A Toccata of Galuppi's (II) 2014
* In response to Robert Browning’s A Toccata of Galuppi’s
1
But when night throws down her tresses and dead women through the room
In their gowns of sheerest velvet pace and rustle in the gloom
All in black! White faces shrouded in thin veils of midnight's loom—
2
Softly waiting. In the dark, faint flitting moths of powdered wing
Dear dead butterflies, with lives as short as all of summer's things
What, they wait now?—Pine in Winter, having wasted all their Spring?—
3
Then the sound of one piano soft begins its long-dead tune
And they stiffen at the music once that made them sigh and swoon
Round their throats the gold still heavy, gleaming in the light of moon.
4
"Oh, he plays!" "Tis brave Galuppi, come once more for us to play."
Like a breath, they gather round and all the shadows seem to sway
With their sighs the curtains ripple. "Play us that tune of olden days!
5
"So you played it?"—"Yes I played it. The old toccata that they knew,"
O'er the rusted yellow keys, so long unplayed, my fingers flew.
And with each swift change of key, more restless all the figures grew.
6
And the sixths diminished in the air like ghosts seemed soft to quaver—
As you struck the notes, did any one among them seem to waver?
—"One? They clustered round me— all— as if I were their only saviour!"
7
"Must we live?" Those lesser thirds, so plaintive, sounded manifold—
"Oh, these chains are cold and heavy— can we not tear off this gold?"
Did I think I heard a whisper? No, 'twas just the wind made bold.
8
And the, gleeful, dashing music— kept on playing— fire on ice,
Striking octaves bold and cheery— happy sevenths trilled o'er thrice
"Come make merry, life will last!" —till it drowned the softer sighs.
9
But the women— oh, such women! Stately in their shrouds as Queens
Like black tulips on fine stalks the veiled heads on the white necks lean
When at once they drew their veils, and all those faces kept unseen—
10
Were bared. "Look!" They croaked in voices, and my heart with fever burned
"Dust and ashes! —You who say there is no soul can be discerned
Say you now, has Venice finished paying back what Venice earned?
11
Aye, you laughing watch in dark— and this cursed music will not be still
Persistent, still demanding answers: "Free those women if you will.
With your science." —I've no answer I can give their hearts to fill!
12
"Oh, they were fine then, Venice's beauties, watered rose and freshest cream
But finer now, with shades of pallor— when beauty's faded like a dream
Think you not? Pale cheeks of ivory, sunken high— to suit them seem?
13
And the night draws on forever, and the women moan and sigh,
"You who know of bodies mortal, dissect both moths and butterflies
So to yourself chuckling softly. —Where goes the soul once they all die?
14
"Dust and ashes!" So they creak it, and my hair stands up on end
Would I could stop! —But they creep close and o'er my shoulder seem to bend.
"Play our music, brave Galuppi!" Oh, will this music have no end?
15
And through the rooms the long-dead women creep like rustling leaves in fall
All their years, and yours and mine, combined— as if I lived it all
As if the soul had no dimension— I comprehend! I heed your call!
1
But when night throws down her tresses and dead women through the room
In their gowns of sheerest velvet pace and rustle in the gloom
All in black! White faces shrouded in thin veils of midnight's loom—
2
Softly waiting. In the dark, faint flitting moths of powdered wing
Dear dead butterflies, with lives as short as all of summer's things
What, they wait now?—Pine in Winter, having wasted all their Spring?—
3
Then the sound of one piano soft begins its long-dead tune
And they stiffen at the music once that made them sigh and swoon
Round their throats the gold still heavy, gleaming in the light of moon.
4
"Oh, he plays!" "Tis brave Galuppi, come once more for us to play."
Like a breath, they gather round and all the shadows seem to sway
With their sighs the curtains ripple. "Play us that tune of olden days!
5
"So you played it?"—"Yes I played it. The old toccata that they knew,"
O'er the rusted yellow keys, so long unplayed, my fingers flew.
And with each swift change of key, more restless all the figures grew.
6
And the sixths diminished in the air like ghosts seemed soft to quaver—
As you struck the notes, did any one among them seem to waver?
—"One? They clustered round me— all— as if I were their only saviour!"
7
"Must we live?" Those lesser thirds, so plaintive, sounded manifold—
"Oh, these chains are cold and heavy— can we not tear off this gold?"
Did I think I heard a whisper? No, 'twas just the wind made bold.
8
And the, gleeful, dashing music— kept on playing— fire on ice,
Striking octaves bold and cheery— happy sevenths trilled o'er thrice
"Come make merry, life will last!" —till it drowned the softer sighs.
9
But the women— oh, such women! Stately in their shrouds as Queens
Like black tulips on fine stalks the veiled heads on the white necks lean
When at once they drew their veils, and all those faces kept unseen—
10
Were bared. "Look!" They croaked in voices, and my heart with fever burned
"Dust and ashes! —You who say there is no soul can be discerned
Say you now, has Venice finished paying back what Venice earned?
11
Aye, you laughing watch in dark— and this cursed music will not be still
Persistent, still demanding answers: "Free those women if you will.
With your science." —I've no answer I can give their hearts to fill!
12
"Oh, they were fine then, Venice's beauties, watered rose and freshest cream
But finer now, with shades of pallor— when beauty's faded like a dream
Think you not? Pale cheeks of ivory, sunken high— to suit them seem?
13
And the night draws on forever, and the women moan and sigh,
"You who know of bodies mortal, dissect both moths and butterflies
So to yourself chuckling softly. —Where goes the soul once they all die?
14
"Dust and ashes!" So they creak it, and my hair stands up on end
Would I could stop! —But they creep close and o'er my shoulder seem to bend.
"Play our music, brave Galuppi!" Oh, will this music have no end?
15
And through the rooms the long-dead women creep like rustling leaves in fall
All their years, and yours and mine, combined— as if I lived it all
As if the soul had no dimension— I comprehend! I heed your call!
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