Solovyov, ‘Panmongolism’


Panmongolism! Although the name is savage, Its sound is sweet to me, As if it were filled with the portent, Of a great divine destiny.

When in corrupt Byzantium, The sacred altar grew cold, The people and the prince, the priest and the ruler Denied the Messiah,

Then an unknown and alien people Arose from the East, And the Second Rome was cast to the ground, Dealt a crushing blow by harsh fate.

We do not want to learn From the fate of fallen Byzantium, And all Russia’s flatterers repeat: ‘You are the Third Rome’.

What is one to say? The weapons of divine punishment Are not yet exhausted. A swarm of emergent tribes is preparing to inflict new blows.

From Malayan shores to the Altai, Tribal leaders from Eastern isles have gathered the dark masses of their troops By rebellious China’s walls.

As numerous and insatiable as locusts, These tribes march north, Protected from on high.

Oh, Rus’! Forget your former glory. The two-headed eagle is crushed, and fragments of the nation’s banners Are given to yellow-skinned children for their play. That nation, which could forget their testament of love, Now submits in fear and trembling, And the Third Rome lies in ashes; There will be no fourth…


Jonathan Sutton, The Religious Philosophy of Vladimir Solovyov, Hampshire & London: Macmillan Press, 1988;  Solovyov’s Poem ‘Panmongolism’ Appendix II, p. 194


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