“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white.
And yet you incessantly stand on your head.
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,
“I feared it might injure the brain.
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,
“And have grown most uncommonly fat.
Yet you turned a back somersault in at the door.
Pray what is the meaning of that?”
“In my youth,” said his father, as he shook his grey locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple,
By the use of this ointment, two shillings the box.
Allow me to sell you a couple?”
“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
For anything stronger than suet.
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak:
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife.
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose,
That your eye was as steady as ever.
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose.
What made you so awfully clever?”
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Said his father, “don’t give yourself airs.
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!”
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand, longtime the manxsome foe he sought.
So rested he by the Tumtum tree and stood a while in thought.
And while in uffish thought he stood, the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, and burbled as it came.
One, two, one, two, and through and through, the vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head, he went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh, frabjous day! Calloo, callay!” He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.
The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make the billows smooth and bright.
And this was odd, because it was the middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily, because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there after the day was done.
“It’s very rude of him,” she said, “to come and spoil the fun.”
The sea was wet as wet could be, the sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because no clouds were in the sky.
No birds were flying overhead, there were no birds to fly.
The walrus and the carpenter were walking close at hand.
They wept like anything to see such quantities of sand.
“If this were only cleared away,” they said, “it would be grand!”
“If seven maids with seven mops swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,” the walrus said, “that they could get it clear?”
“I doubt it,” said the carpenter, and shed a bitter tear.
“O Oysters, come and walk with us,” the walrus did beseech.
“A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk along the briny beach.
We cannot do with more than four, to give a hand to each.”
The eldest oyster looked at him, but never a word he said.
The eldest oyster winked his eye, and shook his heavy head.
Meaning to say he did not choose to leave the oyster bed.
But four young oysters hurried up, all eager for the treat.
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, their shoes were clean and neat.
And this was odd, because, you know, they hadn’t any feet.
Four other oysters followed them, and yet another four;
And thick and fast, they came at last, and more, and more, and more.
All hopping through the frothy waves and scrambling to the shore.
The walrus and the carpenter walked on a mile or so,
And there they rested on a rock conveniently low.
And all the little oysters stood and waited in a row.
“The time has come,” the walrus said, “to talk of many things.
Of shoes, and ships, and sealing-wax, of cabbages and kings,
And why the sea is boiing hot, and whether pigs have wings.”
“But wait a bit,” the oysters cried, “before we have our chat.
For some of us are out of breath, and all of us are fat.”
“No hurry,” said the carpenter. They thanked him much for that.
“A loaf of bread,” the walrus said, “is what we chiefly need.
Pepper and vinegar besides are very good indeed.
Now if you’re ready, oysters dear, we can begin to feed.”
“But not on us,” the oysters cried, turning a little blue.
“After such kindness, that would be a dismal thing to do.”
“The night is fine,” the walrus said, “do you admire the view?”
“It was so kind of you to come, and you are very nice.”
The carpenter said nothing but, “Cut us another slice.
I wish you were not quite so deaf, I’ve had to ask you twice!”
“It seems a shame,” the walrus said,” to play them such a trick.
After we’ve brought them out so far, and made them trot so quick.”
The carpenter said nothing but, “The butter’s spread too thick!”
“I weep for you,” the walrus said, “I deeply sympathize.”
With sobs and tears he sorted out those of the largest size.
Holding his pocket handkerchief before his streaming eyes.
“O oysters,” said the carpenter, we’ve had a pleasant run.
Shall we be trotting home again?” But answer came there none.
And this was scarcely odd, because they’d eaten every one.
PDF: Lewis_Carroll_Triptych-sample.pdf
For eight decades I have enjoyed Carroll’s work. I remember my father, of blessed memory, reading Alice in Wonderland to me when I was no more than four. I in turn read Carroll to my children when they were little. My favorites have always been these three poems.
I still remember my father reciting “Walrus” and me misinterpreting “sealing-wax” as “ceiling wax” and wondering why in the world anyone would wax a ceiling.
“Father William” conjures up for me a walnut-paneled library, a huge world globe in one corner and in another, on an oak stand, the OED open to the letter M. The chairs are of black leather with brass upholstery tacks.
The son, voiced by sopranos, second altos and second tenors, begins his questioning; the father, voiced by the other parts, replies. The first two stanzas are in straightforward harmony, but as the conversation gets more testy, dissonance increases. Everything resolves at the end, where a unison downward whole-tone scale depicts the threat of the kick downstairs.
This whole-tone motif, also present in “Jabberwocky,” is carried to its nerdy extreme in the key progression, starting in D major and proceeding downward, a whole tone at a time, ending up in C major for the last stanza. Each of the eight choral parts gets its chance at the melody.
For “Jabberwocky” the mood shifts. The time signature is 7/8, the tempo slows, the voicing is normal SATB for the scene-setting. Then the action begins. Faster, louder. The men in three parts take the father’s role while the women in three parts provide emphasis. The section reaches its climax on “Bandersnatch” on a prickly eight-part chord.
The initial tempo and dynamic return for the “vorpal sword” narrative section, mostly in straight SATB. Back to the father, again voiced by the men in three parts, rejoicing in the death of the Jabberwock menace, while the women add their commentary.
Shame on any conductor who flouts my direction for the men to sing “Calloo, callay” falsetto. To have the women sing those two words would ruin the effect.
Back to the beginning. This time the movement ends on a downward whole-tone scale as in the first movement, but in harmony and with the basses singing a rising chromatic line. Everything comes to rest happily on a cushiony F Major chord.
I enjoy text-painting as much as anyone, and I had great fun with the squawk of the Jubjub bird, the women singing a whole tone apart. It was likewise with “burble,” “galumph” and “chortle.” It is striking that these three words — and more — that Carroll humorously coined have long since found their way into standard English.
“Walrus” presented an architectural challenge. There are 18 stanzas. How to avoid monotony while also keeping faith with the strophic nature of the poem? I decided on three themes, just different enough from each other. The first and third themes cadence on the now-familiar downward whole tone scale.
The basses take the role of the Walrus, the tenors sing the Carpenter’s words. The women, in three parts, are the doomed oysters. I gave the tenors/Carpenter yet another downward whole tone scale, at the very top of their register, on the line “The butter’s spread too thick!” It still gives me a chuckle.
I began the final line (“And this was scarcely odd.....”) like a fugue, but I cut it off abruptly. Already the movement runs seven minutes, a minute longer than the first two together. And I took a cue from Mozart’s A Musical Joke, the part where he begins a fugue but quickly discards it, as if to say “Oh, the hell with it.”
This leads to the ending, yet another downward whole tone phrase in the sopranos, with all four parts converging on middle C on the word “one.”