sit­u­a­tion­s, de­ceived hus­band­s, so­cial satire or sko­morokhi pranks.

One byli­ni from Nov­gorod is ti­tled “Pro Gostya Ter­en­tishcha”, which means “About Guest Ter­en­tishcha”. Ter­en­tishcha is the name of the wife of a for­eign­er, and the song is about the sko­morokhi help­ing the hus­band dis­cov­er that his wife is un­faith­ful. They al­so make fun of his “jin­gling mon­ey bags”.

Sko­morokhi bal­lads have short lines, sim­ple melodies, and rapid tem­pos. They al­so wrote com­ic dance songs called peregud­kas which had live­ly tunes and pre­cise ry­thmn­s.

The pe­ri­od of 1598-1671 was one of in­ter­nal tur­moil in Rus­si­a. There were peas­ant re­volt­s, Cos­sack up­ris­ings, a dis­so­lu­tion of folk cus­tom­s, and a de­cline in tra­di­tions that was re­flect­ed in the songs of the time. Folk songs be­came full of dis­con­tent and be­gan to glo­ri­fy pop­u­lar lead­ers who fought for the com­mon peo­ple. By­tovye , songs of ev­ery­day life, were of­ten par­o­dies set to church mu­sic tunes.

Songs of the Freemen” ro­man­ti­cal­ly de­scribed the life of run­away slaves on the steppes who be­came Cos­sack­s. There were satir­i­cal songs, aimed at re­li­gious and po­lit­i­cal au­thor­i­ties, about lazi­ness, hypocrisy, and oth­er bad trait­s. There were songs about the de­sire for per­son­al free­dom.

Sko­morokhi re­mained an in­te­gral part of the Rus­sian cul­ture un­til the late 17th cen­tu­ry when a schism start­ed with­in the Or­tho­dox Church. The schism was part­ly for re­li­gious rea­sons and part­ly for po­lit­i­cal. The Pa­tri­arch of Moscow, Nikon, and the Tsar want­ed to re­move from the Rus­sian Or­tho­dox Church any dif­fer­ences from the Greek Or­tho­dox Church, de­spite the Pa­tri­arch of Con­stantino­ple’s de­ci­sion that lo­cal church­es were al­lowed their par­tic­u­lar cus­toms as long as the pu­ri­ty of Or­tho­dox teach­ing and dog­mat­ic truths were main­tained.

But Rus­sian tra­di­tion­al­ists had been told for cen­turies by their own ide­ol­o­gists and vis­it­ing East­ern Pa­tri­archs that the Rus­sian Church was the “sole re­main­ing strong­hold of true faith in the world”. Now they were be­ing told that in­stead of their church be­ing a strong­hold of piety, it was full of fool­ish er­rors that need­ed to be erad­i­cat­ed. The Coun­cil of 1666-67 not on­ly con­demned the old church books and rit­u­al­s, it al­so de­nounced the de­ci­sions of the Church Coun­cil of 1551 which had been seen as canon­ic law for a hun­dred years. The new Coun­cil al­so sought to de­stroy the in­de­pen­dence of lo­cal re­li­gious com­mu­ni­ties and bring them un­der the in­flu­ence of the Moscovy church.

This is the time when the peo­ple known as the “Old Be­liev­er­s” (Raskol­niki) left the church. They re­fused to ac­cept the “cor­rect­ed” ver­sions of the mu­sic, prayer­s, and rit­u­al­s. They were ex­com­mu­ni­cat­ed from the Church for re­fus­ing to give up the prac­tices they viewed as an in­sep­a­ra­ble part of the Rus­sian Or­tho­dox way of life. Thou­sands of Old Be­liev­ers are said to have im­mo­lat­ed them­selves dur­ing this pe­ri­od or were burned at the stake.

Sko­morokhi, the min­strels and buf­foon­s, al­so de­clined in the sec­ond half of the 17th cen­tu­ry. They were ban­ished from Mos­cow in 1649, la­beled as “her­alds of dis­con­tent” and “the em­bod­i­ment of pa­gan­is­m”. This had a great deal to do with the pop­u­lar songs of re­volt that were mak­ing the rounds of the coun­try. The Pa­tri­arch of Mos­cow or­dered the de­struc­tion of all folk in­stru­ments in the city, which were burned by the cart­load on the river­banks.

Cast out and hound­ed, some sko­morokhi turned to vul­gar­i­ty and some to thiev­ery. Many fled to the far north with their fam­i­lies, and the sko­morokhi byli­ni that have been col­lect­ed and record­ed came from that area. Those songs are still per­formed to this day.

The num­bers of sko­morokhi dwin­dled even fur­ther in the 18th cen­tu­ry, and they were grad­u­al­ly re­placed by West­ern-in­flu­enced pro­fes­sion­al mu­si­cian­s. But Sko­morokh-based name and place de­riv­i­sons are still ev­i­dent in some ar­eas of Rus­si­a, like the sur­name “Sko­moro­chov”. They have nev­er been for­got­ten in Rus­sia be­cause of the rich lega­cy they left be­hind.