The Royal Saxon Library of Dresden held her manuscripts in contempt,
hollow halls of art hung in solemn silence, over thousands upon thousands
of endless volumes of law, music, and literature gathered dust over the
gilded ages of Germany, procurators of knowledge hid away her spangled
vast and priceless atheneum away from prying arms and demagogues;
vacant undisturbed chairs, voiceless queries, and uncharted treasure maps
dappled the reference chambers with regalia, well-bred kings, well-paid
guardians and well-fed armies protected this impenetrable sanctuary, Alas,
came Fredrick the Great with his enlightened army who burnt to the ground
part of the library's wing, pages still reek of ember, yet, the eternal soul of
this institution lives on, though the lecherous World War II ushered in with
wrath, motions of emotional minds integrate an exodus of every manuscript,
codex and art to be strewn and divided among eighteen castles away from
military bombardment; and over 250,000 books were stolen by the Russians
who conveniently lifted them without a checkout; Dresden survived, everything
but 200,000 endless volumes of music survived, and you can hear the bombing
raids cascading down in Tomaso Giovanni Albinoni's Adiago in G Minor, the
day the music died.
- John Hardesty
No comments:
Post a Comment