%
% Cassandra and Tyrant
%
% Reuben Thomas   Christmas 2004--7th January 2005; 26th May 2006
%
% Typeset 10th April 2005, 26th May 2006
% Cross-referenced excerpted conversation that led to the poem 30th October 2006
% Made quotes curly 15th February 2017
% Used ellipsis character 7th May 2018
%


\documentclass[english]{article}
\usepackage[utf8]{inputenc}
\usepackage{a4,babel,palatino,hyperref}
\usepackage[nonotes]{poem}
\setcounter{poemchunksize}{200}

\pagestyle{empty}

\begin{document}
\begin{poem}
\title{Cassandra and Tyrant}
\stanza*
As she started up the steps \\
She let herself sink back in memory, \\
Rehearsed the reasons she had come this far, \\
To the dull foot of this oppressive tower, \\
And wondered where in what had passed the key \\
Lay to her disobedience \\
To fate, to the cold edicts of the gods, \\
And how that strange hope, like a secret spear, \\
Bolstered her, kept at bay the mad despair \\
That is their rightful lot who would defy \\
The sacred oaths that compel destiny. \\

\stanza*
Why her? This much was clear, she was alone \\
In seeing what must happen, how the one \\
She climbed to meet would slowly steal to power, \\
Dissolving fear in apathy with bland \\
Unmeaning phrases, or simply plain truth, \\
Which fear and apathy join to unsee. \\
Why had she not enlisted help, or gone \\
With what she knew to the authorities? \\
Because she trusted in her curse, \\
Knew better than to openly rebel. \\
And so she only saw what was to come \\
And only she could not pronounce the doom, \\
So to prevent it, only she could act. \\

\stanza*
Three steps, two, one, and she has reached the top, \\
Nor even seen a guard to bar her way, \\
Ahead, a high-roofed hall swallows her gaze; \\
Deep in its dim-lit throat the one she seeks \\
Sits at a desk, pretending not to see, \\
But cannot hide a grin, a soundless laugh. \\
She stops, stands silent, waits; there is a pause… \\

\stanza*
At last, Tyrant can bear no more, and crows: \\
“Cassandra! so, you come at last to plead, \\
To beg before me for your sorry life! \\
Helpless, you whom no-one would believe, \\
And now have only me to turn to! Aah…” \\
“I came as soon as I saw fit,” she says, \\
“To ask you this:” \\
\splitline         “You have a question? Ha! \\
What insolence! but I'll indulge you.” \\
\splitline                             “Then, \\
I would know which is better: a small plot \\
With a cottage, where one may live at peace, \\
Or dominion over all the world's lands?” \\
“And you would ask me that?” scoffs Tyrant, “You, \\
So puny-willed, so small of heart, might find \\
A garden dominion enough, but I! \\
How could I rule less than the wide world's bounds!” \\
“Is nothing better than the world?” she asks, \\
Her lips hinting a smile Tyrant sees not, \\
“Nothing!” \\
\splitline “But is it not true also that, \\
A small garden is better than nothing?” \\

\stanza*
Tyrant stares at Cassandra, disbelief \\
Precluding speech, almost forestalling rage, \\
Until the effort of fist banging desk \\
Unblocks the voice: “Is that what you came for? \\
To trot out childish jokes? Begone! \\
Here's not a playground, my task's not a game!” \\
She answers, “I have just one question more.” \\
“Ask it then!” \\
\splitline     “In a vineyard, which is best: \\
To labour or to own its fruits? Is not \\
The worker happier, who tastes \\
The sweet grapes first, and in abundance?” \\
\splitline                                 “Fool! \\
Does not the owner drink first and most deep \\
Of the true fruit, of the new-vintaged wine?” \\
“True, but when the grapes are human bodies, \\
The sweet juice their blood, what then is the wine?” \\

\stanza*
Slowly, Tyrant laughs. “But blood-scented pain \\
Is just the wine I most desire. \\
Away with you and your foul sentiment! \\
I do not even deign to cause your death.” \\

\stanza*
And so she left; Tyrant began to rule, \\
And many suffered much because of it. \\
But the gods' curse was not to be denied: \\
Unbelieved, her prophecy yet came true. \\
Tyrant ruled long years, but never enjoyed \\
The use of tyranny; a few short months \\
Of government's relentless detail crushed \\
All pleasure out; only a slave remained. \\

\author{Reuben Thomas}
\poemdate{7th January 2005; revised 26th May 2006 and 9th May 2018}
\end{poem}
\begin{notes}
This poem is complete but not finished. A half-way point (from 2nd
January 2005), when it was still largely a prose sketch, is included
in the LaTeX source.

The poem was written for Constance Sereni, casting her as Tyrant and
myself as Cassandra; for the inspiration, see \url{\textasciitilde{}/.purple/logs/msn/rrt@sc3d.org/saeyen@hotmail.com/2004-12-29.185116.html}
starting at 19:47:25, excerpted as \url{Cassandra conversation.txt}.
\end{notes}
\end{document}

% Cassandra and the Tyrant

% (Cassandra's Joke
% or How To Beat a Dark Lord)

% As she started up the steps
% She let herself sink back in memory,
% Rehearsed the reasons she had come this far,
% To the forbidding foot of this dark tower,
% And wondered where in what had passed the key
% Lay to her disobedience
% To fate, to the cold edicts of the gods,
% And how that strange hope, like a secret spear,
% Still filled her, kept at bay the mad despair
% That is their rightful lot who would defy
% The sacred oaths that compel destiny.

% Why her? This much was clear, she was alone
% In seeing what must happen, how the one
% She climbed to meet would [...rise to power,
% taking everyone in. She had not even tried to tell anyone, because
% she knew no-one would believe her. And now, being the only one to forsee
% what would happen, she was also the only one who could stop it. Call it
% the gods' sense of humour, if you like.

% She comes to the Tyrant, who is only too happy to gloat at her downfall,
% and the fact that no-one would believe her prophecies (which she never
% uttered, knowing the effort would be futile). The Tyrant asks what she
% has to say for herself.

% She asks, "which is better: a small garden, or rule over the entire
% world?". The Tyrant scoffs, and says "one so small-hearted might only be
% able to manage a garden, but for me, nothing less than the world!".
% Cassandra replies, "Is nothing better than the world?" "Nothing!" "But a
% garden is better than nothing," says Cassandra with a smile.

% The Tyrant is angry. "Is that the best you can do? Tell feeble jokes?
% Now go, I have serious matters to attend to." Cassandra says "I have
% just one question." "Ask it then!" "Which is better: to labour in a
% vineyard, or to own it? Is it not better to be the labourer, who first
% tastes the sweet fruits, and in abundance?"

% The Tyrant is contemptuous. "Fool! Does not the owner drink first and
% most deeply of the wine?" "True," replies Cassandra, "but what when the
% grapes are human beings and the sweet juice their blood? What then is
% the wine?"

% The Tyrant laughs. "But caked wounds and cries of pain are the sweetest
% things to me! Away with your sentiment! I do not deign even to kill
% you." And Cassandra left, and the Tyrant began to rule, and great was
% the pain and suffering in the world. But the gods' oath held,
% and though, as they swore, Cassandra's prophecy was not believed,
% neither did it fail. In a few short years the Tyrant was driven mad,
% crushed by the relentless detail of government, and for the rest of a
% long life, never enjoyed the fruits of power.]
