The Tale of Sukhman

Idea taken from a byliny (epic tale) of Old Russia.
Definitions for terms in boldface are before the notes.
Notes on the text at the end, for the truly intrigued.

Twas in Kiev, the old and mighty town
Where the greatest prince of all the Rus held throne.
Twas in Kiev these many years long since,
Proud Vladimir, the bold, brave Sunblest Prince;
Twas in Kiev where stood his palace strong
Where he called for all the bogatyri proud
There to join the boyartsi from all around.
Twas in Kiev where noble Vladimir
Made mighty feast to celebrate the Birth of Christ.

Around the oaken tables do the brave knights sit
And the nobles of the city there with them do eat,
And Vladimir passes round the cup
So all may drink before they sup.
The Red Sun then before bogatyri stood
And commands a pledge of brotherhood,
Then claps his hands and stewards call
To bring the feast for those in hall;
And the feasting goes from noon til night,
And guests wax merry in the pale moonlight.
So the boasts and tales of might from rafters ring!
Ancient bard Boyan stands tall with songs to sing!
Merriment and jollity possess the crowd.
Boyartsi, bogatyri do cry their feats aloud,
Though the greatest knights belie their deeds,
Count grace of God as strength in hour of need.
But of noble souls as these there are but few,
For every humble warrior, hear ten liars too.
So the fools brag of their handsome dusky wives!
So the idiots vaunt their wealth of blood-red gold!
So the drunkards sing of deeds impossible!
So the weak-willed boast of being brave and bold!
So hours pass amid the wicked lies
Only one speaks not, gives only weary sighs.

Only Sukhman utters not a foolish vaunt,
Only sits in silence at his fireside haunt,
Listening sadly to boasts made by fools and all,
Listening sadly to the songs that fill the hall.
Great Vladimir then espies his bogatyr;
The Sun-Blest Prince cries out for all to hear,
Asking Sukhman why a mournful face he wears:
"Did the wine-cup not come to thee in thy turn?
Or has some drunken fool curled up his lip at thee?
Or is thy seat not worthy of thy father's deeds?
Come, noble bogatyr, tell thy woe; I shall pay heed."
Then Sukhman speaks to Kiev's proudest son,
"The wine-cup came to me in proper time.
No drunken fool has curled his lip at me.
Nor my seat below what my father's son should see.
But still I will not yield to groundless boasts
Nor prideful claims, nor foolish toasts!
To speak and boast is done with little cost!
Weak words and no brave deeds are naught but dross;
My prince, solnuishko, listen, hear thy knight,
For from thy halls I shall go forth into the night
And find for thee a living, pure, white swan
Which I shall bring thee without any wound.
With my naked hands shall I capture he,
And lay before thee on Theophany."

Having spoken thus does Sukhman rise and so,
Leaving festal hall and Kiev he does go.
His good steed he saddles in the stable dark
Then from out the Golden Gate embarks,
Having but twelve days to thus fulfill his vow,
Sukhman searches streams and lakes for a swan now.
He rides south to look beside the sea of Greeks.
For nine days up and down its feeding creeks,
Yet in none of them does he find what he needs,
Neither swans nor ducks nor swimming geese.
And in despair that his vow he may not abide,
To the Mother Dnieper's banks pledges to ride.
But what mystery is this by Dnieper's stream?
Were her waters then naught but a fevered dream?
For Mother Dnieper has all but ceased to flow,
Only sand lies there between her banks below!
Then bold Sukhman to the river cries aloud,
"Mother dearest, why do you not flow as old?"
And the river then so wearily replies
With a rush of water, like unto his sighs:
"I no longer can my waters speed as old.
Forty thousand Tatars on my banks play bold.
They build bridges strong beneath the sun each day,
And by moonlight in the night I sweep away.
But no more have I the strength to stop them now.
Mother Dneiper's strength is only weakness now."
Angry Sukhman swears to God in heaven high,
That the river should not ever have to die.
Hear, he makes a vow to seek the Tatar mob,
And to kill them for the wicked thing they'd done.
With a shout of boldest fury spurs his horse
With one mighty leap Mother Dnieper's crosst.
In his rage a young oak from the ground he tears,
Mighty club, a fearsome weapon now he bears.
Then upon the host of Tatars fierce he sets
Battles dawn to night, all bridges he upsets.
Sukhman's fearsome cries do drive the wicked foe
To flee his young oak's great turbulent blows.
But each swing of Sukhman's club is terrible,
In the ranks of Tatars makes a street to show;
And when he swings the oak back to attack once more
He tramps down the skulls of nearly seven-score!
So for three long days and three long moonlit nights
Mighty Sukhman with his aweful club does fight.
Til at length the Tatar horde lies round his steed
Countless wounds have long since ceased to bleed.
So does Sukhman turn, the battle at an end.
Espies three foes midst willow bushes then.
And he rides, his club upraised, them for to slay
But their treachery appears to win the day.
They are archers of great skill; vile trickery!
Poisoned arrows shoot and Sukhman feels all three.
But with sweep of club he kills the wicked ones,
Shattered oak he drops, says "So enough have done.
I am wounded by these Tatars' arrows three,
But merest nicks!" So saying pulls them free!
Sukhman takes the green and healing poppy's leaves
Thus a poultice makes and wraps with Tartar's sleeve,
Covering his bleeding wounds, he turns for home
On Theophany stands at Vladimir's throne
Does brave Sukhman stand and tell his awesome tale
Of the battle with the Tatars in the river's pale.

But Vladimir on his face now wears a frown
"When left my hall to vow was't bound,
There thou didst decry boasts one and all,
As all feasted and drank in banquet hall.
Now hast returned with claims passing all lies,
And no living swan is offered to my eyes.
For shame, Sukhman, who broke thy vow
And with vain tales returnest now!"
Great Vladimir then his guardsmen calls
And bids them Sukhman bind and fall,
By his bold white hands they take him hence
And deep within the kremlin they ensconce.
But as the brave youth past the kitchens is led,
His nephew Dobruinya he calls to his side
"Go forth, fair son," does downcast Sukhman say,
"Or ne'er shall I again see light of day.
Ask Mother Dnieper of my noble deeds,
Seek the bloody field; take thou my mighty steed.
Ride thee now, nephew, thy good word I'll await."
And brave Sukhman then consigns himself to fate.

Dobruinya to the river Dnieper comes
And the mighty waters there are flowing strong.
"Mother" cries the boy "what tales of Sukhman tell?"
"To the north, brave boy, to find the Tatar's hell,
For there mighty Sukhman slew the countless foe
All my waters stream once more he let to flow."
Now upon the bloody field Dobruinya goes
Amid the bones and skulls and hungry crows.
All the killing field the fearful boy surveys.
First a Tatar helm inside his pack he lays,
Second takes a Tatar arrow from the ground
And then searches for the weapon all around.
Beside the river in the willows there
A shattered oak Dobruinya takes with care.
Then swiftly rides to Kiev does he well
And to Prince of miraculous prowess tells.

In shame Vladimir stands to raise his shout
To let his faithful bogatyr come out.
"My guardsmen, swiftly to the dungeon go,
Bring up my Sukhman from prison below!
Lead brave youth forth before my shining eyes
Shall I command his praise be sung unto the skies!
My favour to this warrior shall go
Who by his mighty deeds made Dneiper flow.
Whate'er he asks of me to him shall give,
Be lands, or gold; whatever he shall have!
A host of Tatars Sukhman strong has slain,
And I against him in my pride have sinned.
Go quickly now, my knights, to dungeon go!
Bring up brave Sukhman from prison below!"

But to the Prince's hall he does not come,
Goes forth from dungeon to the open field
That lays before the Golden Gate so tall
Beside the river's waters as they fall.
Then speaks the brave youth words from deepest heart
With wounded spirit's graceful, weeping art.
"The Sun knew not his favor how to show,
When I did make the Dnieper thus to flow.
The Sun my words did make into a lie,
Though scores of Tatars by my might did die.
Since my true deeds the Sun refused to see,
Thus shall the Sun never more know me!"
Now reaching to where pierced arrows his flesh
Brave Sukhman from his wounds the poppies takes,
And once again the blood begins to pour
The arrow's poison strikes bogatyr sore.
And Sukhman one last time raises his head
And speaks an epitaph before he's dead.

"Flow on, oh Sukhman River
From out my burning blood!
Great Sun shall trust bogatyr's word
From shedding of my blood come good."
And now above the mighty Dnieper rise
A host of snow-white swans into the skies
Now hear the bells from churches make their toll
As setting sun turns golden domes to flame
The vesper chant like Mother Dnieper rolls
So Symeon's prayer like benediction came.

Twas in Kiev, the old and mighty town
Where the greatest prince of all the Rus held throne.
Twas in Kiev these many years long since
Shame-faced Vladimir, the saddened, tearful Prince,
Twas in Kiev where stood his palace strong
Where he called for all the bogatyri proud
There to join the folk from all around
Twas in Kiev where Vladimir began
A song of praise to honor bold Sukhman.

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DEFINITIONS
bogatyr - a Russian knight (bogatyri is plural)

boyar - a noble or very wealthy merchant (boyartsi is plural)

Red Sun, Sun-blessed Prince, solniushko - all nicknames for Grand Prince Vladimir, the King Arthur of Russian legend

Theophany - the Christian feast on January 6th, called Epiphany in the West and associated with the Three Wise Men. In the east it is associated with the baptism of Christ

Mother Dniepr - (duh-NYEH-pur), a major river of Russia that empties into the Black Sea. Possibly a holdover from paganism to refer to rivers as Mother and attribute speech to them

Tatars - collectively, any of the nomads that were a problem for the Rus, from the Pechenegs to the Khazars and the Mongols.

kremlin - yes, there is The Kremlin in Moscow, but in general the kremlin was the fortress of a town or city

Symeon's prayer - "Lord now lettest Thou thy servant depart in peace..." From the gospels, the words of an old man when the infant Christ is brought to the Temple by Mary and Joseph. Traditional prayer in the evening in Russian Orthodoxy.

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NOTES ON THE RECITATION

Concerning the name "Sukhman", I have also seen it rendered "Sukhan". I have seen the incidents in some of the stories of Ilya Murometz, Dunay Ivanovich, and Vasili Buslayevich as well.

"The Tale of Sukhman" is based upon an English retelling of the story in The Songs of the Russian People (Ralston, pp. 63-66). That version is based on Ralston's Russian prose version of a bylina (Russian epic poem or tale) collected by Alexei Rubinikov near Petrozavodsk in the Ukraine in the middle of the 19th century. You could say that it has gone from Russian verse to Russian prose (translated) to English prose to English verse.

Of necessity, having never seen the original Russian tale either as a bylina or in translation as poetry or folk tale I had to "flesh out" some of the incidents. In point of fact this is a slightly doctored transcription of a lengthy performance piece I gave in the medieval re-enactor's group I belonged to. There's not a lot of Orthodox Christianity in it, and the pagan roots of the culture of the Rus is clearly seen. That's not too surprising given that the tale probably developed in the 12th or 13th century from incidents at the time of either St. Vladimir or of Vladimir Monomakh. I prefer the St. Vladimir dating myself.

As is so prevalent in Russian folklore, the hero is a) falsely accused and b) kills himself (or dies) in the climax of the tale, leaving his antagonist to ponder how he has wronged the dead; this quality of triumph being overshadowed but then glorified by the death of the brave one can be seen in Svayatogor's byliny, that of Iyla Murometz, and many others (Ralston, p.67).

According to A History of Russian Music (Seaman, Ch. 2), the Russian texts were always tied to the melody, and not necessarily rhyming. However, they would always conform to a specific rhythmic form and would use a simple three or four line melody repeated over and over. Both Seaman and Ralston cite Rubinikov as stateing that approximately half of the byliny he collected had fragmentary or no melodic structure remaining in the oral tradition, and theorize that byliny could legitimately be presented without a tune, hence this transcription.

The rhythmic form and melodic pattern for "The Tale of Sukhman" are derived from a song in a Schirmer collection of Russian folk tales and music published in three volumes at the turn of the century. Unfortunately I cannot find the editorial information on this volume and can only offer the information from the song which I copied. The song is titled "The Great Feast at Kiev", and the editor's notes assert that most of the byliny began with such a "standard scenario". The collection gives just 8 lines of music and words, nearly identical to the words I have used in the opening lines of "The Tale of Sukhman". I adapted the words to fit the tale I wished to tell.

Each line conforms generally to a simple rhythmic pattern, though there are incidences where for dramatic purposes byliny vary from the rhythm to some extent. The Tale of Svyatogor is cited by Seaman. Both rhythm and rhyme appear to be thought of as "nice but not always necessary" among the folk who passed the byliny down from generation to generation. I like that attitude since it means I need not memorize numerous rhythmic and rhyming patterns as the Celtic bards were required to do.

FOR FURTHER INFORMATION
Chadwick, Nora K. Russian Heroic Poetry . New York: Russell & Russell, 1964.
Massie, Suzanne; Land of the Firebird , 1980, Simon & Schuster, New York
Oinas, Felix; "Folk Epic" in Folklore & Folklife: An Introduction , ed. Richard M. Dorson, 1972, University of Chicago Press, Chicago
Ralston, W.R.S.; The Songs of the Russian People ; 1872, reprinted 1970, Haskell House, New York
Seaman, Gerald; A History of Russian Music , 1967, Frederick A. Praeger, New York
Sokolov, F. M. Russian Folklore . Hatboro, Pennsylvania: Folklore Associates, 1966.
Stief, Carl. Studies in the Russian Historical Song . Copenhagen: Rosenkilde & Bagger, 1953.