The Crimean War, Part 3

Perhaps we should go back and see the dawn,
When Cassocks swept through janissary horde,
Towards Silestra, unlock quick the Danube!
They stalled and though fanatic flames the tsar
He cannot feed the elect on passion.
And they were elect, in number at least,
Heaven’s number camped there stretched thin
Beat by the merciless logic of war.
And they withdrew.
See in how few words we have sketched this noble start!

But here it did not end. Why?
Through Dardanelles the queen’s fleet flew
Near land which in sixty short years
Bloodstained would be past all compare
To this rehearsal.
Through gaps they passed the Golden Horn
Blue spires and fragile minarets
Sacked twice, eternally despoiled,
This symbol of a misplaced hope,
Coiled smoke and icon lamps all lit,
Now represented man is gone
Just words and space and prayer and power.
Would you, O prying man, see through
And find the war at last in full?
History has ne’er judged full right yet,
Confined since Thucydides’ book
To simple human cause alone.
Yet here you’ll find it, human heart,
In Eastern city, Byzantium.
Out! You who see, you cannot see!
Whose landedness abuts their name,
Whose cunning Euclidean mind
Can see each part but miss the whole.
What caused it? Who sent men to die?
I did.

No, not I!

But you did, I did too, we all!