CANTO V
Godless Russia
Thus dire consequences often
From small causes are conceived—
The Russian nation had no god,
Their creed now was bereaved.
It were an easy matter
To find redress today,
Since nearly every preacher
Makes his own god from clay.
The Russians took for granted
Without the slightest doubt
That, since they drowned god Perun,
They needs must go without.
And since of such procedure
They never heard before.
They dredded that their future
Strange horrors held in store.
This world, though, is unchanging,
While humans there abide—
And spitting in the ocean
Will never turn its tide.
The Ship of State in Russia
Ran on an even keel,
Without Perun, as smoothly
As would a spinning wheel.
Old people died, and children
Were born as of yore—
The toper drank, the laborer
Worked as he did before.
Plums ripened in the autumn,
So did the luscious pear—
And after the rainy weather
The sky again was fair.
The sun shone but in daytime,
The moon but shone at night;
The summer’s heat molested
The Tsar, despite his might.
Corn, wheat, had to be planted,
Weeds grew with disregard;
Nobility was idle,
The peasant labored hard.
Who paid his obligations
Was ever favored first;
Folks ate when they were hungry,
And drank whene’er athirst.
All rocks and stones were solid,
The lakes and rivers wet.
The rich were proud, the lowly
With poverty beset.
The gentry scorned the townsmen
As of a lower sphere.
The innkeepers, as ever,
Poured water in their beer.
Impatiently youth hurried,
The aged, for relief
Rested; each bit of pleasure
Was followed by some grief.
Whoever owned some chattels
Served avarice as prize;
People were mostly stupid,
Only a few were wise.
Thieves and rascals prospered
As in Perun’s day—
Honest, trustful mortals
Were their easy prey.
For this world is unchanging,
Wherever people roam
And spitting in the ocean
Will never make it foam.
The Ship of State in Russia,
Like a machine well oiled
Ran on, without god Perun,
Unruffled and unspoiled.
The clerical machine, though,
Came to a sudden stop,
Since its collection pouches
Were strangled at the top.
The cunning, wily peasants
Who never miss a trick
Took of god Perun’s drowning
Advantage rather quick.
Donations at the Masses,
And Prayers, they forebore—
Why should they give their kopecks,
Since Perun was no more?
Offertories were neglected,
Funerals were very still;
Sextons suffered of starvation,
Priests could not their bellies fill.
Miracles appeared—some people
Saw Saints’ pictures blood exude,
And a virgin village maiden
Gave birth to a dragon brood.
Signs and omens scarred the heavens,
All the hags were stricken dumb;
All disposed of their possessions,
Fearing judgment day to come.
Women, scared of premonitions,
Seemed to hear the water roar
Of another flood arushing
Through each crevice, crack and door.
Newlyweds were blessed with babies
Three months after they were wed—
Kinsmen, don your life preservers
Ere the Flood pours o’er your head!