“DANSE MACABRE.”

Otago Witness, Issue 4029, 2 June 1931, Page 63

“DANSE MACABRE.”

(Camille Saint-Sacns—Op. 40.) “What, canst not pay? Begone, thou worthless wretch! ” “ Aye, sell thy fiddle for what pence ’twill fetch! ” “ They’ll serve to weight thine eyelids, or to pay For one last swig to toast the Judgment Bay! ” Cursing, the old man stumbled from the Inn, Clutching his fiddle; far from drunken din. lie came upon the churchyard still and white Beneath a gibbous moon’s uneasy light. “ They drove me out, the dirty dogs! They said My music was enough to wake the dead! ” (Twelve solemn strokes fell from the tower’s chime.) “ Aha, let’s see! ” —He harshly scraped the time. His aged fingers trembling on the strings Woke a weird measure; flap of sable wings, Strange, muffled chanting, thud of dancing feet Were in the mumming of its magic beat. Roused by the summons, rattling their dry bones, With right good will the dead heaved up their stones; To the scourged music of a quaking man, Under the moon a dance of death began. A youth who starved in poverty and cold Swung a rich widow, choked with her own gold; Clasped by the village sot, a maid once fair And cold as ice leaped in the sultry air; With Gipsy Jack, who knew the gallows’ shame, Footing it gayly was the Squire’s proud dame; Her stately spouse there jigged it close beside The wench who bore a nameless babe and died. Madder and louder yet the fiddling grew, Wilder and faster whirled the ghastly crew, The very trees in frenzy seemed to rock When— Hark! The clarion of a distant cock! Like smoke they vanished; dawn’s grey fingers crept Where once again the dead in silence slept. The music swelled, grew fainter, wandered on, Wavered to silence, shrieked once —and was gone. Grave-diggers chancing on the old man there Bead eyes with some horrific sight astare, Fled as they crossed themselves; his fiddle’s shell Was scorched and blackened by a breath from Hell. ■—Mary Cole Carrington, in the American Magazine.