The Second Life of Moztrot

Chapters

Chapter 2: From the Mouth of Celestia
Chapter 3: New Plans and Unfinished Compositions
Chapter 4: Twelve Variations
Chapter 5: Moving In
Chapter 6: The Welcoming Party
Chapter 7: Of Hangovers and Family Matters
Chapter 8: The First Train Ride
Chapter 9: Inspiration at the Dinner Table
Chapter 10: Touring the Empire
Chapter 11: Of Rehearsals and Lullabies
Chapter 14: Music Festival (Part 2)
Chapter 15: Music Festival (Part 3)
Chapter 16: Music Festival (Part 4)
Chapter 17: The Closing Pieces
Chapter 18: Piano in the Attic
Chapter 19: Requiem (Part 1)
Chapter 20: Requiem (Part 2)
Chapter 21: Billiards with Starlight and Sunburst
Chapter 22: Day Trip to Ponyville
Chapter 23: Winter in Manehattan
Chapter 24: A Play on Bridleway
Chapter 25: Salieri (Act 1)
Chapter 26: Salieri (Act 2)
Chapter 28: Intermission and Old Friends
Chapter 29: Hearth’s Warming Morning
Chapter 30: Comfort and Joy
Chapter 31: Setting Up the Stage
Chapter 32: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 1)
Chapter 33: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 2)
Chapter 34: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 3)
Chapter 35: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 4)
Chapter 36: A Promise to Keep
Chapter 37: Drinking with Horseshoepin and Paganeighni
Chapter 38: To Write a Symphony
Chapter 39: Star Swirl the Bearded
Chapter 40: Sweetie Belle’s First Symphony
Chapter 41: The Changeling Hive
Chapter 42: King Thorax’s Surprise
Chapter 44: The Magic Flute (Act 2)
Chapter 45: Her Name is Clypeus
Chapter 46: The Final Visit and New Beginnings
Chapter 1: Life After Death
Chapter 12: Music Festival (Part 1)
Chapter 27: Hearth’s Warming Eve Concert
Chapter 43: The Magic Flute (Act 1)

Chapter 2: From the Mouth of Celestia

I was granted my request. A minute later, they brought me a bundle of scratch paper in a kind of notebook and a sharpened pencil. The doctors and my visitor left me, closing the curtains all around to leave me alone with my silence. The first thing I did was to draw staves before I could write more of the Requiem. At last, my mind was coming back to me and the notes were finding their way back with the original ideas demanded to be recorded.

Only, once I’d drawn enough lines, I had to pause to think about where to begin again. The Lacrimosa was nothing but a skeleton and I was sure that the beginning fugues could be improved. And there were several movements that I was sure could be set down, but I had so many ideas I didn’t know where to start. I admit that I don’t know how long I stared at the blank paper like a painter trying to see the image on canvas.

Perhaps it was my alien surroundings, or that I couldn’t see the natural light from the window, or perhaps I didn’t have so much as a clavichord with me, but for a long time I couldn’t bring myself to sketch out a single note. There was something not only wrong, but something missing that was keeping my mind from focusing, and try as I might I couldn’t put my hoof on it.

That was when I heard a door opening and several hooves come marching in. These steps were not like the doctor’s or his assistants’, for there was a metallic clank that followed every step. “Hello?” I called out. “Who’s there?”

“It’s been a long time, Wolfgang Moztrot.” Instantly I knew whose voice it was. The curtains in front of my bed were drawn aside like that of a theater, letting me see the Sun Princess herself and her seemingly equally immortal guards. Of course, I was surprised at this. It had, for me, been years since the last time Celestia had ever wanted to see me.

“Princess,” said I, “you will have to forgive me for not bowing. As you can see I’m in no condition to do so.”

“The doctors told me that you would need bed rest for about a week,” she said. “Still, it has been too long since the last time we saw each other. In fact, I’m rather grateful that you came back.”

I tilted my head, “Grateful? The last time we met, you kicked me out of court because I joked that you were so respected that you could squat down, drop your royal feces on the carpet and no noble would blink an eye at it.”

While the guards flanking her were shocked and disgusted, Celestia gave a deadpan sigh, “Yep, this is definitely Moztrot. Look, I have much on my mind now that you are here, so if you could please hear me out -- without saying something that you may regret.” She cleared her throat and began, “Wolfgang, I’m sorry.”

I blinked, “For what?”

She sat down on her haunches. “For unintentionally ruining your life. Moztrot, at the time I was persuaded by some members of the court to not give you an official royal position, nor raise your salary when your family needed it the most. Everything that drove you into the gutter with no regard to the glorious works you’d produced. I’m sorry for not giving praise to your operas, concertos, and symphonies, for not calling them what they deserved to be called – masterpieces. I’m sorry for being manipulated and misinformed of how I was causing you and your family to suffer. Moztrot, I didn’t know the truth until it was far too late, and for all the pain I have caused you, I want to do everything in my power to make it up to you.”

This time I carefully angled my upper half on the crooked bed. “Are you saying that… you’re going to help me from now on? Really help me?”

She nodded, “For the effort, you put into such divine music, you deserved much better. And as I’ve said, I do want to make up for my transgressions. Can you forgive me?”

“If that means that I’m getting a higher salary then yes!” I grinned happily, “At last! Things are changing for the better! Oh, wait until Constanze hears about this! This means we can move back to a much better place for our colts and…” I trailed off when I saw the apologetic look on her face. “What?”

“Didn’t Sunburst tell you?” she inquired. Her ears were folded back and eyes filled to the brim with concern. “Moztrot, the world has moved on since the last time you left us.”

“Pfft!” I waved a hoof, practically giggling. “Oh, that nonsense? I mean really, I have been gone for two-hundred-and-sixteen years! Now I tell you, if you’re behind this, then I must say well done! These doctors and that Sunburst character are indeed the finest actors I’ve come across. Quite convincing, saying that I’m in the future with a straight-”

“This is not a prank,” Celestia interrupted. “Wolfgang, even if this was, I would have called it off by now already. It’s true. You are indeed in the future.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Prove it.”

Her horn gleamed a golden glow as the curtains on all sides of me was opened, revealing the room in its entirety for the first time. It was a small, plain room with smooth checkered tiles, sterile white walls, a painting of clouds in a boxy metal frame, and a window that let most of the light into the room. Celestia asked if I could walk; however, as I carefully sat up, I hissed at the stinging pain in my side. So Her Highness used her magic to gently carry me out of my confinement, with the metal staff and its bag of water dragging behind me. She showed me the world beyond the window. At first, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary as the structure of the surrounding buildings looked as I remembered, at least at first glance.

However, the longer I stared, the more details I noticed, of how… off everything was. First, it was the ponies that walked about; there wasn’t a single powdered wig in sight. Their clothes, while simplified, were nearly the same design for stallions and mares. The lampposts looked as if they were made entirely out of glass for there were no candles in them. A mare walked by with disks over her ears, bobbing her head like a bird. Overhead, a balloon of great mass flew by silently and smoothly through the air. Carriages went by with the drivers and their cars in yellow uniforms; they looked like bees in a field of flowers.

I looked at the Princess, confused. “What is all of this?” I inquired, “It looks like Canterlot in form but in the details it… it is as if something is not quite right.”

“Look at the room around you,” Celestia pointed out, “particularly at the lights.”

I did so. Now seeing the room as a whole, I found that not only the lights above my bed but across the entire ceiling were somehow embedded flatly into the ceiling in rectangles. They were sterile, cool, and flickering; for a moment, I couldn’t comprehend how fire could do such a trick. Then Celestia’s aura pushed up one of these rectangles to reveal a see-through panel, lowering it to show twin tubes that were glowing.

“These are called light bulbs,” the Princess explained. “They are powered by electricity, a system that has been in place for nearly a century.” She turned to me, “Want more proof?”

At that moment, I couldn’t process any more. As much as I tried to use reason to find some fault, something to dismiss what my own senses were seeing, it all looked so real. Too real. I would be an outright fool to deny it. So I ended up shaking my head and she lay me back down in my bed, dumbstruck. A condition that I rarely found myself in. The reality of the situation filled the room, drowning me.

“But… But Princess, if this is true… then that would mean that… everypony I knew is…” My voice was choked by emotion and my eyes became misty with tears. Celestia immediately embraced me with her white wings. As much as she tried to comfort me, my ears became deaf as the realization appeared to me as if written in stone: my whole family, friends, enemies, students… were gone. The world I knew, that I wrote for, that I played in, was dead.

My world had ended the moment that I had awoken.

Needless to say, I cried, sobbed and wailed like a child. I hiccupped in tears, letting my eyes run waterfalls onto the bedsheets. All the while, Celestia held me like a sympathetic mother, whispering that everything was going to be alright. But, I’m embarrassed to say, my emotions disagreed ferociously.

The sense of time had escaped me completely; for I all cared, it could have been minutes or days. But when I finally showed signs of calm, she let go of me. “Wolfgang,” she said softly. “I and all of Equestria are here now to help you. After all, you have left behind, we owe a debt to you in regaining your happiness. If you need something, ask away.”

I remembered sniffing before replying, “I want my family back.” Yes, it was an impossible request, but in such a state it was what I could think about.

She hugged me one more time before telling me that she had a gift for me. Through the door, an unusual keyboard was brought in that had only a wide range of keys and two round plates at the ends. Celestia told me that she knew that, while she couldn’t remove my grief, she did know how to deal with it. The keyboard she presented was an “electrical piano.” After pressing a button, she depressed a key that she told me resembled strongly that of a grand piano (whatever that meant). While the tone did sound off to me, I did thank her Majesty before she left the room, promising to return tomorrow.

Celestia was right in one regard: in times when life became cruel, I had my music as a close friend to offer me solace. My hooves stretched over the keyboard, my memory walking backward to a particular sonata. It was the one I wrote after Mama died; now the Andante cantabile con espressione melody brought forth a new idea to my imagination: the faces of my wife and children.

Even while my tears blinded me, my hooves played on for an audience of one.

Chapter 3: New Plans and Unfinished Compositions

I had experienced this sort of sadness before. My family is no stranger to death: I saw my Mama go when we were in Prance; my first three children died before they could reach their first birthday; and the news of Papa being gone forever -- such moments are the kind that I had dreaded and feared ever since I was a child. Although it is one thing to see one pony go before your eyes – it was completely different to know that the world and life you had known was dead. To never hear the voices of those I once knew, to be isolated in a completely unfamiliar world, went beyond my comprehension while giving a new meaning to loneliness.

My week in that hospital room was uneventful. The only impression left on my mind was lying in that bed as doctors came and went to check up on me. Every so often, I was helped out of the bed to reach the toilet or to be given a sponge bath. I spent much of my time at the electrical piano that Celestia had given me and turned to composition in order to tame my emotions.

True to her word, Celestia kept her promise to visit me every day until I was released from the hospital of boredom. A few days after I had woken up, she and Sunburst came in with two books; she smiled and asked, “Good afternoon Wolfgang, how are we doing today?”

“Aside of plotting to raid every pub into this town to demand all the wine, spirits and beer in the city while trying to get back to writing since I’ve been late to work for two centuries, I’m bored out of my mind.” I looked up from a sketch of a piano sonata. “I mean really, Your Highness, I have never in my life been in a place so dull. It’s so devoid of anything interesting that spitting on the floor would be a huge improvement.”

“That bad?”

“There’s hardly anything to do! If it weren’t for this piano you’ve given me I would climb the walls and nibble at the bed. So what is that you got there?”

That last question was directed to the orange stallion who levitated the books over to me, “I thought you might want this back. This one here is the unfinished version of your last work, the Requiem.”

I opened the first score, and as I did so, I found that while printed, much of it was left blank, leaving only the notes and instruments that I had left behind including some of the sketches. “Please don’t tell me that this thing has been performed. It looks like somepony had published it when I wasn’t close to finishing it.”

“About that,” Celestia walked over to the side of my bed. “Sunburst has been looking further into every book he could find about you and found some information about this piece you were working on. Tell me, is it true that somepony came up to you with a commission to write this? One that was all in black?”

My eyes went wide and I dropped the printed manuscript, “How did you know that?”

“When someone’s life is so well chronicled,” Sunburst began, “you tend to pick up a few things. But that’s not why we brought it up; rather, I thought you had the right to know about the exact details as to the reason behind the commission.”

“It has been a mystery to me and my wife. Since only servants came to our apartment, asking about the progress of the Requiem, we wondered who wanted this and who was it for.”

“Do you want to know?” Sunburst inquired and I nodded. “As it turns out, the commission had originally come from a Count whose wife had passed away. Count Walsegg was known as a gifted pianist, but an awful composer. So he went out to copy the works of others and passing them as his own. It was highly likely that he was going to do the same with your Requiem.”

“Oh, you’re joking,” I said with disgust.

He shook his head, “Depending on how you look at it, your wife did try to find other composers to finish your work so she could sell it to ease off of the debt you two collected over the years.”

“What!” I screamed in horror. “Like who?”

“Look in the other one,” immediately I flipped open the other score to peer at the names. Underneath mine was, “Sussmayr? My student? He’s a good musician but he has just as much brains for composing as a squall has for painting.” I then began flipping through the score that my student had added, especially towards the last movement I was working on. “This is embarrassing. Please don’t tell me that ponies have actually sung this?” When she told me that they had, for the past two hundred years, I threw the book across the room. “Unbelievable! What could have been my last great work has turned into a laughing stock!” I grabbed the pillow underneath my head, pressed it against my face and screamed.

“Moztrot,” Celestia began again, “Even though unfinished, it is still considered a great piece of work.”

“How can anyone say that when I haven’t finished it? No-no! This will not do at all,” he flipped the unfinished score and began to jot down a further sketch of the Lacrimosa.

“Wait,” the scraggly bearded stallion said, “Does this mean that you’re actually going to go ahead and finish it?”

“I’ve always hated when somepony begins a piece but they don’t bother to finish it,” I paused to giggle at a memory I had. “Why… this reminds me of those times when Papa used to wake me up. Every morning when he wanted me to get out of bed, he would go over to the clavichord to play a melody but then stop within a note or two of finishing it. He would repeat this over and over until I got up to play the final notes.”

“To change the subject,” Celestia said. “I’ve been meaning to ask this: what are you going to do now?”

“In regards to what?”

“Well, considering that you are two centuries in your future, what are your plans now? Especially since money won’t be much of an issue once you’re released from the hospital.”

I shrugged, “Perhaps go back to what I’m best at - writing music of course. I could give a few concerts and see how much music has changed and figure out how to adapt to what ponies like. Or better yet, give them something fresh too. And if you would permit me, Your Majesty, I would like to travel as well.”

She smiled, “I’ll have you know that traveling has become quicker, easier, safer and cheaper than ever before. Also, you don’t need my permission to go anywhere anymore.”

“I do have a question for you,” I pointed at the scholar, “Are ponies still playing my works after all this time?”

“You can thank your wife for that. After you ‘died,’ she set out to sell your music in hopes of paying off the debt you accumulated over the years. Once she did that, your music, despite the changes in tastes and ideas, is still being played to this day. I can safely say that you are now more popular than you’ve ever been in your lifetime.”

I nearly dropped the pencil I was holding as I let that sink in. “How popular?”

“Your music has come to the point where it has become the most widely published, widely played, annualized, beloved, and well known. You've ranked way up there as…” Sunburst tapped his chin, thinking about his next choice of words. “One of the Gods of Music, and that’s putting it modestly.”

There was a smirk on my face as I turned to Celestia, “I told you I was the best.”

“Even so,” Princess Sunbutt continued, “I do think that this may present some problems for you. I’m trying to work out some of the kinks. Currently, the only ones that know you have returned are the Royal Family, Sunburst, and the doctors and nurses of this hospital. I’m trying to find the opportunity to announce that you’ve come back without you being mobbed. To which, I have a plan for you before you do anything else.”

Sunburst looked at her curiously, “And what plan is that?”

“Firstly, we will hold a special press conference to reintroduce modern Equestria to him. And given his popularity, I will invite reporters from across the globe to come once he has recovered. The other, for his security, I’ve picked out his new residence. It will be at Sapphire Park, a gated community, yes, but it would give our Moztrot all the breathing room he could want. And he could choose how he wants to style it both inside and out. Plus,” she turned to me, “it is home to the most private of parties, in which I do think you’ll be able to spice things up.” She winked at me.

Before those two left, I had one last question to ask of them: “Tell me one last thing, do either of you know where my wife and children are buried?”

The walking orange with fur hummed in thought, “I don’t know off the top of my head. I could do some further research to see where in Equestria they were buried, but it may take some time. Why do you ask?”

To answer this, I flipped the manuscript that had my unfinished work to the title page and scratched in underneath those black, solid letters.

For Karl, Franz and My Beloved Constanze.

“Let me just say, for the moment, I know who this Requiem is for now.” They left me to be alone as I flipped back to the Lacrimosa, listening to the voices of the Sopranos and Altos with a new kind of sadness that I weaved into poetry.

Chapter 4: Twelve Variations

On the morning of my release -- as soon as I was able to stand without feeling my side in agony with every step when I went into the bathroom -- I was finally given my clothing back. My red coat with gold trimming and mother of pearl buttons; a white vest with gold buttons; white shirt with ivory buttons; the only good cravat that I owned; and a black ribbon. Within an hour of my release, I proceeded to dress, all the while looking in the only mirror in the room.

As I slipped on one piece of clothing at a time, my mind was pulling me in two directions at once. On the one hoof, I was excited and curious about this new world outside of the plain hospital room that I’d been cooped up in for a week. I wanted to know what had changed in two centuries, of what literature, what inventions, philosophies, discoveries, and arts had been created. To see how far Equestrian society had gotten to since the days of stuffy salons and traditional opera; to see how ponykind sees itself now.

Yet, on the other… I still hadn’t gotten over the fact that my wife and children were gone. The thought alone was enough reason not to smile. As excited as I was, part of me didn’t feel welcome and I knew it. To ponies outside, I would be a walking antique. A living ghost from a dead age. Loneliness doesn’t cover it. Sadness doesn’t begin to describe it. But the worst part, however, is I knew that the moment I stepped out, I could not ever show any of that. None. I learned long ago that ponies don’t want you to see you upset, or in tears, or to witness you cry for help in your helplessness.

Oh no. Eveypony, no matter what century, wanted to see the happy Moztrot. One that could wear a mask of joy without you knowing it is a mask. Even in my music, they don’t want to listen to melodies and harmonies that would make them weep like a child who has lost everything. I know my audience and what they came for; they want the sounds of tranquility, not the storm from inside.

As I put on the last bit of clothing, the black silk ribbon to tie my white mane back in a ponytail, I looked in the mirror to paint a smile on my lips. “No time for any of that nonsense Wolfie,” I said to myself. “You have a new world to conquer.” Before I left the bathroom, however, I felt through my pockets to find something hard, round and familiar. Pulling it out, my smile nearly faltered as I looked at the tiny locket. Upon opening it, I found the tiny portrait of my wife staring back at me with a smile on her lips and a lock of her mane in the lid. Admittedly, I was forced to close it before I could burst into tears again. “Do keep it together,” I whispered to myself. “They are expecting it of you.”

It’s rather amazing how little the castle itself had changed, even with the interesting group of characters in the foyer. At the top of the staircase was Celestia herself, Sunburst by her side, addressing the crowd below at the bottom of the steps where a piano was set up. I was meant to come down one of the staircases, but I didn’t think that would be a good enough entrance. So I sneaked to the back of the crowd and peeked from behind a curtain.

“I’m sure all of you are wondering why I have called for this press conference,” Princess Sunbutt began and the reporters bobbed their heads. “Well, I have invited you all here today to give an announcement. A few years after Ludwig van Beethoven had changed the landscape of classical music as a whole, inspiring other composers to take up the challenge as well, today we have the return of another outstanding artist. As incredible as it might sound, it is nevertheless true: that a week ago, the composer, Wolfgang Amadeus Moztrot, has come to modern Equestria.”

Suddenly, all around me, these ponies held up these – mechanisms? -- and the room erupted with flashes like lightning, and a confusion of voices all at once asked many questions. I remember it being so loud and discordant to my ears that I had to cover them.

“I know that you are wondering how this has happened,” Celestia continued. “For that, I’ll turn it over to Sunburst to explain a few things.”

He nodded as he stepped forward, pulling out a scroll from underneath that cloak of his. “I have prepared a statement,” he said as he unrolled it. “When I came here a week ago, I was planning on demonstrating a new, complex spell with which it was possible to retrieve an item that was lost in the past. To show this, I was asked to fetch something that was from the eighth century. When I cast this spell, the item in question that was retrieved was the composer, W. A. Moztrot, from the day he died. Seeing he was on the verge of dying, we took him to Canterlot Hospital where the doctors were able to save him. Today, I would like to announce that the world-famous composer is here with us today, and is ready to take your questions.” He looked at the empty set of stairs. Blinking, he went up to them before turning to Sunbutt. “Uh… Where is Moztrot?”

I couldn’t resist as popped out my head, “Meow!” Heads now turned to me as I smiled back at them. There were the gasps and screams I had been playing for. “Took all of you long enough,” I said as I crawled out and into the stunned group. “Do you know how long I have been waiting in there? Two minutes! It is quite a long time just for me to say hello, don’t you think? Couldn’t either of you just say ‘Here’s Moztrot,’ and leave it like that?”

A lime green stallion craned his head around, “Wait… You’re Moztrot?”

“Of course, who were you expecting? Salieri?” I laughed at my own joke.

“Huh?” he turned over to Celestia, “Your Highness, how do we know if this isn’t some look-alike?”

“That’s why I brought out this piano,” Celestia slowly walked down the stairs. “The Moztrot I know has a talent of taking the most simple, overplayed tune and improvising on it in beautiful ways. Perhaps one of you would try to give him something to work off of and see if it stays true to his style?” While skepticism was still plastered on their faces, the sea of ponies agreed that it might help convince them. “In fact, Moztrot, how many variations can you come up with this?” At the piano, she held up a hoof to play a simple if not bare tune that sounded like a child’s song from the cradle.

After listening to it, I tapped my chin, humming in thought. “Twelve,” I replied.

A mare that was holding one of the devices that flashed raised an eyebrow. “You just thought up twelve variations for ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ in three seconds?”

“Oh ye of little imagination,” I smirked, wanting to reach up and pinch her cheeks. “With something so basic, there are so many possibilities, just improvising on that is child’s play. Here, let me show you.” Practically hopping in front of that shiny, black piano with the name of the manufacturer in gold, and I set about the theme. I started off simple yet elegant with a few trills at every few notes or so.

But as expected, they all seem unimpressed.

“Are we seriously really here to hear some guy play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’?” muttered one.

“This has to be a prank,” I heard another say. “Celestia actually claiming that Moztrot is resurrected? I tell you this is a waste of time.”

Ah, but that was what I wanted to hear. The idea of the theme was to lower their guard on purpose, to think that what they are listening to is a pianist with the brain of a colt that has barely learned the piano. And just as it looked like they were about to leave, my first variation shattered their expectations completely. A cascade of sound from the higher register poured over them like water in a fountain. My right hoof twisted between the black and white keys as easily as breathing air while at the same time moving with the grace of a swan. Quick notes went in harmony with the slower, lower notes until the second I switched them. For a brief moment, I genially smiled for the first time in days. I was having fun, watching those reporters around me, some of them with jaws hanging loose.

Upon the third, the higher notes went bubbly upward like those tiny air pockets in champagne. They were so happy and carefree as they glided and bumped into each other, swirling and hurling along to the top. My hooves too were drunk with the flourishes of that sweet tasting sound. Upon the fourth variation, it was a minuet with my forehooves as they danced, getting tipsy whipsy litsy on the keyboard that I found it so funny that I failed to suppress my gasping laughter. The fifth was no better as they nearly tripped over one another on the notes, like my hooves’ vision was spinning and they just could barely see where they were stepping, yet they were still besottedly happy all the same.

Six was mostly the same idea as previous, only that the roles for both hooves were once again switched around. Variation seven, I admit, at that point, my daydreaming took over as I could imagine this piano spreading wings and flying around like an oversized swan. Its wings flapping, creating strong enough winds to blow down everything that isn’t nailed down while at the same time still having the elegance of the bird it was portraying.

Then… the eighth variation crept in. Sniffing, trying to hold back tears from the cold chords that were in its way. In my mind’s eye, I could have sworn that among my pain during that short bit, I could almost swear that I heard a foal crying. Almost as if… I heard the wails of Franz.

However, I shook my head and moved on to the ninth, to which I variated from soft bars to thunderous ones in which, to my amusement, gave everypony a jump when they weren’t expecting it. At the same time, I kept myself and the music in readiness for the moment until the tenth variation, when I showed those reporters a taste of my virtuosity as the theme jumped about like frogs in a pond, going from one note to another in quick succession. Eleven, I decided to slow it all down until it was like a memory. From the back of my mind, I saw the day that I first met the mare that became my wife. She, the sister of an opera singer that I’d had a fling with, and yet it was her younger sibling, Constanze, in whom I felt I had truly found my muse. The notes I played in that variation brought back a mere fraction of her.

Constanze… The mare that reignited my interest in the fugue and harmonies of Buch, that had a talent for the keyboard and her voice…That angelic voice that I will never hear again. For a moment, my hands got lost as they brought back the time when we were in a park when we really started to fall in love when she gave me a melody that was so beautiful that we just… knew. While she was neither ugly nor beautiful, she was the kind that I could live with, and to grow with until…

Just like that, I banished the dark thought from my mind with the final variation, which was a firework of my virtuosity. This time both hooves worked at the same speed to burst out the sound from the piano to unleash the fire and water that swirl, waltz, fall and rise together to the point that I was saying “Whee!” as if I was flying through the air. But alas, my fun had to come to an end. I fleshed out the final chord and turned to the group of reporters with a smile on my face.

They of course applauded, but the lime green stallion from earlier stepped forward. “As incredible as that was, I’m not exactly convinced that you’re Moztrot.”

I let my hoof fall upon the keyboard, letting out discordant keys. “Are you joking? Then what exactly would it take to convince you that I am who I say I am?”

He hummed in thought until he replied. “How about this, since I studied Moztrot in my music appreciation class back in college: if I gave you a piece of little-known information about the composer and if you tell me whether or not it was true, only then will I and probably the rest of us will take you seriously.”

Well, this ought to be easy enough. “Ask me anything.”

“True or False: the real Moztrot was such a genius that he managed to write down whatever it was in his head on the first try without any corrections at all.”

In confusion, I tilted my head, “That’s ridiculous. Of course, I’ve made mistakes in my writing. Sure, I have a good memory and all, but even I had to cross out a few bars when they didn’t agree with a piece as a whole.”

The room bore witness as that reporter’s confidence to expose me suddenly drooped at my words. Even the notebook and pencil he was holding almost hit the floor. “Oh Celestia…” he looked up to the princess in white, “He really is Moztrot, is he?”

“Why would I lie about a thing like this?” she questioned. And before I could blink, I was suddenly mobbed by the reporters, all asking questions at once. “Please! My little ponies!” she thankfully interrupted. “You all know the rules, one question at a time please.”

Thankfully they backed away little, notebooks at the ready. Celestia told me that it was entirely my call to pick out who would ask the questions to me. I pointed to a light blue pegasus mare, “Let me start with you.”

She pointed a hoof to herself, “Moi?”

My ears perked up: “Attendez, parlez-vous français? (Wait, do you speak Prench?)”

The mare looked surprised, “Vous aussi? (You too?)”

I giggled, “Oui bien sûr! Je jouais à Versailles quand j'étais adolescent. Cependant, je pense que vous avez une question, Mademoiselle? (Yes of course! I was playing at Versailles when I was a teenager. However, I think you have a question, Mademoiselle?)”

“Je fais, (I do,)” she said as she flipped her notebook to a particular page. “Je m'appelle Machine à écrire, je suis avec Evening Star. Monsieur Moztrot, maintenant qu'il est officiel que vous êtes revenus, quels sont vos plans pour l'avenir? (My name is Typewriter, I am with Evening Star. Mr. Moztrot, now that it is official that you have returned, what are your plans for the future?)”

“Eh bien, j'ai vraiment l'intention de composer plus de musique, si c'est ce que vous demandez. Après tout, je suis compositeur, c'est ce que je fais. Mais en attendant, j'ai aussi l'intention de voyager pour voir ce qui a changé et voir ce qui est devenu du paysage musical. De plus, je souhaite donner des concerts comme je l'ai toujours fait, donc il ne fait aucun doute que vous pourrez m'entendre jouer en public. (Well, I really intend to compose more music, if that's what you're asking. After all, I'm a composer, that's what I do. But in the meantime, I also intend to travel to see what has changed and see what has become of the musical landscape. In addition, I wish to give concerts as I have always done, so there is no doubt that you will be able to hear me play in public.) Next question.”

A forest of hooves sprouted up; this time I picked the lime green stallion. “Ink Word for the Canterlot Chronicle. Mr. Moztrot, are you going to stay here in our modern times or are you hoping to return to the eighth century?”

I folded my forehooves, “According to Celestia and Sunburst over there, I’m stranded here. They told me that there were no spells for me to get me back to where I came from, and even if they could, doing so would make a…” I turned to Beardy, “What was that word one of you used?”

“Paradox?” Sunburst asked.

“That’s it.” I nodded and returned to the reporter. “As I said, I’m stuck. Fortunately, Celestia has told me that after this, I will be given a new residence to live in so I can have space to compose and whatnot. Next question?” This time I chose a coffee colored stallion. “You sir?”

He held up his notebook in one hoof and inquired, “Parli anche istalliano? (Do you speak Istallion too?)”

“Puoi ringraziare mio padre per imparare la lingua. (You can thank my father for teaching me the language.)” I waved a hoof, “Hai una domanda, signore? (Do you have a question, sir?)”

“Parola Scritta, sono con il mio giornale, tempi veneziani. Sei a conoscenza del Rinascimento della musica classica che è stato avviato da Beethoven qualche anno fa - se sì, quali sono i tuoi pensieri per galvanizzare i giovani a questa musica? (Written Word, I am with my newspaper, Venetian Times. Are you aware of the Renaissance of classical music that was launched by Beethoven a few years ago - if yes, what are your thoughts to galvanize the young people to this music?)”

I shrugged, “Per essere onesti con te, signore, non so chi sia questo Beethoven. Comunque, come posso lamentarmi quando non mi sembra di essere fuori lavoro? Tuttavia, sono più che disposto ad ascoltare questa musica perché sono così in ritardo nel mio lavoro. (To be honest with you, sir, I do not know who this Beethoven is. Anyway, how can I complain when I do not seem to be out of work? However, I am more than willing to listen to this music since I'm so behind in my work.) So who's next?”

More hooves shot up, with many ponies pleading for answers.

Chapter 5: Moving In

“I’m rather surprised that nopony has changed the names of the streets,” I commented as the royal carriage drove on as I added, “As well as keeping this old thing around too.” Turning around to face Celestia on her enormous cushion, she simply smirked at me.

“And why would you say that?”

“You would think, Your Majesty, that you might have other means of getting yourself from one end to the other than having your guards dragging you around town by this thing.” I patted the railing of the open air carriage to make my point. “Why not use one of those balloons floating over our heads? It would be a little more dramatic than this… bandbox.”

“I didn’t see the need,” she replied as she smiled and waved to the ponies passing by. “After all, I don’t want to distance myself from my subjects.”

Suddenly, I spotted a flash from the corner of my eye. Snapping my head over I saw somepony holding up the same device that those reporters had. “Pardon my ignorance of this age,” I began. “But why are ponies flashing you with those box things?” Another flash. “And me as well. Is it the new greeting to temporarily blind someone else?”

“Oh no. They are using cameras to take our pictures.” Awkward silence and my nonplussed eyeblinks later, she explained. “Oh, that’s right! Photography didn’t come along for a good twenty or thirty years after your time. Well, to put it in the simplest of terms, that device is called a camera in which has a roll of blank film laced with chemicals inside it. With the press of a button, the lens in front uses the light from whatever they want to have an image of to expose that film for a fraction of a second before the lens closes up again. After that, the film undergoes a process of chemical baths to develop the image, which results in a perfect, realistic portrait of that object.”

It took a moment for my mental clockwork to understand what I heard. “So you’re saying, that little device is capable of painting a picture, only instead of paint, it uses light and chemicals?”

“That is quite correct.”

My attention looked towards the street in the hopes of seeing another camera. “Oh, that is fascinating! To use light itself as a means to create portraits, landscapes and still-lifes in a mere instant are incredible! Has painting been replaced by that thing?”

“Not any means. There are still artists, but they use paint in less realistic ways now.”

I then spotted a mare holding up one of those cameras, pointed the glass lens towards the carriage and flashed us again. There was a wide smile on my face, “Oh I have got to get myself one of those things!” But a thought came to me as I asked Sunbutt, “How expensive are they?”

“It depends on what camera you want to get I suppose. But anyway, here we are,” Celestia directed me towards an iron gate where guards in blue stood. They opened the gate wide for us, leading down an avenue of mansions great and colorful. If anything, what stood out to me the most upon the first impression was the bright colors and painted vines of silver or gold. In between these mansions with their high brick fences were gardens that could rival that those of royals.

“This is the street that I am to live on?” I asked in amazement.

“To give you an idea,” Celestia pointed a hoof. “That over there is your new home Mr. Moztrot.”

Her hoof indicated what was (in my eyes) a palace of white with gardeners at the side trimming bushes and trees. It was three floors tall and several more wide, with everything from the foundation to the roof as white as the winter snow. It had columns, clear windows and a balcony that lead out towards the street.

“If you don’t like the color,” Her Highness added while my jaw was on the chariot floor, “you could always have it repainted however you want. Oh, and inside, I have one last present for you.”

I lifted a shaky hoof, “That… that is mine?”

“With all the security and privacy you could ever want,” she smiled. “Come, let’s have you take a look to see if you can improve the inside.”

Wide-eyed, I followed behind her up to the front double doors. The foyer alone was encompassed in a double staircase that spread out like wings. Above was a crystal chandelier suspended from a dome of iron and glass. Like the outside, the walls, columns, molding, hoofrails, and even the mopboards were as white as the outside. Two wings branched out to hallways that were fashioned in the same manner as the foyer. But in the center of it all, there were three objects in colorful wrapping paper.

“I thought that you might like your presents as soon as you’d seen your new home,” Celestia said. “Go right ahead, open them.” She waved a hoof at the wrapped gifts and I went up to them like a colt on Hearth's Warming morning. There were five in all, one huge one and four rectangular boxes, so I went to unwrap the smallest one. Flipping open the lid, I found a small violin case that was made out of some black, smooth material with metal latches on it. Setting on the *biggest present present, I unlatched it to reveal a familiar, but quote worn looking little violin.

Looking over in confusion, Celestia was over my shoulder, “Do you recognize it?”

I took it out of its case. “It’s a violin of course.”

She shook her head, “No, that was your violin, the one you had in your foalhood.”

“Wait a minute…” I looked through the “F” holes inside and recognized the maker. “No wonder why this looks familiar! But wait… Didn’t I gave this to my sister?”

“Open the others,” the white Princess urged on.

So I did. The other presents included my concert violin that I had left in my native home town; the other violin that I had with me in my time in Canterlot; my personal viola; an old-looking clavichord that was indeed mine; and unwrapping the largest present, my favorite fortepiano, still preserved and well-tuned.

“To tell you the truth,” said Celestia, “It did take some skillful persuasion on my part for the museum to give up all of these. However, I did feel that you would want them back.”

I turned to her, hoof on the black keyboard. “Princess, I do thank you for giving me all of this, even going as far to bring all my instruments back to me. And I suppose this house has servants too?”

She nodded, “Considering your lack of housecleaning skills, I found it appropriate that you should be given a few servants so that you won’t turn this place into a disaster area.”

I laughed at that. “Many thanks, Your Highness. Although, I can’t help but wonder – are you feeling that guilty over me?”

The sunny alicorn sighed, “In a way, I am making an effort to make all those years up to you. You know as well as I that it was my fault you ended up in poverty despite the music you made.”

Looking around, I felt for my locket for a sobering moment. “I just wish that I could share all of this with those I cared about.”

She put a wing over me. “You must still miss them, do you?”

“How could I not?” I muttered. “As great as my fortunes are, now that they’ve finally turned around, what’s the point of having all of this, when I…” I shut my eyes as tightly as I could. Trying to fight back the oncoming tears from pouring out, “It’s not fair. Why did I have to go right there and then?”

“Moztrot, is there something I could do for you?”

I shook my head, “You are too kind Princess. I do thank you for everything you’ve done for me. As much as I want to explore this new Equestria, I have some rather important matters to be taken care of before I do so. I hope you understand.”

She nodded, “Take your time to grieve Mr. Moztrot. Do what you have to do to bring yourself closure, but before I go, I have three last things to tell you.”

“What?”

“The first is that whatever you need from me, support, advice, or just a friend to talk to, you are welcome to come to the palace at any time.” She let her wing off of me and folded it. “The next is that in this hard time, just remember that you are not alone. There are ponies out there that are more than willing to help, all you have to do is ask.”

I nodded, “And what of the third one?”

“Do be kind to yourself,” she said. “I need to go. Feel free to explore your new home and get yourself acquainted with the staff here. Remember, if you need anything, no matter what it is, just ask away.” After we said our goodbyes, I bowed as she left me alone.

After gaining control of my emotions, I began to wonder about the massive space. I found it easy to navigate around as there were hallways and rooms that lead to bedrooms, bathrooms, a dining room, and a library which, upon close inspection, had the complete copies of every printed piece of music I’d ever written. They shared the shelves of history books and textbooks on science, art, literature and nearly everything else. The library, I felt, was carefully chosen by the Princess for the purpose of having me caught up with the times.

Eventually, I came to the kitchen and I found a scrawny looking pony preparing vegetables at a cutting table. He had a sandy coat with a blond mane and a cloth tied to his head. The uniform was white but a little baggy because he was such a scarecrow. And for a cutie mark, he had an image of an onion frying in a pan. The young stallion looked up when I opened the door, “Oh! You’re here already?” He said as if he was surprised to see me. Wiping his hooves with a cloth, he rushed over to me. “M-Mr. Moztrot isn’t it? Sorry I-I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours and…” trailing off, the teenager held out a hoof to me. “I-It’s such an honor to actually meet you! Can I shake your hoof, sir?”

I blinked, “And who are you?”

“Call me Sauté Mr. Moztrot,” he replied with a starstruck gaze in his eyes. “I-I’m your cook sir, it’s my first day on the job really.”

Gently I did shake his hoof. “You’re quite the excitable type, aren’t you?”

“That’s because I’m lucky enough to be able to work for you,” he explained as he returned to the cutting table. “Celestia herself had chosen me for this and I can’t begin to tell you how excited to not just to cook for but actually meet you.”

A smirk crept on my face. “I take it that you know of my work?”

“I admit,” he said, now dicing a few carrots, “that I was a nerd about classical music before Beethoven came to make it popular again. And out of all the stuff I’ve listened to, I liked your stuff the most.”

After reminding myself to find out more about this Beethoven character, I then inquired, “If I may ask, how old are you?”

“Turned twenty last month sir,” he replied. “I graduated from culinary school just last week too.”

I looked around at the vast space, “Seems like an awfully big kitchen for one pony doesn’t it?”

“Oh, Celestia said that I’m just the first to arrive. There should be more to come soon,” he said as he moved on to the celery. “But I’m not alone of course, I know that there’s a maid straightening out the bedrooms and the butler is on the third floor.” He stopped for a moment to look up at me. “Again, it is a real honor, sir.”

“Why do you call me sir?” I inquired. “After all, I’m not a noble or anything like that – just a really good composer.”

“What can I say? I and my grandma are fans of your music, especially your Little Night Music.”

He took notice of how I hadn’t responded and I asked, “What do you mean by ‘fan?’”

“C’mon, you know, fan…? Short for fanatic?”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?”

“I just did,” he raised an eyebrow. “But to answer your question, I call you sir is because partly to show you respect and partly because that I’m working for you.”

“Very well,” I replied. “Although, if you really are going to, would you do yourself this favor for me?”

“Anything sir.”

I rolled my eyes, “First of all, for now on, don’t call me sir or Mr. Moztrot. Just because you’re a servant, shouldn’t mean that you’re not on the same level as I am.”

“But… But you’re a genius.”

“That’s also an Earth Pony, just like yourself lad. So please, do away with this sort of addressing and call me Wolfgang. Can you do that for me Sauté?”

He nodded, “I think so.”

Suddenly I heard a bell rang, my ears picked it up and spotted on the wall a plaque of bells in which one of them was still moving. Underneath it read: “Front Door.”

At first, I thought that it might have been Princess Sunburn come back to bring me another present as I went towards the double doors. Not to say that my curiosity was piqued, I went over to the foyer to open it myself and found a white unicorn stallion with a blue mane and a black suit.

“Hello Mr. Moztrot,” he said with a smile on his face, “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Author's Note

Editor's Note:

*"biggest present present" is not a typo. Just some "clever" wording on my part.

Chapter 6: The Welcoming Party

“Who are you?” I asked the stranger at the front door.

The unicorn took my hoof and shook it so much that it was a wonder why it didn’t pop off. “The name is Fancy Pants,” he told me. “I was told that you were coming in today so I just had to be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

I pulled my hoof away to preserve my right foreleg, “First? You mean to say that I’m going to expect everypony on this street to come to this door to rip my leg out?”

A chuckle later, he replied, “Oh no sir. It’s just that some of us want to come over to say hello. Well, that and I wanted to personally invite you over to a welcome party at my home this evening at seven-thirty.”

My ears, as I recalled, perked up. “A welcoming party,” I inquired, “will there be anything with alcohol over there?”

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged.

“Good, I haven’t had a decent drink in over two centuries,” I giggled. “Besides, I could use some cheering up.”

His respectable smile dropped into concern. “Oh? How come?”

“It’s nothing,” I lied. “I just had a rather exhausting week and I really want to have a moment to enjoy myself, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I see,” he said as he adjusted the glass in his eye. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure that you’ll find it amusing. Although, I do trust that you are coming at seven-thirty?”

“We’ll see uh…” I stuck my neck out the front door, looking up and down the street. “Where exactly do you live?”

“Two doors down that way,” he pointed to the left. “Mine is blue with the silver vines painted on, you can’t miss it.”

“Tell you what, I’m a little busy at the moment, I have work to do so if I do find that I can come, I’ll walk right over there.”

He grinned, told me that he was looking forward to seeing me. But before he left, I asked him what time it was and told me that it was four o’clock.

After saying goodbye, I turned around and shrieked a little as pony appeared behind me. He was a charcoal black unicorn with no mane and wearing black and white attire.

“Beg your pardon sir,” said he. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Upon asking who he was he tells me that, “I’m your butler, Wilfred. I was in the attic arranging a few things and I didn’t hear you arrive – my apologies for that. And I didn’t want to interrupt whatever you were discussing. So is there anything you need?”

I blinked, “I take it that Celestia sent you?”

He nodded, “She did indeed.”

“Oh… And I take it that you heard that I’m going out by seven-thirty?”

Again he nodded, still emotionless as ever. “Shall I inform the cook that you would be expecting dinner sooner than that?”

“Uh yes. That would be reasonable. I was going to work a little.”

“Then I’ll fetch you some ink and a blank manuscript sir,” he was about to turn and leave when I stopped him.

“Wait a moment, could you do me a favor and tell the rest of the servants to not call me anything other than my first name?” He said that he would. “And in the library, could you get my copy of the Requiem? I’m going to need it.”

“Right away… Wolfgang,” within a minute he went into the depths of the house to return with a quill, a bottle of ink, and the copy of the manuscript in his blue aura. “Will there be anything else you need?”

“I just wanted to be left alone for a while,” I said as he placed the materials on the piano. After dismissing Wilfred, I was left alone. From there, I pulled from my pocket the scraps of paper with the new score before turning to the blank composition book. It took a few minutes to transcribe what I had so far, before taking a moment to remember them. I let the silence fill in the foyer before turning to the keys, to listen to the echo of my darker thoughts.

Hours later I went down to the home of Fancy Pants. Upon knocking on the front door, I discovered the inside was already crowded from floor to ceiling with ponies that wanted to shake my hoof. Never in my life had I ever been in a place where there were so many wealthy ponies lining up just to say hello. Not at the Opera, or the Palace, or even on the street had I found myself smothered beneath the smiles of countless ponies wanting to meet me.

“There you are,” the voice of Fancy Pants was able to pull me away in time before I drowned in endless praise from an ocean of ponies. “I have been looking all over for you, how long were you here?”

“Five minutes,” I told him. “This is one crowded party.”

“It’s all in your honor,” said he as he pulled me from the foyer into a sort of ballroom. “Considering that you are the most famous pony in Canterlot, it would be quicker to name those who are not here.”

“Let me guess, the princess and her scholar?”

This made him raise an eyebrow. “Sorry, but which Princess are you referring to?”

“Celestia of course,” I rolled my eyes at such a stupid question. “Who else would I be talking about?”

He stared at me for a moment, “Didn’t anypony tell you that there are currently five princesses right now.”

“What? Since when?”

“Princess Luna for one.”

I burst laughing while at the same time headed towards the bar in the back of the room. The host inquired what it was that I found funny. “You had me until you said ‘Luna,’” I turned to the bar maiden, “I would like an ale.” Then returning to Fancy I added, “I mean, you do know that Princess Luna is just superstition.”

At this, he was taken aback. “I beg your pardon!”

“I don’t know why you seem so surprised. After two hundred years, one would think that all of you would have moved on from superstition by now.” The mare behind the bar put down a glass of the amber liquid. “Thank you. After all,” I said as I grabbed the glass, “I hope that reason hasn’t fallen out of fashion since I was gone.”

“With all due respect Mr. Moztrot, but Princess Luna is no myth. She’s a friend of mine.”

“Ah yes,” I rolled my eyes, “And I personally know the Queen of the Night,” I said as I finally gulped down the heavenly elixir.

It looked like he was about to say something but something shut him up. He looked behind him before turning to me, “In any case sir, I have arranged for the Canterlot Philharmonic to give you a proper welcome.”

I scanned the ballroom, but I scarcely saw any instrument in sight. “Then where are the musicians? Unless they are behind the curtains, in the chandelier, and in the toilet, I must say that they are quite late.”

“Stay here,” he took a moment to get up and went up to a servant. “Bring the phonograph,” he said. A few minutes later, with me moving from the ale to some fiery whiskey, that same servant returned to prop a box with a horn sticking out on the top. I could do nothing but look at it stupidly. I inquire as to what the thing was. “Now if this doesn’t impress you then I don’t know what will,” Fancy told me. “This ‘thing’ is called a phonograph. It was developed about… ninety years ago, give-or-take, and it is able to recreate sounds of an instrument, many instruments, even whole voices that have been recorded on one of these disks.” Here he held up a black, thin, round object that in the light looked like the cross section of a tree. “It uses a needle to read the thin grooves of this record, which, when spun, will produce sound from out of this horn.”

I downed another shot. “I won’t believe it until I see it with my own eyes.”

He smirked, “As you wish.” I watched him place the disk onto the machine and set it spinning upon a small table. Before I could take another drink, he placed the needle on the spinning contraption and suddenly the horn played out an orchestra. Not only that, but I instantly recognized what notes were coming out of it. It was the Rondo Alla Turca from one of my piano sonatas now organized for an orchestra. My ears heard the suppressed chuckles as I looked on, nearly dropping the glass I was holding.

I craned my neck, swished my ears this way and that, yet the sound of strings, winds, bells cymbals were crisp and clear as standing in front of an orchestra that was only coming from the mouth of the horn. No matter where I moved, trying to figure out if this was some sort of trick, I got up to circle around the machine, in hopes of finding a secret, invisible row of musicians to find nothing of the sort. The march, as far as I was aware, was only coming from nowhere else but the horn. “What…? How…?”

At first, I wondered if the machine itself had tiny ponies playing, but even then it didn’t make sense. None of the unicorn’s horns were glowing nor was there anypony underneath the bar except bottles. Then just as suddenly, the music ceased all at once when Fancy lifted the needle off. “I told you,” he said. “It’s all done from this,” he places the needle back and the music immediately started back up again with just as much intensity and rhythm.

In the end, as the needle moved closer towards the center, I could do nothing but sit in front of it and watched on beyond curiosity. When it ended, Fancy lifted the needle again, “Well, do you say that was marvelous?”

“All of that was produced from the grooves?” I asked and he nodded. “Have all musicians lost their job over this thing?”

He and the nearby guests laughed, “Oh not at all.” Said Fancy as he patted my shoulder, “While a record is convenient, there’s nothing better than to hear it being played live. In fact, we have some composers in this room who are making a splash in the music world by performing it in front of an audience. If anything, they are making advancements in this classical music renaissance.”

I was curious, I do want to know what happened to the art of composition during the time I was gone. At the same time, it did make me wonder if I had met them already as soon as I stepped inside. With a glass in hoof, I followed the stallion through the crowds, searching from room to room until we came across a tiny chamber that had a piano in a corner. Fancy went up to a fellow that was a light brown and was discussing something to a gray mare with a black mane. “Mr. Horseshoepin, Ms. Octavia,” Fancy addressed them. “Have either of you met our guest of honor?”

“I haven’t,” the brown stallion shook my hoof, “Hello sir, the name is Frederic Horseshoepin. And I must say that it’s fantastic in meeting you at last.”

“Who’s she?” I craned my head towards the mare.

She came up and shook my hoof too, “Octavia Melody, first cellist in the Canterlot Philharmonic. You know, it’s rather surreal to shake the hoof of a dead fellow.”

“Just as surreal of shaking hoofs with the mare of the future,” I laughed at my own joke. “Fancy Pants has told me that one of you is a composer?”

“I am,” the stallion said. “Much of my works is for the piano, but I’ve managed to make quite a name for myself in recent years.”

“You know,” I said taking a sip from the glass. “One of the things that I am curious about in this new world is the differences in music, to see what has changed since I left.”

“Well Mr. Moztrot,” the mare called Octavia said. “I can safely say that music that you know is not only making a comeback but has gotten a good deal more passionate since Beethoven came to Equestria.”

“I keep hearing that name being thrown around, is he here?”

She shook her head, “Afraid not. He left us a few years ago, but in the time he was here, the bloke did revolutionize music in which, luckily, we have copies of all of his stuff.”

“Then I must see if I can acquire some of those manuscripts to see how revolutionary he is! But for now, I want to hear something new – something that I haven’t heard before to really get this party going.”

Horseshoepin blinked, “You want me to hear my play?”

“Well, why not? I’m late as it is and I want to catch up. Here, let me round out an audience and see where it goes. Be right back,” I hopped off to have ponies gathered near the small music room in which the army of wealthy ponies stuffed themselves around the piano. Once this was done, I found the stallion opening the lid to the keyboard while Octavia opens the lid to reveal the strings. “So sir,” I said, plopping right behind him. “What are we going to hear tonight?”

The young pianist thought in meditation for a moment, “How about a prelude? Nothing too long… in fact, I’ve just written it last week and I’m going to publish it by Monday.”

“World premiere,” I smiled, my tail wagging about like a dog. “Do play, I do so want to hear it.”

He breathed through his nostrils. “Alright, here we go.” Then turning towards the keyboard, he began a slow, serene tempo in which there was a passionate, honest melody. I would fancy it as a sort of Romance in which he took his time to create harmonies of color, light and dark, in a style that I had never heard before. If anything, the steady tempo of the lower register was like raindrops on a roof. What was curious about the prelude he played was how minimal it was, yet it was still full of raw emotion. While the piece was simple in idea, he took his time with the atmosphere, like a painter with oils on a landscape.

In some parts, it developed from a romantic feel to a dark and forbidding environment before going back again at his own pace. But as I listened on, I noticed how that this new piece still had a structure with a theme, which led to variations before returning to the theme once more. Also, he worked pedals with his hind legs, which I noticed made the strings from the instrument resonate.

A few minutes later at the closing chord, he received applause from the guests of his playing. However, he turned to me nervously. “So… did you like it?”

“I thought it was charming,” I told him. But putting my hoof to my chin, I added. “Would you mind if I do a variation of it?”

“But I don’t have a printed copy to have you play off of-”

I interrupted with a snort, “No, you can keep it if you want; it’s already here in my head.”

Some of the guests seem surprised at my statement, “So it’s true then,” Fancy Pants leaned in. “That you can repeat something after only hearing it being played once.”

“With that?” I pointed towards the instrument, “I think so. But I want to have some fun with it. If you let me?” that question was towards Horseshoepin.

“Not at all,” he waves a foreleg, “I’m curious myself to see how you would do it.”

“Well, in that case, hold this,” I gave him my glass before jumping in the same spot as he was in. I cracked my forehooves, then experimented with a few notes to hear how the piano’s voice was.

Using the little stool at the instrument, I flipped it around for me to lie down on it, my head underneath the keyboard; I crossed my forehooves over to the keys. Then within a moment, off I went to repeat the same tune but a quicker pace. This time my hooves played in a style that I was comfortable in. I was able to embellish the theme more at a more youthful tone. As I did so, I craned up to the pianist with his eyes wide in amazement. I smirked, “Better? What do you think?”

When he didn’t respond, I just focused on the keyboard, having my hooves play a game with the new prelude. Not only to my ears did it sound better, but it had more color with all the tricks and embellishments that were left out of the simple tune. Once again that day, I was able to smile, to relax in front of an army of strangers watching me. Then again, that might have to do with being a little tipsy wipsy and playing it somewhat upside-down. Of course, I admit it was challenging to play like this, but it was by no means the first time I had played without seeing the keyboard. This was rather my way of showing off. Although, the only thing that would make it impressive is if I set it on fire first…

Still, I heard the amazement from all around and the whispering in the back of what I was doing. So by the time I managed to finish it, there was a roar when I rolled over onto my forehooves. I hopped over to the pianist, “Did you like it?”

“Well, it certainly is… different.”

“Still, that was fun.” I turned to the other guests, “How about now we play a game?”

The guests looked at one another in confusion, “Games, sir?” Fancy asked.

“Yes. I want to play a game, something that’s really funny from where I come from.” Out of my pocket, I produced a copy of a canon. “I wrote this one for a party. It’s to be sung by three voices. But there are rules to the game.” I turned to the crowd. “Whoever can sing this from start to finish with a straight face shall be declared the winner. But I warn you, the lyrics to this canon will make singing quite difficult. So, who wants to go first?”

Enthusiastically, many raised their hooves. Among them, Fancy was one of them, “Here, let’s have you,” I pulled him towards the center. “You,” pulled in a random mare. “And you as well,” with another mare standing next to my host, I handed over the sheet music to them. “Mr. Pants, how about you go first, and I’ll count the time.”

At first, Fancy seemed excited until he looked at the lyrics on the page. The other two ponies looked over their shoulder and had a look of disgust on their faces. “You can’t be serious,” he said.

I nodded with childlike enthusiasm. “Yes, come on and start, it’ll be funny.”

“What does it say?” somepony in the back called out.

He shook his head, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Give me that,” Octavia snatched the canon in her hoof. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad.” She cleared her throat and started to sing: “Lick my plot nicely, lick it nice and clean,” there was an explosion of shocked laughter all around, and the mare singing it suddenly looked horrified. “What the actual…” her face turned red as she spoke the rest of the lyrics, thereby breaking the rules. “‘Nice and clean, lick my plot. That’s a greasy desire, nicely buttered, like the licking of candied honey, my daily activity.’”

“Give that back!” I whined as I tried to grab at it but she held it out of reach. “You didn’t sing it!”

“That’s disgusting!” she snapped at me.

“Does it really say that?” Horseshoepin took the copy into his own hooves. After scanning it, he looked offended. “You actually wrote this?”

“I thought it would be funny,” I said as I grabbed it back while looking over to the gray mare. “You can’t sing it now.”

“Uh, Mr. Moztrot,” my host said, “I think it might be best if you leave right now.”

“What! Why?” I asked confusingly, “I just got here.”

“I think you already had enough to drink,” he said. “Besides, I’m afraid that nopony has the same sense of… humor as you do. So perhaps it might be best for you go home to sober up.”

“Sober up,” I grumbled as I downed another gulp from my glass. “I say I haven’t had enough. I can’t believe that ponies like you are so uptight that your plot holes must have corks shoved up in them! If you’re not going to have me here, then fine,” I pouted as I began to make my way out. “I’m taking this with me, and going to find a tavern to fill it with. Who knows, perhaps I’ll find the drunks over there to have a sense of humor.”

“Go home Moztrot, you’re drunk.”

I merely stuck my tongue and made a farting sound at my host’s direction as I went out the front door. After going outside, I was planning to go wander into Canterlot to find a tavern when I realized something important: I had no money on me. How was I able to pay for drinks without it? Do they still have bits or do they exchange something else?

That night I returned to my new home and raided the kitchen to see if there was any alcohol. Thankfully there was. I uncorked bottles upon bottles of the finest wine and downed one after another until I passed out upon the kitchen floor.

Chapter 7: Of Hangovers and Family Matters

Needless to say that the next morning I woke up with a cat’s yammering, splitting headache. Nearly immediately after I awoke all I felt was sick, groggy and tired beyond belief. Opening my eyes was out of the question as even the soft light behind my eyelids were stinging. However, the longer I lay there, the more I began to piece together that I was not in the same place I’d been last night. For one, the hard tile floor was replaced by cloudlike sheets and I was covered in a warm blanket. I don’t know how long I laid there until I was forced to roll out of bed and onto the floor.

The next thing I knew, I heard a door open, “Sir? Are you alright?” it was the sound of the butler that went over to my aching aid.

I groaned, “What happened?”

“It’s one in the afternoon,” he informed me. “You were found drunk out of your mind on the kitchen floor. So we had to drag you up to your room until you recovered from the hangover that you are now having.” I felt being lifted up from the floor and back onto the bed. “So at the moment, shall I ring up for some coffee or do you have your own hangover cure?”

I shook my head.

Thankfully the butler left me alone in peace, allowing me to open my eyes on my own terms. From there, I finally observed the room that I had awoken in. Much like the house, it was all too white. It made me wonder if the princess had a fetish for the color white. Everywhere in that glaring light from floor to ceiling, from the sheets to the curtains, all was drained of color.

From there I managed to sit up to find that the room had a writing desk with a cushion to sit on, a window that looked like it lead to a balcony, a standing mirror and, the only touch of color in the room, my red clothing neatly folded on the desk. Despite the realization of being naked, I had to use the toilet which forced me to walk into the nearby bathroom.

Sometime later I walked out of there and went over to the mirror to really get a good look at myself. My mane, that looked like it could blend in with the rest of the room, was a mess; there were dark bags under my eyes, and for the first in a long time, I felt exposed. It is not that ponies didn’t go walking around without clothing -- that was common from where I come from mind you -- but rather that I had been wearing clothes since I was five, trying to impressed ponies; after being clothed for so long going without them felt strange, if not off-putting. I confess that I had been wearing trousers for so long that at times I nearly forgot what my own cutie mark looked like. The mirror reminded me that it had all three musical clefs: treble, alto, and bass. This is the reason why I whinnied when I heard a knock on the door, “J-Just a minute!” I cried as I rushed to put on my trousers and my white shirt before the door opened to reveal the butler with a tray full of cups of coffee in his aura.

“Where would you like me to set this?” He inquired and I waved over to the desk in which he put the tray down.

Wilfred tried to pour my cup when I stopped him, “I can pour my own.”

He looked at me confused, “But sir, it’s part of my job.”

I sighed, “Look… Wilfred wasn’t it?” he nodded, “You must understand that having servants like you around is… it’s just weird for me.”

The charcoal black unicorn raised an eyebrow, “How so? Didn’t you have a maid at one point?”

“We did, yes. But even back then I told her to not see us as her masters but as a friend. You see, where I come from, there were ideas that were spreading around, questions about the role of master and slave, Princess and subject, Employer and Employee. That despite how some ponies may have a horn, a pair of wings or neither of them, we are still equal at birth. I mean, look at me; I’m living proof of that. My father had dragged my family from palace to palace, showing nobility that you don’t need to be born into a particular class or tribe to have talent. After all, I believe that ponies can rise up based on their own merit. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

He placed the coffee pot back onto the tray. “You really are a product of the Enlightenment Era. Although, are you sure you don’t want me to help since you’re obviously hung over.”

I waved it off as I poured my own cup. “I’ll be alright. Although I just wish I could do something about this headache.”

“Then let me fetch something to help with that,” he was about to turn to leave until he stopped. “Oh, Sunburst sent a notice saying that he wants to see you as soon as possible. He said something about finding something that is very important.”

“Just as long as I don’t run into any of those stuck up ponies from last night,” I scooped in some sugar and poured the cream in. “Let me try to recover first and write out the rest of the Requiem and I’ll be ready to see him. Did he say that he’s coming here, or am I going to him?”

“The latter, do you also want some lunch, being that it’s already the afternoon?”

I told him why not and he left, leaving me alone with my coffee to wake me up.

By three o’clock I was on a carriage, returning to Celestia’s palace and thankfully distancing myself from the neighborhood. I didn’t pay attention to the streets as I was finishing the Lacrimosa and moving onto the fugue joining it. My head was swarming with voices and strings where one overlapped the other like a tapestry. On my lap, the locket of my wife was open. From time to time I glanced down at her, at the very sight of those painted eyes, my own teared up. I found it necessary at the time to do so because I wanted the fugue to be about her. Even back then, I thought she would appreciate that as she did love fugues and what better way to honor her than with this?

However, that had to be cut short as the carriage rounded before the drawbridge. I had to put my grief away to enter. So over the bridge, across the courtyard, towards the front doors where two guards stood watch. Of these, I inquired about where Sunburst was. After being lead through the castle, I was shown into the Royal Library where Mr. Orange had stacks of books around him like a fortress of tomes.

“Glad you could come,” he said as he set a heavy looking book down. “I hope that I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

“Other than a hangover, you didn’t miss all that much. Is there a reason why you wanted to see me?”

“Uh yes,” he picked up a few books in his aura. “I finally found something that I think you might be interested in. Regarding what happened to your family.” He walked around the desk towards me. “And trust me, finding this wasn’t easy as there was little information to go off of. But I think I’ve managed to get a picture of what happened. So which one do you want to know first?”

“My wife, what happened to her?”

He levitated a small book towards his spectacles. “According to this, after you died, she went it her business to get pretty much everything you’d ever written published, as well as seeking out composers to finish some of your unfinished works as closely as possible. She managed to get a pension from Celestia and organized concerts to honor your memory. It slowly brought her and your children out of debt to the point where they became wealthy. So much so, that she managed to give your colts a proper education. Later on in her life, she married a diplomat who was both a writer and her leaseholder. They traveled around Equestria and beyond until they settled in your hometown. All that time, they both worked on your biography that was published in 824, two years after her second husband died. She was buried in that cemetery in Saltzburg in 842.”

At this point, I sat on my haunches, pondering what I just heard, “She was eighty when she died. And what of my boys?”

“Even trickier to find,” He told me as he held up several books, scanning from one to the next. “As far as I could find, both of them showed musical gifts with the piano, but Karl moved to Istaly. He began his apprenticeship with a trading firm in 797. He had planned to open a piano store but couldn’t because there wasn’t enough funding to do so. Later on, he moved to Milan in 805 and became a government official for the Equestrian financial administration, along with working in the accounting department in Milan. And he served as an official translator for Istallion for the Equestrian Court Chamber. At the same time, he frequently attended events that honored you up to the day he died in 858. In his will, he gave his house to the ponies of Milan, whose cemetery he was buried in. He never married and never had children.”

I shook my head, “He died at seventy-four. And my youngest?”

“Well… Unlike his brother, he learned to play both the piano and the violin… Oh, and he started to compose when he was thirteen. He became a music teacher and a performer, having moderate success. Apparently, he put on concerts that featured your music as well as his own, including your Requiem. By 838 he too had gone to your hometown and was appointed to become the music master of a theater. As a composer, however, he continuously criticized himself, underrated his own talent and felt his work was overshadowed by you. In fact, in Saltzberg cemetery, his tombstone reads: ‘May the name of his father be his epitaph, as his veneration for him was the essence of his life.’”

Out of everything I had heard up to that point that was the worst. My youngest underrated himself for composing and performing music? Have such talent go to waste would be unthinkable if my father were around. “When did he die?” I asked him.

The scholar looked at another book, “844.”

I did a quick calculation, “He lived up to be fifty-three?” My ears folded back, the weight of the truth was crushing me underneath. I turned to the one who had caused this, “Why did you take me?”

Suddenly the books had drifted to the floor, “Uh… what?”

“Why did you take me when they needed me? My sons could have been remembered as musicians, yet from what you just showed me, hardly anypony knows them at all. But no! You had to shove your flank in, and ripped me out!”

He stepped back; his ears folded backward, “I said I was sorry… I keep telling you, it was an accident – how was I supposed to know when I cast that spell that you would fall out of it?”

I snorted, “You could have…” but I trailed off, as I couldn’t find what exactly to accuse him of.

“Look, Mr. Moztrot,” Sunburst said as he adjusted his spectacles. “If I were in your horseshoes, if I’d been whisked away into the future with everypony I know and love buried and forgotten, I would be pretty angry too… and miss them… a lot.”

“Oh really? Tell me, did you ever lose anypony close to you?”

His face had turned from an apologetic look to that of melancholy. “Yeah… I do.” He rubbed his foreleg while adding, “I lost my mom five years ago.”

Hearing this cooled my temper. “Oh… my apologies, I didn’t know.”

Sunburst shook his head, “You had nothing to do with it. I was away when she passed, so just like you, I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to her. So while I can’t imagine to the fullest extent of what you’re going through right now, I do have only a piece of the puzzle, as it were. I went to these… sorry, I’m trying to phrase this as carefully as I can… I went to these doctors of the mind, and they gave me a technique to help me cope with my loss.”

I raise an eyebrow, “And that was?”

“Well, I was to write two separate letters. One in which I put down everything I wanted to say to her when she was alive. To tell her how I was doing and such. Then once that was done, I was to write another letter, this time from the point of view of my mother, with what I wanted to hear her say. Now, whether or not you want to do this is up to you. And if you do write those letters, you can do whatever you want with them. Keep them; destroy them, whatever you want to do in order to bring you closure.”

Admittingly, I did chuckle at this. “Truth be told, I have been doing that for the past week. My Requiem is nearly done, and I… I think I know what to do with it.”

“Really? What do you have in mind?”

“Well, once I finish it, I’ll organize a choir and orchestra; go first to Saltzberg to perform it for my wife and youngest child, then to Milan for my eldest.”

He blinked, “So, you’re really are planning on performing your completed Requiem at their graves?”

I nodded. “Indeed. And thank you for tell me.”

“It was my fault so I just couldn’t go back home until I did something to make it up.”

“You mean that you’re not from Canterlot?”

He shook his head as he started to pack, “No, I’m only here to visit. I’m going back to the Crystal Empire where Princess…” he trailed off when he saw my expression. “What?”

“I’m sorry but, where?”

Chapter 8: The First Train Ride

Now, I confess, that right after Sunburst explained to me as to a foal how a place of legend had come to be and that they were planning a music festival for the next week, I returned home as giddy as a school child. Of course, it did take hours to pack up the servants, the violins, the viola, both keyboard instruments, and get my allowance from Celestia to pay for traveling towards the Crystal Empire – but once all that was accomplished, we were heading northward on a contraption that truly amazed me. Fortunately, we managed to go along with Sunburst. Although, I was rather curious what Princess Sunbutt had meant when she’d said she had a few surprises for me, but as soon as I got on board that contraption, that thought was put aside.

“So you say that the machine in the front is being powered by steam?” I inquired Sunburst who answered my question as he sat across from me.

“Yes. It’s called a locomotive in which it has a heat source like say, burning wood to heat up pipes of water to create said steam. Then through some mechanical pistons and gears, it helps push the engine with everything along with it.”

Even now, it still amazes me of how clever ponies had become in the past few hundred years. Out from the windows, the countryside and villages zipped by at extraordinary speeds as if the carriage we were on were being carried by the wind. In either direction too, trails of iron stretched out for miles, following the flow of the landscape smoothly while carrying a whole row of long carriages that could hold at least fifty or so ponies at one time.

“So I take it that this is your first train ride?” the orange with the beard asked.

I giggled, “Are you kidding? Where I come from you had to pay some rather strong ponies to haul you around. That and it took about a few months to get across from one end of Equestria to the other. Here, however, we’ve gotten so far in a matter of hours. And my, it’s getting cold out there.”

He looked out of the window, taking notice of the frost that was forming on the ground. “I think we’ll be there in an hour or so. Although I do want to ask, what exactly are you planning on doing when we get over there?”

“You said so yourself that there is a music festival that’s coming up, did you not? I figured that since I want to see this place for myself, why not do what I do best and give a concert, like I used to do.”

“Really? What are you going to play over there?”

“No idea,” I smiled. “I’ve got to see what their tastes are like before I do that. Which is why I think going to the festival would be helpful to hear what these ponies are looking for.”

“Well,” the tangerine wizard picked up a scroll from his cloak. “Princess Cadance did say that the festival would include performances of older stuff such as traditional music from the Crystal Empire, along with some Buch, Hayden and, well, you. But at the same time, it’ll also have newer stuff like Beethoven, Horseshoepin, and a newcomer called Paganeighni to name a few. Besides, I also heard that some well-known and influential ponies are coming to the festival. And not just musicians either…” He glanced out the windows at the oncoming winter when he asked, “So… what was it like?”

“What?”

“The time period you came from, what was it like for you?”

“You mean besides the Sun Princess expanding her mass from cake?” I laughed. “Well, it was another world away from this one. Back then, I was like a servant, in fact at one point in my life, I was ranked just above the cooks, yet just beneath the valets. It was the reason why I moved away from Saltzburg and stayed in Canterlot because it was the city of musicians. That, and it was a place of opportunity as the Sun Princess was known to be on the lookout for anything new. Why my friend Salieri was from a small town in Istaly where he ended up as court composer for Celestia in which he taught her the keyboard.”

Sunburst seemed surprised at this fact, “Wait, you and Salieri were friends?”

At this, I had a rather sad laugh as I turned my attention towards the waltzing snow. “Out of all of the ponies in court, he was the one that came to every performance I ever did. Even when my operas were doing poorly, he was there every night until they couldn’t be permitted to play anymore.” My nostalgic smile turned into a frown. “The last time I saw him, he was there when I and Schikaneighder were putting on that vaudeville of mine. He bellowed out with a ‘Brava’ from the Overture to the final chorus. In the end, he told me it was perfection.”

This gave the stallion pause for thought, “Are you talking about ‘The Magic Flute?’”

I nodded and told him, “I don’t know why you seem so surprised at this.”

“Well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Truth be told, from what I know of Salieri was that he was famous because he was jealous of you.”

Now, this took me by surprise. “What? Salieri the court composer jealous of me? But whatever for? The last time I saw him, he was doing far better than I could. Tartarus, he was teaching his students for nothing!”

“Granted, what I heard is questionable, even to historians. Although there is a legend in which it’s said that Salieri was jealous of you because of your incredible talent, I think? He envied you so much that rumor still has it that he may have poisoned you.”

I looked at him with a deadpanned expression. “That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard in my life. Sure, a couple of weeks ago I was dying and I reasoned that perhaps it may have been something I ate or drank that had made me felt sick. However, the idea that somepony like Salieri would try to murder me? Where did you ever get such an idea?”

“Again, I’m not saying that it’s true because for all I know, what I heard could be biased.”

“I’ll say it is,” I muttered, returning my gaze towards the falling snow, letting the conversation drop to let the sound of the iron tracks rhythmically clank underneath us. Looking out at the barren wasteland, as the snowflakes fell sideways with mountains rise all around us; it brought out memories from my past. “I’ve seen this weather before,” I spoke aloud but I wasn’t aware that I did.

Sunburst tilted his head in the reflection of the glass. “You have?”

“Did you know that Papa had dragged us all over when I was a child? I had memories that my whole family traveled for years in a stagecoach where we lived almost like gypsies. In a way, it was quite an adventure as we hauled everything we had through the most miserable places in the world. Why I remembered one night that we had to stop the carriage in weather just like this. How cold everything was that we huddled together on the floor with nothing to cover ourselves but our blankets and straw. I don’t think I slept that night as the wind howled on so much that I thought at times that wolves were just waiting out there.”

“Really? How old were you?”

I shrugged, “Probably… nine I think because I remembered writing my first symphony the year before. But I can’t remember where exactly we were traveling to. But I do remember that I and my sister were very sick constantly in the winter.” After a sigh, I got up from my seat. “Well, I’m bored, I wonder if I can get to my piano from here?”

As I got up, Sunburst got up along with me, “Really? You want to play right now?”

“Yes, you did say that we won’t be there in an hour or so. I think I might want some time alone for me to practice.”

He nodded and told me that if I needed him, he would be in that seat. So I walked back, hopping from one carriage to the next until I made my way towards the very back where it was housed as a cargo area. There my fortepiano stood among the boxes and luggage, in which I also found Wilfred polishing the wood. “What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Making sure that this instrument is in good condition when we arrive at the Empire.” He answered. “And what are you doing back here?”

“I thought that since we won’t be at the place for a while that I thought that I might play something to pass the time. Where are the others, by the way?”

“The servants? Well, Mr. Sauté is socializing with the new maid that had come this afternoon, and I’ve sent a notice for Her Highness not to send any more servants until we get back from this adventure.”

This surprised me, “We have a new maid? How come I didn’t know about this before?”

“Well I tried to tell you but you were so excited that you hadn’t given me the chance to explain the situation. Her name, for the record, is Fan Manedelssohn. If you want to get acquainted with her, she and Sauté are in the dining car at the very front.”

“I will, but later, I just want to play my piano for a while.”

“All by yourself?” the unicorn raised an eyebrow.

I nodded, “Yes. I just need time to be alone. So would you please leave me be for a while?”

With a sigh, the butler took his cloth and exited the cargo carriage. It was then that my attention turned towards the instrument, its lid closed like a coffin. I went around to the front of the keyboard, taking out my locket to be placed upon the lid. Now all by myself, I let my imagination take hold as I envisioned my darling wife lying up against my side. And there crawling underneath the piano, my colts tussle about on the floor. My wife, in my mind’s eye, looked exhausted as she had been taking care of the children and wished for some peace.

I placed my hooves on the keyboard as I played something to relax her and sooth my sons. However, my emotions got ahold of my hooves as it played a nocturnal fantasy. Letting them pluck from the lower register a near dreamlike theme. My instrument echoed out like a haunted memory. While alone in that carriage, I really did hope that their spirits were nearby. Telling them in my own way that I missed them so much – and how sorry I was for missing out so much of their lives. Needless to say that by the time I got to the next movement of that fantasy, I felt streams of tears roll down my cheeks.

After bawling my eyes out, I reemerged to find everypony were gathered to one side of the carriage, crowding the windows. Wondering what was going on, I too had to peek through to see, to my astonishment, that the wintry landscape has turned that of spring. It was the same as I went from carriage to carriage until I found Sunburst, “What is happening?” I asked him.

“We’re almost there,” he pointed out the window. “Take a look at it yourself.”

I followed the hoof to a truly stunning sight. There among the rolling green hills was a metropolis of crystal were the center of it towered in the sky. I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes at the rainbow of crystals that seemed to have grown from the ground itself. “Remarkable,” I whispered.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sunburst smirked, “Wait until you get to see it up close.”

About ten minutes later, the train slowed down to which it halted in front of a tiny station where the passengers got off. But even that still amazed me as the station too was made out of blue crystal. “Is this all made in one piece?” I inquired, staring at the reflection when Sunburst came up from behind.

“In a way, yes,” he answered. “It’s a sort of a well-kept secret in the Empire. Heck, I’ve watched them build my house and even I’m not fully sure how they did it.”

My attention then was turned towards the shining Empire itself, “You know Sunburst, until hours ago when you showed me that picture of this place, I thought that all of this was mere legend. Even I have been told about this place as a setting in a bedtime story. But now that I get to see it, it puts everything I was told into doubt.”

“Really?” the wizard tilted his head. “How so?”

Before I could answer that, suddenly and without warning, I was scooped up off of my hooves and found myself being carried off by two stallions and a seat. “H-Hey!” I was taken in a full gallop with two guards carrying me. “What do you think you’re doing?!” I shouted. “Put me down this instant!”

However, the armored strangers ignored my plight and kept on running into the gleaming city. Grant it, there were times where I did try to get off, but as soon as I did so, they maneuvered themselves so which my flank kept falling back into the seat. At one point I started crying out, “Help! I’m being foalnapped!” but nopony came to my rescue. While I was pondering what these ponies wanted with me, I was taken towards the very center, towards the towering structure. Down through the large avenues until underneath the legs of the tower, then up through a set of stairs, they took me across many hallways until at a certain room they suddenly stopped and I went flying across, skidding along the smooth, polished floor. I confess I was screaming the whole time until I came to a halt where a pink and a purple face looked down at me.

“Huh? I thought you’d be a little taller,” the pink one said to me.

Chapter 9: Inspiration at the Dinner Table

As it turned out, my foalnapping -- or call it a “royal summoning” -- was ordered by the co-ruler of the Empire, Princess Cadance. Of course, when I first met her and what turned out to be her sister-in-law, I was surprised that they were both alicorns. Up until that encounter, I thought that only Celestia was the only one of her kind, so imagine my shock to find two of them! If anything, at first I thought that they were Sunbutt’s long lost daughters. After they’d managed to calm me down at my understanding of alicorns being turned upside down, the pink princess (named Cadance) told me not to worry about my things as they were being brought to the palace, and that I was welcomed as a guest.

The purple filly known as Princess Twilight explained to me that she had originally come for the music festival. However, when Celestia wrote them that I was coming, she wanted to see me for “research purposes.” In fact, right after she introduced herself, she grabbed a stack of paper in her aura, along with a pen and the simple demand, “Tell me everything.”

Sunburst and my crew of servants did eventually join us, along with the caravan of luggage that crawled up to the palace like a row of ants. Orange Beard was invited to dine with us, and my cook was given the opportunity to prepare a meal in front of the whole company. A table was set up with all of us on one side so that we could observe the skill of the young chef. But as I sat down, I noticed that the table was set for six, so I asked the towering pink princess whom the empty seats were for.

“They’re for my husband and our daughter,” she told me as she took her seat, “And I think that they’ll be here any moment now.”

“While we’re waiting,” Twilight took her seat next to mine, “Do you mind if I ask what you think of Modern Equestria, Mr. Moztrot?”

I shrugged, “What’s there to say? It’s different in so many ways, and I have only been around for about a week. Sometimes I feel like a little colt who wants to pull on somepony’s tail a couple of times to ask them what this or that is. (Not without getting a peek from underneath of course.)” I busted out laughing from this last remark.

“Moztrot!” Twilight and Sunburst scolded me simultaneously, not without making everypony within earshot blush. But even at the sight of it, I couldn’t help but laugh my flank off.

“Do you have any filter whatsoever?” Sunburst questioned.

“Sorry, I can’t help it. But anyway,” I continued, “As I was saying, this is a curious world. I have so many questions that I don’t exactly know where to begin. Like… Who is this Beethoven that everypony keeps talking about?”

“Well,” Twilight began, “It’s a rather long story. But given how much of an impact he made in the year he spent in Equestria, it goes without saying that he really was a revolutionary in his own right.” At this point, I was reaching out for a glass of tasty red wine when she added, “Considering the fact that he was completely deaf.” And that was when I spat it out.

“Pardon me,” I said between coughs. “Maybe my ears stopped for a moment there. But did you say that this Beethoven, a composer, (as in one who writes music) was deaf?” she nodded. “No no, I have heard plenty of things and seen marvelous things in the week I have been here, but that’s just asking far too much to suspend my disbelief. It’s impossible, pre and simple, that anypony that could compose even a simple tune without hearing it as they went. That’s like having a pony without hooves, wings or a horn play the violin – illogical ma’am, it can’t be done!”

“And yet, he did just that,” the lilac heretic assured me. “I was there. I saw him conduct symphony after breathtaking symphony. Now I know it’s hard to believe that such a thing is possible. But once you’ve heard what he wrote and even seen the recordings of him playing – I daresay that then you’ll believe in such miracles.”

I shook my head, “A miracle is hearsay unless one has seen it with their own eyes. I’m sorry, Your Highness, but until I have actually seen such a thing, I’m still going to have huge doubts over it.”

“A change of subject,” Cadance piped up. “So is it true that you’re planning on performing at the festival?”

“It’s part of the reason why I came here in the first place.”

She smiled as my chef placed a salad bowl in front of her. “You know, there’s a rehearsal going on; our talented youth orchestra is practicing your twentieth piano concerto. While the pianist they have is good, as far as I’m told, perhaps you might give these students a sense of, say, your personal touch?”

Now, this caught my attention. “Oh? Youth orchestra?”

She nodded, “It’s part of the legacy of Beethoven, that ever since his music became a hit with the younger generation, orchestras from across Equestria have been organized to take advantage of this renewed interest. In our land, for example, we have a few orchestras and choirs that have popped up with the intent of breathing new air into classical music by infusing it with passion and cleverness. The youth orchestra is a collection of the Empire’s talented students between the ages of thirteen to seventeen who perform the works of various composers, yourself included.”

My nose smelt an opportunity, partly from interest but mostly to reintroduce myself on a public platform for all to hear, not just reporters. Besides, how talented were these children, considering that they were rehearsing a concerto in which is no easy task for a professional orchestra? Then again, as I reasoned, I might as well take it in because, in the centuries that I had been gone, there surely might be something that had gone wrong.

Before I could reply, I was suddenly attacked by a pink fuzzy creature that gnawed at my face. As embarrassing as it was, I screamed like a little filly, running around the room in circles blindly while shouting for somepony to, “GetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffofmeeeeheeeEee!” Whatever it was grabbed my face and mane, nibbling at my ears, blocking my vision with a pair of nappies. I didn’t know what was going on.

“Flurry, let go,” I heard an unfamiliar stallion say. “He doesn’t want a hug. Flurry, you’re scaring him.”

Mercifully, the thing did let go and I was able to see what had attacked me. It was a baby, a light pink alicorn with a wingspan several hooves wide. She was carried over to a white unicorn stallion with a blue mane. “I’m so sorry about that,” he said. “That’s just our daughter’s way of greeting new ponies. She didn’t mean any harm.” I inquired who he was. “I’m Shining Armor, Cadance’s husband. Anyways, I’m sorry for letting our Flurry Heart latch onto you like that without warning.”

I was confused, “Why did you name her Flurry Heart? Wouldn’t ‘Face Hugger’ be a more accurate name?”

This got a laugh from the parents, “It’s another long story,” Cadance told me. She noticed the foal was trying to reach out to me. “Do you want to hold her? I promise that I won’t let her grab your face again.”

After telling her that I might as well, the father gently let the big-eyed baby into my hooves. She was feeling my overcoat at the many buttons. For a moment, I did smile but… at the same time, it did spark a memory from me. Of my youngest when I held him in my arms last. The little one seemed to notice my melancholy and her horn glowed in which, after looking around and noticing a pram for the first time, took out a little overstuff snail doll. I craned my head to the side, “What’s this?”

“It’s her Whammy doll,” Princess Twilight explained. “Normally she needs it whenever she gets fussy to help her calm down.”

“Why is it called a wham-” my question was quickly answered as the doll landed on my head. “Nevermind…” I sighed, taking it off my head and returning it to the tiny princess. “You like to chew on a lot of things, don’t you? Like a puppy trying to nibble and whibble at everything.” This made her smile as I added, “.gniht elttil elbaroda na hcus era uoy ,timda ot evah I” She giggled while the adults looked at me confused.

“What language was that?” Sunburst asked.

“,esrever ni s’tI” I said, “Say it backwards.”

Twilight was the first to process it out, “s’tI… It’s… ni, in – It’s in… esrever...?” she tapped her hoof to her chin but deduced. “Oh! It’s in reverse! You can talk backwards?” I nodded, to which she jotted it down in a notebook.

“So you must be Moztrot himself, huh?” Shining asked as the rest of us sat back down at the table.

“Indeed,” I nodded. “And with your kind permission, I want to explore this kingdom. Tell me,” I leaned over, “Are there any pubs in this city by any chance?”

“I’ll give you the tour!” Twilight volunteered gladly, “I mean, I have been here enough times to know my way around. So how about I show you around tomorrow?” To this, I agreed.

From there, the other ponies talked among themselves as I went quiet, watching neither them nor the cook, but lost in thought. The edge of my hoof circled around the rim of the glass as I pondered. Among the chit-chat of the royals besides me and the sounds of Mr. Sauté from the chopping of vegetables to the sizzling of oil, my ears picked up on something. With curiosity, I licked the end of my hoof before applying to the glass once more. This time, I heard it more clearly; a single, simple note reverberated from it.

“Is this made out of crystal too?” I inquired, getting Cadance’s attention. When told that it was, my imagination went running as I also asked if they could bring up every piece of crystal dinnerware they had. At first, everypony at the table didn’t exactly understand my request, they even asked why I wanted to. I told them that I wanted to try out something of interest. Curious, they ordered in plates, bowls, trays, and glasses of the finest crystal to be set at the table. The servants even brought out pictures of water, and they stuck around to see what exactly I was up to.

From there, one by one, I picked up each piece; wet the end of my hoof to let it run along the edges to see what pitch each would make. To my delight, each had its own note; I reorganized them on the table by the tone in the manner of a keyboard. Something that was familiar to me.

This made the grown-up ponies rather intrigued to see what exactly I was doing. Fortunately, they didn’t forbid it as I dunked both hooves in the jugs of icy water. Unbeknownst to them, I had arranged the objects into a C major scale. From my dripping hooves, I began an adagio on the glass, creating a sound that rang out a cold but celestial chord like a winter’s night sky. While it was odd at first to my ears, there was a sort of hypnotic tone to it all. Yet, I was amazed at the quality of sound, from the champagne glasses to the plates, that rang out like steady bells.

I looked up to see their expressions and noticed something rather interesting: the ones that weren’t made out of living crystal listened with fascination, including the face-grabbing baby. The ones that were, however, stood there motionless. As if the melody that I had created was processing them. The black pupils went wide; I thought I saw some of them drool, letting it drip from the corners of their mouths. Never in my life had I ever seen such a sight like this, not at any of my performances.

Of course, I wasn’t alone in this observation; the other royals (plus Sunburst) took notice of this effect upon their subjects. Even when they called out to them, trying to snap them out of the trance, the crystal ponies were still dumbstruck by the sounds the dinnerware was producing. As soon as I stopped the Adagio, however, they were instantly returned to normal.

I confessed, after that improvisation, I had thought to myself ‘Hm… Note to self: If you want to take over the Crystal Empire, have plenty of pure crystal glassware and water on hoof.’

Chapter 10: Touring the Empire

“This is absolutely fascinating!” I gawked at the shiny avenue. True to her word, Princess Twilight did show me around the city-state, starting first thing in the morning. The rising sun cascaded its light on the wonder of this world. In a way, I felt as Captain Gallopliver did when he found those lands of tiny ponies, giants, and floating islands. Who could blame me, as I have never seen anywhere in the world like this? Streets and buildings that seemed to rise up out of the earth. A blinding palette of colors that went beyond the spectrum of the rainbow reflected and refracted in the light. And the ponies themselves! It was as if I had stepped inside of a history book. Everywhere I looked, there were ponies that walked in the manner of antiquity.

“And we’ve just gotten started,” Twilight reminded me. “There are plenty of things to do and places to see around here; it’s rather hard to decide where exactly to begin.”

“What’s that over there?” I pointed to a statue of blue which depicted the figure of a short, pudgy dragon holding up a heart in victory. “Perhaps it’s me, but I do find it rather out of place in this part of the world.”

“That is Spike,” she explained to me. “He is the hero of the Empire, proven twice over. He is also my number one assistant.”

“You have a dragon for an assistant?” I inquired, “How in the world did you arrange that? Aren’t all dragons savage brutes?”

She shook her head, “Not my Spike. He’s kind, intelligent, (if a bit selfish) little guy. But to me, he’s almost my baby brother. For now, let’s get a move on. So let’s go this way.” I followed her as she went down of the reflecting streets. After a while, I was shown a cylindrical structure. “This is the stadium where we held the Equestrian Games.”

“Alright… What’s a stadium?”

“It’s a sort of amphitheater in which sports or big events are held. This place has seating for several thousand ponies, overlooking the grounds in the very center.”

“Is it still in use?”

“When there’s something going on that requires such a huge space. Shall we move on?”

We did so. After a while of walking, I inquired, “So, as a princess yourself, what duties do you concern yourself with?”

“Friendship,” she simply replied. “Or to in more detail, I not only help expand and strengthen foreign relationships with other countries but domestic as well. If there is anypony that has a friendship problem, I or my friends will lend a hoof and make life better for everypony.”

“So in other words,” I pointed it out, “You’re a glorified Agony Aunt.”

Her response was a sour look and saying, “It’s more than that. After all, I have been raised to this responsibility by my own merit. I couldn’t have done it without all the ponies in my life.”

“Is friendship your only field of concern,” I asked as we went down a row of promising pubs and delicious smelling food.

“Not really, I have a love of books of every kind, shape, and description. In a way, I have spent much of my life in libraries as a kind of scholar. Combing through any new book that I could get my hooves on -- I’ve learned how to memorize any piece of literature after reading it only once.”

This caught my interest, “Really? You have a good memory as well?”

“Eh…” She mused over for a moment, “When it comes to books then yes. I wouldn’t say that mine is photographic, but it’s extremely good at picking up new facts.”

“So what do you do with all of this knowledge?”

She proudly smiled, “Well, I wasn’t Celestia’s protege for nothing.”

I smirked and shook my head, “You so remind me of Nannerl.”

Within an instant, I saw the lilac princess contort her face with confusion. “Who?”

“She’s my older sister.” It wasn’t until a moment later that I noticed that I didn’t hear her hoofsteps. Curious, I craned my neck to see her jaw still on the ground. “What?”

“I’m sorry, maybe my ears stopped working for a moment,” she began. “But… did you just say that you had an… an older sister?”

“Yes?” I raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t you know that, Princess of Bookworms? I had a sister; I don’t see why you should be so surprised at this fact. You’d think you might have read that in history books about me by now.”

“That’s just it,” she said. “I didn’t know you ever had one.” Then, with her signature grin, she rushed to my side as a notebook and a quill pen appeared. “What was she like?”

“Who? Nannerl?” She nodded enthusiastically. “Well… She’s about five years older than me. I remember we traveled together for our tours when I was a child. You see, in those days, Papa showed us off as Wonder Children, since we both were child prodigies. Why…” I looked around to make sure nopony was listening. “If anything, when I was young, I was jealous of her.”

“You? Jealous?”

I nodded, “To this day, of the two of us, she’s the one who’s always been better at every aspect of music – and I mean, everything. She could play the keyboard with perfect insight into the harmony and modulations of any given theme. For a while, she used to play the more complicated stuff while I was still learning. And as much as I absolutely hate to admit this… I thought she was better at composing music then I was.” I muttered that last sentence, much to the astonishment of Twilight.

But I continued, “Still, I did love my sister, and she had an influence on me that most ponies don’t know about. From the start… she was my idol. I wanted to be like her. She taught me that music and imagination ought to go hoof in hoof. Some of the most astounding compositions she’d written were inspired by the simplest of things. Such as the fluttering of fans, of teacups, music boxes, bells, and the clavichord. Her fantasies gave me a direction to follow with mine.”

“To be honest,” the plum princess began, “It really astonishes me that there was another Moztrot that nopony has heard about.”

I frowned at that. At this point, it was pointless to ask if her works were lost forever. To me that was a real shame; despite the impact she’d had on me, if someone like Twilight hadn’t heard of her, then she was truly forgotten as a musician. I realized that my own sister had, in fact, died twice: first from physical death, and then from her memory fading away like hoofsteps on a sandy beach. Did that also mean that I was the only one whose music had been immortalized? Was there anypony that knew that my Papa, my sister, or even my youngest colt had written anything at all?

“Hey, are you okay?” Twilight’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, I…” I trailed off as I thought over my answer. “It’s just that you remind me of Nannerl is all. The two of you are alike in several ways. She was intelligent, gifted, and had a brother that went on to do some remarkable things.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?”

I paused, standing in the middle of the street. “Aside from her letters…? I don’t think I’ve seen her since I married Constanze.” My ears folded back against my head. “She didn’t say she’d gone anywhere after Papa had died. I think she stayed in Saltzberg the whole time…” I sighed, “I have been so focused on composition that I never gave her the chance to see my children… I was never there for them. Never there to prevent the memories of my family and friends from dying… I must be the worst brother, father, and friend that ever lived.”

I felt a comforting wing being placed on me. The bookworm Princess guided me to a green park with clear ponds for us to sit underneath a shady tree. “Wolfgang, I know that you miss them and that you want to go back to fix the problems with everypony you knew. But, don’t feel that you’re to blame.”

I shook my head, “It’s not that,” I moaned. “What if I end up forgetting about them too?”

“You won’t,” this response surprised me. “Speaking from experience, everypony that you’ve learned from has left an impact on you, an impact that I can’t begin to imagine. You have learned from your family and friends the tricks and techniques of music; that, I think, is part of the legacy they left behind. Not just to you, but to all the composers and songwriters that came after. I think that goes to everypony that, while we may never know their names or who they were, their actions and choices leave an impact on history – no matter how small.

“Our siblings especially count. While your sister showed you how to use your imagination, my brother taught me how to be brave even when it was hard to do so. And I think holding onto what you’ve learned from them is a great way to honor that legacy.”

For a while in the shade, I remained silent until I said, “Princess Twilight, you can tell everypony else that the Requiem is finished – just now underneath this tree.”

“Oh?” she cocked an eyebrow. “But didn’t you start rewriting it last week?”

“Music is easy,” I said as I got up. “The rest is just scribbling. Anyway, on with the tour,” I looked around and noticed another huge building. “Ohh… What’s that?”

She followed my line of sight and saw the lilac crystal structure with columns and a massive dome. “That’s the Empire’s Opera House. It’s where the heart of the music festival will take place. It was also here that Beethoven himself premiered his choral fantasy and his eighth symphony.”

“And I do hope that I’ll get to hear something of his,” I commented as we got up and began walking towards it. “I have been hearing so much about this composer that I’m getting more curious by the day to hear what he sounds like.”

“Don’t worry, you will,” she smiled. “If anything, I wanted to see how you react to a hoofful of his pieces.”

We walked up to one of the entrances of the opera house where we saw a sign telling us to be quiet as rehearsal was going on inside. It certainly was as I heard the phantom sounds of strings and horns bellowing within. With my interest piqued, I stepped inside as the music got clearer until I realized that it was one of my own – a piano concerto of mine to be exact. With Twilight following close behind, we went in further until we came to the great opening of the theater. On the stage was an orchestra made up of mostly children and teenagers, except for a stallion at the piano, waving his hooves about at a tempo that I found a touch too slow.

“Move any slower and I think you’ll put everypony to sleep,” I called out and the orchestra died out at once. Eyes located where I said it from and watched them go wide. The pianist too stood up from the bench astonished. “Sorry to interrupt but I couldn’t help but hear that the tempo was a little too slow. So could you speed it up to something more moderate like an Allegro? It would do wonders for this movement.”

Chapter 11: Of Rehearsals and Lullabies

Onstage, everypony blinked, “Who the hay are you? And why are you here, Princess Twilight?”

“Everypony,” the lilac pony with wings and pointy horn said, “I think it’s about time you got to meet, Wolfgang Amadeus Moztrot.”

“Hello!” I grinned widely and waved my hoof about.

Many of the children looked at one another surprised, “He’s here!” one whispered. “The real Moztrot is here!”

“Students,” the stallion pianist waved a hoof. “Don’t mutter to yourselves. In fact, let’s take a five-minute break.” He turned to me and hopped off the stage to walk over and shake my hoof. “It’s a huge honor to have you with us, sir! I’m Forte Waltz, the music instructor for the Crystal Youth Orchestra, and these here are my students.”

“Call me Wolfgang,” I replied. “A very bright pink birdy with a crown told me that you lot were going to perform a concerto of mine.”

He nodded, “Number twenty sir. As of right now, we are in the rehearsal process for the opening day of the festival, which is coming up in a week. So are you planning to come to the festival by any chance?”

“Oh yes,” Twilight answered it for me. “If anything that was the reason he came here. And he also wants to perform as well. I’m just giving him a tour of the empire.”

“And how lucky we are to run into all of you,” I said, directing my attention to the youth orchestra and climbing up to the stage. “Now quickly, who’s the youngest?” A hoof from the clarinet section rose up. It came from a rose-colored colt. “Ah, and how old are you?”

“Thirteen,” he replied.

“Then who’s the oldest?” A hoof from the cello section had risen up. This time it came from a mare in sunflower yellow. “And you?”

“I’ll be turning eighteen in a couple of months,” she informed me.

“Ah, and I take it that all of you are well trained in music?” they all nodded. I smiled and turned to their teacher, “I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect orchestra myself!”

The music instructor and the bookworm glanced at one another. “Really?” asked Twilight, “How so?”

“Back where I come from,” I explained, “critics said my music had too much spice, too much passion even. Only, that’s exactly the way I wanted it to be. And what other groups of ponies could be anywhere near as passionate as this group here?” I waved my hoof towards them. “If anything, all of this just makes too much sense.”

“Well…” the teacher blinked, “Thank you for the compliment. You know you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like-”

“Ohh!” Instantly I rushed over towards Twilight's face, “Can we, Princess? Just for twenty minutes! I do want to hear this! Can we! Can we! Can weeehehee!?” I was literally hopping in place at this point, succumbing to my excitement.

She craned her neck over, “What time is it now?”

“Almost ten,” someone called out.

“Okay,” Twilight held a hoof to pin down my vibrating body. “But only twenty minutes, I do have quite a bit of the empire to show you. So once that’s up, we have to move on.”

I merely squeed as I plopped my plot in a nearby chair. After their break and me reminding them to up the tempo, the pianist returned to the instrument and began again from the start.

Even after spending most of the day walking this way or that, up to the point where my hooves felt like they were about to blister, I had the notes of the rehearsal going around in my head. I do not mean the melody and harmonies of that particular concerto, but rather, all the things that I could help those young musicians improve. Please don’t misunderstand me; they were good from what I’ve heard. There were indeed signs of their skills as they went from one bar to the next. But to my ears, it didn’t sound quite right. As if those students were almost there, but they were missing just a few things.

Hours after we had gotten back to the palace and eaten dinner, I went looking for one of the rulers of the Empire, as I wanted to ask them something. I was pointed this way and that, but as it turned out, all I had to do was to follow the wails of a certain face hugger to find not only the parents but the wizard as well. They were in what looked like a nursery, three ponies desperately tried to calm the crying (and rather loud) baby in her crib.

“It’s okay sweetie,” Cadance cooed as she rocked the crib with her magic. “Mommy’s right here.”

“I don’t get it,” Shining said, who looked as frazzled as if he had walked across a war zone. “She’s not hungry, her diaper doesn’t need changing, she doesn’t want the formula and we’ve even given her Whammy.”

“Not to mention we tried reading her a bedtime story,” Sunburst pointed out. “But what’s keeping her from going to sleep?”

“Have you tried singing a lullaby?” I asked, thus getting everypony’s attention. “Sorry if I’m intruding, I was looking for Your Highnesses but it looks as if you’re preoccupied at the moment.”
The wizard adjusted his glasses, “What do you mean by a lullaby?”

“You know, sing to her until she sleeps,” I clarified as I entered the nursery. Trotting over to the cradle, “Ah, the poor thing looks like she’s had a busy day hugging ponies’ faces. I bet what she needs is some music to calm her down.”
“We already tried that,” Cadance told me. “But nothing seems to be working.”

“Hmm…” I looked around the room. “I wish that I had an instrument with me because while I think I may have the right tune, I’m afraid that I don’t have the best singing voice in the world.”

“Here,” Sunburst lit up his horn to cast a spell upon the cradle itself. When asked what he just did, he replied. “Put your hoof on the cradle, and think of the lullaby so she can hear it.”

As strange an idea as it was, I obeyed. I gently rocked the crib back and forth while the little one was still in tears,
while I thought of the lullaby that I played for my colts. Suddenly I heard clarinets, pizzicato violins, and violas before a cello sang my lullaby. All the while, I hummed the tune as the bawling alicorn slowed to a sniffle, clearly listening to the music. The crib vibrated with the exact harmonies and counterpoint from my head, as I continued to rock her. I noticed how the three adults were looking on, seemingly relieved that the filly was at last calming down.

For a brief moment, I daydreamed that I was home again. In my head, the cello and clarinet acted as the mother who stood guard. The strings, winds and even the angelic voices were sending an invitation to the babe to come to Dreamland. To go to a world of peaceful rest until the sun comes up. Like my colts, Flurry Heart’s eyes had too fallen under the spell of sound – drifting deeper into a tranquil slumber. By the time had she closed those eyelids, I began it one more time, repeating the sleepy melody to be sure that she had succumbed to it. For a brief moment, as the lullaby reprised, I could have sworn that I was rocking my sons again. Watching them fall asleep.

“Moztrot?” I heard Cadance say softly, “Are you okay?”

Looking up, I didn’t realize that I was tearing up. Keeping a hoof to the cradle and using the other to wipe up what was running down my face, I let the melody play out before giving it its closing chords. I stopped for a moment to see if the baby had indeed fallen asleep; when it became evident that was the case, we all slipped out of the nursery.

“Thank you for doing that,” Prince Armor told me. “We have been trying to get her to sleep for nearly an hour. So how did you do that in a matter of minutes?”

“It’s a trick that my wife and I used when we wanted our children to go to sleep. We played out that lullaby until they dozed off. And forgive me for the tears, it was stupid of me.”

“Are you really alright?” the pink alicorn asked again.

“Of course I am,” I lied. “Anyways, I’m glad I could help. Since I finally found you both, I was hoping that I could ask one of you something.” They told me to go ahead, “Remember that Youth Orchestra that Twilight and I brought up at dinner? Well, I was hoping that since I’m here, I could ask two special favors of you.”

“What’s that?” Sunburst inquired.

“Well, for one, I was thinking that maybe I could do more than just help them out during rehearsals. So, if you would permit me, I’d like to actually play the piano part myself, just so I can reintroduce myself to my audience for the first time in centuries.”

Cadance tapped a hoof to her chin. “I think I could have something arranged with the music teacher over there. Of course, that would mean that you’ll have to work with the teenagers until they perform.”

“About that,” I added, “Which leads to the next thing I wanted to ask. For it has to do with my Requiem.”

The hallway went silent, “And that being?” Shining inquired.

“With your permission, Your Majesties, I’d like to have an orchestra and choir of my own by the time I write down the rest of the manuscript. For I think I may get it finished in a matter of days, but after that, I’d like to rehearse and perform it at certain locations in Equestria.”

“So soon?” Sunburst asked. “Considering that pretty much every orchestra, band, and singer is needed for the upcoming festival?”

“I’m not asking them to have them right this very minute when I haven’t written it all down. That’s just silly,” I laughed. “Of course, maybe get them after it.”

“We’ll have to see,” Cadance told me. “After all, it’s not just our Empire’s musicians that are performing. You might want to hear several of them before making deciding who should perform whatever you want them to play.” She yawned before adding, “Besides, it’s time we all headed off to bed. So good night, Mr. Moztrot.”

I wished them the same as I tried to retrace my steps back to the guest bedroom. However, that failed miserably as I ran into the orange wizard again.

“Let me guess,” He said, “You’ve lost your way, didn’t you?”

“I’m not lost,” I told him defensively. “I merely just… misplaced my room is all.”

The walking orange rolled his eyes. “Here, let me show you before I head home.” I began to follow him through the increasingly familiar (if not identical) corridors when he said, “Between you and me, I didn’t know you wrote that lullaby.”

“Pardon?” I raised an eyebrow.

“What you played for Flurry. I had heard it before and I didn’t know that it was yours.”

“Is that so? Where did you hear it from?”

He frowned, “My mom used to sing it to me.”

There was an uncomfortable silence between us. I was the one to break it with a sigh, “It’s rather funny how a piece of music can bring back certain memories. Take that lullaby, for instance, I wrote it for Karl after his first birthday, and how relieved I was.”

“What do you mean by ‘relieved’?”

I went silent for the longest minute, and I was self-aware that my ears folded back. “We lost our first child the year before. So after Karl turned one year of age, I was more than happy to write him a lullaby because, what would be the good of writing one if you don’t know if he’ll wake up in the morning?”

“Oh…” Now it was Sunburst’s turn to look guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

I waved it off, “Not even the ponies where I came from knew about it either. You don’t have to feel sorry for me.” At that moment we had arrived at the door to my guest room.

Before I went inside, Sunburst told me that if there was anything that I wanted to speak to him as a friend, I was more than welcome to do so. After thanking him, I went to bed with a bottle of brandy at hoof. Tomorrow I would start rehearsing with those children, but that night, I wanted to drink until I fell asleep.

Chapter 14: Music Festival (Part 2)

I will never forget the first time I stepped out of that opera house and into the festival itself. All around was a carnival dedicated to the creation, performance, and playing of music. There were booths and stages as far as the eye could see; there wasn’t a single space that wasn’t filled with a shop of some kind. A booth that sold nothing but flutes here, a tempting array of hard candies shaped like musical notes there, a stage where a pony was singing up in front, and an improvised drinking song from behind. Not only did the sounds of every shape and description fog up the air, but the scents of sugary cinnamon, alcohol, frying oil, hot cakes, cold syrups, and roasted corn were everywhere. I remember it being so colorful, too; crammed between the crystal structures were banners advertising sales and strings of round paper lanterns.

At that moment, I felt like a little colt again.

“Sir,” my cook asked, “What exactly do you want to do now?”

I daresay that a better question was what I didn’t want to do. “Such a busy place,” I commented, “I don’t know where to start.”

“What’s that over there,” the maid pointed over to a mob that was outside of a tavern that I was sure I hadn’t been in before. Without another word, my three servants followed me as I gravitated towards it. As we got closer, the louder the sound of a piano became. It was in a style that I didn’t recognize, roaring one moment, whispering the next. We forced our way through the crowd just to see what was going on, I even had to crawl underneath everypony’s legs just to get inside until I saw the main attraction. There was a dark blue stallion at a keyboard with a chalkboard sign leaning up against the instrument: “Beethoven’s Sonatas Played from memory. 5 Bits.” And on top of the piano was a hat that no doubt held the coins.

By the time I got over there, he already played out the final, earth-shattering chords before the audience around me applauded, nearly stomping me in the process. “Hey! Watch where you’re stomping!” I cried out. Thankfully the ponies above me took notice and cleared away, let me get up.

“Hey, it’s Moztrot,” someone said and instantly I was swamped by ponies that wanted to shake my hoof.

“Give him some space!” my butler belted out, taking a stand between me and everyone else. “There’s no need to mob him.”

“Well, Ah’ll be,” I heard the pianist say as he turned around to look at me. “Mr. Moztrot himself! Great ta have ya here, that concerto was perfect indeed.”

I blinked at the foreign accent, “And you are?”

“Name’s Photo sir. Photographic Retention. Ah’m here ta play out all thirty-two piano sonatas by Beethoven completely from memory.”

This piqued my interest, “So you can play music after hearing it once, I take it?”

He shrugged, “More like lookin’ at sheet music once and it sticks ta me.”

“Well in that case,” I took out a few bits from my pocket and tossed it up to the hat. “I’m dying to hear what everypony has been raving about.”

The pianist smiled, “Pick a number from one ta thirty-two.”

So I did, “Twenty-nine.”

“Ohh! The Hammerklavier. Now pick a number between one and five.”

“One.”

Swinging over towards the keyboard, he stretched and twisted his forehooves overhead, “Sonata twenty-nine, first movement comin’ up.”

Before he could start note of it, my plot was already on the ground. Sitting there in anticipation of hearing what this obviously influential composer had contributed to Equestria. I listened to the opening bars of a triumphant fanfare. What followed immediately, however, puzzled me. In particular the structure of it; indeed had the main theme and variations, but… to my ears, it was confusing as if it had broken the rules of music while at the same time following them. Instead of a structured theme, variations and a closing with the original theme, what I heard came out at random. One moment I would hear the memorable triumphant notes, the next would be a variation, then back again, then five different variations, and suddenly back to the main theme once more. With the variations themselves, I couldn’t find anything wrong with them as they explored different ways of expression. Going from soft to loud with every other bar, even hopping from the lower register to the higher and back again. Oh, there was passion, no doubt about it. I heard enough cleverness and spice that could easily rival my own. What I heard that day was not a sonata – it was something else entirely, only I didn’t know what. A whole new species of music that is untamed, yet it works on its own terms.

Never had I encountered a piece of music which shouldn’t by any means of the imagination work, and yet, somehow did. But I couldn’t figure out how.

Just… how?

Several minutes and a seemingly unfinished ending later, the crowd around him cheered while I politely applauded. After telling him that was good, I left. The butler, cook, and maid came out with me to the open air.

“So,” Mr. Sauté asked, “What did you think?”

“Hm? I thought it was good…” I trailed off, and the three of them noticed.

“But…?” the maid raised an eyebrow.

“Really, it was clever what I heard. Only…” now that I was trapped, I might as well be honest with them. “I don’t really get it.”

“Was it that bad?” Wilfred wondered.

“No. And that is precisely it. I didn’t hate it, because it certainly wasn’t boring. But I don’t know if I like it either because… it doesn’t make that much sense to me.”

All three jaws dropped. “What?” all of them said at once.

“What? It was in a style that I’m unfamiliar with. Now come on! Pick your jawbones up off the floor and let’s explore some more.” I was about to move forward when suddenly, an idea struck me. “Hold on! I just realized that I don’t know any of your favorite music.”
Once they’d managed to recover themselves, the three of them looked at one another. “Well,” the maid said. “I do like the soundtracks of movies, especially the newer ones that had come out over the…” she took noticed of my blank expression. “Oh, a movie is a motion picture, a method of telling stories on a screen.”

“Like a magic lantern show?”

“Something like that, only better.”

I turned to my cook, “And you?”

“Apart of the stuff you’ve written,” he said. “I also have this… guilty pleasure in electronic music, particularly from DJ Pon3 who does remixes of popular tunes.”

“I have no idea what you just said but I’m curious as to how music can be played by electricity.” Then I turned to my butler, “What about you?”

He shrugged, “It depends on what I’m in the mood for. Could be jazz one day or some folk the next, whatever I’m in the mood for.”

“What are you in the mood for today?”

He tapped his chin in thought, “Some rock would be nice.”

I blinked, “I don’t know how you can play music using rocks but I’m interested!” Turning around again, telling them that for today, we have a quest to seek out their music in the festival before the day is out.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find my maid’s taste in music. (Although, I confess that we had some delays as I was buying anything of interest in sight, such as a shirt that had a picture of a snowflake made out of eight quarter notes; an oil cake in the shape of a whole note; and buying every instrument from flutes to small guitars in sight.) After asking around from ponies who wanted me to sign my name on everything from copies of my music to their flanks, we managed to locate a concert which was performing this “soundtrack” music.

As it turned out, they were playing in a park. A full orchestra crammed among the trees, bushes, and the crowds that stood around to listen. By the time we arrived, they were making a great deal of noise before rushing towards a mighty crescendo, thus giving their audience leave to applaud. The four of us found our way towards the shade of a tree, as the mare that conducted turned around and bowed to the crowd.

When the cheers of approval died down, she announced: “Thank you, our next piece is Master Cherry’s Suite. The themes you’ll be hearing are from the movie, Kung Fu Bunny.”

“Oh I love that one!” the maid smiled excitedly. “The part where Cherry says goodbye was so tear-jerking.”

“Ah yes,” I replied, “I’ll just smile and nod like an idiot and pretend like I know what you’re talking about.”

“Remind me to show you the motion picture when we get back,” my butler advised me.

Before I knew it, the piece had begun – a soft humming of strings before the opening theme of a piano. The melody was of an agonizing beauty and melancholic tone, with unusual harmonies that swelled with emotion. Not even the most tragic of operas could come close to what I heard. There was a sense of tragedy, no doubt, but at the same time an honorable refusal to accept one’s fate. Even the solo cellist added the color of grace, with melodic strings bringing the momentum up to a crescendo. Rarely did I ever find a sound as if the whole orchestra was crying genuine tears. In its unusual harmonies, there was that passion in the opening movement.

Almost immediately, it was followed by uneasy violins going at a presto pace before a burst of brass and bells. Repeating the opening theme for a heroic touch before the cello and piano suddenly slowed its temper. Just like Beethoven, the idea was used in a variety of ways. Letting the orchestra explore different tones and colors on this one theme alone! As I listen to this short suite, I began to notice that the ghost of Beethoven was haunting this music. Yes. This untamed but masterful passion was drifting overhead. To me, it was almost as if this composer had a passionate spirit looking over his shoulder the whole time. Even with the interesting uses of new instruments that I had never seen before, that passionate but strong discipline was there.

Even the audience was under the composer’s spell as I saw my maid tear up, especially at that tremendous end when a small choir unleashed everything they had. At the same time, I was getting a few ideas of my own.

As soon as the piece had concluded with the reprise of the opening theme, and the audience had given them the applause they deserved, I wove my way through the crowd towards the conductor.

“That was wonderful,” I said, getting the mare’s attention.

“Mr. Moztrot!” the dandelion yellow mare gasped. “Oh hello there! How long have you been here?”

“Since the start of that suite you’ve played. It was quite moving.”

She blushed, “Oh thank you so much for that. I could say the same for you as well. That concerto was brilliant.”

“Yes, yes, I know, I was there.” I giggled. “Like I said, what I heard was excellent. Tell me, how well connected are you with the other orchestras?”

“Decent I suppose.”

“You see, I want to get it from the source, from your modern orchestras, to get your opinions here. I’m going to hoofpick a new orchestra and choir too, firstly, perform my Requiem. So I want to ask you is: can I borrow your violin and horn sections?”

Chapter 15: Music Festival (Part 3)

Finding Mr. Sauté’s music proved to be more difficult than we had anticipated. For you see, we learned that while there was indeed a DJ PON3 performing, the place itself was underground. We must have spent two hours trying to find where exactly to go down below. I confess that the reason it took so long was all the detours we made on our little quest.

After I spoke with the mare who’d conducted the soundtrack music, we moved on to another part of the empire. This new section was populated with street musicians who were in fierce competition with one another for the most crowds and coins. For a while, we were lost in this fantasy land of soloists on strings, keyboards, brass, woodwinds, and vocals that of every level of talent. The four of us heard a wide range from a singer of Istallion

Opera to the boring guitarist that repeated the same four chords over and over.

“You would think somepony would have mapped out this place,” Mr. Sauté complained and I swiftly agreed. “How are we supposed to find where DJ PON3 is?”

It didn’t take long to solve that riddle. “I suppose we find the biggest crowd there is and work our way from there. After all, the more ponies we ask, the more likely we’ll be able to find the place that is playing electronic music.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” my maid commented. “Quick, look around and see who’s got the biggest-”

“Over there,” my butler interrupted as he pointed down the street towards a rather large group that was gathered around a lone violinist on a platform. As we gotten nearer, his features became clearer. Dressed in a plain black suit, he looked as if nopony had fed him in years. Standing on his hind legs he looked like a scarecrow; even his greasy black mane contributed to the look. The Caprice, however, was like nothing I had ever heard before. Playing a scherzo at a demonic pace, both his bowing and hoof placement bespoke the natural gifts of a virtuoso. For a while, I didn’t bother asking anypony as I was transfixed on his playing. Never in my life had I heard a violinist that could archive such impossible feats, and he was an earth pony like myself! With the tempo of summer lightning, his bow practically bounced from one string to the next while at the same time pronouncing each and every note perfectly. To me, it was the sound of madness, but one that had such a method to it that I was mentally kicking myself for not thinking of it first!

After the well-deserved applause, I was compelled to go up and see who this virtuoso was. “Bow any faster and I think it’ll catch on fire,” I called out to him.

He looked down at the mob and found my face among them, “Oh Celestia…” He hopped off from the platform to go up to me and bow. “I’m deeply honored to have a master like you here.”

“Master? No, I’m just an idiot,” I laughed. “Still, what a caprice that was, it’s refreshingly new. I’ve never heard the violin played like that since Boulogne, mister… I’m sorry, I haven’t gotten the name.”

“Paganeighni.” He replied, “And I would appreciate the compliment, only I don’t know who Boulogne is.”

I blinked, “Joseph Boulogne, Chevalier de Saint-George?” I tried to clarify. “He was a famous violinist in Prance, the greatest Zebra violinist in the world?” But he only gave a blank stare in return. I sighed with melancholy, “Oh never mind. Look, I and my friends are trying to get somewhere, could you help us out if you can?”

Even after we’d decided to rest at a pub, I was feeling rather gloomy. Not that we had no idea where our next stop on our quest for new music was; in fact, at that moment we were merely across the street from it. However, I wasn’t ready to listen to it just yet. And I knew why.

It was the depressing revelation from Paganeighni’s response. The musicians that had such an impact on my melodies and harmonies were not just dead but forgotten too. And not just Boulogne, but as I was downing my second glass of ale, I thought what if my friends and rivals had been forgotten too? What about Salieri? What about my father? Or Hayden? Does anypony listen to or play their music anymore? Much less heard of them?

“What’s gotten you down?” Mr. Sauté inquired me.

“Yeah,” my maid nodded, “You haven’t said a word since we got directions from that crazy violinist.”

I sighed and decided to test my theory out. “Have any of you ever heard of Joseph Boulogne, Chevalier de Saint-George?” Their confused faces gave me the answer. “Never mind.”

“Forgive us, Wolfgang,” Wilfred told me. “But who exactly was he?”

“He was a violinist.”

Sauté scrunched up his face in thought, “I don’t think I’ve heard the name until now. Did you know him?”

I laughed bitterly, “Not really, but I’ve heard him play when I was young, back when Papa toured the family around Prance. It was interesting as I remembered it because he was the first Zebra to play the violin at the Paris Opera House.”

Three pairs of eyes went wide. “Excuse me?” all of them said at once.

“It’s true.” I nodded, “Not only was he a freepony. But he was also a knight, hence the title of Chevalier because he was a genius at fencing. And not only was he a virtuoso at playing the violin, but he was a composer. Why the very novelty itself was enough for my father to take me to see him play his own violin concerto.” After letting out a sigh, I added, “What I heard that night gave me the inspiration to write the Sinfonia Concertante and my own violin concertos. But I’ll let you a little secret.” I leaned forward to mutter, “I have tried to outdo what he wrote and played that night, but nothing has come close.”

Three gaping jaws stared back at me. “But… But you’re Moztrot,” my chief objected. “One of the greatest composers that ever lived – how can you say such a thing?”

Another gulp of that cool ale. “Because it’s true,” I mumbled. “Of course I’m good, one of the best, but I have been outdone before. Even I think that there are ponies who were more successful and talented than I am.”

“Compared to what we’ve heard at the Opera House?” my butler questioned.

I stayed quiet for a moment, down the rest of the ale. “Still, it is rather depressing that those who have inspired me have been forgotten, and I’m the only one that’s left. Am I the only thing from my time that has been remembered?”

“Well there was Buch,” Sauté pointed out. “Along with Vifilly, Shandel, Hayden and-”

“I mean in the latter half of the eighth century,” I interrupted. “What about Salieri? Or Tartini? Cherubini? Krommer? Pleyel? Clementi? Hoffmeister?” Again, nothing but blank stares. Of course, the names I’d given to them were those I considered to be second rate, but I was still surprised that they hadn’t heard of them at all. How ironic then, that in my time I went from a fading child star in the eyes of royal courts to become the most famous composer -- indeed, the only famous one -- of my time. I made up my mind right there and then that once I performed the Requiem to my special audience, I would begin to put together a different sort of concert.

“Wolfgang,” my butler took me out of my thoughts, “Shall we get going?”

After paying for our drinks, we moved on with our quest. The place across the street had a row of shops, but we went around to the back towards a set of stairs that lead downwards. As we got closer to a door, there was the sound of something thumping against the crystal walls. It was a steady pulse in the lowest register like a muffled drum, or a giant’s. But once we got closer to it, it sounded like a vast machine warming up. And then, as my chef opened the door, we were blasted by a cello, an unorthodox orchestra and the shouting of ponies inside.

My sensitive ears could barely bear the earthquake that was happening as we stepped into an enormous darkened room. There was a vast array of bright colors that glowed like stars. Ponies all around had halos made up of thin strands of light greens, vibrant blues, shining pinks, burning yellows, and blinding violets that were on their heads, hooves, tails, and even wrapped around their bodies. Overhead, dark blue lights shone down on us and made our coats change color. The area reeked of spilled alcohol, vomit, perfumes and other unidentifiable aromas. But right across from this dream world stood the source of the music that was screaming through blue and black disks. And in between these towers in which the disks were held upon was a table at which a mare was in complete control. In the light, she was glowing brightly like the moon with a spiky blue mane and dark spectacles over her eyes.

And I couldn’t hear much over the sheer volume of the music which made me wonder how we couldn’t hear this from across the street. A solo cello movement was the only thing that was recognizable from the chaotic and confusing sounds. To my ears they came in a series of screeching, thunderous beats, burping, farting and scratching that vibrated the floor itself. At least the ponies all around who were dancing to it seemed to be enjoying themselves. The young cook and the maid had certainly fallen underneath this overly complicated spell. I on the other hoof felt that my ears would bleed if I stayed any longer.

My butler followed me out, “I can safely assume that you are not a fanatic?”

I slumped upon the steps, “Never in my life have I been so confused by a piece of music before – I just don’t understand it. Is this what young ponies see as dancing music?”

He chuckled, “Let me guess, is it too unorthodox?”

“I don’t know. Like that Beethoven bit, I’m not sure if it’s too complex or the composer just had no idea what he was doing.” Then my ears perked up as the music from inside changed. “Hold on, is that Buch?”

Wilfred looked over, his ears listening for a moment, “Sounds like one of his preludes. That’s being remixed.”

“Is being what?”

He shook his head, “It’s a term nowadays, meaning to take a piece of any given music and rework it by adding beats or splitting it up. You know Wolfgang, every generation has their own idea of what proper music is. Why, when I was young, rock and roll had just been introduced but the older generation condemned it for being ‘Morally Corrupting’ and being played too loud. Surely, even you have seen this?”

“To be fair, I have,” I nodded. “Do you know of my opera, ‘Il Matrimonio di Figaro’?”

My butler nodded, “The Marriage of Figaro? Yes, I’m familiar with it.”

“Well, believe it or not, Celestia nearly banned it before it could be performed.”

This surprised him. “Really?”

“Oh yes. And during rehearsals too, a part of the opera was nearly taken out, a peasant wedding dance that was restored at the last minute because apparently, Princess Sunbutt had banned ballet in her operas. (Which, I completely agree with if such a thing serves no purpose to the overall story.) Anyway, the opera was nearly banned because I had chosen a controversial play to be set to music. The original play was causing riots in Prance when it was performed you see, so I and some Istallion poet set out to remove as much as we could of anything that would give offense. But even after the production was finalized, it was performed only nine times before it was stopped completely. Saying that too much of it might cause some revolution if I wasn’t careful,” I huffed on that step. “I think it is a load of manure if you ask me.”

“So you do approve of this,” he waved a hoof to the closed door that is still thumping.

“All I’m saying is that I don’t understand it, not that it’s badly written. If I could get a moment with that DJ PON3 and have her explain what it’s all about, then that might be some help. But at the moment, I find it too complex for my tastes."

Chapter 16: Music Festival (Part 4)

It took about an hour or so before DJ PON3 took a moment to rest, and once the underground party of dreams showed their appreciation of the music, I took it as a sign to step in and meet the mare. Since nothing was playing, it was bearable for my sensitive ears to walk right in and go across the massive hall to the other side. Wilfred went ahead of me, showing me the way to where exactly the soloist had gone, which was behind a curtain guarded by a large, bald pony in the same attire that my butler was wearing.

This guard held a hoof out to stop us. “VIP’s or invited guests only,” he said to us.

“Wait; let me get this out…” Wilfred lit up his horn to pull out some badges with the letters “V. I. P.” written on them. This lets us through the curtain. There we found the mare in normal light; she had the characteristics of Shining Armor, from white coat to the same shading of mane color. Of course, the main differences between him and this sweaty mare were the dark spectacles over her eyes and the cutie mark – hers were eighth notes. By the time we walked in, she was lying back on a couch, gulping down something from a bottle.

“DJ PON3 I presume?” I inquired, getting her attention. “Was that you performing out there?”

She smirked and nodded.

“Wolfgang Moztrot, Madame,” I held out a hoof. “So is DJ PON3 your real name or is it a stage name?”
She held up a hoof, signaling me to wait a moment. Her horn glowed briefly; from out of some saddlebags, she pulled out a notebook and a pencil, with which she began jotting something down. I looked over to my butler confused for a moment before she shoved the book to my face.

Hey dude, in case you’re wondering, I’m mute so I can only write this out to ya. And in case you’re wondering, the answer is no, I’m not deaf, it’s just that I can’t talk.

I blinked, “You’re mute?”

She nodded.

Yep, and to answer your question, DJ PON3 is a stage name. Call me Vinyl. You ran into my roommate not too long ago as I recall. Octavia Melody. She’s the gal you mortified at that snobby party in which you nearly had them sing something about licking butts.

“Wait a minute,” I thought back to a couple of weeks ago. “Is she a gray mare, with black hair and has a friend that is a pianist?”

That’s the one! Man, I wish I could have been there to see the looks on their faces when you got kicked out. I thought you would be one of those boring old composers but was I proven wrong when Octie told me about you!

“That’s only because nopony there had a sense of humor. Still, I’m impressed at how you could move that crowd out there. Literally.”

She waved a hoof and scribbled more in her book.

To me it’s a Tuesday. It’s nothing really.

“While you’re here, I was wondering if you could try to help me understand something. Your arrangements on Buch in particular – maybe it’s because I’ve been dead for two centuries and I’m now the old turd, but could you try to explain to me the method behind what I just heard?”

Ms. Vinyl stared at me for a good solid minute. The unicorn scratched the back of her head with the pencil, trying to think up a reply. Finally, she jotted down her thoughts for several minutes before sharing:

Look, dude, I don’t know if I can sum up what I do here. I mean, it’s not just that my style must sound wicked crazy to you given when you’re from, but how everything changed after Beethoven. But to oversimplify, I’d have to say that I’ve adopted a new way to entertain the crowd in which I take something old and make it come back to life again. Giving it a fresh coat of paint as it were. You could blame Octavia and Beethoven for that, for leading me to revive classical music in a contemporary style. But I do it with a passion to make the crowd move. Do you get what I’m saying?

Even with this modern music, it became clear now what exactly this Beethoven had done to this world: he gave it passion.

I told her that I indeed understood. After thanking her for the explanation, Wilfred and I rounded up the cook and the maid and then continued on the final stage of our quest.

By this time, the sun was making its way westward, so we had only a limited amount of time to search for this rock music. At the time, I thought it was going to feature an orchestra playing on instruments completely made out of stone. I had no idea what such heavy things would sound like. But like we did before, we asked around and we were pointed this way and that to where a rock concert was being performed.

After a quick dinner of street food, we were pointed towards the enormous outdoor theater, which they called a stadium. The same place that Princess Twilight had told me had held the Equestrian Games. By the time we approached it, the sun was setting on the horizon and there was a monstrous sound coming from inside. This wasn’t like Ms. Vinyl’s, which sounded so chaotic to the ear. If anything, the closer we got to the pulsing theater, the more structured the music became even as the sounds of hysterical screams were heard.

There were banners around the round structure, four giant images of faces of ponies with very big manes, each holding up some form of a guitar or percussion in which they call themselves, “Why in the name of Celestia’s golden crap is this called ‘Queen’ when there’s not a mare among them?”

Much to my (and the other servants as well as they were) surprise, Wilfred had for a moment burst out laughing. It was a shock as this was the first time that any of us had seen him evince a sense of humor. But just as quickly as that outburst came, he cleared his throat and regained his composure. “Apologies. But to answer your question, Wolfgang, Queen is only a name to catch somepony’s attention and help them stand out among several other bands. This one, to my knowledge, is relatively new; still, they’ve been around for a few years now and are picking up in popularity. But like many rock bands, they use guitar instruments that are amplified or tuned by electricity.”

For a moment, I cocked a head over towards the enormous theater. “Well I suppose that makes some sense, but how come what I’m hearing is different than Ms. Vinyl’s if it’s run on electricity?”

“Ah,” my butler nodded, “Well, this style is a little older than electronic dance music by a few decades. Unlike what you heard, which is done by one machine, this genre of music uses different instruments to create its own distinctive sound.”

I supposed such an explanation was reasonable. “So is there anything else I need to know before we head in there?”

“There is,” Wilfred reached into his pocket to pull out a hoofful of purple tablets. “Squish these up and put them into your ears. I should have given these to you beforehoof, however, I didn’t realize how loud DJ PON3’s music would be. At a concert like this, however, I have a feeling that we all are going to need these.”

After following the instruction and letting the tablets swell up in my ears, all sound was reduced to a muffle. “What are these?” I asked as I instantly took one out. “I could hardly hear with these.”

“That is rather the point,” my butler replied as he put some of them in his ears. “They plug up your ears so they won’t become damaged. You will thank me once we get in there.”

So after putting them back in, we followed behind him into the stadium. And as we got closer to the center, the purpose of the tablets became clear as the muffled sound got louder. When we got to the heart of the theater, the shouts and excited cheers were near deafening. There in the very center was a group of only four stallions on stage – one at the percussion, two with flat guitars and another at one of those electronic keyboards.

“Thank you for coming out to see us Crystal Empire!” one of them gave a great shout in which the audience roared. “How about an old favorite before we go? So let’s end this concert with the very song that had put us on the map. Let’s give you, our Rhapsody.”

Before the music could even start, I was intrigued by the mania of this particular audience. Compared to the morning concert, in which the crowd had stayed silent from beginning to the end of each movement, this one was uncontrolled. They screamed and whooped, held up signs and cried out their love for the group. It gave me a moment of pause; why was this audience acting so differently than the one I performed for?

However, before I could ponder over this, a quartet of voices began asking:“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”For a moment I was taken aback as it started as an acapella. The harmony at first was uneven, almost harsh through these swollen tablets in my ears. That was until a piano came into play, giving the surreal opening momentum, even if it still had some rather cryptic lyrics.

The quartet paused as the piano rang out nostalgic notes before a solo voice sang out to his mother a terrible confession that he’d killed somepony. I was able to identify that the one singing was wearing white and stringing a nervous harmony on the keys. Looking back, I was impressed at this soloist as he, like the opera singers from where I came from, was able to convey through words and the tone of his voice multiple emotions at once. I heard fright, regret, even a feeling of stoicism. From the others in the band, I heard the plucking of very low bass strings and the momentum of the percussion that highlighted the singer.

Then the soloist, contented with his fate and that justice was catching up to him, wished everyone he’d known farewell. Then to his mother, saying that “I don’t wanna die, I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all!” What followed immediately after was a sound that I had never heard before – one that was a complete contradiction to any guitar that I’ve ever heard. It was as if it was out of tune while still playing the right notes in the surprise caprice. As if it were a controlled scream and yet, it wasn’t frightening to the ear.

Just as this caprice came, it suddenly held its breath at the steady tempo of a piano. A new voice spoke up, one that I couldn’t immediately tell who it was. Then the other three replied in a cryptic, Istallion accent before a sudden thunder of notes. From these three, they started a conversation with the first singer that I think decided to act as both prosecutors and defendants at the same time, even within the same bar! It was as if they were suddenly taking the audience to the middle of a mad trial for the soloist’s soul.

To add to this bizarre scene, an explosion of sound, light, and fireworks erupted over our heads. Tartarus-fire of chords and demonic instruments screamed over the eruption of the audience as the singer, in a defiant voice, yelled at the nonsense and betrayal of fate. But in this hurricane, that specter of passion still loomed- no! Possessed the singer! Not even the divas of my time could unleash anything like that. It was terrifying and exciting to not just listen to but to watch as well.

But just as it was going at full force, it gradually slowed itself down so we were able to catch our breath. From there, the tempo eased, and the main singer chanted the contemptuous phrase: “Nothing really matters.” And thus, the piece ended with an airy conclusion about the wind. Thus erupting in applause from all around, “Thank you Crystal Empire, good night!”

Chapter 17: The Closing Pieces

“Well that was rather refreshing,” my butler commented as we left the stadium taking out the tablets out of our ears. “It’s nice to hear a pop song that has a soul.” He then turned to me, “What did you think of it, Wolfgang?”

“I’ll give them this: at least rock music has a logic that I can follow. Now that I think of it, I find it hilarious that they’re using the same chord progression techniques of my time but with new instruments.”

“What do you mean?” my maid inquired and the cook answered her.

“I think what he’s referring to is that in the music of his time, composers worked with a set of chords in any given key signature, or the space between certain notes of four, five and one.”

“Precisely! That way a piece can be structured like a building in which there are rhyme and reason to it. Grant it, what I’ve heard today, most of that has been discarded, liberating the music to give it passion. To me, it’s a relief that the method that I used my whole life hasn’t been abandoned.”

“There is a reason that your music is still being performed and studied,” Wilfred pointed out. “Anyway, today has been fun, but I would like to return to the palace for some much-needed rest.”

“Aw,” I whined; my ears folded back, “Is it over so soon?”

“I have to agree,” my maid commented. “This was great, but some of us are tired.”

There was no further need to argue as I could see that this was true. So we began to make our way towards the towering crystal structure. Several minutes later we walked through the front entrance, and I bid my three… at this point, I don’t think “servants” works anymore, so from now on I’ll refer to them as what they really were, friends. After bidding the three of them, “I wish you all good night, crap in your beds with all your might and kiss your own behind.” And thereby making the nearby guards burst out laughing, I too was about ready to retire to bed when a guard popped from out of nowhere.

“The Princesses wish to see you, Mr. Moztrot.”

After following the guard closely through the shiny labyrinth, I was shown to the palace’s music room which was surprisingly crowded. In there I found not only Cadance with her husband, sister-in-law and the little face grabber but also Sunburst and Celestia too. I went up and bowed to them.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I have,” Sunplot replied. “If you’re not too tired from today’s festivities, there are some ponies in here whom you might find interesting.”

I cocked my head to the side, “That’s it? You just wanted me to say hello to some ponies?”

At that point, I believed that I heard hoofsteps coming from behind, and a voice that said, “So a friend of mine told me that you think that I’m a myth.” At first, I was confused by this statement, along with the identity of whoever was addressing me. Of course, my curiosity made me turn my head this way and that to see the mare in question.

Then as I turned around, I let out an unholy shriek of, “OH MY GODDESSES!!” quickly followed by my tumbling backward at the sight of the frowning face staring down at me. At that moment, imagination had crashed into reality as I saw before me a tall, slender mare of blue, with an undulating mane and tail like a living night sky (although not white like the moon but the face was extremely familiar). She had a crown, a chest plate with a crescent moon, and boots; instantly I thought that the Queen of the Night had become real.

“As I was saying,” she continued on, ignoring the shock on my face. “A friend of mine told me that you apparently don’t think that I exist. That I was a superstition to the point that you’ve based a character on me back when I turned into Nightmare Moon. This was news to me so I went out to get the score of The Magic Flute. Now at this point, I don’t know if I should be insulted that you portrayed me as this manipulative witch. Or that I ought to be amused as you’ve written the hardest aria in Equine history – thereby making those who were unfortunately so cast to sing such impossibly high notes.”

I looked pleadingly up to Celestia, “She’s real… She’s actually real.”

“And my little sister too.”

“Uh-hehe…” I nervously returned my gaze back to the embodiment of the Night. “I-I didn’t know you were real. I swear! Please don’t eat me.” I said that last sentence meekly.

Her nose flared up. “I’m more annoyed than angry. However, you are pushing it.”

“Sorry…”

She facehoofed, “But to your credit, the concert you gave this morning was very good. And given how ponies from where you came from didn’t exactly know better, I’m willing to let this prejudice go. So really, I don’t have any quarrel with you per se. After all, from what little music I was able to hear, I do think you have talent.”

I grinned shyly and slowly scooted my plot away. “Thank you… Princess of the Night.”

“It’s Luna.” She deadpanned.

“Did you say that there were other ponies that you wanted me to meet?” I quickly asked the now merciful alicorn of the sun.

“Yes.” She looked around the room, then helped me up back on my four hooves and I walked beside her. “I wanted to introduce you to a nephew of mine, but he’s currently attending a concert. So perhaps I should introduce you to someone else here that has taken an interest in your music.” She suddenly stopped. “Now, before I do. I need to let you know that this leader, a King, isn’t a pony at all – nor any intelligent creature that you’ve encountered before.”

I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

“Recently, his species has undergone a reformation. Literally. Thanks in no small part to his efforts, relations between his society and Equestria, once broken, are being fixed. So with that in mind, I need to ask you not to judge him on his looks alone.”

Perplexed, I agreed to this and I followed her to a corner, where I laid my eyes on the most fascinating creature that I’d yet seen. This king was tall, almost like Celestia. But the form was like part moose, part insect, and part pony all forged into one being. And by his side were shorter creatures, likewise a combination of insect and pony, and holding wind and brass instruments.

As soon as I saw them, Celestia glanced down at me, “Now Moztrot, I assure you that these are not mon-”

“That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen!” Before she could do anything about it, I galloped over to hug a blue one that held a clarinet. “It’s like a walking china doll with such pretty colors! Can I keep this one? Can I? Can I?”

“Help me!” the creature wiggled in my forearms. Sadly we parted ways when Celestia separated us.

“Moztrot,” the Sun Princess scolded, “You cannot treat a Changeling like a pet. It’s very rude of you.” She then addressed the colorful king. “I’m so sorry about that, I didn’t expect he would react in such a way.”

The king pointed at me, blinking. “That’s Moztrot? He’s a little more… eccentric than I thought he would be. Still, at least he didn’t go running off screaming at first sight.”

“Why would anypony run off screaming?” I questioned as I grabbed a yellow one with a basset horn. “With faces like these, who would be afraid when they’re so adorable?”

“Could you please not touch me?” the one I was grabbing asked me. “I would like to have some personal space.”

“Before I answer your question,” the tall Changeling said. “My name is Thorax and these are a mere hoofful of the orchestra that’s going to be playing second to last this evening.”

Now he had my full attention, “Oh? These here are an orchestra?”

“We’re made up of mostly wind or brass instruments,” one of the Changelings said. “We don’t really play strings all that much since we find them a little too difficult to tune right.”

“I’m having my Changelings perform for the first time outside of the hive,” the King informed me. “And ever since we’ve heard about you returning, we’ve practiced a piece that you wrote, in your honor, of course.”

“Really?” I asked, “Which one?”

“We’re only doing a movement from a serenade,” spoke another that held an oboe. “The one in B-flat, number ten I think. The Adagio. It was the only one we could find on short notice that was playable and that the whole orchestra could perform.”

“Plus,” said a green Changeling that had a horn around her neck, “None of us felt it was right to play it until you showed up – I mean, it is your music after all.”

I looked up toward Celestia, “Oh this I got to hear.”
They blinked and looked at one another, “Uh… right now?” One of them asked.

“I’d like to hear it as soon as possible.”

With that, the changelings rearranged themselves. Oboes, clarinets, basset horns, bassoons, horns, and a contrabassoon were organized. This small orchestra of winds and brass looked over to their king for approval, in which he gave a nod. And then, out from the chit-chat and small talk of the crowded room, a slow pulse beat out the Adagio. Almost like the throb and warmth of a noonday sun, oboes and clarinets synchronized to that steady, moving heartbeat. Then, high above all else, a single note on the oboe before it made a gradual, graceful descent. A clarinet repeated this same action before the soloist basset horn added sweet lines of serenity.

I admit on that night, what most surprised me was the fact that not one of them had a page of sheet music to play off of. And yet, it was perfect in form, mood, and timing among the group as it was clear that they had memorized it all. That impressed me, the dedication and memory of these fascinating creatures as they played back what I had written long ago.

I mentioned to their King how I couldn’t hear a single note out of place. “I’m not surprised. Us Changeling have pretty good memories -- well… most of us at least. We’re able to recall things that had happened back to the day when we were hatched. And for them to play this? Believe it or not, they had only one rehearsal before coming here. And that was two weeks ago.”

“Fascinating.” I was awed by this. “So you’re like me in a way, in that I’m able to recall a tune I’d heard once decades ago. Although, at the same time I’m rather curious, why are you called Changelings?”

My inquiry was answered when the most remarkable thing (that day) happened. He suddenly burst into green flames and his image was replaced by my own! It was like looking right into a mirror! “Because we can shapeshift into anything,” he replied in a voice that clearly wasn’t his before he burst back into his original form. “And it’s an ability that not only I can do, but my kingdom as well. Pretty cool, right?”

I was beyond amazed. As soon as he transformed back, the gears in my head turned. “Can you also change your voice as well?”

He coughed before replying in first a baritone voice, “Of course, what would be the point of disguising yourself -- ” he coughed once more, “If you can’t make it convincing?” He asked, this time in a child’s voice. Another cough and his vocals were back to normal. “Why do you ask?”

My muse was whispering furiously in my ears. “Well, with that in mind, I want to ask you, Your Highness, two things that are critical to what I need to do.” He told me to ask away. “First, and importantly, I need this orchestra, since I’m putting together one for the sake of performing my Requiem for the ponies that hadn’t gotten one.”

“Well, sure thing. And the other?”

“With your permission, I was hoping if you Changelings could help bring my last opera from the realm of dreams to reality.”

He tapped his chin in thought, “Well… they are getting better at acting in a theatrical setting so I guess you can.”

“Thank you!” I shook his hoof, “I promise that you won’t regret it.”

There was a flood of ponies that wanted to meet me in that room, many of whom were composers in this new age of passion. They were innovators in a wide range of genres and formats; from pianists like Horseshoepin to librettists like Verdi, and even those who were pushing the boundaries of music in a genre called Jazz. Admittingly, I was getting rather tired and my desire to collapse into a nearby bed grew ever sweeter to my mind.

At the end of it all, I was led towards a balcony that overlooked the Empire. All the Princesses were there. I noticed for the first time that there were clouds being positioned around the palace. Below were an orchestra and choir who stood on a crystal platform ready and waiting.

Princess Twilight lit up her horn as she enchanted her vocal cords and then touched her aura to the crystal itself. “Attention everypony!” she began, and her voice resonated in every direction. “On behalf of the Crystal Empire and the royal family, I want to thank all of you for coming out to the festival! We hope you’ve had a wonderful time today. Well, before we finish this, let’s have one last piece to end this with a bang: Number one on the classical charts, Tchaicoltsky’s latest, the 812 Overture!”

There were collective cheers below and stomping of hooves when the music began. At first, the choir began with a solemn chant in a language that I didn’t understand. To my ears, it sounded exotic but ancient. Then within the first few minutes, the woodwinds assisted the chant, thus building up the Overture.

Suddenly the mood changed when the percussion suddenly shifted the theme to that of a tense, foreign battle. The clarinet lay out a melody that had a sense of anxiety. Galloping strings were the first to charge headfirst into the brass. Once again, the opening only reinforced the spirit of passion as the orchestra seemed to be fighting for their lives.

A few minutes later, a snare drum brought in another theme from the horns. It had an air of pride in its uniformity. A thought came to me, ‘What if there is symbolism in this music that I don’t recognize?’ But as soon as that theme came, the violins and violas made a counter attack. Sneaking their way behind until, under cover of a crescendo, the strings surprised the horns.

In the music, the battle was fierce, but not to the point where it was confusing. Even in this chaos, there was a method to this madness. I could easily picture it in my head: notes that were running through, galloping, casting spells, using spears and shields against their enemies.

At one point, there was calm in this storm from the violins as they called out for a temporary truce. To rest up for the battle tomorrow. The clarinets slowed all of it down until it was a pulse. Then, the sound of mares singing a… folk song? I wasn’t sure what this meant. Could this be symbolizing the mares going onto the battlefield to heal the wounded and bury the dead? One would think it would be more sobering if that were the case.

However, the truce didn’t last as the strings started back up again on the attack, but the brass was prepared. Themes clashed together, shaking the landscape like an earthquake. But at the same time, the counterpoints from both sides were dueling with each other that it was hard not to listen.
Once again, a truce was called for again by the violins, seeing how badly beaten the horns were. There was a sense of relief in the air, and at the same time, worry that this was truly over. The mare choir returned briefly with their folk song until the lower strings slowed down.

Then, by surprise, the theme of the horns returned! The strings, though exhausted, still kept up with the fight. While this was going on, I didn’t notice the clouds that were hanging around the palace, and how some pegasi were getting into position. As the horns and strings were building up to a great crescendo, I suddenly screamed when unexpected thunder banged out from the sky itself!

I glanced heavenward, to see the clouds had exploded into fireworks of red, white and blue. As the colorful flames fell downward, so too the music that reflected the fire. The strings were in a mad dash, but at the last minute, slowed down while the brass stomped out the beat before it erupted to a euphoric choir and deafening bells ringing out throughout the empire. This time, my eyes went towards the sky as I saw that the pegasi hadn’t left. I knew that this wasn’t going to be the last that anyone was going to hear from them.

And then, at the credo, the orchestra ran forward while the thunderclouds exploded in time to the music. This time, both main themes were combined in harmony in the song of victory. Choir, orchestra, and fireworks ruled over that moment, with the finale of bells sounded out peace at last before the orchestra closed it with its last, loud chords.

When the Empire cheered, Princess Twilight called out, “Thank you for coming everypony! Good night!” and with that, she undid her spell. “Woo! That was exciting wasn’t it?” I on the other hoof were covering my ears, shaking. I felt a hoof on my shoulder, “Sorry, too much?”

“Well… that’s one way of ending a party.”

The royals laughed at my response. But I forced myself to recover and go over to the rulers of the Empire. “I take it that your day was fun?” Princess Cadance asked with her child on her back.

“At least now I know what music has become in these strange times.” I replied, “The music around here has refreshingly become passionate.”

“You can say that again,” Prince Shining nodded in agreement. “So did you find the musicians you were looking for?”

“I think I have. But let me tell you tomorrow. Like your Face Hugger, I too need sleep. So if none of you mind, I’d like to go to bed. Good night.” After taking a bow, and asking a guard which way to my room, I left the festival behind. For starting tomorrow, I had much work that needed to be done.

Chapter 18: Piano in the Attic

After bidding the Crystal Empire goodbye, we went back to Canterlot for some much-needed preparations. For one, copies of the finished Requiem must be made, then we had to buy extra chairs and music stands for the orchestra and choir that were coming, and then there was the expense of feeding said orchestra and choir. So the day before the musicians that I invited were due to arrive, I was practically pulling my mane from the stress, trying to make sure that everything was going to run smoothly.

In fact, the night before that I’d been so nervous I didn’t think I’d be able to fall asleep. How I tossed this way and that on the bed, trying to find peace of mind that didn’t come. Eventually, when I found that sleep still eluded me, I decided to get out of bed and go down to drink something to assist in that. But as I walked out of my bedroom and towards the staircase, I paused as my sensitive ears picked up something. It was the sound of a piano coming from upstairs. The clock said that it was getting close to midnight, and I was curious as to who could be playing at such an hour.

I climbed up the stairs towards the third floor, where the attic and the servants’ quarters were. My ears listened carefully, trying to tell where this new melody was coming from. I was able to locate it coming from one particular door. I tested the doorknob to find that it was unlocked so I carefully undid it until I was able to pry it enough to see, to my surprise, who was playing. It was the maid! There before one of those upright pianos, she was playing with a dark, nocturnal flare.

“Are you worried that that might keep anypony else up?” This made her jump as she reeled around to see my head sticking out.

“You scared me!” she hopped off the piano bench and proceeded to reach a pillow from her bed to throw it at my face. “Don’t ever do that without knocking first!”

“Ow! Sorry I couldn’t sleep.” I rubbed my poor nose as it had absorbed most of the impact. “What are you doing, playing this late? Aren’t you concerned that Wilfred or Sauté is going to come here to complain?”

“Rules say that all music must stop at midnight. And it’s only about fifteen minutes till.”

“Alright, but why? I don’t think I caught on how that you’re musical. Were you practicing?”

She turned away toward the keys. “Not really, I’m just doing some last minute work.”

It was then that I realized a detail that I hadn’t noticed before. On the piano stand, the sheet music was written out while a pencil lay right beneath it. “So besides being a maid,” I said, walking in, “You’re a composer too. Now that’s extraordinary.”

“What? You’ve never met any mares who wrote music?”

“Oh no. My older sister and I used to write sheet music back and forth all the time. Only, she was the only one that I knew of, who did anything like this.” I walked over at the piano to examine the music. “Is it finished?”

“Last night. I’m just playing it out to see if it sounds right.”

“Would you mind if I play this?” I asked. “After all, I could use a little night music.”

This got a laugh out of her while I looked over what she had written, “G minor? Such an emotional key.” And when I started to play, it was just as dramatic as her choice of key. There was more use of the pedals to let the strings from the instrument ring out a different kind of nocturnal atmosphere like walking through a forest path at night. Of course, as I sight-read, I did spot places where she’d made many corrections. Among its atmosphere from the darker register, there was movement as the main theme appeared and disappeared like a phantom before re-emerging once more.

“You really wrote all of this?” I asked her.

“Only when I get the chance to,” she told me. “My brother is thinking of writing music himself, but I just see it as a hobby. I figured that between the two Manedelssohn’s, one of us might make it in the music business.”

“So he composes as well?”

She nodded, “He’s more into the big orchestra stuff, and I prefer the smaller things like a melody for the piano.”

“Huh, did I know that?” I asked myself aloud. “I don’t think I knew that.”

“So what do you think of my Nocturne?”

I stopped playing, “Only confirms to me more of what happened to music since I was gone. It’s become more passionate to the point where the style I write in isn’t needed anymore. Instead, it follows its own rules. Take this, for example, it’s almost embarrassingly private.”

This caught her off guard. “How so?”

“Do you hear the way the petals make the strings reverberate?” I asked. “To me, it is almost like… hearing the echoes of one’s thoughts. It has melancholy, yet the saving grace is the melody which is so simple but powerful at the same time. How long have you been doing this?”

She thought for a moment, “Probably since I was… eleven? Twelve maybe?”

“Now how come you’re working here as a maid for me and not writing more of this?” I questioned, “I mean sure, it could use some refining here and there, but I think that this is good. Not to mention your playing, which is sublime as well.”

“But I can’t exactly live off of music alone,” she replied. “I mean I’ve just moved out of my parents’ house, I need a place to live, a job to buy food, pay rent and all of that. Music is great, but unless you’re mega-successful like yourself, it’s not gonna pay the bills. Sure, getting a job as a maid isn’t exactly my first idea, but what can I do?”

“What are we going to do Wolfie?” I heard the ghost of my wife’s voice in my skull. The mere reminder was enough to droop my ears backward.

“You know that I wasn’t successful, right?” I asked her, watching her face twist in confusion.

“You weren’t?”

I shook my head. “Of course not. I was horrible with money. Still am, I suppose, I mean do you know how many bits I spent at that music festival? I’m glad that Celestia has finally given me financial security; back where I came from, it was a different story. Sure, at one point I was well known in Canterlot. My operas, concertos, and symphonies had given much delight to those who would listen, but they didn’t bring in enough. Constanze had told me over and over how we should be careful of what we spent, or how I should take more than three pupils, or try convincing Salieri to get a better salary from Celestia. But I wanted to live, to show off in fancy clothing, drink excellent wines and purchase the best for us. What can I say?
What’s the point of having a fortune if you can’t spend it and enjoy it? Even if that means you keep collecting debt until the debtors come knocking on your door.”

She tilted her head, “What was she like?”

“Who?”

“Your wife, Constanze, I mean. One of the ponies that you’re going to be memorializing soon…?” She trailed off when she saw the pained expression on my face. “Sorry I asked.”

There was a silence between us until I asked, “How old are you?” She replied that she was twenty-two. “And have you ever fallen in love with somepony before?”

“Yeah, back in high school some years back. Didn’t end well though,” she quickly added. “Why do you ask?”

“But have you ever fallen in love with a pony that had lasted?” My friend told me that she hadn’t. “When I met Constanze, I was in love with her sister, an opera singer; however, I quickly found out that she was using me to get famous. Constanze, however, was different. Sure, she wasn’t exactly ugly or beautiful, but when we first met, I reckoned her first because frankly, she was more talented than her sister.”

“So what made her so special?”

My hooves drifted toward the keyboard. “Everything,” I replied as an Andante came to mind. “While her sister had the voice of an angel, she had one of a goddess. Despite being a mare, she was the only one outside of my family with whom I could have a real conversation, from the works of Buch to the latest radical novels. In fact, as soon as we were married she insisted on taking me to the salons so she too could discuss the latest… whatever of the day. Well, that, and she had a flank to make Celestia jealous.”

This made my friend turn red, “What, really?”

I giggled. “I saw it myself that she was! Her eyes were burning with envy as she stared at Constanze’s posterior… What?”

The mare said, “Are you sure that it was jealousy?”

“She had a frown on her face, what more could you want?”

She rolled her eyes. “So back to the subject of your wife, what was else was she like?”

“Well… in hindsight, she was right about how money should have been spent. I remember how disappointed she was in me for having to keep asking friends to borrow bits so that we could live. Yet, she nevertheless stayed with me. I’m thankful for that, because more times than not, she was my muse.” I paused for a moment to listen to what I was playing, “Even this too was inspired by her. I wrote this for a sonata once, where I… I guess I immortalized her tenderness here. As well as many of her qualities that came from her kindness: her sense of humor, her sensibility married with intelligence, and absolute beauty which time could not conquer.”

My friend placed a hoof over my shoulder and showed me a tender smile, “Nopony talks like that anymore. But that was beautiful.”

“I miss her,” I told her plainly. “Of course, I miss a lot of ponies, but her most of all.”

“You know, I think that you going out of your way to get a whole orchestra and choir to perform it for them is endearingly touching. I wish that I had a coltfriend with as much dedication as you have.”

“Thank you for your sympathy…” I chuckled, “My, how embarrassing, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Call me Fan. It’s easier to remember.”

“Fair enough,”

“Excuse me,” a new voice shattered the moment and I stopped playing to find Wilfred poking his head through the door. “It’s already past midnight, and some of us would like to go to sleep.”

Fan immediately stood up, “Sorry sir. I was talking with Wolfgang and-”

My butler lifted a hoof to silence her, “Yes, I heard. But rules are rules, go to bed Ms. Manedelssohn.” She bowed as he pulled me out of her room. “So is there any reason why you’re up here in the middle of the night?”

“I was going to fetch myself a drink when I heard her playing.” I told him, “Trust me, if I were planning on doing something else to Fan, you’d be hearing grunting by now.”

He facehoofed, “I’m going to ignore that comment. So can I get you your drink while you go to bed?”

Before I could reply, I yawned, “Do you know something that would send me straight to sleep?”

My butler told me that he knew what might help and told me to return to my chambers. Minutes later, he came to my room with a tray and a shot of simmering milk. I remembered being confused at first as I didn’t see how that would get me to sleep. But one gulp later, as I asked if something was supposed to happen, I fell asleep.

Chapter 19: Requiem (Part 1)

Author's Note

Now since I feel that putting the Requiem into one chapter would take much longer then it already is, so I’ve decided to split it up into parts.

Chapter 19: Requiem (Part 1)

I will not bore you with the week of rehearsals with this mixed orchestra. Nor will I tell you of the discussions I had with them as they pointed out how different my finished work was. That is not what I want to tell.

But rather, I want to begin this chapter on the train to Saltzburg. The orchestra and choir in tow, I had invited a few friends to this extremely late funeral. In a train car, I remember looking out on a familiar landscape. Sitting beside me were my friends, Wilfred holding onto one of my violins, Fan and Sauté on the bench. Across was Sunburst, Princess Celestia and her sister. On the other side of the car from where we sat was Princess Twilight with her student and friend to Sunburst, a mare named Starlight Glimmer. I remembered that all of us were wearing black for the occasion. Normally, I would be cracking jokes or talking with the new mare.

However, considering where we were going for this performance, I didn’t exactly feel like it.

“When was the last time you were in Saltzburg?” Sunburst asked me.

This gave me pause, “Not since I was twenty-five so… almost two hundred and twenty-five years give or take. The last time I was here, was before I moved to Canterlot. I wonder how much of that town has changed, or rather if it changed at all.”

“Are you sure that you’re okay doing this?” Fan inquired. “I mean, considering where and whom this piece is performed for, are you sure that you’ll be able to conduct it?”

I closed my eyes, “I think I have to. I owe it to the four of them.”

“Excuse me,” the Princess of the Moon asked me. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you were playing your Requiem for your wife, child, and sister?”

Fortunately, Sunburst answered this for me, “Actually, they’re not the only Moztrots that are buried in Saltzberg. His father Leopold had passed away there too.”

“You might say that he was the reason why I hadn’t come back to the place… until now.” I let out a melancholic sigh. “Of course, all of you know how personal this is to me.”

They told me that they understood. From there I turned towards the window, to the mountains that surrounded the place where I was born. In a way, little had changed as there are still plenty of trees around, and when the train pulled up to the town, I found that neither had Saltzberg. The same town, cradled in a valley of ancient roads, with towering houses made out of brick and plaster. Most of the architecture I noticed was left untouched. If anything, the only new thing about it was the advertisement signs.

Once the train had stopped and we had disembarked, I looked behind to see the unusual funeral parade of black cloth. Princesses, a wizard, students of magic and music, young, old, ponies, a hoofful of Changelings, vocal soloists, and the choir were all waiting on me to show the way. The orchestra that I picked out had their instruments on their backs while the royal servants carried with them the music stands and candles. So, recalling the old map from my mind, I retraced my steps towards the cemetery, a place that I hadn’t set hoof in since my mother died.

I took the lead, going down the old cobblestones, past the shops that bore my name and image. Deep down, I had a feeling that my father would have approved of such a thing, but I didn’t feel that keen to explore them at that moment. When ponies saw us, some took pictures while others followed us to see what was going on.

We reached the cemetery which looked more like a garden than a plot of land to bury the dead. Before I stepped through, I turned around and asked Wilfred, “Do we have the wreaths?”

He nodded solemnly, “All four of them. But how will we know where they’re buried?”

“I think I have an idea.” And indeed, I had an educated guess. If there were anypony in the family that had died in Saltzberg, the most logical place that they would be buried would be next to their closest relative –in this case, my mother. While there were more flowers around the gravestones, I managed to retrace my steps to find not just her, but them as well.

“Excuse me, everyone,” I said turning around to the funeral procession. “While some of you might wish to go ahead and tune your instruments, I’d like to have a moment with them in private.” Without waiting to hear what their response was, I asked Wilfred to bring out the wreaths. A few of the royal servants came up to me, each holding a ring of roses and a candle. After taking one of them, the first grave I went to was my father’s. I lay the wreath down against its cold, white stone.

“Hello Papa,” I began softly. “So… first things first. I’m sorry that it has taken me this long to finally come here.” My ears folded backward, “And I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring myself to come to the funeral. I mean, at the time I could if I wanted to but… I was angry at you, as much as it devastated me. On the one hoof, yes I know that you taught me as much as you could. I know how hard you worked to get the Moztrot name immortalized and, by the way, you’ve done a fantastic job at it. But after what you said to my wife…” I shook my head. “It made it so hard to forgive you… until it was too late to do so. Papa, you were right about us. Yes, we did end up sleeping on straw and were driven to poverty. Yes, I did spend and drink too much. Yes, I should have learned how to keep my mouth shut. You were right about those things. But Papa, do you know what you were wrong about? Constanze was the best thing to have happened to me. I had partied hard and worked just as much. My music was not forgotten because of her but forever remembered. And Papa… I tried. I tried as hard as I could to make it all work. And while I didn’t see it at first, that same music had an influence that I couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Not to say that I don’t miss you. Even the very memories of you haunt me; they have come up again and again in some of my music. At first, I had imagined you to be unforgiving. Your spirit haunted me when I wrote Don Giovanni. However, slowly my view of you changed, it became more forgiving, as I have forgiven you. Now my life has changed, but before I could move on, I want to say to you that not only do I forgive you, but even beyond time, I still love you, Papa.”

After lighting a candle over his grave, I went over to fetch the next wreath and candle, which I placed on my sister’s tomb. “Hello, Nannerl. Long time no see.” I paused to rub the back of my neck. “You know, I did want to write to you back before I became ill about what I thought about what you wrote to me. But at the time I didn’t have the energy to give you a proper reply as I was dying. However, since I’m here, I can tell you that little tune you wrote was simply charming. Truly wonderful. I was curious to see what you would do with it once you’d written that sonata out.” Again I sighed,

“Truth be told, big sis, I never got the chance to see the finished work. Even centuries later, as I and a friend were trying to find what music was left behind from the family, I couldn’t find a piece from you. To me, this is an upsetting tragedy because…” I put a hoof over my eyes, trying to hold back the tears. “Sister… The truth is I have… always been jealous of you. Of the two of us, you are the greatest and most influential composer that I personally know. I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for you and Papa. I mean, let’s face it, you’re the genius in the family. And to have you be forgotten... Nannerl, you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to have everything you wrote lost to time. I want to make it up to you somehow. At the moment, I can’t figure out how, since the only thing that remained from you is a few pieces we wrote together as foals. But I promise that I will think of something.” And with that, I lit a candle over her grave.

The next grave that I placed a wreath on was of my youngest. “Hello, Franz. First of all, I wanted to say that I’m sorry for not being there for you, your brother and mother. The last time I saw you, you were so tiny in our arms. It pains me that I never got to know both of you colts, even more than it does to see you here. I have spent some time looking up what I could of what became of you. The good news is that through the help of a friend, we’ve managed to recover scores that you’ve written. I have taken a look at your piano concertos, and I must say that I may be late in saying this, but I’m proud of you – more than any father in the world. I do wish that you had taken a little more pride in yourself for your compositions. You have my approval anyway, and I am more than happy that you had such a gift too. So I’ll tell you what: I’m planning on a special concert in which I will be playing something from you. After all, somepony talented who had put so much effort into his work deserves to be recognized.” Like the other two graves, I lit a candle on his tombstone.

Then finally… the final tombstone. It took all my strength to hold back everything not to burst out crying as I stood before the stone that bore my wife’s name. I knelt down in the grass as I placed the wreath before it and for several, quiet minutes, I didn’t say a word.

“I must be honest with you,” I began, finally. “I’m not exactly sure what to say. There’s so much that has been left unsaid, and much more than I wanted to say before our parting. I never thought that our time as a couple would end like this. Believe me Constanze, I wasn’t ready to go. You know, I still have your portrait with me, the little locket that I’ve kept with me this whole time.” Here, I pulled it out of my pocket and opened it. Alongside that tiny painting was a lock of her mane, still as vibrant as the day she clipped it. I put a hoof over it, stroking that last, physical reminder of her. At this point, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. “I’ve missed you.” I whispered. “My little darling wifie, I missed you so…”

There was a pair of hoofsteps that cautiously walked up behind me. A hoof gracefully touched my shoulder and I looked upward with those tear-filled eyes at Celestia. She put a wing over me as I cried there like a child.

I don’t know how long I bawled my eyes out, but I assume that it must have been a long time as, eventually, I noticed that the orchestra and choir were getting rather anxious. “Do you remember the Requiem I was writing?” I asked my wife’s tombstone. “The good news is that I finally got it done. I know that it has taken me two centuries to do it, but I did promise you that I would get it finished and to have you hear it.” With the last candle being lit, I waved a hoof for the orchestra and choir to circle around the graves as I stood in its center.

Wilfred undid the latches of the violin case, and then he tightened up and rosened the bow before giving it and the instrument over to me. Taking it into my hooves, I made sure that the old piece of wood was in tune before turning to the orchestra. By then, the royal servants were setting up their music stands while the singers were flipping through their lines.

“My darling,” I said over my shoulder to my wife’s grave, “I once had written this for myself as I thought I was dying. Now, this Requiem is for you.” I glanced once more over to the strings. The cemetery was given a moment of silence. And then, taking on the role of the first violinist, I cue the strings in the slow, pulsing march. Horns and oboes let out their moans and suppressed wails while the clarinets drew out long lines of depression. But when the crescendo came and the orchestra began to layer itself, one on top of another like bricks, I wept. While I was able to conduct, my tears blinded me, yet I could hear that great tomb being built for them. An indestructible monument of death!

In that music, I heard all the things of what had been and what could have been. Just in the opening fugues my mind was at once consumed by those four ponies whose remains were long since turned to dust. In my head, I envisioned Papa scolding me, my sister drafting the perfect keyboard sonata, my son at his first concert, and my little wife reciting poetry without knowing it. Four lives and voices wove together like a tapestry of sorrow in my eyes. All the things that I wanted to do for them when they were alive, gone. All the music that could have been inspired by them, dashed. And the future that I might have had with my family, a memory that had been blown away.

The choir was singing their hearts out while the mixed orchestra was keeping time with me. To my mournful ears, it was perfect in form and emotion as notes floated about the graveyard like a mist. The symphony of death reigned supreme; I could have sworn that even Saltzburg had stopped to listen. Every note was clear and powerful, a performance that was the only thing to balance my grief.

Almost immediately after the double fugue, I let the choir unleash rage in its purest form.It came fast and loud, each burning note accusing me of every terrible sin. Each word blamed me for every miserable thing that I had to the four of them. Abandoning them, wasting money that they gave me, turning my back on them, not being in their lives when they needed me, and pursuing pleasure over their well-being. Every single venom-soaked, hate-filled sharp word that the choir spoke was towards me, and yet, I was the one who wrote them in the first place. Huh… talk about self-hatred.

Chapter 20: Requiem (Part 2)

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Chapter 21: Billiards with Starlight and Sunburst

Several weeks later, when the air was growing colder and the leaves had changed color, I finally felt ready to invite not just Starlight Glimmer to my home for the interview, but Sunburst as well because I wanted some company after the Requiem. For the occasion, I wanted to get something that I had wanted to buy for a long time: a billiard table, which we set in the library. And of course, I had the chef fix up some delectable items for the visitors.

On that autumn afternoon when the leaves were falling all over the elegant street, I spied the two ponies walking up to the front door. I called out for Wilfred to answer the door before they could ring the bell. They were shown into the library to find me there with a cue in one hoof and a glass of wine in the other. On the table was a sketch.

“Hello Mr. Moztrot,” Starlight greeted me as she eyed the parchment. “What’s that?”

“Sunbutt has commissioned me to write a new Hearth's Warming Carol in time for the holidays. While I was waiting for you two to get here I thought I’d start juggling some ideas in my noodle.” After setting my glass down, I asked them, “Do you know how to play billiards?”

They looked at one another for a moment, “I’m afraid that we don’t know the rules of it.” Sunburst said, “How does it work?” So after explaining the basics of the game when multiple players were involved, they managed to quickly grasp the idea of it. “Although,” I added, “I must warn you both that while I may be a virtuoso at the keyboard, I’m also one at the billiard cue. So how about I make this interesting?”

“How so?” Starlight inquired.

“Since these new balls are numbered one to ten, how about that you two would take turns in getting your set of, for example, odd numbers into these slots here while I try to do the same with the evens. Whoever can get all of theirs into the slots is declared the winner.”

“That sounds fair,” the unicorn mare told me, “but remember, I’m here to interview you too.”

“Who says that you can’t chat and play with my balls at the same time?” I laughed at my joke like a hyena. “Now that I think of it before we start, do you want anything? Some wine or something to nibble?”

“Maybe later,” Sunburst said as he lit up his horn, rearranging the balls on the table to their proper place while using the triangle to get it all just so while placing the white ball in its proper place. He then levitated one of the billiard cues over to himself and his friend.

“How about you go first,” she suggested as she took out a quill and notepad. “So do you need to get started, Mr. Moztrot?”

“Call me Wolfgang,” I said as Sunburst lined up the white ball to break the rest of them up. “Now I don’t know how these interviews work, but I am quite good at talking. So what do you want to talk about?”

She flipped through her notes while her friend made the first move. The group of balls did split with a sharp ‘Smack!’ but fortunately none of them fell into the slots. “Well, before I start, I’m rather surprised that you were acceded to my interview so quickly, especially after… you know… the funeral.”

I took in a deep breath, “Ah yes, I tended to get that reaction quite a bit in the past. About how swiftly I was able to take hold of my grief, after those I’d known and loved passed away. While it was -- is -- quite devastating to me, I do have ways to deal with it. Composition has always helped me in the past, and the Requiem was a major assuagement to my mind. Do not worry, I’ll be fine, and I think it is your turn.”

After circling the table she took her shot at the two balls but it missed its mark. “Now then,” she began, “while I have already read quite a bit from secondary sources, there are some things that I think only you can give insight on.”
“Such as?”

“Well, for example…” she looked through her notes. “Starting with your foalhood. Did you even have one? I mean from what I’ve read, your father did basically drag you and your sister from kingdom to kingdom to perform for nobles. Not only that, but the books said that you were either performing or composing. Did you ever find any time to be a kid, like playing or something?”

While Sunburst thought about his next move, I replied, “Papa was trying his best to look out for us on every step of the way. After all, the reason for such long trips was to get financial security and to spread our fame throughout. So in between the stops at cities and towns, Papa had to make sure that I and my older sister were prepared. We were always practicing and playing the clavichord or the violin that we carried around with us. Most of the time, we traveled by carriage from countryside to countryside with our driver… Mr. Winter, I think his name was, who carried us all across the land. If anything, that carriage was our home for several years. I was told later of how much Mama and Papa were concerned for me; I was so fragile, then, and my hearing so sensitive that any discordant or unexpected noise would be enough to make me faint. Not to mention that I took ill easily back then, especially during the winters when my bones would stiffen and fevers would leave me miserable. And the food didn’t keep fresh for very long.”

The orange wizard made his strike and was able to knock the three ball into a slot. Seeing that it was my turn, I examined the table while adding, “However, that doesn’t mean that we never played as children do. I remember this one time we asked Mr. Winter to draw us a map of an imaginary place. Using that, I established from the Kingdom of Bac, which had everything for good and happy children, and I was king of it all. I had my sister name the cities, market towns and villages.” I smiled with nostalgia as I hit the white ball, thereby sending the four and ten ball into the same slot. “I remembered that in that world, I would be sitting on an embroidered cushion to distribute treats and favors to the children of that land.”

“But did you ever have friends as a child?” Sunburst asked while the mare took aim.

I shook my head, “How could we? We didn’t stay in one place for very long so it wasn’t possible for any of us to do so. The only one that I could play with was with my sister. And even if I did encounter any children from the places we visited, I couldn’t really connect with them nor they with me. My sister had complained to me once that I had spent more time in Bac than in the real world.”

After Starlight took aim and missed, she made a few notes and then moved on to her next question. “Okay, now I kinda have to ask, why music?”
I tilted my head, “I don’t understand the question.”

“Well, what I mean to say is that, with a mind like yours, how come you focused so much on music? I’ve read a biography that said when you were little, you were drawing mathematical equations with chalk on the walls, floor, and even the furniture. Not only that but from your operas, many critics felt that your understanding of the pony mind could easily rival Shakespeare’s. So you could have been a writer or a playwright. Then there are the things found in your personal library in which was stocked with some of the most influential writings of the Enlightenment, so you could have even been a philosopher. So my question is why did you become a composer?”

“Why not?” I asked. “After all, I come from a musical family. My grandfather was a musician; my Papa was both a musician and a composer. The same goes for my older sister. Yes, it’s true that my interest isn’t solely in composition, for there is a great range of subjects that have captivated my attention: from the latest ideas of philosophy to the latest novels and debating their themes in cafes around Canterlot.”

This got Sunburst’s attention, “Like what kind of novels are we talking about?”

“Well…” I thought for a moment as I leaned on my billiard cue. “There’s the travels of Captain Gulliver. A hoofful of Shakespeare’s plays that I remember reading in my teens. What else…? Oh! Then there’s Voltaire’s Candide: or the Optimist. Now that one was fun to read, if it is still in print after all these years, I would recommend taking a look.”

“Oh yeah!” Sunburst, true to his name beamed. “I remember a section of that from our Equineties Class sometime back. It’s rather surprising how funny it still is despite being nearly three hundred years old.”

“But to your question ma’am,” I said to Starlight, “I was born with music captivating my mind. In fact, Papa had taught me how to write musical notes before I knew how to spell my own name. Much like how a painter plays with colors, light, and shade upon a canvas, so do I with the sound that I juggle in my head. Even right now I’m thinking up melodies, counterpoint and harmonic progressions that I could use and play with on a sheet of paper. For me, writing or performing is as easy as breathing, much like how it is for both of you with magic, I assume.”

“I see,” the unicorn mare jotted down my response. “Do you remember that shop I showed you in order to cheer you up?”

A giggle escaped from me, “How could I forget?”

“You see, I was kinda wondering about that. What are your thoughts about it? I mean, to have some chocolate that has your image on it. I don’t know how long those things have been around, but are you bothered that they used it without your permission to do so?”

“On the contrary,” said I, “I’m rather amused by the treat on so many levels. But I trust that you know my taste in humor?”

“Kinda. From what I’ve found, you love poop jokes and sex jokes, and that this was a common thing in your family.”

I laughed at this, “Oh more than that,” I replied. “If anything, any sort of dessert that is even slightly perverted is enough to make me giggle like a school filly. Oh! Which reminds me,” I hopped over to the door of the library and called out for Mr. Sauté to bring out the snacks. Within a minute, he came in pushing a cart with a silver dome over it. I was vibrating in anticipation with a wide grin, “Are they ready?” I asked my chef.

“You do know this is possibly the dirtiest thing that I’ve ever made so far,” he confessed. “Are you sure you want them to see it?”

I nodded, “It’ll be funny. Let them see.”

One deep breath later, he put one hoof on the top of the dome and said, “Okay…” And lifted it up – both unicorns blushed, much to my delight. There on a tray were pouches of dark chocolate, each of which had two bulging shapes. I just couldn’t resist. “So,” I said with a chuckling smile, “Who here wants to try my balls.”

The unicorns turned to each other. “You know,” Starlight began, “If Freud were still alive; he would have a field day with this guy.”

“Are these for real?” Sunburst questioned.

“They don’t have any nuts in them, in case you’re wondering,” Sauté grumbled.

I laughed, “Oh! Do that next time!”

Starlight raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, “Oh my Mr. Moztrot, is there something you’re trying to tell us?”

I cocked my head to the side, “What are you implying? It’s funny isn’t it?”

She waved a hoof, “Oh forget it. Let’s see what these things are made of.” After picking up one of the pouches, she tore a little bit of it to get a look inside. She saw the layers of dark chocolate, marzipan, and a pistachio paste before taking a bite from it. “Hey… That’s actually not bad.” While her friend was trying one out, she also added, “You know, a dessert like this, I’d bet that Pinkie Pie would have been amused with.”

“Who?” I inquired.

After Sunburst swallowed, he answered, “She’s a fun-loving friend of hers, a party planner and baker in Ponyville.” My expression was blank as I had no idea what he was talking about. “Oh! That’s right; the town didn’t exist in your time. It’s just south of here by a couple of miles. It is home to Princess Twilight Sparkle and the elements of Harmony. It’s small, but there’s so much to do down there. You should go and visit sometime.”

I told him that I might consider it and we continued on with our game/interview. I’m afraid that most of it weren’t all that interesting as she tried to record my opinions and memories into her notebook. However, at the very end (and as I was winning), she had one last question: “So, what are you going to do now? Do you have any plans from here?”

“Well, besides going to Manehattan for a special Hearth's Warming concert, there are two operas of mine that I want to produce. Each in a special way: the first is that on Hearts and Hooves day, I’m planning to hold ‘The Marriage of Figaro’ right here in my home.”

“Really?” Sunburst inquired after he knocked the wrong ball into a slot. “How are you going to do that?”

“Well, I might ask the opera company here in Canterlot to do it. I can’t imagine that it would be too hard given my standing as a musician. But the other, I want to speak with King Thorax about.”

Starlight raised an eyebrow, “Why’s that?”

“Because his Changelings are the only ones to my mind that could, in theory, perform ‘The Magic Flute’ in the way that I originally imagined. Of course, I just need to figure out how, exactly, to accomplish that.”

She tapped a hoof to her chin, “I think I might help you out with that. After all, I know him and I can pass the message along to see what he thinks of it.”

After thanking her, my turn came about, and I did indeed end up winning. But I also thanked them for their company, as well as the interview too. Before she left, I told her that if she ever wanted to do an interview again, all she had to do was ask. Once they were gone, I finished up the Hearth's Warming Carol before turning towards a new idea: a piano concerto.

Chapter 22: Day Trip to Ponyville

About a month or so went by and I spent most of my time refining the new piano concerto when I wasn’t visiting some of the bars around Canterlot to drink until I passed out and Wilfred had to drag my flank home. Not to say that during that time that I hadn’t received a few visitors. Between composition, drinking, and organizing the musicians for the Hearth’s Warming concert in Manehattan, I was visited by reporters, neighbors, even from time to time professors from universities around the world.

Most of the time when those visits happened, I would speak to them from the piano that had turned into my work desk. I would speak to them while jotting down the notes that I required. In other words, I was working hard. The only times I would stop was to use the toilet, eat meals or go out for a drink or fifteen.

So this part of the story begins at my piano, on a morning where I hadn’t received any visitors. I was sketching out the orchestral part of the second movement when the butler came into the foyer.

“Excuse me, Wolfgang,” he began. “Pardon me for asking this, but don’t you think you’re working yourself a little too hard?”

“I’m a little busy,” I muttered as I let my hoof run over the keys before penning the notes.

“That’s exactly my point. You’ve been at this piano for over a month now working harder than any of us. Don’t you think that you might want to go someplace that isn’t here or a bar?”

“But I don’t feel like taking several days to visit another city, they’re all too far away for that.”

Wilfred hummed in thought, “What if you don’t have to? Perhaps, if I may be so bold, why not take a day trip to Ponyville? It’s only half-an-hour away and despite being small, there are plenty of things to do."

I raised an eyebrow, “Such as?”

“Well… there are plenty of shops to go and see. The quality of food has rivaled that of any place in Equestria in recent years. They have a movie theater, which now I think of it, you still haven’t seen one. Oh, and it’s also home to the youngest living composer in the country.”

Now, this caught my attention, “What was that last part?”

“You mean the young composer?” I nodded. “Well, I know for a fact that a filly that has just got her cutie mark not too long ago has been making headlines for being one of the youngest, yet excellent, composers. Sweetie Belle is the name. I think she had started out with small pieces for piano, strings and a hoofful of songs here and there – but she’s starting to get into larger scale pieces.”

“Sounds like a little me,” I joked.

“There are rumors that she might be. I heard that she is planning on writing her first symphony.”

I looked at him as I processed this, “And you said that Ponyville is a half-an-hour away?”

It goes without saying that I had no idea what to expect from Ponyville. For I didn’t know how big nor wealthy it would be before the train carried us there. However, I was rather surprised when I did arrive; this didn’t seem like the place where a Princess of Equestria resided. The only way I could describe it was as a quaint town, neither too big nor too small. In a way, most of the town with its thatched roofs and white plaster reminded me of the cottages in Trottingham that I had seen when I was only a colt. However, in the very heart of all of this, stood a towering structure that seemed, in my eyes, to clash with the rest of the architecture. A tree-castle-thing was made out of crystal, reminding me of that Empire up north.

I confess that my butler was right, I had been working too much and I needed somewhat of a day off. So what better way to do so then to get lost in a place that I’d never been to?

“So what exactly do you plan on doing today?” Wilfred asked, following close behind me as always.

“No idea,” I told him. “Hopefully we may get lost and find something that nopony bothered to look for.”

“How does that make any sense?” my butler questioned.

“Well, we have to get lost first; otherwise everyone would know where to find… something. Maybe we’ll run into someone fun.”

And as if answered by the universe, a bright pink mare popped into existence. “Did somepony say fun?”

“Hello, whats-your-name that just popped out of nowhere!” I replied in disbelieving surprise.

Then at the tempo of lightning, she said something along the lines of: “I’m Pinkie Pie, are you new here? You must be since I’ve never seen you in town before. Hey! You look like that Moztrot guy that just popped up a couple of months ago. Has anypony thrown you a welcome-to-modern-Equestria party yet? No that’s a stupid question, of course, you would be already be given one. Everypony knows that since chapter six. Still, has anypony welcomed you officially yet?”

I blinked, “I afraid that I didn’t catch all of what you’ve just said, so how about we start over.” I held out a hoof to her, “My name is Wolfgang Moztrot.”

She took it into her hoof and shook me in place, “Pinkie Pie. Since you’re new, stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

Within a blink of an eye, she reappeared with a wagon that had a big red button on one end. After pressing it, the thing opened up with flutes, horns, pipes, and cabinets that instantly played music like a barrel organ. Then to my surprise she sang and danced a short but sweet welcoming song while at the same time putting pointed hats on our heads, playing the trumpet and a drum as well as catching a flying cake (that was aimed at my head) at the end of the song. Then the pipes exploded with confetti all over us.

“So would you like the grand tour like how Braeburn does?” the mare asked with a smile.

I on the other hoof had started to laugh, “That was amazing.” I said, “Where can I get one of those wagons?”

“Over by the drug store,” she pointed towards a shop down the street. “You can get them for roughly two-hundred bits, kinda expensive but at least it’s worth it to put a smile on your face.”

“Uh yes, thank you for that,” Wilfred stepped in between me and the mare. “If you would, ma’am, we were wondering if you know where a Sweetie Belle is. Master Moztrot is interested in meeting her.”

She then asked what time it was. My butler took out a pocket watch and told her that it was getting close to noon. “I think she might be home for lunch,” Pinkie replied. “She would be at Rarity’s place at Carousel Boutique. You just need to go straight down there, take a left, then right at the Quill and Sofa’s, over the bridge, take a left at an oak tree, take three steps into the park take another left and you should see it.”

Wilfred blinked, “What?”

“I got it,” I told him. “Thanks for the directions ma’am – and the cake too.”

It’s times like that that I’m grateful for having a good memory. After hearing all that only once, I was able to follow the pink mare’s instructions and looked for the signs and landmarks leading the way to the Boutique which didn’t take too long. The shop was certainly fancier than most of the buildings around it; it reminded me of a glorified gazebo in blue.

The sign on the door said “Closed,” but that didn’t stop me from knocking on it. A moment later it was unlocked and answered by unicorn mare who had a mane as I’d never seen before, lilac in color and one uniform curve.

“I’m sorry we’re having lunch right…” she paused as she noticed who was at her door. “Oh my! Are you --”

“Call me Wolfie,” I held out a hoof. “Short for Wolfgang Moztrot, are you Sweetie Belle by any chance?”

She told me that she wasn’t but rather her older sister. But nevertheless, she was surprised at my arrival. “I wish that you would’ve told me that you were coming – I would have welcomed you myself since I’m such a fan of yours.”

“Who’s at the door, Rarity?” a young voice from behind the door inquired. The door opened a little wider and I saw a unicorn filly with a curly mane and a high speaking voice.

“Hello little one,” I said. “Are you Sweetie Belle by any chance?”

“Well, yeah? Who are you?” I told her my name and she was taken aback. “You’re Moztrot? The real Moztrot?” After my butler told her that I was, she asked what I was doing there.

“My butler Wilfred here told me about you and I was curious. So since I needed a day off, I thought I would come down to see for myself if what I was told was true. In the meantime, could we come in? It is rather cold out here.”

We were led inside into the shop that had every resemblance to a tailor’s. Fabrics of every color and quality were shelved beside the mannequins that wore dresses, suits, and costumes of radical design; not even the nobles of Celestia’s old court would imagine wearing them. From clothes of gold to bejeweled overcoats, my coveting eyes distracted me for a moment before the young filly asked the question: “So why do you want to see me?”

“I made him curious,” Wilfred told him. “I had told him something of your work, so he wanted to see what your music was like.”

“Get out your portfolio darling,” the elder sister told her. “So Mr. Moztrot, since we are currently having lunch, would you like to have something? Tea? Coffee?”

“Ooh! You have coffee!” My tail wagged in excitement.

“Just give him only one cup, two spoonfuls of sugar and plenty of cream,” Wilfred warned. “Otherwise, he’ll be bouncing off the walls in no time.”

After showing us into the kitchen and pulling up two spare chairs for us to sit on, Rarity put a pot on the stove. “I’m rather surprised that you’ve heard about Sweetie Belle,” she told me. “I know that she is barely starting out with this music business aside from what she usually does, but I didn’t think it would get your attention.”

“Why wouldn’t I be curious?” I asked. “After all, I was once a child prodigy. Such a thing is still incredibly rare, which is why, after Wilfred told me about her I wanted to see how good she is.”

“My little sister has had some of her work published; most of the critics say that her talent is quite promising. She was taught how to compose by Beethoven himself.”

“Really?” Wilfred asked. “The Ludwig van Beethoven, taught your sister?”

“Admittingly, only the basics, as he was only in Equestria for a year, but once he taught her the ins and outs of it by copying a few string quartets, she experimented with music. Of course, I helped her get some of her work published.”

Before I could ask further Sweetie Belle came in with her portfolio that had sheet music nearly busting out of it. “You know, I’m really nervous showing you these.” She told me as she placed it on the table. I asked why. “Because you’re Moztrot, one of the greatest composers of all time, and you’re right here sitting at our kitchen table, wanting to see my stuff. How can I not be nervous?”

I tilted my head, “How old are you anyway?”

“Fourteen,” she replied. “And I started doing this about three years ago, but only as a hobby.”

“I see,” I nodded, “May I?”

“I don’t --”

“Don’t worry Sweetie,” Rarity said with reassurance. “I think you’re good enough for Moztrot.”

After opening the portfolio, I picked up the first sheet music that was on top. “So little one? May I? I promise that I’ll be kind to your work, and treat them like they’re somepony’s children. I only want to see what they have to say.”

She eventually agreed and I focused my attention on the one in my hoof. It was a Larghetto in D minor for violin and piano, in which it was entitled “Buffalo Lament.” The violin part started off as if singing out its sorrow while the piano gave it movement. To me, the melody was very simple, but it sure did have tears behind the lines of sound. There wasn’t much decoration on the violin side, as it was giving nothing but the bare truth of its current condition, much like the plight of a homeless child. But as I progressed, the mood changed, as if it were trying to make itself happy by telling jokes or daydreaming. I noticed that she went into unusual keys, with double-stops to hum in a strange harmony. However, even so, especially towards the end, that ghost of melancholy returned to strangely not end the piece with a bang, but in a somber whisper.

The next one I chose out from random, in which it was a Serenade that, intriguingly enough, was dedicated to someone, only that name had been furiously scratched out. It was for a string orchestra with the traditional two violins, violas and cellos. As I scanned over it, it was almost as if I were looking at a painting of young love itself. The solo cello began with the melody, writing a love poem while the other strings acted as its muse. Each note, again, wasn’t decorative. The piece grew more thoughtful with each passing bar. Yet, the passion of youth still resounded profoundly in this Serenade where the language of love was in every single note.

Then I picked up one that was at the very bottom – one that was solo violin and piano again that didn’t have a name. But as I read through this one, it seemed to me like the sketch of an aria, given its lyrical melody, this time with a familiar sense of longing. As if the violin was missing someone with all their heart. And once again, it was straightforwardly honest about its very emotion as the instrument waited for the return of somepony dear and near to them.

“I-Is it… not good?” Sweetie Belle asked, snapping me back into reality.

“Hm? Oh, on the contrary, little one,” I said with a smile as I hoofed over the ones I’d read. “From what I’ve seen so far, these are refreshingly original.”

“Original?” she inquired as she looked at the pieces I examined, “How so?”

“You have shown something that I hardly see anymore. Each one is honest with what they’re conveying. Perhaps it is this difference between you and me when it comes to this sort of thing: I write music that is pleasing to the ear and must uphold only positive emotion – you on the other hoof don’t seem to try to hide it.”

The young white unicorn tilted her head, “Well why wouldn’t I? I’ve learned that from Beethoven that… come to think of it, I think that he was your student at one point.”

This surprised me. “What? I had only a few pupils in my lifetime, and I think I would have remembered one that was so noisy at the piano – which is a great disgrace if I say so myself. But I’m getting off-topic. The point is, as I was looking through what I’ve read, it seems that you lean towards simple, straightforward melodies that are highly lyrical. In my opinion, it is a very good thing. After all, to win applause, one must write stuff so simple that a coachpony might sing it.”

“I’m just starting out,” she muttered, and it was here that her older sister had put forth the cup of coffee before me.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said before turning to Sweetie Belle. “That is understandable; I won’t pretend that my earlier work was as complex as it is now. After all, I only started writing when I was four years old, simple pieces for the keyboard. But over time, with experience, one does learn new tricks and ideas to express. And from what I can see, what you have is a very good starting point.”

“Yeah… but I’m no genius like you.”

I frowned at that before I could take my first sip. “Young mare, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure?”

“Have you cared for anypony besides yourself, where you would put effort into their happiness?”

She looked at me, perplexed. “Well, of course, I do. With my friends, Rarity, my classmates and even those who haven’t gotten their cutie mark yet.”

Now I took my sip. “Then I dare say – that you are a genius.”

Now it was her older sister’s turn to be confused, “Darling, what do you mean by that?”

“I mean that neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together, go to the making of genius.” I poked at Sweetie’s withers with the tip of my hoof three times, “Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.”

“Wow,” the young mare blinked, “I… I never really saw that from that perspective before. Still, I take it that you do like my work, Mr. Moztrot?”

I nodded, “I think that you are off to a great start. However, I do have some criticisms.” After another sip, I continued, “You see, I do think that while you have memorable melodies inside your head, they could be developed further. Have them playoff from the higher or lower register; create an interesting conversation among the instruments. On a separate note, you might want to have these numbered somewhat for organizational reasons. Now don’t get yourself down, even I’m guilty of neglecting this too. Plus, you do need to strike up a balance between your passions and being clever.”

She then asked me something that caught me by surprise. “Mr. Moztrot,” she said, “could you teach me then?”
I nearly spat out my coffee. “Come again?”

“Well, could you teach me about composition? Sure, Beethoven taught me a little how to do it, but you’re right, I think there’s more than I can learn. So, if it’s not too much to ask, would you teach me?”

“I don’t know…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m sorry to tell you this. Currently, I’m already busy as it is with composition, two operas, a concert next month and rehearsing the orchestra that I’m not sure I could take on any pupils until after February.”

The filly had looked disappointed until her big sister stepped in. “Mr. Moztrot, Sweetie Belle admires your work and wishes to learn more in the musical field. She wants to learn from the best, and who else out there is more qualified than you are?”

“It’s not that you could pay me,” I pointed it out. “After all, Celestia has more or less set me for life.”

Rarity rolled her eyes and with a frustrated sigh, she asked, “Okay, so what exactly do you --” then her eyes widened. “Actually… I’ve noticed that you’ve been eyeing my work in the shop.”

“Well yes?” I raised an eyebrow, uncertain where this was going. “Those clothes are lovely.”

“Mr. Moztrot, suppose I make a deal with you?” Curious, I asked her what she meant by that. “What if, in exchange for giving my little sister some lessons, that I, in turn, pay you with some new clothing. Each article will be completely original and very valuable. You give me the style you want, and I’ll produce you something that will take others’ breaths away.”

Oh, such a tempting offer! She has a point, apart from those funerary clothes that I had to borrow, I had been wearing the same clothes for months. And on laundry day I couldn’t go anywhere without something to cover me. Not only that but if my eye for fashion was accurate, then I would be one step ahead of anyone in regards to modern fashion.

“I’ll tell you what,” I replied. “Since old Winter is about to sneeze, why don’t you do this: if you make me a coat that not only would keep me warm but pleases me aesthetically, then I’ll teach your little sister composition. As to the style…” I hummed as I looked at my red overcoat. “Why not do a cross between what was fashionable from where I came from and today’s tastes?”

Rarity hummed as she used her horn to lift my foreleg horizontally. “It could work… but I would need some references in regards to what kind of style you wanted. ”

It was then that Wilfred cleared his throat, thereby making his presence known. “Excuse me, perhaps I could be of assistance? Perhaps, as soon as we get back to Canterlot, I could send you a few books to accommodate.”

After it was agreed upon, I finished my cup of coffee, thanked Sweetie Belle for showing me her work, and had Rarity take my measurements. Then we set out to see the rest of Ponyville.

“So what do you want to do now, Wolfgang?” Wilfred inquired.

This was after lunch; we had just walked out of a particular place where ponies rolled heavy balls to knock down a set of pins. I paused to think it over. “Did you say something about a movie theater in this town?”

“I did,” he nodded.

“Now remind me, what is a movie again?”

“Well… they were used to be called motion pictures when they were first introduced because it looked like the pictures projected on the screens were moving. However, this is merely an optical illusion; it isn’t just one picture, but a whole series of them, one after another, so fast that it looks as if the image moving. Ponies have learned how to tell stories about these things and even add sound… along with color later on.”

“Ooh, sounds complicated,” I smiled. “So where do we find one of these theaters?”

“You mean like that one over there, Sir?” he pointed a hoof over to a building that had signs and posters around it.

“Huh, that’s convenient,” I blinked, and with that, we went up to get a closer look at the theater. Over along the side of the building under signs that says: “Now playing,” were four different posters or stories that I suppose they were telling.

“From what I can see,” my butler informed me. “It looks like we have a choice of science fiction, historical drama, adventure, or horror. Since I haven’t seen any of these, I can’t tell you how good they are so we might have to take a gamble.”

I went to the poster that Wilfred pointed out as horror. “‘Saw?’ What sort of a name is that for horror? With a title like that, I suppose it’s about carpenter equipment.”

“To be fair, most horror movies nowadays tend to lean on the ridiculous side. Perhaps if we’re lucky, it might be one of those so bad it’s good.”

After purchasing our tickets, my butler then showed me a new snack called “popcorn” and a bubbly drink (that sadly had no trace of alcohol in it). Then he showed me to our seats. The theater itself was somewhat empty, but when I walked in that theater, I was already blown away at the sight of giant ponies moving on the screen.

“Looks like we’re early,” Wilfred commented. “Theaters like this tend to show trailers (or to put it more accurately, teasers) of other movies in order to entice audiences into seeing them in the future.”

“Then how do we know if the story we’re here for is about to be shown?”

“You’ll know it when it comes,” he replied as we took our seats, facing the enormous screen. Once again, I was amazed at not only how bright and colorful it was upon the screen, but the fact that sound was coming from every direction! Of voices and orchestras, choirs and everyday noises came together in harmony as they showed one “trailer” after another. I thought to myself if these shorts are merely advertisements like one would do for plays or operas are like, then what would the movie itself be like?

If anything, I was getting rather excited to see my first movie.

And then… it started.

“For the nine-billionth-and-a-half time, Sir,” my butler told me. “You are not going to be taken and be put into one of those torture devices.”

At this point, we were on the train home, and I was hugging Wilfred for dear life. Do keep in mind, that rarely in my whole life had I been ever truly been afraid of anything. However, after seeing that… monstrosity, my butler had the good common sense to drag me out of the theater as I was screaming for somepony to help the ponies on the screen. Never in my worst nightmare had I ever witnessed such atrocities being carried out so cruelly, so shocking, that if even a fraction of it had been shown in my time period, Celestia would have had whoever produced it locked up in the deepest depths of her dungeons.

On the train, however, I was what one may call traumatized from witnessing something so barbaric. Ponies on the train did give us weird looks, but at the moment I didn’t care as I needed something solid (and more importantly, alive) to hold on to. I was nervously glanced this way and that, in hopes that I wouldn’t see any sign of that puppet and its master.

“Are you sure that Jigsaw doesn’t exist?” I whispered.

My friend sighed, “No Wolfgang. He’s only a character. It was all pure fiction, like everything else that was on the screen. None of those actors were ever hurt. Or died. Or mutilated beyond description. What you saw were only special effects and acting. Nothing more.”

“Are you sure?” I asked like how a colt would say when he’s scared of the monster underneath his bed.

My butler raised an eyebrow. “Look, I know this was the first film you’ve ever seen, but I’m not exactly sure why you should be so scared. After all, didn't you once write an opera where the lead ends up being dragged into Tartarus?”

I looked up at him, narrowing my eyes. “It’s one thing to imagine something horrible happening, yet it’s completely another when you actually see something terrible happening.”

He closed his eyes and wrapped a foreleg around me, “Wolfgang. This is entirely my fault, and I deeply apologized for not having the foresight of how someone like you, who have never seen a motion picture before, would react. I’m responsible for making you this paranoid, so is there some way that I could calm you down, Sir?”

It was then that I remembered something that I had forgotten. A memory back when I was only a colt. On that train, I remembered how I and my family were crossing over the sea in order to reach Trottingham. There was a frightful storm in which tossed the ship this way and that, and I was so terrified that I was sure that the boat would capsize us at any moment. I recalled Papa coming over to me, and I told him how scared I was. ‘Wolfie,’ I heard him say. ‘How about I teach you a simple, little song to soothe your fears? It’s quite easy. And it goes like so.’ Then he taught me a song that, once I was able to master it, helped calm me.

In hindsight, to those passengers on that train, it looked as if I was losing my mind as I sang out the tune from my foalhood – but it was the only way at the time to keep my sanity.

Chapter 23: Winter in Manehattan

Back in the eighth century, Manehattan was the major port city in Equestria. It was the gateway to the East for all the islands and nations that lay beyond, where ships came to trade. Truth be told, I hadn’t set hoof there since I was a colt as we traveled to and from Trottingham by sea. I remembered it as a bustling town of brick, sailors, and merchants. But in the week before the concert there, we took the orchestra to rehearse at a place called Carneighie Hall. Along with the orchestra, my staff came with me as, surprisingly enough, Celestia had gotten us something called a penthouse which turned out to be a glorified apartment.

So after picking up the piano and one of the violins, we took a train towards the East Coast in mid-December as the snow was coming down heavily. Several hours later in the evening, we came into the City of Light. It’s the only way I could describe such a maretroplis as this: towers of glass and metal that rose to the sky like organ pipes, while the bridges that connected to the island, the buildings, even the giant green mare statue were lit up like stars with bright colors.

And as we got off the train, even marble and iron of the station were dressed according to the festive season with green garlands, wreaths that had red bows, and even strings of lights hung both inside and outside its walls. As I walked out, servants in tow, into the cold air, the first thing I noticed was the sheer noise of ponies and carts that went by in the streets.

“You know,” I told Wilfred, “It’s perplexing to me that it has been about two centuries, yet even with all these towers about it’s still overcrowded. How is that possible?”

“Natural multiplication,” my butler deadpanned. “Just remember, Wolfgang, stay close to us as we get to the hotel. The piano is on its way to the theater but let us get our things over there first. So please don’t wander off.”

“Where is our hotel anyway?” Fan asked reasonably. “This place is really complex.”

“Not if you’ve studied the map, and the island is on a grid system so it ought to be easy to find.” He looked at the street signs on both sides. “Well, the good news is that it’s not too terribly far. Now come along everypony, let us go.”

We followed Wilfred as I marveled at my surroundings. Sure there were some brick buildings here and there, but most of the city looked like it was made out of glass, reflecting both the sky and the ponies that walked underneath it. While the street that we walked on still had as much dirt as I remembered, at least this time it wasn’t just dirt roads. There was pavement underneath the slush, with electric lamp posts a stone’s throw away from each other. In between these were trees, instead of leaves, held strings of light. All around were ponies, voices, and languages that mixed together in a disjointed harmony.

“Stay close, Wolfgang,” Mr. Sauté called out as he pushed me along. “I know that it’s really big, but you can’t stop yet.”

But oh did I want to! I wanted to get a closer look at some of these shops that lay at the base of these structures. On the way I saw toys play in a sort of waterscape, in another were mannequins that displayed a new line of clothing, and even the tempting lure of sweets that lay behind the glass. But as I was ogling at these wonders, I noticed in the reflection that the pedestrians were staring at me. Perhaps it had to do with the winter overcoat I had on.

Yes, keeping to her promise, Rarity did indeed make a coat for me. It was made out of some rather thick, black wool on the outside and padded white silk on the inside. I admit that I was impressed by the craftsmanship of it. In a way, it resembled the fashion of my time while keeping it both new and (more importantly) warm at the same time. The cuffs, buttons and gold stitching with pearls that cleverly formed designs of snowflakes and sixteenth notes were the only things that I recognized, yet the ventilation within was quite new and practical.

“We can window shop later,” Wilfred told me as he pulled me by his magic. “For now let’s focus on our priorities.”

The hotel we were staying in was interestingly named after a word that must have been made up. It was called “The Ritz Hotel.” The only way I can describe it is as if one had condensed Canterlot into one building and this was the result. It was a monument to prestige and wealth from its gold molding, the cast iron railing, the marble columns and even the stained glass dome. The very lobby itself could easily fool anypony into thinking that they were stepping into a palace as we walked in towards the long wooden desk at the other end of the room.

Sitting there was a stallion in a green uniform, his eyes downcast at a book, scanning through its contents. Next to him were a bell and a tiny sign to “Ring for service.” My butler did so to get his attention. “Excuse us,” he said. “We’re here for the penthouse under the name Moztrot.”

The stallion behind the desk looked up from his book, his eyes widening and his posture stiffening as soon as he saw me. “Oh! W-Why hello sir. I wasn’t exactly sure when you were coming. Celestia herself told us that you were going to be staying with us but didn’t mention the time of your arrival.” He flipped through his book and added, “Still, on behalf of the Ritz Hotel, we welcome you as our guest here. It’s such an honor, sir.”

“Why? For having ye old me here?” I asked with a smirk.

“Oh more than that, Mr. Moztrot,” he replied. “While this hotel is indeed the finest in Manehattan, and we have had some famous guests over the years, we have never had one so well known. Especially when one of the Princesses has gone out of her way to get you the most luxurious and expensive penthouse in the city; that speaks volumes to us. Of course, we shall provide you with the utmost service as our honored guest. Now then,” he then flipped the book over to me and proffered a quill pen. “If you could sign your name here, just so we know that you’ve checked in, and we’ll need it again once you’ve checked out.”

The next day, work began as I conferred with my hoof picked orchestra at the music hall. That week, for hours at a time, I directed them through a symphony, a violin and harpsichord sonata, a violin concerto and three piano concertos. Of course, it was worrisome that this concert was going to clock in at about an hour and forty-six minutes (not including intermission). However, the players pointed out that audiences had grown to be patient with their music since Beethoven, so it shouldn’t be much of a problem.

But since this concert was as long as one of my operas, it came as no surprise that we would feel rather tired at the end of it all. We worked from dawn to dusk with a break for lunch as we refined the pieces. But when we finished for dinner, I dismissed the orchestra so that I could have some fun after working so hard.

There was one night that I remember, more than any. It was about three days before our performance that it was suggested I see a place called Times Square. Since I didn’t know what that was, I asked Wilfred to take me there. Of course, we took Fan and Sauté along that evening down the noisy streets. So we started walking as soon as I called it a night at rehearsal.

“I’m surprised that you don’t know what Times Square is,” the maid told me. “It is the most famous street on the planet.”

“Why is it famous?” I inquired, raising my voice over the noise. “The very last time I was here, I don’t have much recollection of these streets beside being overcrowded.”

“It’s known for a few things,” Sauté explained to me. “It’s known for its bright advertisements, shops, and being right next door to the city’s theater district, Bridleway. That’s home to some big budget musicals and plays.”

“Huh, I see,” I nodded.

“Ohh!” Fan exclaimed, “Do you think that we might see a Bridleway play? I’ve heard that those are the best.”

“That’s entirely up to Wolfgang,” my butler reminded them. “After all, we do have the bits for it, but it’s his call for what we do tonight… Wolfgang?”

But I had stopped as something had caught my attention. There in a park were booths and crowds of ponies that seemed to be gliding along. In the background were rows of buildings that were made entirely of glass. I saw the bright lights of the booths and trees, the tempting smells of fried foods, and in the air were new Hearth's Warming carols that drifted through the air from speakers. I stood before a gate which had, written in light:

Bryant Park’s Winter Village.

Intrigued, I was compelled into this dreamlike place. My staff followed me in as we saw a field of ice that was illuminated in blue with skaters gliding, falling, sliding, laughing and crying in a ring around its edges. Some of them were holding hooves while others were out there on their own. “Well,” I said aloud, “I know one thing I want to do!”

All three of my friends looked at me, “Do you even know how to skate?” Sauté asked.

“Nope,” I said with a smile. “Do any of you?”

They looked at one another, “Well…” Fan said, “I haven’t done it since I was a teenager. But I don’t think you should go out there if you don’t know how.”

“Give me a minute to study this,” I reply. “And then we’ll go find those ice skates.”

Yes, it was true that I had never skated before. Something that I had wanted to do but wasn’t able to because I had never had the equipment. But while they had every right to object to my going head first onto the ice, they’d seemed to forget one thing: I have a very good memory. I watched how each pony moved about, looking at the patterns of how they angled the thin metal plates to thrust themselves forward and to stop. “I know how to do it,” I smiled. “Come on Fan, let’s go find some of those shoes!”

Quickly we found somepony renting the shoes near the entrance of the ice rink. After paying for the two of us and with the help of Wilfred to lace them up (as well as finding our balance on them), we set off flying. Fan did show signs of rust at first as she kept bumping into other ponies and the wall, not to mention slipping here and there – but once she learned from her mistakes, she was able to glide smoothly.

“How are you so good at this?” she asked me.

“It’s not that hard,” I told her. “All you have to do is see the rhythm and tempo of something as it is done. And just like that, you master it.” I bumped a little into her saying, “Tag! You’re it!” before zooming off into the circling crowd.

While we zipped and whipped around, under and between ponies,the speakers overhead started a new carol that seemed to fit that playful moment. I heard bells that rang in Rhapsody, a cello, guitar, and piano began a warm but familiar melody. Handel’s, I think it was. Yes! It was a carol from him now that I think of it. It was the one that shouted joy to the entire world – a melody that I hadn’t heard since I was a child. This time, the musicians had taken on a new, if not especially welcome variation of it.

In the middle of our game of tag, the song unexpectedly took on a new theme altogether. So unexpected was this that it made me halt right in the middle of the ice rink. “Fan,” I called out. “What is this?”

She paused to give it a listen. “Oh, that’s new! That’s Beethoven’s Healing Symphony. Although I think he calls it ‘Ode to Joy.’ I'm surprised they made it into a carol.”

I stood there in the very middle of the rink, my ears pointed straight up as I took in this melody. While the ponies went by us like flocks of birds, this simple theme gave me pause. How do I describe hearing this tune for the first time? Well… normally whenever I hear even a few bars, I could come up with hundreds of variations on them in any color and mood I wanted to. But that…? It is one of the few melodies which were so perfect, so flawless, and yet so simple, that I couldn’t think of one variation. If anything, when that crescendo came with that choir, the notes pierced me through, as if the heavens had opened up and I heard the very voice of the Divine!

It was one of the few moments, as I heard that and Handel’s music combined, that I did something that I hadn’t done in years when I heard something new: I was in tears.

“Wolfgang?” Fan moved in front of me. “Wolfgang? Are you alright?”

Carefully I lifted a foreleg to banish the tears from my eyes. “Yes. It’s just… unexpected.” After a sniff, I told her that I felt cold and was tired of the ice rink. So she escorted me back to solid ground.

Chapter 24: A Play on Bridleway

Author's Note

In case you hadn’t noticed, I had changed the name of Broadway to Bridleway because I completely forgotten that’s what it’s called in the show.

Chapter 24: A Play on Bridleway

We went inside one of the glass buildings to find, to our surprise, that it was quite warm inside. There were even more booths that sold not only trinkets but even food and drink to the ponies in the overcrowded space. Sauté had already bought me a cup of hot chocolate but I was still a little too stunned from what I’d heard out there. Not because of the ice skating, nor all the pretty lights, but from the music. It came to me as a shocking revelation: I had thought that I was indeed the best composer in Equestria, Celestia herself may have said so, but my ears never lie to me. What I’d heard back there, was something that was more real than anything I’d put on paper could amount to. True, it is very rare that I encountered a composer or a musician with skill superior to my own, but with more passion…? Was such a thing possible? If something like that could move me (an achievement that not many were able to accomplish), then, for all the work I’d done, was I a good composer at all?

“Is something wrong, Wolfgang?” my butler asked me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“You have been zoning out for a couple of minutes now,” Mr. Sauté told me.

“Yes, you’ve been really quiet all of a sudden.” Fan said, “Does it have anything to do with the ice skating?”

I forced a smile on my face, “Oh come, nothing is wrong with me. I just heard something new is all.”

“Then how come you looked afraid a moment ago?” my cook questioned me. “Wolfgang, we are your friends, you can tell us what’s wrong.”

“But there isn’t anything to be concerned about,” I lied. “Hey what’s that over there?” I hopped over to a booth in which the vendor was busy wrapping dabs of ice cream of many flavors into a dough-like substance before quickly dipping it in a vat that had mist pouring out and placing it behind the glass counter. “Excuse me, sir, can my friends and I have one of whatever you’re selling?”

“Mochi?” the vendor asked.

“Gesundheit,” I put a smile on, hoping that my staff doesn’t see through me. “Yes, just one of each, pick whatever flavor.” By the time they caught up to me, the vender hoofed over four of those ball things at random to me. “Here, try this thing,” I bite halfway through the frozen, gummy dessert.

“This one’s strawberry.”

However, the three of them were having none of it. “Wolfgang,” Fan sighed. “It doesn’t take a private eye to tell that something is really bothering you.”

I pouted, “Alright fine.” After paying the vendor and giving them their desserts, I had them walk with me outside. We walked over to a tree that was wrapped in white lights that were away from the mob and out of earshot from anypony. “If I’m going to be doing this, I need all three of you, to be honest with me.” They agreed while urging me to tell them what had upset me. “Do any of you really think that I’m a good composer?”

Three stunned faces stared back at me. “Sir,” Wilfred began. “What in the world brought this up? Of course, you are.”

“Yeah,” Sauté said, “You’re the greatest composer in history.”

“Everypony knows that pretty much everything you wrote down on paper is considered a masterpiece,” Fan finished.

“Am I really?” I questioned. “Or am I really second rate to that Beethoven fellow?”

“What is he --” the cook was about to ask, but the maid already knew the answer.

“Remember while we were skating that something from Beethoven’s started playing on the loudspeakers?”

“The Healing Symphony?” Wilfred raised an eyebrow. “What about it? Sure it’s a good tune but why --”

“Because it’s perfect,” I interrupted him, folding my forelegs.

There was a pregnant pause before my butler asked, “Wait a minute, are you saying that you’re jealous?” I didn’t answer. “Holy Celestia.”

“So that’s what this behavior is about?” Fan inquired of me. “That you’re envious of something Beethoven wrote.”

I shook my head, “It’s… It’s more than that. Look, whenever I write anything related to music, not only do I make sure that it’s all structured beautifully, but I give each piece a soul; I strive to make my pieces poetry in musical form. But after what I’ve just heard…? It’s as if…” I tried so hard at that moment to withhold the tears, to keep the mask on for dear life. “It was as if… that everything I wrote has turned into lifeless scratches compared to that.”

“Says the stallion that has written more memorable tunes than Buch, Beethoven, and Hayden combined,” my butler deadpanned.

My cook hummed in thought, “Wolfgang, maybe you need to have a completely different perspective about yourself.”

I cocked an eyebrow, “Oh really? How?”

His eyebrows rose up and he turned to Wilfred, “I’ve got an idea. But you need to trust me on this.”

“Wait, why?” he asked with suspicion.

“Um…” Sauté glanced over at me before saying, “Group huddle.” The three of them took several steps away from the tree that I was under and discussed something among themselves. Although they whispered to each other, occasionally one of them would exclaim: “Are you mad?” or “Are you trying to get us fired?” or “But do you think it’s a good idea?” or “You do know that it’s not entirely historically accurate, right?” and “He was in mourning for Celestia’s sake!”

Eventually, the three of them returned, Wilfred looking rather grumpy. “Wolfgang, we’ve agreed that in order to get your self-respect back, we’ve decided to have you see a particular play that’s on here in Manehattan.”

“A… a play?”

“But before we go to see it,” he added. “Do keep in mind that this was Mr. Sauté’s idea. That whatever the outcome will be, he will take full responsibility.”

I could do nothing but blink, “Take responsibility for what?”

At that point, the three of them became vague-ish (is that a word?) and they told me to follow them. Curiosity made me walk with them back to the streets and down towards the light show up ahead. Yes, “light show” is an accurate term to describe Times Square and Bridleway. When we entered, all around were signs, billboards, advertisements, boxes, and curls of light that lit up the pavement. At first, we were dazzled by the sophisticated lights that moved, taking on all sorts of shapes, colors, and forms. However, my cook scouted the area with an unknown goal in mind.

“There it is,” he pointed. “I see it.”

I looked over his shoulder, “See what? What are you looking for?”

“Follow me,” so we did. We went towards the billboards which advertised plays. Mr. Sauté went up to one of those theaters and suddenly stopped at a ticket booth. “Four adults please,” he asked and the pony behind the glass gave him the tickets. “Good timing,” he commented, facing us. “The show is in fifteen minutes.”

Puzzled, I backed up a little to see what sort of play that these three were referring to. I saw the illuminated sign with a masked, dark figure that had a large hat; his hooves open as if to beckon one inside. Right underneath it, was a single word in white.

Amadeus.

For the record, even when we went into the theater, the three of them still wouldn’t tell me what the subject of the play was. I was even refused a playbill so that I was left completely in the dark. Although, one amusing incident (in hindsight) was that as soon as we took our seats, the audience noticed me and used their cameras to take pictures while I made funny faces. Then the lights dimmed.

“Mares and Gentlecolts,” a voice spoke up. “The Spotlight Theater thanks you for coming to tonight’s performance of Amadeus. A few house rules before we begin: flash photography and recording without permission is not allowed. Outside snacks are not allowed except for those being sold in the lobby. Do be courteous to the actors on stage, and remember to be silent – for if you can hear them, they can hear you too. Other than that, enjoy the show.”

The audience applauded as the lights on the stage lit up, and to my confusion, I heard the first few bars of my Don Giovanni. But before I could turn to ask my friends about this, it stopped instantly as the curtain rose and moving whispers were heard. At first, I couldn’t make out what they said, but then I realized that they were repeating one word: “Salieri.” A wheelchair with a pony in it was moved towards the very center of the stage, his face still hidden in the shadows. As soon as he was put into place and the pony who’d pushed him there walked off, another word was muttered:
“Assassin.”

Two stallions from opposite ends of the stage walked on. They wore the kind of clothing that I was wearing. One of them had a newspaper. “I don’t believe it,” the one with the paper said, showing it to the other.

“I don’t believe it,” the other replied, taken aback. “They say --”

“They say?” the first pony rolled his eyes as the whispers repeated the name of Salieri. “The whole city is talking. You hear it all over.”

“The Opera?” His friend nodded. “The Café?” Another nod. “Even the gutter?”

“Yes, even Franz Moztrot, his old pupil, repeats it.”

The second stallion snatched the newspaper into his hoof, “But why now? After thirty-two years?”

“They say he shouts it out all day and cries it out all night.”

“Salieri? I heard he stayed in his apartment for over a year.”

“Oh longer… longer?”

“Must be at least seventy.”

“Older… older?”

The second gave a low whistle. “Antonio Salieri. The famous musician, shouting aloud --”

The first scoffed, “Crying aloud.”

“It’s incredible!”

“I don’t believe it.”

“That he would cry --”

“Moztrot!” A shrilling, ghostly shout was heard, one that came from the stallion in the wheelchair.

“Moztrot,” repeated the first.

“Moztort, perdona il tuo assassino…” My jaw dropped when I heard those words. In Istallion, it meant --

“Moztrot, forgive your assassin?” questioned the first.

“Pietà Moztrot,” the one in the wheelchair begged. “Moztrot pietà.”

“Mercy, Moztrot?” the second raised an eyebrow.

His friend corrected him, “Moztrot have mercy. He speaks in Istallion when excited and Equestrian when not.”

The second folded the paper and gave it back to him. As they slowly walked off stage together, he commented, “There was once talk you know.”

“Thirty-two years ago, when Moztrot was dying.”

“Yes, some say that he claimed that he’d been poisoned, that he accused someone. And some say that that one was Salieri.”

“But everypony knew what he died of. A Syphilis in the liver, like everyone else.”

“But what if Moztrot was right?”

“That he really was murdered?”

“And by him? It can’t possibly be credible by any means.”

“And why?”

“Why on earth would he do it? Even if so, why confess now?”

“Moztort, perdona il tuo assassin,” the one in the wheelchair uttered, making the two stallions pause for a moment.

“What do you think?” asked the second in which the first repeated the question back to him. “I don’t believe it.”

The first agreed. “All the same-”

“Is it just possible?”

“Did he really do it after all?” both of them asked simultaneously before walking off. Leaving nopony else on the stage except for the one in the wheelchair. An aura lit up and the chair turned so that we might better see his face. The face of an old stallion that bore a haunting resemblance to my old friend, only this one looked broken; still, if I had to guess who it was (and what this play was all about) then it had to be none other than one who had been a good associate of mine.

Salieri.

Chapter 25: Salieri (Act 1)

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 26: Salieri (Act 2)

“Wolfgang?” Wilfred’s shook me back into reality. “Are you alright?”

“Huh?” I blinked.

“You haven’t moved in a while,” Fan told me. “I hope that you’re not offended.”

I tilted my head in confusion, “Offended?”

“Well, considering the content of the play I thought that you might have some objections to it.” My butler explained. “After all, I remember clearly of what the real Salieri was like; I almost expected that you might be upset over it.”

“If anything,” the maid added, “Wilfred and I were against the idea from the start since we weren’t sure how you’d react to not just how they’ve portrayed Salieri, but it might bring back memories of your wife. We’ve all been there when you were mourning over her.”

“First of all,” I lifted up a hoof. “Last time I’ve checked, this performance never claimed that it was based on a true story. When one has been transported to the future, it shouldn’t be expected for posterity to get everything about the past right. Even the great Shakespeare had gotten a few things wrong with his histories. Second, I don’t know if any of you three noticed that while I do miss my wife, I don’t feel as sad as I was. However, it does lead up to an interesting question,” I turned to my cook. “Why did you insist that I come here anyway?”

“In my defense,” Mr. Sauté began. “I have two reasons for bringing you here. The first was to help cheer you up back at that Winter Village place when you were showing doubts of your own talent. If anything, this very play was the main reason I got into your music, to begin with. It had changed how I viewed classical music in general of instead of being this dull, highbrow thing that old ponies listen to, into something that speaks about who you are as a pony. And I loved it for that as it showed me your music in a new light.”

“And the other?”

“Well… what you said back there, I want you to take this as a sort of cautionary tale. Of what happens when you let the talent of others foreshadow your own creations. Of what happens if you get jealous of someone that you held in high regard. Tell me; was it true that Salieri was considered the better composer than you by other ponies?”

Now it was clear why I was brought here. Rather cleverly, my cook is having me confront that same envy I have for Beethoven, using the play to act as a sort of mirror. Hmm… I wonder if Celestia would allow me to raise his pay a little for creativity.

Once intermission was over, the second act of the play opened with Salieri alone with a crumpled up music sheets in his aura. “And now, I knew my fate,” he began. “I have had felt my emptiness, as the first ponies must have felt their nakedness. Somewhere in the city of Canterlot, stands a giggling, foul-mouthed child, who can scribble casual notes that turned my most considered ones into lifeless scratches. Thank you, Faust! You have given me to praise you the only way I knew how, and then you made me mute? You put into me the presumptions of the inconsiderable than ensure to know myself forever mediocre?”

Suddenly, he ripped the manuscripts in two, “Why! What was my fault? Until this day, I have perused virtue with rigor. I have worked and worked you know how hard I worked! I had hoped that through all of my devoted sacrifices and my devotion through art which makes the world comprehensible to me, that maybe, I might hear your voice. And now… I do hear it. And it said only one name: Moztrot. Spiteful, sniggering, conceited, infantile Moztrot, who has never worked one second in his life to help another pony,” at this point, I was sinking in my seat as I was being scolded from the stage. “Manure talking Moztrot with his body smacking wife. Him? You have chosen to be your mouthpiece? And my only reward, my sublime privilege is to be the only stallion alive in this time to recognize your incarnation? Thanks,” he mocked. “And thanks again!”

He tossed the torn sheet music to the floor. Then with boiling anger, the actor continued: “Well, so be it. For now on, we are enemies, you and I. Because you have proven to be unjust – unfair –unkind… I swear to you, that I will block you as far as I am able. And don’t think for one minute, that I will ever seek forgiveness. I was a good stallion, as far as this world understood as being good. So what use is it to me now? Goodness won’t make me a good composer. Is your Moztrot good? Since you have shown me that goodness is nothing in the firmness of art, I will use whatever power I have to destroy your voice. This will be a battle to the end dear Faust, and Moztrot will be the battleground.”

After making a mental note that if I ever ran into the actor playing as Salieri on that stage, I would remind myself not to make him angry.

The play continued on where it left off, letting Salieri recommended Celestia to have the position of a tutor be taken up by someone who had no talent whatsoever. After that, it showed that while the other my finances didn’t change with now our first surviving colt adding strain, he however prospered.

“This is the incredible truth:” he monologues to us, “Any fury I excepted from the divine, didn’t come. None. Incredibly, in 784 and 85, it was Salieri that is deemed the greatest composer in not just Canterlot, but in the whole world. Yet, despite the fact that in these two years alone, Moztrot had written his best keyboard concerti and his string quartets. Hayden called the quartets unsurpassed, and they were, but no one heard them. Celestia’s top musical adviser called the concerti sublime, and indeed they were, but no one noticed. Those in Canterlot who did hear them greeted each unique piece like how one would with a new hat. Each was played once, much to their delight, and then completely forgotten. For whatever reason, I alone it seems, was able to recognize what these actually were: some of the most perfect things made in the eighth century. By contrast, my operas were played everywhere and hailed by everyone, including Celestia herself! From my comic to tragic operas, everyone was either discussing them or whistling the tunes. It was incomprehensible to me. I was being praised everywhere as if I were delivery being pushed from one triumph to another. As my fame grew, so did my fortune and respectability. What was going on? Was Faust taking any notice of me of what I was doing at all?”

Then word came to him that I had asked the royal court some time off to write an Istallion opera. At first, nopony had any idea what the theme was as it was kept in secret. However, after he sent two spies to his apartment, bribed a maid that I had at the time, he and the court found out, to their rage, what it was about. So Celestia sent for me to have an audience with her and her musical advisers.

That scene opened up with them at one end of the stage and a confused me at the other as he noticed that there was no cushion to sit on.

“Moztrot,” Celestia began with a serious tone. “Word has reached me that you are writing an opera based on ‘The Marriage of Figaro,’ is this true?”

The other me looked at her, “Who told you?”

“That is not your place to know,” one of the snooty advisers said. “Answer her.”

After some hesitation, the actor responded, “Yes.”

Celestia breathed in deeply, “You are aware that particular play is banned, right? So you see Mr. Moztrot, I don’t censor on a whim, but when I do so, I do it for a good reason. Figaro is a bad play. It stirs up hatred among the classes. In Prance it is causing so much discontent that Queen Antoinette writes to me that she is beginning to be afraid of her own ponies.”

“Madame, I swear to Your Grace that there’s none of that in the opera. I’ve already taken out everything that could be taken as offensive. I hate politics.”

“I’m afraid that you’re rather innocent my friend. In such difficult times, I cannot afford to have an uprising by either the nobility or the citizens, simply over a theater piece.”

The other me argued that it was simply a frolic, a comedy about love. “And it’s new,” the reflection of me added, “It’s so new that ponies are gonna going mad for it.”

One of the advisers spoke up, saying that my talent in music wasn’t in question, rather it was the choice in literature. That even if all the politics were taken out, there still be this conflict between the classes and questioned why I would waste my time on it. For why not could I focus instead on a myth or something historical?

“You really want to know why?” the other me asks, “Because I wanted to write about real love and to set it in a real place. To me, a bedroom is the most exciting place in the world. Garments on the floor, sheets still warm from a mare’s body, even a piss pot brimming under the bed.”

“Moztrot!” another adviser scolded.

“But I want real life. I mean, why do I want to write about old dead legends? How come we have to go on writing about heroes and gods?”

“Because they do,” Celestia said, “they go on forever. Or at least, that’s how they tend to represent nowadays; the eternal in us. Opera ennobles us just as much as me. It celebrates what is eternal in ponykind – the Gods in the hero, not the laundress.”

“Oh come on,” the other me was having none of it. “I just don’t understand any of you. In reality, none of you care about Gods and Heroes. I mean, be honest with yourselves: which one would you rather listen to a story about say… your manedresser then somepony like Rockhoof, or Flash Magnus or even Starswirl? Ponies that sound so damn lofty it’s almost they could shit marble!”

Several gaping mouths hung there, “What?” one of them asked in disbelief. My reflection laughed along with the audience, however, he added, “Do control your tongue in Her Majesty’s presence.”

“Excuse me for the language, Mr. Director, but to be fair, I’m just as guilty. ‘The Folly of King Orion,’ all those anguished, antiques. They’re all bores. Bore, bore, boring! About every serious opera made in this century alone are Celestia damned boring!” Stricken dumb with these words, the reflection giggled. “You know, I wish I could write this moment in time of you four gaping mouths. A perfect quartet! I would love to write it, just as you all are.” he went behind the fake Celestia, “The Princess thinking, ‘That immature Moztrot, is he trying to get himself fired?’” Then behind one of the advisers, “Mr. Director, ‘Ignorant Moztrot, debasing the fine art of opera with his vulgarity.’” Then behind Salieri, “Court Composer Salieri thinking, ‘Small town Moztrot, what does he know about music?’ Then there’s me in the middle thinking, ‘I’m just a good fellow, why do they all disapprove of me?’”

After getting out and around to face the Princess, he added, “Celestia, only opera can do this. A playwright has to put in one thought at a time to let the audience know what they’re thinking. Otherwise, if they do it at the same time, it’s just noise. But throw in music into the mix, it’s not an inaudible sound, it’s a perfect harmony where you can understand all of it at once. Just like what I wrote in the end of the second act, where a duet becomes a trio, trio becomes a quartet, than quintet, septet, octet, on and on for twenty minutes with no recitatives.” He paused, giving a nodding thought, “You know, I bet you that’s how she hears it.”

“Who?” asked Celestia.

“Faust. I bet you that’s how she hears the world. Up close, it’s all pointless, random noise that is chaos to our ears, but to her who is hearing trillions of sounds all at once, all mixing, rising and falling in her ears, creating an unending melody incomprehensible to us. That’s our job, Your Highness, as composers, we combined the inner thoughts and feelings of him and her, this and that, solo and choir, from the thoughts of chambermaids to court composers, and turn the audience themselves into gods.”

While I was nodding, agreeing absolutely of what was being presented, Celestia responded, “There’s no doubt that you have passion about this, but you don’t persuade.”

He does so, just describing to her the opening scene in which the opera starts. From this, she permitted the opera to be produced. After that, the play accurately showed how that the Marriage of Figaro’s end of the third act was removed and but was saved by a miracle of having Celestia ordering it to be restored. Salieri described the opera as magnificent, but it was the final scene most of all in which he found most memorable. But at the same time, the actress playing Princess Sunbutt did yawn.

“In that one yawn,” he told the audience, “I have secured my victory. Moztrot was lucky that Celestia yawned only once. More than three and the show would have failed the same night. Two yawns, he could maybe get… maybe a few days. One yawn, however-”

“Nine performances!” the other me objected. “That’s all it gets, nine!”

Salieri turned to him, “Well Moztrot, not everything you’ll put out to the public is going to be liked by everypony.”

“Is the Princess angry at me?”

“What? Oh not at all. However, you did put too many demands upon her and the audience, to spend four hours for a show like that, there are so many notes one hears in the course of an evening. Did you know that you didn’t give it a good bang at the end of each song, cueing the audience to know when to applaud?”

He snorted, “Well maybe you should give me music lessons.”

“…. I don’t want to impose.” My reflection asked what he thought of the opera. “I think it was simply marvelous.”

“More than that, it’s the best opera yet written, and I’m the only one that could have done it.”

“Mr. Moztrot, a little modesty would help you go a long way.” When the other me didn’t respond, Salieri suggested, “I know this is distressing, so why don’t you take leave to go somewhere like Saltzberg? I can give you bits for it.”

“Oh no, I’d never take money for you. It’s not fair as a good friend to beg from you. Even if you did, I don’t want to go back to Saltzberg.”

“How come? Isn’t your father there?”

“Well yes… but Papa and I aren’t on the best of terms. We fought the last time we saw each other.”

“Over what?”

“My wife, he disapproves of her, no matter how much I tried to convince him that I do love her. Especially now, he’s the last pony in the world that I ever want to see, or speak to no less.”

“Sir,” a servant came on stage, speaking towards Salieri. “There’s bad news.”

“What?” he asked.

“Leopold Moztrot is dead.” My mirror counterpart froze on the stage, letting it sink it.

Salieri shooed him away before his servant could witness my counterpart break down. In the next scene, so rose Don Giovanni, my blackest opera. Salieri explained to the audience that as he went to see it, he noticed that he saw that in the final scene, where the dead commander confronted the guilty libertine, he realized that moving statue was really my portrait of my father. He witnessed how that “….bitter, old stallion still possessing his son, even beyond the grave.”

“However,” he added. “I realized too that while we were ordinary ponies, he and I, when it came to opera, with ‘Don Giovanni’ and ‘Così Fan Tutte,’ this is where our differences lie. He took ordinary stallions and mares that weren’t gods, epic heroes or nobility, from which he created legends, and I from legends created only the ordinary.”

At the same time, he realized that he had found a way to triumph. To which, in secret, he commissioned me to write the Requiem. His plan was that after he would pass off the piece as his own, then he would kill me somehow. “Imagine it,” he said to us. “The castle, all of Canterlot in attendance, and there in the middle, is Moztrot’s tiny coffin. And then… out of that silence… Music! Divine music, that was a symphony of death! Contributed to Wolfgang Amadeus Moztrot, composed by his devoted friend, Antonio Salieri. Oh, what sublimity, what depth the sound! They will say that Salieri has been touched by Faust at last. And she was forced to listen! Powerless! Absolutely powerless, as I, in the end, am laughing at her!

“The only thing that worried me,” he confessed. “Was the actual killing. How does one kill a pony? Hm? Really think about that,” the audience went dead quiet. “I mean, its one thing to… to dream about it… but when you have to do it… with your own hooves… How to do it?”

While he pondered this, word got to him that I had been commissioned to write a vaudeville opera. In which the theme would be based on fantasy. However, while writing it, and due to my fading health, Constanze took the children and left for the spa. The next time he met the other me; Salieri was shocked to see how ill I seemed. How pale I looked with bags underneath my eyes while my mane was unkempt.

After that, he went to the opera with me while my reflection conducted. Like that two hundred years ago, he too found it a masterpiece as there was hardly a scene in which he didn’t approve of. However… during it, my counterpart was so ill that he collapsed. The next scene took place in a cheap apartment in which sheet music was strewn about the floor, furniture missing, and bottles everywhere.

Salieri and a few others carried me to a bed in the dark room before the other me recovered. As he started to wake up, he shooed them away. The first thing my counterpart asked was if the opera was over. The two of them talked for a bit before he thanked Salieri, “You’re the only one from the court that came.”

“Moztrot, I wouldn’t miss anything you’ve written for the world.”

“It was only a vaudeville.”

“No, no, it was sublime, truly.” Just then, there was a knock on the door, to which my reflection paled.

“Don’t answer it, it’s him.”

“Who?” when the other me didn’t answer, Salieri went over to the door to find the actors from “The Magic Flute,” that came by to see if he was alright, “He’s exhausted. The fever has gotten his brain, and he just needs some rest.” Before he could close the door, one of the actors thrust a purse containing Moztrot’s share of the royalties that night – thus giving Salieri an idea. He returned to my counterpart, pouring the bits onto the bed. “He told me to give you this,” he said, “That if you were able to write out the Requiem by tonight, you’ll receive double.”

“Double?” the other me blinked, “It’s… Oh, it’s impossible I… it’s not even close to being finished. And I’m too exhausted… Did you say double?”

“Could I help you? If you want, I could help you write it out.”

“Would you?” and on the stage, he did. In reality, I worked on the Requiem alone, but we the audience watched how my dying self, dictating the Requiem. Every minute he looked worse as they worked the night away. But what happened as soon as morning rose…

Constanze returned with the colts, finding him and Salieri who he was asleep on the floor. After waking him up, Salieri explained that he was sick and took him home. Before she could dismiss him, my reflection awoke, but just barely. “Wolfie,” she began. “We’re back to take care of you. I’ve missed you so much. But things are going to get better now.” My wife took notice of the sheet music on the bed. “What’s this…?” she realized what it was. “No Wolfie, you’re not allowed to write this anymore.” She picked up the music. “No more of this…” she paused. “This is not in his hoofwriting.”

“It’s mine,” Salieri said. “I was up last night helping him.”

“Well… he’s not going to write this anymore. Not now, or ever again,” she placed the manuscript in a cabinet in which she locked. “I’m afraid that I have to ask for you to leave since we don’t have any servants.”

“I’ll leave when he tells me to,” he folded his forelegs.

“Wolfie?” she turned to the other me… who wasn’t moving. I couldn’t bear to watch as I bowed my head low in the dark, shutting my eyes tight and folded my ears over my head. “Wolfie…? Wolfie…? Wolfie, wake up… Wolfie…?Wolfie!” I could no longer hold back the tears as my Lacrimosa echoed throughout the theater. My butler placed a comforting hoof on my back as I couldn’t bring myself to watch.

From the rest of the play, I only listened to the funeral, and Salieri telling the audience what happened to him after my supposed death. My ears heard how that after it seemed for thirty-two years that he was drowning in fame, being embalmed in fame, but then after all those years: silence.

“I realized the masterstroke of Faust’s punishment. What had I asked at the very beginning? Fame. Just when I had all the fame that I would ever need, just like that, it would be taken away from me. I watched myself to become extinct. She destroyed her own beloved, rather than let a mediocrity like me share in the smallest part of that glory. My music, year by year, became fainter… ever so fainter until nopony neither plays it nor remembers it at all. While he grows everywhere. But…” I heard him sat back into his wheelchair.

“But wasn’t born to become her cosmic joke for all eternity, for I still have one last trick up my sleeve. You remember when you came, those rumors of me shouting, ‘Mercy Moztrot! Forgive your Assassin!’ I did that on purpose. Canterlot, after all, is a city of scandals, and it has one worthy of it at last. Salieri killed Moztrot? Is it possible? Did he really do it after all? Well now… after my death, they will believe the lie forever. From this day on, whenever anypony speaks with Moztrot in love, they will remember mine with loathing. Not the way I prefer it, but it’s better than not being remembered at all.

“With this razor, I’m about to become a ghost myself. Dawn has come; therefore I must release you all. One moment of violence, and it’s over. But before I go, I will tell you that I shall stand in the shadows when you come here to this world. And when you feel that dreadful bite of your failures, and hear that taunt of the unachievable, I will whisper my name to you. ‘Antonio Salieri, patron saint of Mediocrities.’ And in the depths of your hopelessness, you can turn to me, and I will forgive you.”

Then I heard sharp knocks on the door. “Signor Salieri, please open up, be good now… Signor, we’ve brought something for you. Something you’re going to love… Mmm, is that good? Seriously, Signor, this is the best thing I ever had in my life. Really, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Il mio saluto finale, (My final solute)” I heard him say before I heard a painful scream.

Another knock on the door, “Signor, if you don’t open this up right now, we’re going to leave you, and we’ll never come here again, bring nothing for you.” Then came a piano, whose keys were disjointed that was followed by a painful moan. After several banging’s against the door, it flung open, much to the servant’s shock.

While they’re screams of help, to get a doctor faded away, a new voice informed: “The Equestrian Musical Times. May 25th, 825. ‘Our worthy Salieri just cannot die. In the frenzy of his imagination, he is even said to have accused himself of complicity in Moztrot’s early death. A rambling of the mind believed in truth by no one, but the deluded old stallion himself.’”

“Mediocrity is everywhere,” Salieri said just above a whisper, “Now, and to come. I absolve you. All…”

I heard the curtain fell; the lights went up as the audience applauded. I finally was able to look up as the curtain rose once again in time for the cast to bow. Up to the final actors who bowed the other me and the one who played as Salieri, I stood up in my seat. Now, if the actors in that stage didn’t know I was there at all, they certainly did now.

“Can I come up on stage?” I asked them. They looked at one another, uncertain what to do. However, the audience encouraged it so that they cleared a path for me towards the stage in which I climbed on. “To be honest with you all,” said I. “Out of all the things this evening that I thought I would do in Manehattan, seeing a play about myself and Salieri wasn’t what I predicted. And yet,” I turned to the audience. “This was surprisingly entertaining, wouldn’t you all say?”

They agreed, then I turned to the two main actors, “Oh look, another me!” I smiled and they laughed as I trotted up to my double. He appeared to have been quite nervous as I circled around him, “He’s a little taller in real life then I thought he’d be.” I joked as I shook his hoof. “Still, good job portraying as me, it was really amusing.”

“Uh… T-Thank you.”

Then I turned my attention towards the other actor who looked like he was caught red-hoofed. “Awe, don’t be like that Salieri, sure I still owed you that roast beet dinner, but is that a reason for you to try to kill me?” I shook his hoof. “But joking aside, I actually wanted to come up here to do two things: first, and I’m speaking to you in particular, is to simply say… thank you.”

He tilted his head, “W-What for?”

“I was having a rough night and you gave me some peace. I thank you for that. And the other,” I turned towards the piano that was still on the stage. “Whenever I’m around and ponies wanted to hear me, I’ve left them with a small improvisation, just to give them something nice like a dessert before they leave. So what do you all think? Shall I play you a little something before you all go?”

They answered with applause. And from there on those keys, I played out to them a theme that has haunted me that night. A melody in which I witness from the stage that has moved them to tears.

Chapter 28: Intermission and Old Friends

“It’s a shame that I’ve never known that your son had composed,” I turned towards the one who commented, away from the bowl of the ever so immortal milk punch. The one who spoke was Paganeighni with the violin still under his foreleg and a water bottle in the same hoof. “Where did you find that concerto anyway?”

“I had some help, but it wasn’t easy,” I said as I sipped the creamy punch. “I have a friend who helped me with whatever copies that could be found in libraries and some personal collections around the country. For those collectors, I can tell you that they protective of their libraries until I showed up. It’s rather funny in a mundane way, now that I think of it.”

“How so?”

“Before I had my near-death experience, sure I was known but not to the level where my very face opened doors on a level like say… Celestia’s. Maybe it’s because to them, I’m a walking artifact who somehow has the right to the past. It’s sad that, of the composers I knew, many of their works are gone. Take, for example, the piece you’re about to play. In my time he was the most famous violinist in Prance; I’ve heard from the mouths of nobles that his composition easily rivals mine. Out of hundreds, only one survived… and yet,” I smiled, “it is a masterpiece.”

“Regardless,” said the violinist, “I am honored to be performing for you, Master.”

I waved a hoof, “Stop calling me that. I never had a drop of noble blood in me. I’m from a small town so small that if you sneezed, you’ll miss it.”

“But you’re one of history’s greatest composers.”

“True,” I said after guzzling the cup. “But in hindsight, I’m called that because I’ve earned it. Yes, I’m talented at the keyboard and the violin, but I had to spend years learning how to compose to the public’s liking. After all, I chose you to play this upcoming concerto because I thought the skill I’ve heard matched that of the composer. I can easily tell that you like complicated things, no?”

He nodded, “I’m known for playing difficult techniques, even inventing my own.”

“Which is why, to my thinking, you’re the only pony alive who can play at the same skill level as he. I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think you could accomplish it.”

He bowed his head, “Thank you Mr. Moztrot.”

“How close are we til’ we start?”

Paganeighni took out a pocket watch with his teeth, giving me a glimpse of its face. “Okay, two minutes left.” We downed our drinks, “I wish you good luck on your end, sir.” I held out a hoof to him, to which he shook it.

“And I wish you the same, good luck with your new pieces near the end.”

I smirked, “Why? Do you need it?”

“Not really, but it’s good to hear nonetheless.”

“Let’s go everypony,” one of the stageponies said. “We have a minute left so let’s hurry.”

So it was back on stage with me, as soon as the lights dimmed, I strode on stage to the applause of the audience. “Oh good,” I said aloud, “nopony has fallen asleep yet, wonderful! Now for this second half, I’ve already introduced you all to my family, now I’m going to introduce to you to two individuals who might come as a surprise to many of you.

“To start this off, I’m going to tell you all a little story. Many Hearth’s Warming Eves ago, back when I was a teenager, the family were in Versailles to show off to the Prench Court. The day before, after I demonstrated to the King my musical gifts, he said that my virtuoso playing reminded him of his court composer. This captured my attention as that at every court, the pony that I most wanted to meet was the court composer. The King told me that he was coming to the palace to put on a Hearth’s Warming Eve concert in their private theater, and since I was able to win his favor, I was given a seat to hear a brand new violin concerto.

“However, when the soloist walked on stage, I was taken by surprise, as I have never seen such a face before.” The projector’s light fell upon the wall behind me; in which there were sudden murmurings among the audience. What they saw was a portrait of a zebra in a red coat, holding a rapier in his right hoof and a violin on the left, while there were sheet music and a cluster of smoky clouds on the right. “His name was Joseph Boulogne, Knight of the Order of the Fleur de Lis. A freed slave, he was taught by his father first in fencing, then the violin. He was so good in fact, that no sooner than he’d picked up the bow, he learned to compose. And what you are about to hear, was the very same concerto that… actually made me envious of him. Once you hear it, you’ll all know why.

“Nowhere again to perform this very difficult concerto is the violinist, Paganeighni.” They applauded as he walked onto the stage again with me stepping forward in front of the orchestra and the violinist by my side. I took a last checking glance at the strings, who had all their eyes on me. Lifting my front hooves, I conducted Boulogne’s resurrection.

The first movement was, to my mind, was a caricature of Versailles. It was large, elegant, and covered head to hoof in gold leaf. From its sweeping rhythm to its easy but unforgettable melody, it reeked of Prench aristocracy from the first minute. If anything, I was feeling impatient for the solo violin to make its entrance. But nevertheless, it did come, richly dressed like a King. Paganeighni was perfect in recreating its long-reaching double-steps, its flawless harmonies, and ballet-like trills. All the while, it stayed true to the theme while letting notes fly without ever sounding harsh upon the ear. If anything, I partly wondered if he was improvising and I hadn’t noticed it.

Nevertheless, in the eleven-minute movement, he and the orchestra never clashed. The other strings, the winds, and the occasional brass revolved around him like the planets. Going through serene majors and lonely minors, the soloist always strode forward as the king of the concerto. I confess, the music, since it was made up of cadenzas, did sound rather pompous, proud, and prancing around like a peacock. At the same time, considering whom it was originally played for, I felt that it was an accurate portrait of the King of Prance at that time. And I had to give credit for Paganeighi for mastering something that, to any other soloist, would have been unplayable; he hit every single note with perfection while leaving the empty spaces to ring out. Still… the last cadenza, without any of orchestral accompaniment. was still enough to take my breath away.

The second movement was a complete tonal shift in more ways than one. The Adagio was depression incarnate from the soft strings only playing out a single note. And the solo… I confess that I fought so hard the urge to cry. Because to me, it was the very sound of loss – like how a parent would grieve over the death of a child. It had memories of the past, happy ones from time to time, but there was a melancholy in the chords, as if no matter how joyful the thought, that dark feeling was still haunting right behind like a shadow. I don’t know if Boulogne himself had lost a child, but even if he didn’t… I’d say that it’s a damn excellent representation of it.

Both soloist and the violin section began together in the final movement. While the soloist played out a much needed, upbeat tune, somewhere in the orchestra could see that all of this was for show, especially when the minor keys illustrated his true thoughts. But nevertheless, he upheld the mask around the other instruments, to say that everything is fine. However, when my ears dug beneath the surface in the underlining register, it turned out that he isn’t confident at all, but is putting on a brave face nonetheless. The lie, after that sweet credenza, was believed by all, including the audience at the final recapitulation.

The soloist bowed deeply to them before he shook my hoof. I thanked him as he left for the backstage, “Same some of that punch for me!” I called out. Now my attention was turned to my piano. “Now can you see why I’d envied him for a while?” I asked, pointing at the projected portrait behind me.

“So for this next one, apparently there has been some debate about the character of a composer that, unfairly I think, has gone down in history for all the wrong reasons. Chances are, you too have probably have fallen under the spell of this myth as well. The one I’m referring to,” I turned around to see the projector change to the final portrait of that night. An old oil painting of an even older stallion – one that had golden metals, an expensive fur coat over his blue waistcoat, and a high white collar that upheld his wrinkled face. “What you see is the only known existing portrait of Antonio Salieri.”

An explosion of mummers reverberated in the music hall. “And before you ask,” I raised a hoof, “The answer is no, he didn’t kill me, otherwise I wouldn’t be putting on this concert. But yes, Salieri, with whom there has been some confusion as to what sort of relations I had. In reality, by the time I moved to Canterlot to stay for good, he was already Celestia’s favorite composer. Yes, it’s true that we did know of each other’s work, even respected each other, but when it comes to music, we saw ourselves as friendly competitors. Always an unofficial popularity contest between us. For a while I thought he was winning, guess all of you proved me wrong.” There was a chuckle as I sat down at the keyboard.

“If anything, I’m rather surprised that nopony has ever heard a note of what he wrote. Tonight, however, that’s going to change. Tonight, for the first time in two centuries, we shall be performing Salieri’s Piano Concerto in C.”

Among the audience, I could hear the same confusion that I’d heard from the orchestra when I proposed this to them. ‘Why in the world would you want to conduct something from a minor composer like Salieri?’ Even when I started conducting, they didn’t seem that impressed. However, I gambled that if they waited long enough, they’d have a different opinion by the time the piano solo came in.

The opening theme on the keyboard was a perfect example of composers of the eighth century: simple to follow, elegant, but still with an educated touch. For my part, I’d had to learn how to play the solo literally overnight. Playing it, the first movement reminded me of some of my earlier work in the grammar of how the orchestra and keyboard conversed. At times throughout the performance, I wondered if I had a bigger influence on him than I thought, or had him on me?

At least, that vision of being a servant was similar to the techniques that I had used. From the smiling trills to the sweeping bows, I did feel familiar in this sort of landscape. Even when the chords changed, I could easily predict what the next bar was going to be like. And to spice things up, near the end I improvised a cadenza based on that opening theme that managed to get an applause out of the audience before the final chords were played.

The Larghetto is a personal favorite of mine. It’s as if I’m exploring Salieri’s mind in the echoing strings. If anything, it’s simple but still shows his own thought process of creating a theme and determining not only what variations to add, but when and where to let the orchestra have their moment or to be combined for dramatic effect. Of course, I would have done this differently, but for what this second movement is worth, Salieri still had some good ideas. It’s a mystery of how any of this was forgotten.

Now the third movement, the Andantino Rondo, I think this would have been easily passed as ballroom music because of its rhythm and the tempo in which one could easily dance to. This one I think was a good deal of fun on my part as I was letting my hooves dance their complex minuet over the keyboard. At one point, I just let it go wild once it went into a minor key and notes cascaded one on top of the other like a gust of wind circulating in a ballroom. But just like that, it returned to the theme to close it off.

After modest applause, I stood up to say, “And now the moment you all have been waiting for. I know that this concert has been dragging somewhat, but we all know why you’re here. Tonight I have some special Hearth’s Warming presents to give out. Two brand new pieces that have never been heard by the public until now.

“In the spirit of my family tradition, the first gift: I wish to dedicate each movement of my new piano concerto to my three servants that have become my closest friends in this new world. The first movement will go to Mr. Sauté, my cook, the second to my butler Wilfred, and the third to my maid Fan.” I looked over to the box in which all three of them sat. “This is my gift, without you I may not have recovered from my depression. So here’s my Hearth’s Warming present for the three of you.”

I began as soon as I sat back down to play out my concerto. It started with the piano taking the lead to establish the basic theme: a warm mix of nostalgia and innovation before the orchestra joined in. The spectrum of sound was busy but calculated like inside of Sauté’s kitchen. Of stirring violins, boiling oboes, savory clarinets, and baking cellos, my piano was in command of it all. It was organized noise spiced up with poetry and balance, much like his meals. In this movement, he juggled from chopping, stirring, baking, cooling, spicing and organizing it all on silver plates. The keys along flowed along with his movements and the artistry of turning basic nourishment into works of art – a perfect musical representation of his work in the kitchen.

With the second movement, I kept it light with the strings that echoed in the foyer where I work. While all my sheet music lay scattered on the floor, the phantom hoofsteps of my butler walked in from the piano. Almost like a strange ballet, he picked up the sheets with his magic to float in the air. There was something heartbreaking in the sound, almost tired but dedicated to his work. Like how a god would oversee a universe that made sure everything was running smoothly like a machine. And once everything seemed to be well organized, the paper accidently fell over with them flying everywhere. In a desperate attempt but still trying to keep his cool, he grabbed many of it before levitating and reorganizing it back onto the piano. However, in the quiet moment, he held up one of the sheets, staring at it in appreciation before placing it back in the neatly piled paperwork.

In the final movement, the keyboard started with something bubbly. I was depicting my maid in the library dusting every shelf while on a ladder with wheels. With every push of her hind leg, she used the feather duster to brush over several books in seconds. Another stronger push and the orchestra illustrated how she seemed to fly around the room. Even with my keyboard playing, I could see her giving such a mundane task as something fun. (Now that I think of it, I really ought to give that a try myself.) I could envision how she would glide from shelf to shelf, creating a dust cloud in her wake. But even when the dust cleared, all that float down to the floor in which she now has to clean up. But even with a broom, an idea seems to get her as she just puts on roller skates to go around the room. In the end, she sweeps it up into a mountainous dust pile that she removed from the library, leaving a clean room behind.

I was completely satisfied when not only the audience applauded, but so did they. By the time it died down, I turned my attention to the Princesses in their red box. “Now to close this performance, I have one last gift, and this time, it’s for these princesses here tonight.” I looked up towards Sunbutt, “Celestia, a long time ago you suggested that one of these days I should write a carol for Hearth’s Warming. I'm pleased to tell you that requests from all those years ago have been completed. So with your approval, I’d like to close this concert of a carol of my very own.”

“Please do,” she called out. “I have been waiting for two centuries to hear what you’ve come up with,” she winked at me.

I bowed, “As you wish, Your Highness.” I flipped around to the orchestra. “Strings,” I lifted my hooves, “You all know what to do.”

After the audience laughed at that, I lead the strings into my idea of Hearth’s Warming. The violins, violas, and cellos painted a picture of the perfect holiday. Of dolls that sat on the fireplace, of the flag pole with that silk flag in the wind, of the warm comfort foods that were both a delight to the eye and to the tongue and the rows of presents. But even this warmth is counterbalanced by the icy snow from outside. The dance of a blizzard, the war of snowball fights, the slipping of sleds down a hill, and the ice skating. All of these experiences tied up with a lovely red bow at the final note to which the theater practically fell apart from the avalanche of applause.

And a standing one too. The lights went up to reveal, from floor to ceiling, everypony in the theater was standing and cheering. I singled for the Philharmonic to bow first as they did much of the work. Then I motioned for my star violinist to do likewise. And finally, I bowed low to not just the Princesses, but all of the audience.

“I thought that was rather sweet of you to dedicate those movements to us,” Fan said as we returned to our hotel.

“As I said, I do owe you three when I needed it. To me, it would be too inconsiderate not to do something to repay you for all you have done.”

“We appreciate the thought put into it Wolfgang,” Wilfred nodded as we walked up the steps of the Ritz. “For now, let’s get our things together and make that midnight train back to Canterlot.”

“Speaking of which,” I inquired. “Since I’ve given the three of you the day off tomorrow, what are you going to do for Hearth’s Warming?”

“Most likely spent it with my brother,” said Fan.

“I promised that I’d spend the day with my parents,” Mr. Sauté told me.

“And I’d like to visit some friends that I hadn’t seen in a long time.” As we got on the elevator, my butler asked. “At the same time, I’m concerned for you.”

“How so?”

“Pardon me for being so blunt about this, but you don’t have anywhere to go for tomorrow. There is no living relative of yours as far as I’m aware that you could visit, and we will be having obligations of our own. I don’t know how you’ll be spending the holiday.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I waved it off. “I’ll think of something, besides, I was known for crashing parties here and there.”

The elevator rang and its doors were open to our penthouse. However, it wasn’t entirely empty for there were two pegasi Solar Guards there as we stepped out.

Wilfred stepped forward, “Can we help you?”

“We’re looking for Wolfgang Moztrot,” said one.

The other held up a scroll under his wing, “We have come to bring him a message from Celestia.”

I walked up to them, “I’m Wolfgang, may I see that?” the letter was given to me. Breaking the seal, I unrolled it to find the biggest surprise of the whole evening. “It’s an invitation,” I told them. “To attend Hearth’s Warming at Canterlot Castle.”

Chapter 29: Hearth’s Warming Morning

We rode the train through the night back to Canterlot, and by morning, all the servants had gone their separate ways. According to Celestia’s invitation, apparently, I got to spend the whole day at the palace with some other invited guests. Which meant, all three meals would be provided. There was a curious line at the very end: “All guests will find surprises around every corner.” I confess that by the time I’d dressed and put on my winter coat, I still had no idea what she was referring to.

There was an escort of Solar Pegasi Guards with instructions to bring me to the palace immediately. I have whisked away across Canterlot, taking in the sight of the streets and buildings beneath, as well as the ponies that were out this day. Not to mention the colorful lights that stretched like a web in every direction, including the Palace. Since it was Sunbutt’s favorite holiday, the castle was practically decorated from dungeon to spire in the manner of a Hearth’s Warming tree.

By the time we rolled up to the front gate, I was nearly an ice sculpture but mercifully I was rushed inside to the warm palace. Celestia was there to greet me, “Mr. Moztrot, thank you for coming.”

I shook like a wet dog to get the snow off of me while she shielded herself with a wing. “To be fair, Your Majesty,” I said, taking my winter coat off, “I didn’t exactly have much choice in the matter as I have no obligations today. I dismissed my staff for the sake of the holiday and I’m not exactly keen on drinking alone on the most joyful day of the year.”

“I agree,” she replied as she shook her wing to get the snow off. “Actually, that was the main reason why I invited you here. It wouldn’t be fair for you to spend Hearth’s Warming alone. So I thought it best to invite you, along with a few others in your situation, to spend the day with us.”

“That’s what I’m curious about. Who are these others? Are you referring to your sister and nephew?”

“Well them,” she nodded, and before she could say anything else, an uproar of crashes and galloping hooves were heard. I leaned over just in time to see a rather curious sight. A pegasus flew across the staircase in… what I could describe was in an ancient Pegasi guard uniform dragging an oversize stocking while an irate white unicorn followed behind in a full gallop.

“You come back here with my stocking you cowardly antique ruffian!” the unicorn screamed at the top of his lungs as he and the pegasus disappeared on the other side of the staircase.

I blinked, “What was that?”

She sighed, “One of the guests and my nephew, Prince Blueblood. I told them to behave, but Flash Magnus just wouldn’t listen.”

“Sorry, but maybe some snow got into my ears, but did you say, Flash Magnus?”

“The same,” she nodded. “Turns out he has a trickster side.”

I stared at her for a good solid minute. “Two questions,” I raised a hoof. “Didn’t he vanish a good, oh I don’t know, thousand or so years ago? And if that’s who you say he is, how come I’m being told about this just now?”

“Technically he did. And to your second point, that was entirely my fault. With all that’s been happening with your return as well as all my other duties, I kept forgetting to tell you that you’re not the only visitor from the past.”

I stared at her for twice as long as before. “I’m not? Well… who else then? Let me guess, Buch is at the bar having a drinking game with Bridlexander the Great?”

“Not exactly, but the point is that they’re all here in the palace -- somewhere. You’ll run into them eventually. But for now, as it’s Hearth’s Warming morning, I suggest you go to the living room on the second floor, that’s where your presents are.”

“Should I be worried?”

This made her chuckle, “Now go on, I’ll leave you to interact with the others until lunch.”

After bowing to her, I did as instructed. Honestly, I had no clue what exactly to expect after an introduction like that. For all I knew, the next corner could have revealed anyone: Sombra, Princess Platinum, Haycartes, anyone really, because once you’d seen Flash Magnus in the horseflesh, well, the possibilities were endless.

So when I opened the door to the royal living room, I had no clue who to expect. Inside there was a towering tree decorated in glass ornaments and lights; a fireplace that was still burning and had only one filled the stocking with the initials of “W. M.” on its mantle; and everywhere on the floor were discarded boxes and ripped pieces of shiny paper.

“Ah take it that yer the last one ta arrive?” a mare’s voice inquired. But as I looked around, I didn’t see anypony. “Ah’m behind the tree.”

Curious, I walked over the remains of perfectly wrapped gifts to go around the tree where a blue mare was putting back some glass beakers back in a box. Her clothing and mane were nothing that I have ever seen before. Her mane was wavy but all stood up like an elongated beehive. She had a white cloth wrapped around her head and neck with a brass necklace and bracelet. Her green dress was very plain as it only had a single white line near the helm of her skirt.

“Ta be honest,” she said, “None of us were exactly sure who these extra gifts and stocking were intended for. However, Celestia mention’ there was one more guest ta come. So Ah take it that yer him?”

“I… suppose so?” I raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry ma’am, but who are you?”

“Oh where has mah head been,” she chuckled as she got up. “Sorry, Ah’ve been so focused in puttin’ mah new things away that it slipped mah mind. Name’s Mage, Mage Meadowbrook.”

“The healer?” I inquired and she nodded. “You mean to say that you’re the same mare that somehow cured an entire village of Swamp Fever?”

“The same gal,” she nodded. “And who are you supposed ta be?”

“Wolfgang Moztrot.” Mage tilted her head, understandably had no idea who I was, “I’m a… musician. I was taken out of my time as well.”

“Really? By how long ago?”

“About two hundred years, give-or-take.”

“Then you must be pretty young compared to the rest of us. But Wolfgang huh…” she reached underneath the tree to pull out a few boxes. “Ah think that these must have been yours. Everythin’ that hasn’t been open has the same name on it.”

And indeed there were. Dozens of boxes wrapped in bright, colorful, shiny, smooth paper in bows had my names on them. Not only that but for a few of them as I got a closer look, they were from my friends. From Wilfred, a phonograph with records from several of the composers and bands that I’d seen at the Crystal Empire Music Fair, along with a few I didn’t recognize. From Fan, the finished manuscript of a few nocturnes and a film projector with a couple of movies (thankfully neither of them was the one that shall not be named). And from Mr. Sauté, a modern, compact music player with what looked like earmuffs with wires.

From the stocking, I poured out not only things I expected like chocolate, nuts, and oranges, but a camera – the kind one could take photographs with. As for the other boxes, these, I concluded, must have come from Celestia. In several, heavy boxes, I found ten conductor scores of Beethoven’s symphonies, five piano concertos, three fantasies, dozens of overtures, twenty-two trios, sixteen string quartets, ten violin sonatas, thirty-two piano sonatas… all just to name a few. Yet, all of them had Beethoven’s name attached to it. My immediate thought was, ‘I’m going to need a bigger library.’

“What’s all this stuff?” Mage inquired as she flipped through one of the scores.

“I’m not exactly sure yet,” I told her. “But it looks like Celestia has gifted me with the scores of a composer who was here a few years ago. I was rather curious as to what this Mr. Beethoven was like. And it looks like I have copies of his works in abundance.”

“That’s a lot of paper to use to write a few tunes if ya ask me.”

I chuckled, “Then you haven’t seen my works.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh never mind. So how many of, well, the displaced are here?”

“Including you? That’ll make eight. Although Ah’m not exactly sure if they’re still in the royal game room or not, Ah do know that we’re all meetin’ at noon fer lunch.”

I blinked, “Why did somepony installed a game room in the palace and not tell me? Where is it?”

After she gave me directions, I practically galloped there because… I just had to know. Not just who from the past was here, but more importantly what kind of games were in that room. Cards? Board games? Oh! Maybe a pool table? I just needed to see.

When I found it… it was more beautiful than I could ever imagine. Not just all of those I’d already listed, it had games from this modern era such as controlling an electric puppet on a screen by using buttons, a long distance dartboard, a hoof ball court, and even… a bar. If anything, I wondered if this is what heaven is like, especially for some of the ponies that were there. One was an exotic looking pegasus that was tossing a heavy ball down a lane to hit some pins. Another was a unicorn with a mane cut as if one had put a bowl over his head and trimmed who sat at the bar, next to what I could only describe as a giant that looked like he’d stepped out of a Mighty Helm painting.

Of course, all three of them saw me as I walked in. “Ah, the bartender has arrived!” the giant declared, “Come on in and fill us with another.”

“Uh, what?”

“The last one couldn’t keep up,” responded the giant as he downed the rest from his enormous beer mug before slamming it down on the counter. “You are the replacement, are you?”

“No, I’m the last guest to come today, and you know what?” I trotted over behind the bar, marveling at the rows of colorful bottles and barrels of beer. “I’ll think I’ll have a few drinks myself.”

This got the mare’s attention, “Guest?” she inquired. “You mean that you’re the eighth pony to come today?”

“That’s right,” I said, filling the giant’s mug first from the tap. “I’ve got the invitation last night, and apparently found out that I’m not the only one to be taken out of his own time, am I?”

Now the game room went silent. “You too?” the scrawny looking unicorn asked. “But I don’t recall seeing you.”

“Well, how far away in time did you three come from?”

“About a thousand years,” the mare replied.

“Uh, that healer must be right,” I hoofed the giant’s mug over before proceeding to fill the unicorn’s, “I must be the baby in all of this. I was plucked from the year 791. And if I hazard a guess, Sunburst had a role in all of this?”

“You too?” the three of them asked at once.

“I will take that as a ‘yes.’” After filling the unicorn’s, I took a clean mug and fill that up. “So why not we all introduce ourselves? To whom am I having the pleasure of drinking with this morning?”

“The one sitting next to me is known as Stygian of Tall Tale,” the giant said as he patted the unicorn’s back. “This mare is Somnambula of the Old Southern Equestrian Kingdom. And I am Rock Hoof, last of the Mighty Helm.”

This took me by surprise. “Wait, you’re the Rock Hoof, the one that saved his village from a volcano by digging a trench to lead the river of fire away?”

“The same,” he tilted his head back to down his mug.

“And who are you stranger?” the mare inquired.

With a beer in my hoof, I introduced them my name and my profession.

“A musician?” the one called Stygian wondered. “Why would Sunburst bring a musician from two hundred years ago? Were you needed for a crisis?”

“If he ever tried that, then I must say that it was poor timing on his part. Because when I was whisked away, I was dying. Can’t help saving anything if life is slipping away from you.”

“The lad has a point,” Rock Hoof waved his mug. “So why were you brought here anyway?”

“By accident, it seems. But hey, I’m back to full health and I’ve got a million ideas that I want to try now that I’ve been given a second chance at life. Only this time, I’ve been given an advantage as my music is two hundred years old and it’s still excellent.”

“And what music do you create?” Somnambula asked. “Do you write ballads? Dances?”

“I have, and so much more than any of you could imagine – perfecting many forms of music that I won’t be surprised that none of you have ever heard of.”

“Now he’s starting to sound like Star Swirl, doesn’t he?” the unicorn commented.

“He’s certainly got the boasting down,” Rock Hoof agreed.

I nearly spat out my drink, “Wait a minute, what do you mean by that? Are you saying that you’ve known Star Swirl?”

“We did and do,” the pegasus mare answered. “You know, I can easily imagine that he might have acted like yourself when he was young. One who took pride in his talents, curious about other ponies and places for the sake of knowledge – however, at least you know when to enjoy yourself.”

“I agree,” after downing my mug, I went around the bar. “How about we have some fun? Can any of you play billiards?”

The scarecrow of a unicorn raised his hoof. “I think I have a grasp of the game.”

“Oh good,” I smiled, “But I must warn you, I’m quite the virtuoso of the table.”

Chapter 30: Comfort and Joy

There is one advantage to meeting somepony that lived long before you were born: to them, you’re a blank slate. All of that hero worship evaporates, all the fanaticism is nonexistent; to them, you’re merely a pony like any other. They don’t put you on a pedestal because, at that point, we are equal.

The same applied to Rock Hoof and later to Flash Magnus, a fellow that captured perfectly what Papa had told me of the Pegasi past. He was once of a legion who had to be brave and loyal. But to my delight, it also turned out that he had a mischievous side and set maturity aside for the sake of fun.

“Here’s a good one,” said I, taking my sip of ale. “Do either of you know what rounds are?”

Both the legionnaire and the giant glanced at one another in confusion. “We don’t think so,” Rock Hoof answered. “Is it a game?”

“My favorite one too,” I grinned. “It’s very simple, I’ll start off singing a short little tune, and at certain points, I’ll point to one of you to start to repeat it, words and all before I have the other join in doing the same thing at a certain point also.”

“Seems simple,” the Pegasus shrugged. “But what’s the catch?”

“Ah, that’s where it gets fun. You’ll also have to listen carefully when you sing because I’ll be adding on top of that simple song for you to sing also. Now if any of you mess up in either the tune or the word, or even laugh at said words, you down your drink.”

“So, this is a game of memory?” the Pegasus inquired.

“Exactly,” I nodded. “So then, are you two up for such a challenge?”

“Oh, this I have to see,” Somnambula wandered over to the bar intrigued.

Stygian too came over to the bar, wanting to see how such a musical game played out. “Out of curiosity,” said he, “does this round have a familiar tune or is it one that you’ve just make up on the spot?”

“Well… while the music itself isn’t mine, I did rewrite the lyrics several years ago. But it’s still fun nonetheless.”

“How does it go?” Flash asked, and I was more than willing to start.

“Lick my plot nicely, lick it nice and clean,” I began singing and the reaction was immediate. While the Southern Equestrian mare and the scarecrow unicorn had their jaws hang down in horror, the two other stallions busted out laughing.

“Good Goddesses!” the pegasi warrior said between his fits of laughter. “That’s actually real?”

I giggled, “Oh we haven’t gotten to the good bits yet,” I smiled. “So remember, the object is to listen and sing back the whole tune without laughing, missing a word or note. Gentlecolts, are we ready?”

And just like so, the canon began with me repeating,“Lick my plot nicely, lick it nice and clean. Nice and clean, lick my plot.” I pointed to Flash in which he echoed back the song as I continued on. “That’s a greasy desire, nicely buttered, like the licking of candied honey, my daily activity.” The two ponies who were once horrified found themselves rolling on the floor. I pointed to Rock Hoof for him to start the canon, then to Flash as I filled out the last part of the song. “Three will lick more than two, come on, just try it, and lick, lick, lick. Everypony lick their plots for themselves.”

This managed to throw them off, to which they both took a swig.

“That has got to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard,” Somnambula said once her laughter died down.

“I don’t know,” the legionnaire replied. “Sounds like a fun Saturday night to me.”

Now it was my turn to laugh like a maniac. “I like you two already, just the right sense of humor for my liking. So then, shall we begin again?”

“Could you sing the whole thing out this time around?” the giant asked, “That was a whole lot more difficult than I thought it would be.”

“I have to agree,” Stygian agreed. “It’s extremely hard to remember all of that while you are singing it and have to listen to two ponies at once.”

“All right, fine,” I rolled my eyes and sang out the whole canon with none of the other voices. And I had to sing it a few times just so that they got the tune down. “So, are we ready?” I asked them. When told that they did, I started the canon once again. This time it went a little smoother as they managed to grasp the full lyrics without stumbling… to a degree. Not to say that it was flawless as they did manage to forget a line or hit the wrong note. However, impressively enough, they managed to learn this short round pretty quickly.

However, we did have to stop when we heard someone clear their throat. There in the doorway was a servant. “Lunch is ready in the Dining Room.”

“It’s noon already?” Stygian blinked, looking at the clock. We did the same as well to find that it was already close to twelve. “Well, in that case, let’s not keep them waiting.” He then turned to us, “Uh… can the three of you walk straight?”

The three of us said that while we did feel rather tipsy, we still managed to walk straight… ish. Now and then as we made our way out of the Gaming Room to the Dining Room, Somnambula and Stygian did pause to push us upright and get us to go where we needed to be. All the while, that amusing tune still fresh in our heads, we spontaneously started up the round once more. Come to think of it, I think we were still singing it by the time we entered the Dining Room.

We met the Princesses, Mage Meadowbrook, the blond unicorn who’d been chasing Flash, and two other unicorns that I’d never seen before. One was a stallion that had a beard wearing a blue cloak with stars while the other was a mare with a curved horn who, somehow, looked much older than the stallion. However, my attention was not towards them, nor the table, but rather towards Sunbutt.

“Drunk already?” she sighed.

“Your Highness,” the healer spoke up, getting out of her chair. “Ah think Ah got somethin’ ta sober them up.” Mage walked up to us, taking a bottle out from her dress. “Ya know, Ah reckoned that somethin’ like this was bound ta happen, didn’t think it’d be this soon.” After uncorking the bottle, she let the giant first to take a gulp of the strange liquid before moving on to me.

In truth, I nearly spat out whatever it was; one moment, my mouth was on fire before fading to an aftertaste of something sweet. Whatever was in that concoction, something rather curious happened, my dizziness and the foggy mind of alcohol evaporated away until I felt none of the effects at all. At first, I was confused as I asked her what we had just swallowed.

“You wanna let that settle fer a while,” she told me. “Because Ah’ve just given Y'all some of my potions for instant sobriety.”

I was amazed at this, “Hold on,” I said as she pushed me to a chair to sit. “Are you telling me that you’ve made a cure for drunkenness?” She nodded as she settled the other two down. “But how? There’s no hangover cure in the world that clears up the senses like that.”

“You’d be right,” she told me as she helped set Flash Magnus down. “There ain’t, but what Ah’ve given ya is something that helps clear up yer head in a minute.” She then helped the giant to his seat. “Of course, it works if you rest a bit fer best results.”

“Most ingenious this potion,” said I. “I never knew that such a thing existed.”

“Well, technically Ah only made it last week,” Mage returned to her seat.

“Are you feeling better Mr. Moztrot?” Celestia asked.

After licking my chops, I responded, “Sober… Oddly sober. With a taste of honeysuckle.”

“That should be useful,” the Night Princess finally spoke. “Especially for New Year.”

“Her creativity knows no bounds,” the oldest looking stallion agreed. “Even after a thousand years, she’s still innovating new cures.” Then he noticed me and asked, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe that I’ve seen you before, who are you?”

“This is Wolfgang Moztrot,” Celestia introduced for me. “He’s the last invited guest to arrive.”

“Pardon me, Your Highness,” said I. “But who are these two?”

“The one on the left is Mist Mane, and on the right was my teacher, Star Swirl.”

It was a good thing that I didn’t have anything in my mouth because otherwise I would have spat it out. “As in, ‘The Bearded’ Star Swirl?” He nodded, “I have now officially seen everything. Then again, it doesn’t surprise me anymore.”

This made the old wizard to raise an eyebrow, “How so?”

“Well, once you’ve been flung out of your own time, met more than one alicorn princess, become more famous than you could ever dream of being, been to a city that was once a fairy tale and now encountering those that have been taken out of their time too, the shock value seems to diminish somewhat.”

He shrugged, “I suppose that’s a fair point. Although did you say that you were taken out of your time as well?”

Celestia explained my situation for me as the servants brought lunch to the table. Displaying every kind of fancy food for this feast that one could imagine. From sweet and spicy carrot salad to roast beets, a hill of rolls and even pitchers of the smoothest hot chocolate. It was a buffet for the senses from the cranberry and orange sauce to wobbling, colorful towers of jelly. By the time the Day Princess had told them of my circumstance, my plate was piled high in delectable treats.

“That was rather sweet of him,” the ancient mare is known as Mist Mane commented. “To put on that concert of his family’s and friends’ music.”

“Which reminds me,” the blond unicorn finally spoken up, turning to the other alicorns. “How was the concert in Manehattan aunties?”

“We thought it was marvelous,” Princess Luna said. “And it introduced to us to a few composers that we hadn’t known existed. Like that zebra fellow that wrote that violin concerto. Or the one from your son.”

“But the best was the new carol at the end,” Celestia pointed out. “I’ve still got that tune stuck in my head.”

I smiled, “Well that’s the mark of quality when even a Princess finds something you wrote memorably.”

“Um…” Somnambula raised a skeptical eyebrow. “By ‘memorable’ do you mean shocking?”

This got the blond prince’s attention, “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s just say that he taught Rock Hoof and Flash Magnus a new kind of drinking song,” Stygian responded between bites of his roll. “The lyrics of which were perhaps the most vulgar I’ve ever heard.”

Celestia giggled, “I think that’s Moztrot in a nutshell. He may be a vulgar and at times immature stallion, but I promise you that his music is not.”

“Don’t forget funny,” the pegasi legionnaire added. “That round thing was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What kind of music do you make, young stallion?” the aged Mist Mane inquired.

“Oh, what haven’t I made?” I responded. “Dances, songs, solos, sonatas, concertos, symphonies, operas, choir pieces, I don’t think there’s anything that I haven’t done.”

“Like fugues?” Star Swirl asked after a spoonful of soup. “Where I come from, that is the most complicated form of music there is.”

“Oh, I have my fair share of those,” I waved a hoof. “In fact, I’m able to improvise one on the spot if I have to.”

“Forgive me if I find that rather unlikely,” he said with a doubtful look. “Sure, I have dabbled in music now and again, but writing fugues is very difficult, even for myself.”

“I don’t think they’re that hard as you say,” it was then that an idea came to mind. “In fact, perhaps after lunch, I could demonstrate it? Just give me a theme and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“Master Moztrot,” the giant interjected, “you don’t need to on Hearth’s Warm-”

“No, no. I think it’ll be fun. Show me a keyboard, give me a tune and I’ll give you both a prelude and a fugue without any mistakes from me.”

Star Swirl’s eyebrow didn’t drop from its risen position. “Forgive me if that, to my ears, sounds rather unlikely.”

“Tell me, sir, are you a betting stallion?” I smirked.

“I only gamble with my life, never with bits.”

“Who said that I’m wagering money? How about this: if I can improvise a flawless prelude and fugue, then you must come to my opera on Hearts and Hooves day. But if I can’t then, I’ll write an opera about everypony in this room, and do it in a week.”

“What’s an opera?” Flash inquired.

“It’s like a play only the actors on stage sing throughout,” the blond prince explained. “And trust me, they can certainly drag on longer than they’re intended to, even if the whole thing is in Equestrian.”

Star Swirl hummed in thought. “You’re rather confident about this, aren’t you?”

I nodded, “More than just confident, I know I can do it.”

“Either way, it’d be nice ta hear some music,” Mage said.

And just like that, he agreed to the bet.

One trip to the toilet later to relieve myself from all the beer and ale I had drunk that morning, I headed over to the music salon. A place that I had come to know very well in the eighth century. That particular room was the place where I first met Princess Sunbutt; just to be there was considered a high honor for any musician that had caught the attention of the royal family.

Celestia had told me that they’d meet me in the “old music room” to hear me play. No doubt she had to show them the way; still, they got there before me. Before I could set hoof in there, I was brimming in confidence in showing a pioneering wizard what a genius like me could do.

However, before I could do so, I heard Star Swirl’s voice saying, “Between you and me Celestia, I don’t quite grasp why someone like Master Moztrot is here.”

“That’s because I invited him,” Celestia replied.

“Don’t think that I don’t see your generosity, but doesn’t it make him seem out of place considering what we’re here celebrating?” I paused at this. “He said so himself that he’s from the eighth century, and we have been gone for a thousand years. I’m sure that you have a reason for inviting him here today.”

“Truth be told – I feel sorry for him.”

“In what way?”

I heard her take a calming breath, “Unlike us and your pillars, Mr. Moztrot is truly alone. While all of us have a connection in that we grew up around in the same time period, despite the cultures we came from, Wolfgang doesn’t have that luxury. He’s the only one. As much as we may tell him that it’s the year 1,007, in his head, it’s still 791. As much as I’m impressed by how he’s been able to adapt and make friends with his staff, he has no living relatives. The same goes for his friends in the past; even if there were descendants, I highly doubt they would be like the same ponies that he made friends with. He may not show it, but he’s lonely. I invited him here today, not just because of the fact that he has nopony to celebrate Hearth’s Warming with, but all of you know what it’s like by now to be displaced in a world that has changed significantly. While Moztrot’s music is making a revival, fame won’t be enough for his well-being.”

“So he needs friends?” Rock Hoof inquired.

“I think it would help in a way. What he needs is connections to those that won’t make him feel isolated.”

“But you do know that there’s a problem in your logic, Princess,” Star Swirl pointed out. “I don’t know if we could connect with him. As you said, he too is from a different time period that any of us are familiar with.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Flash interjected. “The guy has a unique sense of humor, has a catchy drinking song and he can hold his alcohol, I mean what’s not to like about him?”

“And when you hear him play,” Celestia added, “I think that music wise, he might be on the same level as you are.”

“I doubt it,” Star Swirl replied. “I have lent an ear to some modern music and I can’t exactly say that I’m impressed. So, I hope you would understand why if I find this Moztrot could impress me.”

Cueing my entrance, I pranced in, “Oh ye of little faith, if I didn’t think that I could, would be this competent?”

He sighed and he held up cotton balls in his aura, “And do you think I would have these if I didn’t doubt it?”

“I don’t think you’ll be needing those,” I went over to the keyboard, opening the lid. “Here, I’ll let you give me a theme that I can improvise on.”

With the other ponies gathered around the piano, the wizard lifted a hoof, “How about I give you two themes to use? One for the prelude and the other for the fugue – or is that a little too much for you?”

“By all means, let’s hear them.” So he did; he constructed two melodies in C Major and then he stepped back. “Good luck,” said he as he folded his forelegs.

I sat there for a solid two minutes, putting the themes together like a puzzle. I expanded, shrunk, turned them upside-down and even changed their key signature in my head. A quick listen in my mind I build the themes for both the prelude and fugue, making sure they wouldn’t clash with any of the voices required. With a nod, I placed my hooves on the keyboard.

At first, I started slowly in adagio, giving the first few bars some extra chords and trills. For the first minute, all seemed calm and unchallenging; a quick glance at the wizard showed that he was indeed unimpressed. However, I smirked as I knew he was in for a surprise. Just when it looked that the prelude had run out of energy, I let it pick up at an andante pace, giving my right hoof some gravitas while my left continued with the theme.

Ideas for variations came easily. One moment all was dark in A minor then the next, it was a busy pizzicato that climbed up and down the higher register. Each one expressed a different shade in color and texture like a painting. A fantasy in chords and emotion. As I looked over my shoulder, Star Swirl’s expression went from unimpressed to curious.

About six or so minutes in, he asked, “When are you going to begin the fugue?”

His answer came at the end of the variation I’d been performing, returning it all to C Major. For a moment, I impersonated Buch as I sat upright with a snooty mask on my face as I began the wizard’s second theme. From one voice, came two, then three and four voices that blended together in harmony, with not a note wrong with it. My greatest joy as I played out this improvised fugue was the look on Star Swirl’s face as it registered how flawless it all was. The theme rising and falling and weaving together to form this fugue might be on par with the Master of music himself. And I won a victory to see his doubt change into belief.

For the other living antiques, they could do nothing but stare as I played out the fugue while Celestia looked satisfied. And by the time I played out the final chords, so was I.

Chapter 31: Setting Up the Stage

About the day after New Year’s, my butler gave me a stack of letters. “Wolfgang, I have some good news and bad news regarding the Opera you want to produce. Which do you want to hear first?”

Looking up from the score of Beethoven’s first symphony, I chose. “Give me the bad news first, the good might even it out.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why? What do those letters say?”

“Well, the bad news is, every invitation to an orchestra has been turned down.”

My jaw dropped. “All of them?”

“From the Crystal Empire to Applewood. They give a variety of reasons, but the most common is that they have other things they need to do and they can’t afford to lose entire sections for the sake of an opera. With that being said, the good news is that the Canterlot Opera Company gladly accepts to do it as they have done in the past, with a director who’s itching to work with you.”

“But you’re saying that there’s no orchestra.” I set the score aside. “Wilfred, I can’t do this if I have no musicians. Who else am I going to get to do this in time for Heart and Hooves day?”

My butler put a hoof to his chin. “Thereisan orchestra that comes to mind that may offer assistance. Only, if my memory is correct, you did somewhat offend two of its star musicians.”

I leaped out of my chair in the library. “You do? Who is it? What group?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Forgive me if I get this wrong, but I think that you conducted that orchestra once, two hundred years ago in Canterlot.”

“What orchestra are you...” Then it all came to me what he was referring to, “You mean the Philharmonic?”

It pains me to say this, that as much as I’m regarded as a genius, there are moments in which I realize how big of an idiot I really am. This happened to be one of them. In all the chaos of what transpired, that group had completely slipped my mind. How could I have forgotten about them! They were the best-trained musicians in the land, capable of playing a piece perfectly after only a few rehearsals. They were the first to perform my music before anyone else. How can I --

“Wolfgang?” Wilfred interrupted my train of thought.

Shaking my head to clear it, I asked, “Sorry, are they busy this time of year?”

“Aside from performing the best versions of Beethoven’s Symphonies, I can’t say. But it never hurts to ask.”

“But did you say that I’ve offended someone?”

“Do you remember Octavia and Horseshoepin at your welcoming party?”

Oh… My oh my, did I have quite a bit of explaining to do.

One great advantage to Canterlot: although they may add new buildings, they don’t change the street names that often. I bring this up because it helped me to locate the place where the Philharmonic that I had known practiced and performed in. Although the theater had changed in both architecture and name, it was still at the same location: 2406 Faust Street. And as expected just from walking in, the same sign reminded those who entered to be silent while the orchestra rehearsed.

The first thing that I heard as I walked through the glass door was a trio of a piano, violin, and cello in a somber mood while the keyboard led the opening of a strange melody. Then a soprano began to sing a simple aria, like that of a lullaby. The instruments were cold as a winter night while the voice provided the only source of warmth and solace. As I entered the theater itself, the orchestra was watching this haunting quartet at center stage.

If there was a perfect setting to show how uneasy I felt at approaching the ones performing, Providence couldn’t have chosen a more perfect arrangement. For the one playing the cold cello was the same mare that I had embarrassed, while the one at the piano was the one whose music I had rearranged. Those icy chords were almost mocking me, walking on thin ice towards the stage. But given the delicacy of the circumstance, I dared not try to break their performance. So I waited to make my presence known.

“That is a curious piece,” I said aloud, finally, getting their attention. “What was it?”

“Is that Moztrot?” I heard one of the musicians ask while the cellist and pianist gave me the cold shoulder.

A blue mare hopped off the stage and went up to greet me. “This is a huge honor to have you here, Mr. Moztrot,” she said as she shook my hoof. “I’m the current conductor, Sea Sharp. And uh, to answer your question, that was called Bellman’s Lullaby, as arranged by Beethoven. So what can we do you for?”

“Well, if it’s not too inconvenient, I came here for two reasons. The first is to give a few apologies.” While this caught the attention of the cellist and pianist, the conductor was confused about what I meant by that. “What I mean is that I want to come here to explain my behavior to certain musicians here, whom I’m afraid I offended some months prior.”

“You came to apologize?” the gray mare with the black mane inquired in her Trottingham accent.

Nodding, I went up to the edge of the stage, “Indeed ma’am. I recognize you as the mare that I embarrassed with one of my party songs. Back in the world, I came from, that was considered humorous; I hadn’t considered that taste in what one finds funny would have changed over time. In the process, I must have embarrassed you in front of all those ponies that were listening when that wasn’t my intention. And you,” I pointed at the stallion at the keyboard. “I’ve started to hear more about you and how self-conscious you were with your music. What I did that night was take the spotlight away from you from what was overall a uniquely sublime piece. True, I do love a bit of mischief now and again, but that time I might have taken it a bit too far. For that, I am sorry. And I do hope that we might become friends, in a way.”

The two of them looked at one another. “Well I did remember you being drunk that night,” the stallion by the keys said. “So at least we can forgive you on that account.”

“What did you say your names were?” I asked.

“Octavia,” the mare said.

“Call me Horseshoepin, sir,” the stallion added with a nod. “So, what was the other thing that you came here for?”

“Oh! That’s right,” clearing my throat, I addressed the orchestra as a whole. “Mares and gentlecolts, Conductor, members of the Philharmonic – I know that I, personally, haven’t been in touch with any member of this orchestra since 787. However, I’ve come to you because, to be quite frank, I have literally nopony else to turn to. For you see, I’m trying to produce a particular opera for this coming Hearts and Hooves day. But the only problem I have is that, while I did get the local opera company to perform it, I have no orchestra to assist me. Since I can see that this group has grown tremendously since the last time I’ve worked with it, I ask to borrow a pair of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, and trumpets, along with timpani and strings. I know that calling upon you with only about a month and a half left is a little too soon, but I promise that those who do come will be well paid.”

A chorus of murmurs was heard, and then the conductor asked. “And which opera are we talking about?”

The very next day, I was in the foyer. Since the piano was pushed out of the way for the afternoon, I only have my clavichord to relieve my boredom. In the middle of the spherical room, I sat on a chair, nothing more than me, the instrument and two pieces of paper that came out of my Hearth’s Warming present with the interesting title: For Elise.

My guess is that whoever this was for, it was meant to be a gift of some sort. Probably a mare that had some training in music as it was a rather simple but nice-sounding piece. To me, this bagatelle wasn’t sad nor tragic but it masqueraded as a dance. For, as my hooves tapped out a rhythm, it had the feel of having a mare in one’s arms. Almost like a private love note that, although short, was dripping with a romantic intention for the recipient.

However, this was interrupted by the doorbell. With a smile, I hopped over to it. “I’ll get it, Wilfred!” I called out as I reached for the doorknob. Opening it wide, I discovered a crowd of ponies in many shapes and sizes as well as different ages. Upfront at the steps of the door was a dark green stallion with a light blue vest that matched his mustache. “Come on in everypony!”

The one up front went up to shake my hoof while the others flooded into the foyer. “Mr. Moztrot, this is a pleasure, really. I’m Stage Hoof, the director of the Canterlot Opera Company.”

“Director, come in! I’ll ring up the cook and bring out some refreshments before we get started.”

The cast of ponies, by my count about thirty, chatted freely in the rotunda area. Each of them I noticed had a little book, no doubt containing copies of the music they’d be singing. A few minutes later, Mr. Sauté rolled out a cart of a punch and a vegetable tray. Once the company was comfortable, I stood up on the chair in the middle of the room. “Everyone! Everyone! May I have your attention please?” The chatter died down as all eyes were on me. “Before we do anything, I must personally thank all of you for taking the time to perform this opera. And I know that all of you have some questions for me, but before we do, can I be introduced to all of you?”

Stage Hoof stepped up, “Well, you already know who I am. I’ll let you get to know the main cast for this production since, well, we were planning on doing this next year but given your personal invitation, we just couldn’t refuse moving it up. So anyway, let me show you the ponies that I’ve personally chosen to play in this.” And so the director plucked out of the group the mane actors: the four baritones, the two tenors, one colt that still had a soprano’s voice, three grown mares and a filly, also sopranos. The rest were to be the chorus.

“Of course, there is one thing that we’ve been curious about,” said Stage. “Where exactly are we going to perform this? Do you have a particular theater in mind?”

“I do indeed,” I smiled. “Actually, we’re already in it.”

The opera group expressed flabbergasted remarks all around the room.

“What?” the director question, “You mean like opera at home sort of a thing?”

“I can’t think of a better setting,” I said hopping down from the chair. “No theater in the world is more equipped because those that are have been turned into museums. Remember, it’s all set in a mansion, one very much like this place. Besides, those balconies and this floor have enough room to fit about nearly two hundred ponies while giving you all enough room to act.”

“But where’s the orchestra going to be playing?” one of the chorus asked.

“Top balcony, where we can see and hear everything. Besides, it’s the best place for the acoustics to reverberate because of the dome. When the time comes, I’ll conduct from up there.”

A hoof has risen, “So what time period are we setting this opera in?”

“In the true spirit of it, I want to set it in the modern day. I’m going to ask a certain seamstress I know to dress you all accordingly. I’ll be lending you props and furniture from this very house for you to use. Also (and this is from my butler) the performance is to be done in this very room -- and nowhere else. So, any other questions?”

I was asked if I’d be using one of the keyboards to help them with the music. But once all questions were answered, I picked up the clavichord and asked them if we could run through Scene One, Act One.

Weeks after the rehearsal for both cast and orchestra went underway, posters were underway to advertise the opera. Each one that was put up on walls or on windows said the exact same thing:

You are cordially invited to attend

The Marriage of Figaro

Performed by the Canterlot Opera Company and the Canterlot Philharmonic

Conducted by W. A. Moztrot.

Come see the Wedding at 1756 Golden Ray Avenue at 3 o’clock.

February 14, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22 and 23rd.

15 Bits for Adults, 10 for Children. Ask for tickets in advance.

(Translation Scrolls are provided.)

Chapter 32: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 1)

Author's Note

Okay a few things before you begin: First, from now on, I will place my focus entirely on this story. Since I got that other story done and out of the way, I can work on this.

Secondly, the original opera (while having an original plot) is roughly about three hours long. So from here, I'll try to not only summarize each act the best I can while including what I consider to be the highlights of the opera, I'll even throw in the translated dialogue much like how I did here.

So with that in mind: enjoy the show.

Chapter 32: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 1)

Even before opening day, I had been flooded with letters from posh ponies in Canterlot to as far away as Applewood, asking for seats to the opera. Not only that, but those said letters came with bits enclosed. In return, we sent them the tickets that acted as their temporary pass through the gated walls of the street. So many requests for seats came in that I was forced to extend my original nine-day performance by an extra two days. If anything, I was rather surprised at not only the turnout but by the number of ponies that came from beyond the boundaries of Canterlot.

On the morning of the performance, Wilfred directed the cast in setting up the chairs along the outer ring of the ground floor of the foyer, the second-floor tier as well as the third for the orchestra. Heavy instruments were hoisted up to the very top; luckily, the orchestra had donated an expensive electrical keyboard with control over its sound, volume, and pitch. Small and compact, it was loud enough to be heard all throughout and still give the rest of the orchestra room to play in.

For the audience, on each chair, a new type of magical scroll was placed; this wonderful thing was able to simultaneously translate the performer’s Istallion into Equestrian. That way, even if they don’t know the language, they would still be able to follow what was going on, much to my delight.

The Opera company went to and fro in modern servant uniforms, assisting the orchestra as they left their cases behind and make the climb to the third floor. “Mr. Moztrot,” the cellist Octavia said as she and another member of the chorus placed the cello down against the iron railing. “How are you today?”

“Ms. Melody, glad that my essential cellist is here. Oh, I’m really excited,” I smiled as I looked out the window to the front lawn. As expected, ponies that had purchased their tickets were waiting on the grass. “It’s not every day that you get to hold an opera inside your home.”

“Especially in a mansion,” she replied. “I’m afraid this might start a trend in Canterlot.”

“Ooh! Maybe I can conduct all of them.”

“Moztrot!”

I chuckled, “Kidding. Though I must say, this is turning out better than I thought, and we haven’t even started yet.”

The cellist looked over my shoulder, “This is going to be an interesting crowd.”

“How so? Do you know some of them?”

“For one, do you see that unicorn stallion over there,” she pointed to one that had a blue mane, darker blue suit and a lens in his eye, freely gossiping with those around him. “I believe that’s your neighbor and head patron of the arts.”

“We haven’t spoken much since his welcoming party, if anything, I was surprised to see him here.”

“That might be because he’s the biggest patron of our orchestra.”

This caught me by surprise, “Really? I thought that Celestia pays your salaries.”

She shook her head, “She stopped doing that a long time ago. Nowadays we rely on rich patrons to keep us going. Like him for example. Outside of the royal family, he’s pretty much the king patron for any artist, not just in music but art and fashion too. If you catch his attention and praise, you’re set for life.”

“Do you know him personally?”

“A little, he’s a total gentlecolt. And speaking of influential ponies,” she pointed out the window to which I spied Princess Twilight walking up the street. Not only her but her student and the orange wizard following right behind.

“Oh, I didn’t expect them to come today,” I beamed. “Still, I think we’re in for a good audience today.”

Then lagging behind came the most important audience member. It was the stallion who had lost my bet from a few months ago. It’s so good to see that Star Swirl did keep his promises. I won’t lie that, even as the crowd expressed surprise to see them there, I myself was rather curious. With Star Swirl, in particular, I couldn’t help but wonder, that since this might be his very first opera, what would he think of it?

Wilfred looked up from the ground floor, “One minute ‘til three sir,” he said. This was an exciting moment. High up above the rings of chairs, the Philharmonic, while they had some new faces, still give me the same attention as their predecessors did. Their bows at the ready, sheet music spread open, winds lips on the reeds while brass at their mouthpieces. All of them were ready on me to conduct; I stood before the keyboard, counting backward. Behind me at the windows facing the street, were a few of the chorus waiting for my signal while those at the front door waiting for theirs. Raising my hooves, I cued those at the three windows to open them wide. When I heard the lively chatter from outside, I waved my forelegs and set the beat, thus leading the orchestra into the overture.

The fleeting discussion of everyday things gave way to confusion as they heard the opening bars of the music. At the crescendo, the front doors were flung open. The excitement and anticipation flowed from the strings, winds, horns, and percussion as the audience from below entered with the chorus ushering them in. Watching from above, the audience was taken aback at the arrangement of it all while some were at awe at the simple grandeur of the foyer as the violins cascaded upon them. If anything, I could tell that they were expecting this to be a traditional setting to see an opera. So, imagine my amusement to see them react to the setting of it all. Actors and actresses intertwining with the audience that, frankly, if I didn’t know who they were, I would say that they look just like the ponies that they’re seating. Oh, what a novel experience to witness!

It was rather fitting for me to see all of this as if the overture was perfectly accompanying the ballet that was happening below. Flutes with polite conversation. Frantic debates on where to sit with trembling violins. Polite hellos and respectable acknowledgment went hoof in hoof with horns and violas.

While I conducted, I spied how the Princess of Friendship, along with Starlight and Sunburst, tried to find a seat on the second floor. Disappointingly, they chose a spot right beneath me so that I could not see them. However, the bearded wizard did take his seat on the ground floor. While it was right where I could see him, I couldn’t make out his expression from underneath that hat of his.

Yet, for the others in my heaven’s eye view, I could see nearly everything. Such as, soon as most of them were in, the “servants” brought in some of the essential things to be placed in the center of the foyer. A stand-up mirror here, a nightstand there, some clothes on the floor, an armchair in the very center, and a measuring stick. By the time the final bars of the overture, only two stood there in the center.

One was a Pegasus stallion that had on a white shirt and a black vest. He had a yellow coat and a trimmed copper beard; one hoof held the measuring stick. The other was an earth pony mare in a standard maid’s uniform. A pretty creature of a light blue complexion, with a silky, lamp black mane. She stood before the mirror with a white veil in hoof.

The overture came to an end and there was an earthquake of applause. After letting them settle down as many unraveled their translation scrolls, we began the opera with the two ponies below. The stallion paced about the floor, stopping every so often to put the measuring stick upon the marble ground. Meanwhile, the maid put on her veil, adjusting it this way and that in the mirror.

While the stallion muttered the numbers, the mare beamed about the new room. Very pleased indeed as if it were made for the couple, as well as her tailored veil. The Pegasus, playing the role of Figaro, agrees with his wife-to-be. “On this morning of our wedding,” the couple sang together at one point. “How delightful my dear one, is this pretty little hat, which Susanna made herself.”

At the end of the duet, the couple sang a short conversation.

“What are you measuring, Figaro?” the maid playing Susanna inquired.

“I’m seeing if the bed the Count has put aside for us will go well here.”

“In this room?”

“Yes, his Lordship’s generously given it to us.”

Susanna looked uneasy at the mentioning, “Keep it,” she replied.

“Why?”

“I’ve my reasons…” she rubbed a foreleg over the other before tossing him a piece of clothing. “Here.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because I choose not to,” the mare responded defensively but reprehended herself as she went over to stroke his cheek. “Are you my slave, or not?”

“I don’t understand why you so dislike the most convenient room in the palace.”

“Because I’m Susanna, and you’re a dolt.”

“Thanks, you’re too flattering,” Figaro rolled his eyes before muttering to himself. “Just see if it could go better anywhere else.” Thus, leading into the next song in which he thinks of how convenient it would be to set the bed just so, when his employer, the Count, and the Countess should ring the bells to call up upon them. That as soon as they heard it, one of them would be able to answer them quickly.

“And suppose one morning the dear Count should ring,” she sang uneasily. “Ding, ding. And send you three miles away? Dong, dong, and the demon should lead him to my door? And in three bounds…”

Figaro tries to soothe her, but something is clearly troubling her, bidding him to listen. For a moment while she asks him to banish his doubts, his fear dreads to hear what truth she may speak. “The Count,” she confesses, “tired of scouting the countryside for fresh beauties, wants to try his luck again in his own palace, though it is not his wife who whets his appetite.”

“Who then?”

“Your little Susanna.”

“You!”

“The very same. He hopes that being so close be useful to his ‘noble’ plan.” Figaro asks her to go on. “This is the gracious favor, this is the care that he bestows on you and your precious wife.”

“Have you seen such arrogance!”

“There’s better to come. Don Basilio, my singing teacher, and his go-between repeat the same theme daily when he gives my lessons.” While his fiancé was disgusted, she added: “Do you think he gave me a dowry because of your good looks? He intends me to obtain from me certain half-hours which feudal privileges…” Outraged, Figaro thought that the count had abolished such a practice. “He did, but now regrets it, and he wants to bring it back for me.”

While she was singing this, I couldn’t help but notice something rather interesting at the angle that I and Ms. Melody were carrying on the conversation. From high above, I noticed how that when the more richly looking ponies were reading the translation of it, some of them looked more uneasy than the actors before them. It’s rather curious to see how some of them were giving death glares to the other while the rest were either following the plot or looked somewhat guilty.

Ah infidelity, even centuries later, you’re still relevant today – more than ever before!

Back to the story. A set of bells were rung, summoning Susanna to the Countess. Figaro wishes her to have courage before she leaves him to be with all of us.

“Well done, my noble master!” he sang, his face boiling with anger. “Now I begin to understand the secret and to see your whole scheme clearly. To Trottingham, isn’t it? You go as a minister, I as a courier and Susanna… confidential envoy. It shall be, Figaro has said it.”

Picking up the measuring stick, holding up like a sword, the violins plucked out a noble pizzicato as Figaro sang out. “If, my dear Count, you feel like dancing, it’s I who’ll call the tune! If you come to my school, I’ll teach you how to caper.” As he sang and repeated these lines, going from calculated cool to explosive anger, the actor masterfully used the stick to convey this conflicting change of mood from dancing with it to using it as a sword.“I’ll know, I know, I know how…” He was about to charge up the stairs when he stopped halfway. “But wait – wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…” Pausing on the steps and the measuring stick under his chin, he pondered.“I can uncover his secret design more easily by dissembling.” With his wings spread, he rose into the air as his mind concocted his plan at a higher tempo. “Acting stealthy, acting openly, here stinging, there mocking, all your plots I’ll overthrow.” But getting his two hind hooves on the ground he danced with the stick. “If, my dear Count, you feel like dancing, it’s I who’ll call the tune. If you come to my school, I’ll teach you how to caper.” At the end of his aria, a bell was heard. He had to set aside his stick and fly up to the second floor and down a hallway.

After their applause for such a wonderful voice, the opera continued with two figures entering through the front door. One was the oldest stallion of the opera company, the other was a modest looking mare that seemed to be a few decades younger behind him. These two were portraying Dr. Bartolo and his old housekeeper, Marcellina. Through their singing, the mare had hired him to act as her legal consultant because, years ago, Figaro had promised her once that he would marry her if he should default on a loan that she had made to him – and hopes to have him enforce that promise. While the Doctor explains that he’s doing this for revenge, to get back at Figaro for derailing his plans of marrying Rosina, the current Countess.

Susanna comes in from the staircase, the mare below takes notice of her and says to the doctor, “And that’s the pearl of virtue he intends to marry!... One can’t hope for anything better from Figaro: money is everything.”

“Spiteful tongue!” the maid from the stairs tells the audience. “Lucky everyone knows the worth of her words.”

“Brava! Such canniness!” The mare boasted,“And those modest eyes and demure expression, as well as…”

The two of them see one another and before she and the doctor could go out the front door, Susanna rushes over to try to open it for her. These actresses, while letting the other try to leave first, exchanged in giving insults while making their words sound polite at the same time. One duet later, the mare and the doctor departed, leaving the maid alone to voice her thoughts.

“You old frump! Putting on high airs because you read two books and bored my lady in her youth.”

Thankfully, this got a snicker out of the audience that read the translation. Even I noticed that Star Swirl was chuckling underneath his hat.

Meanwhile, popping his head out from one of the wings on the ground floor, the colt playing young Cherubino cautiously looked about and spotted Susanna. While the lad was not a castrato like the original actor that played this role, he did manage to carry a tune and had a clear singing voice. An Earth Pony, he came into a suite that was much like the adults that seated above.

The maid asked why he seemed so frazzled. “Yesterday the Count found me alone with Barbarina and dismissed me. If the Countess, my lovely godmother, doesn’t get me pardoned, I’ll have to leave, I’ll never see my dear Susanna again!”

This gave a smile to her face, “Never see me again? Good! But doesn’t your heart secretly sigh any longer for the Countess?”

The page boy replied that the Countess respects him so, adding how he considers her lucky that she is able to see her whenever she wished. To help her get dressed and undressed, fixing her hairpins and such. He then noticed that the maid has something with her – it was a ribbon that was part of the nightcap of his godmother. Cherubino wanted to trade the ribbon for a song he wrote, but the maid asked that even if she accepts the song, what would she do with it.

“Read it to my lady,” he replies. “Read it for yourself, read it to Barbarina, Marcellina, read it to every mare in the palace.”

“Poor Cherubino, have you gone mad?” Susanna asked as she unfolded the sheet music, reading part of it while the lad quotes it by heart. “‘No longer know who I am, now I’m burning, now I’m ice, every mare makes me change color, every mare makes me tremble. At the very word love or beloved my heart leaps and pounds, and to speak of love fills me with a longing I can’t explain! I speak love when I’m awake, I speak love in my dreams, to stream, shade, and mountains, to flowers, grass, and fountains, to the echo, the air, the breezes, which carry away with them the sound of my fond words. And if I’ve none to hear me, I speak of love to myself.’”

After the applause from the duet, the Count comes in from the top of the staircase. The baritone was a unicorn who was a few years older than myself, but with an air of regality. His ember mane pulled back, he wore a black overcoat with a white cravat around his neck. At the very sight of him, the colt scurried off to hide behind a curtain.

The count descended the stairs and began to tenderly woo a rather uncomfortable Susanna. She tried to get him to leave so that they wouldn’t get caught, but after kissing her, he begged her to listen. The unicorn told her that since she gives him more joy than his wife if she gives him but a few minutes in the garden at night, he will pay her for life. As this exchange was going on, the mares in the audience (many of whom I assumed to be wives) gazes at their stallions became ever so more intense.

To add to the maid’s stress, another stallion came calling at the front door. After the count hid behind the armchair, she opened the door to receive a rather slimy music teacher. More like a predator, he too tried to woo her but got caught by the Count who tells him to leave. While this conflict is happening, the colt tries to hide in the pile of clothing and inches his way out of the foyer. The teacher tries to tell the Count that he has suspicions of the page colt, but the count says that he already has suspicions about him becoming rather lusty towards mares as he found him hiding underneath a tablecloth – as he lifts some clothing to reveal the very colt himself!

Of course, for the Count, this complicates things as the colt has heard and seen everything. He tells Basilio, the music teacher, to go fetch Figaro at once; but not before he asks the maid about the lad and what he was doing here. However, before they could get Figaro, the chorus comes in as his subjects to bless the Count for his nobility, generosity and chaste purity before the foals gave him flowers. As this is going on, Figaro slips in.

The Count demands to know what was going on. The clever Figaro replies, “My lord, do not disdain this humble expression of our affection. Now that you’ve abolished a privilege so painful to lovers.”

“That privilege exists no more,” the unicorn raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

“Today we’ve come to gather the first fruit of your generosity. Our wedding is already arranged. Please crown her, whom this gift of yours has preserved spotless, with this white veil, the symbol of virtue.”

Thinking fast, the Count replies with a humble mask that he doesn’t deserve such praise. And the abolishment of the privilege in his domain was to restore to nature and the rights of those under his rule. Furthermore, he promises that he will perform the ceremony, but he wants to do it before his friends in style. After dismissing the chorus, all was left was Figaro, Susanna, the Count and Cherubino in the foyer.

After telling Figaro why the lad looks unhappy, and his wife-to-be convinces the Count to pardon him, the unicorn gets an idea. “Nay, I’ll do more: there is a vacancy for an officer in my regiment. I nominate you; go at once, goodbye.” While the couple asked if he could stay for tomorrow, the Count insists that he leave at once.

Figaro congratulates him but whispers that he wants a word with him before he goes. “Goodbye, master Cherubino! How your fate changes in a moment!”

Thus, he sings the final aria of the act as he takes hold of the clothing on the floor to give him a uniform of rags. “No more, you amorous butterfly, will you go fluttering round, disturbing the peace of maids, you Narcissus, you Adonis of love. No more will you have those fine feathers, the light and dashing cap, those curls, those airs, and graces, that roseate mareish color. No more, you amorous butterfly, will you go fluttering round, disturbing the peace of maids, you Narcissus, you Adonis of love. You’ll be among warriors, by Bacchus! Long mustaches, knapsack tightly on, crossbow on your shoulder, saber at your side, head erect, bold expression, a great helmet, a head-dress, lots of honor, a little money, and instead of the fandango, marching through the mud. Over mountains, through valleys, in snow and days of heat, to the sound of blunderbusses, shells, and cannons, whose shots make your ears sing on every note! No more, you amorous butterfly, will you go fluttering round, disturbing the peace of maids, you Narcissus, you Adonis of love!”

Figaro gives a salute to him while the Count makes his exit. “Cherubino, on to victory, on to the military glory!”With him and his fiancé, they too walked off as the poor colt, with tears and shock still on his face, ran up the stairs while the orchestra plays out the fanfare to end this act. The audience applauded as they set their translation scrolls aside.

I got out of my seat and went over to the railings to shout over, “Act two will commence in ten minutes!”

Chapter 33: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 2)

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 34: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 3)

“Water, Wolfgang?” my butler asked as he held up a pitcher of ice water and a glass in his aura.

“Yes, that would be needed.” Wilfred proceeded to pour a cup for me as I turned to Ms. Melody. “How are you holding up?”

She was shaking her left hoof about, “Numb, but I can still manage. At least we’re halfway done now.”

“Nevertheless, you are doing very well, thank you.” Those last two words were directed towards Wilfred as he passed me the glass. “I know this is a rather boring part of the opera, but it is a necessary evil.”

“Have you ever been to any new operas yourself, Mr. Moztrot?” she asked. “Like for example, that new up-and-comer… uh… Wagner, I think it was? I mean, after Beethoven, such things are getting more attention.”

I told her that I hadn’t had much of a chance to do so because of how busy I had been lately. “If anything, the only source of modern entertainment that I’m getting any real enjoyment out of is either those movies or the phonograph. Both of them have been giving me some idea of what’s new. I for one hope that I can keep up.”

“Why’s that?”

After a gulp of chilly water, I answered. “For example, I have with me copies of every single thing that this Beethoven has written. While I can’t say that every little thing he wrote is a masterpiece, at the same time, there’s no doubt that he’s found a new path in music that I’ve only begun to experiment in. Yet, what Beethoven does in his symphonies and sonatas, is what I should have done. It’s frightening.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you should outright copy his style,” the cellist pointed out. “Yes, his sound did revolutionize the music industry, but that shouldn’t mean that you can’t follow your own. I can tell you, as I used to play and work for him, that I learned something that you should take to heart as well.”

I tilted my head. “And that is?”

“While playing something that is crowd-pleasing is fine, it’s more important to play something that you want to hear. And as somepony that has played everything little thing you wrote, you’ve already accomplished that despite the restrictions of your day. We still love you for it. After all, even Beethoven himself has called you ‘The Poet.’ Besides, while you might not know it, you do have more of a major influence than you realize. Even today, your music still speaks to us, as clearly as the day you wrote it. Composers still study your techniques and style to not only learn how to match you, but how to develop their own.”

“Is that so?” I asked, “What do you think of the opera?”

“Honestly?” I gave a nod, to which she responded, “While I do like Beethoven’s work, this alone is perfection. Nopony has written anything like it before. Perhaps, nopony ever will again.”

“I’d like to concur as well,” said a new voice. Ms. Melody jumped at the sight of a unicorn stallion. “I was hoping I’d have a moment to give you my thoughts on the opera, Mr. Moztrot.”

Humming in thought, my memory flipped backward to find a name to match his face. “Fancy Pants, wasn’t it?”

He nodded awkwardly, “Yes, I… I know we haven’t spoken in quite a long time. But if it’s not too sudden, I’d like to say a few things to you.”

I offered him a seat on the bench before the keyboard, to which he accepted. “Alright, since we’re resting up for the next act, what would you like to talk about?”

“Well… I suppose I owe you an explanation.” He began, “For starters, the past couple of months since your welcoming party, I was angry at you for your behavior. However, the fault was on my end as I didn’t do the research on how you werereallylike and why you drank so heavily. To be honest, I didn’t even consider your… family situation until the newspaper accounts of your Requiem performance in Saltzberg. I honestly didn’t consider that you were grieving. So I should have been more sympathetic on my part. For that, I am sorry.”

“That’s alright,” I patted him on the back. “I’ve been very busy since my return, so I didn’t notice it myself.” I laughed awkwardly. “Still, what do you think of the opera so far?”

“You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen the Marriage of Figaro, but this is by far the best cast and performance that I’ve ever seen. Why, I’d say that if you keep it up through Act Three and Four, you’ll be the toast of Canterlot.”

“Ooh! Will there be any champagne?” I grinned.

He chuckled, “Which leads to my third item: Would you be interested in coming to my dinner party this Sunday? I noticed that is your day off from performing. And don’t worry, I will bring out the best drinks I could get my hooves on just for you.”

“Done!” I shook his hoof. “It’s been a while since I had a chance to have fun. Being able to let my ponytail down for a bit.”

Mr. Pants smiled and turned to the cellist, “Ms. Melody, can I extend the invitation to you as well?”

She shook her head, “Afraid not, I’ve made a promise to my roommate to attend a jam session on Sunday.”

I tilted my head in perplexity. “Huh, I didn’t know that were sessions on making jam. Who knew?”

Ms. Melody facehoofed, “You know, I keep forgetting that you’re from the eighth century. But I’ll explain it to you later, after the performance.”

“Well anyway,” Fancy got up once more. “I wish you luck on the rest of the performance, so far, it’s been wonderful to hear you conduct it.” He bowed to me before he left.

The rest of the intermission, I went among the orchestra, giving them advice and warnings on what to watch out for in the next act. Eventually, Wilfred informed me that we were ready to begin. After returning to my seat, I noticed how that the stage setting had changed to two cushioned chairs placed at the very top of the staircase upon the second floor. Along the guard, railings were wreaths of roses and white silk that encompassed the foyer.

Once the audience has quieted down, Act Three began with the words from the Count that echoed from the library. “What a mix-up this is! An anonymous letter… The maid locked in the dressing-room… My lady flustered…” Now the audience can see him clearly as he walked into the foyer as he continued to mull over his confusion. “A pony jumping from the balcony into the garden… Then another who claims that it was he… I don’t know what to think.” The unicorn paused, putting a hoof underneath his chin. “It might have been one of my vassals. Such a herd are bold enough. But the Countess…” He shook his head, “To doubt her is an insult. She has too much respect for herself and for my honor…” Then the Count looked up at the thrones at the top of the staircase. “Honor…? What has ponykind’s frailty done with it?”

Over by the second floor, just above the Count, Susanna and the Countess peer through. “Take courage,” her ladyship advised her. “Tell him to meet you in the garden.” While the husband mused if he should find out if the Page-Colt has truly been sent away, Susanna asked the wife about Figaro. She advises her to say nothing as the Countess has a new plan. Since the original idea with Cherubino has been discovered, she decides to go in his place.

Gathering her courage, Susanna went down the stairs to get the Count’s attention. The maid asked him if he knew where there were any smelling salts because his wife was feeling rather faint. After giving the box to her, the Count said that she may keep it.

“Such ailments are not for girls in my position.” She points it out.

“A filly who loses her bridegroom on the point of winning him…” He tries to kiss her hoof but she pulls away.

“Paying Marcellina with the dowry you promised me.”

“That I promised you?” he blinked. “When?”

“That’s what I understood.”

“Yes,” his lordship mused. “If you had cared to come to an understanding.”

“It’s my duty, and my lord’s wish is my command.”

The Count’s eyes widen, realizing what she is implying. The two of them have a duet came to the conclusion that yes, indeed, Susanna will come to meet with him in the garden. While he sang with relief and joy, his wife overhead, however, looking as if her heart was shattered to the point that she had to leave. Meanwhile, while the maid tried to put up an act for him, there was something in her singing as if she was sickened inside by the situation. Still, she did promise that she would come without fail, prompting him to kiss her.

After the duet, the Count did ask, “Then why were you so distant to me this morning?”

“With the page there…”

“And to Basilio, who spoke on my behalf?”

“But what need have we of Basilio?”

He smirked, “That’s true, indeed. Promise me again, if you fail me, my dear…” As he was kissing her neck, a thought came to him. “But the Countess will be waiting for the smelling salts.”

“That was just an excuse: I couldn’t have spoken to you without one.”

Just then, the maid heard someone coming so the Count hid behind a curtain right before Figaro entered the room while she walked back up the stairs.

“Susanna,” the valet inquired as he flew up to her. “Where are you going?”

“Hush,” she replied in a whispered tone. “You’ve won your case without a lawyer.”

“What happened?” he asked as the couple walked away from the foyer.

“You’ve won your case!” The Count walked out from his hiding place, realized that he had been tricked. In a rage, he sang that because these traitors had done this, he will feel pleased about punishing them by having Figaro marry Marcellina. “Must I see a serf of mine made happy while I am left to sigh?” he questions in his aria. “Am I to see a base servant united in love to the mare I desire, who roused in me a passion she does not feel for me? Ah no! I will not give you the satisfaction of this contentment! You were not born, bold fellow, to cause me torment and indeed to laugh at my humiliation.”

As he was singing this aria, I could sense uneasiness among the audience, as if they were being forced to look into a mirror of their own sins. Now that I looked down at them like a god, it’s almost too easy to tell which one of these elite ponies are guilty for the same vice as the Count.

Once his aria had concluded, Figaro, the doctor, his housekeeper, and the music teacher walked in with the final ultimatum for the valet: Pay up or marry her. Even when Figaro pleads his appeal to his lordship, he agrees with the judgment. However, the valet still refused to marry Marcellina.

“Pay up, or marry her.” The music teacher insisted. “She lent you two thousand bits in silver.”

Just then, Figaro gets an idea, “I am of gentle birth,” he said with a cunning smile. “And without the consent of my noble parents…”

“Where are they?” the Count asked, “Who are they?”

“Let me go on looking: in ten years I hope to find them.”

“Were you found at birth?” the old doctor inquired.

“No, lost, doctor,” answered Figaro. As he spoke, the doctor’s housekeeper began to realize something. “Or rather stolen.” His debtors asked what he meant and if he has any evidence to back it up. “The gold, jewels, and embroidered clothes which, in my infancy, the bandits found upon me are the true indications of my noble birth, and moreover, this mark upon my foreleg.”

“A birthmark on your right foreleg?” the old housekeeper asked.

Figaro paused as he raised an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“Great heavens!” she exclaimed. “It is he!” they all asked her what she was going on about. “Raffaello.”

With that one word, the doctor asked Figaro about the robbers that stolen him. To which he replies that it was by a castle. With this realization too, the doctor was in shock as he told him that Marcellina, his old housekeeper, is his mother. Even Figaro couldn’t believe it when she pointed out that the doctor representing her, his father.

Now realizing that she’s his mother, Marcellina embraces her long-lost son. While the music teacher and the Count were astounded by this revelation, and realizing that the wedding between them can’t go on, Susanna comes rushing in with a bag full of bits. She comes in to plead to the count that she can pay off her husband-to-be’s debt. However, she came poorly timed as she saw that Figaro was hugging Marcellina, thereby misinterpreting what was happening.

“Already reconciled to her as a wife?” the maid was disgusted, fury filling her cheeks. “Great Heavens, how faithless!” When Figaro sees her and flies over to tell her the good news, she tells him to, “Leave me, wretch!”

“Stay a moment.” He pleads, “Listen, my dearest.”

“Listen to this!” Susanna slaps him hard in anger, thereby knocking him to the marble floor.

Fortunately, Marcellina calls on Susanna to calm her bitterness as they’ve realized that she and the Doctor were his parents. Of course, the maid couldn’t believe it at first, but as everypony in the room confirmed, her anger gave way to confusion before relief at the good news. However, not everyone was happy by the news as the furious count dragged the music teacher out of the foyer.

The Doctor, now feeling the tremendous responsibility that has been neglected, told his housekeeper that, if she wished, that he would marry her.

“Today,”Marcellina suggested. “It can be a double wedding.” She handed over some papers, “Take this contract for the sum you owe me, it is your wedding present.” Susanna in turn, gave her fiancé the purse filled with bits as did his father. Figaro thanks them for the gifts while his wife-to-be suggests going to find the Countess and her uncle to tell them what has happened in their relieved happiness.

As the four of them leave, two characters walked into the foyer from the kitchen, an adorable young sky-blue mare dragging the page colt by the foreleg. “Come, dear page,” she sang. “In our house you’ll find the prettiest fillies on the estate, and you shall be the prettiest of them all.”

Cherubino however, looked about the room in a panic. “But woe to me if the Count should find me. You know he thinks I’ve already left.”

“Oh well, if he does find you it won’t be anything new,” she points out as he drags him towards the front door. “Listen! We’re going to dress you like one of us. Then we’ll all go to present flowers to our lady. Cherubino,” she patted his head. “Have faith in Barbarina.” With that, the two of them make their escape out of the house.

The Countess returns from the second floor but is disappointed to find that the foyer is empty.

“Susanna has not come,” she sang as she headed towards the thrones at the top of the staircase. “I’m impatient to know what the Count said to her proposal. The plan seems to me somewhat rash, and with a husband so reckless and jealous!”

Glancing at her husband’s seat, she thought aloud, “But… where’s the harm? To change my clothes with those of Susanna, and hers with mine, under cover of darkness…” Then she slowly walks down the steps of the stairs. “Oh heavens! To what humiliation am I reduced by a cruel husband! In a strange mixture of infidelity, jealousy, and disdain, he first loved me.” Pausing to sit down, she added, “Then neglected me, and finally deceived me. He now forces me to seek help from my servant!”

For one moment of silence, she took out a locket that held the picture of her once beloved. “Where are those happy moments of sweetness and pleasure? Where have they gone, those vows of a deceiving tongue?” Dropping the locket upon the steps, she covers her face to withhold her tears. “Then why, if everything for me is changing to tears of grief, has the memory of that happiness not faded from my breast?” As she repeated those verses, I glanced at the audience to notice how some of the wives were doing their best to keep their eyes dry as they read the translation. But the Countess, while feeling weakened, stood up with determination. “Ah! If only my constancy in yearning for him lovingly could bring hope of changing his ungrateful heart!” Ah yes, as she repeated this final line, her confidence was reborn from the ashes of her heart. She will get her spouse back, one way or another.

Out from the kitchen doors, the Count and the Gardener walked across the foyer, neither noticing the Countess who was on the stairs. The Gardener voiced his suspicions that the Page Colt is still in the palace, and has the cap to prove it. Not only that, but according to him, he divested his own clothing to steal a mare’s outfit. He wants the Count to see this as they go through the front door.

Meanwhile, Susanna enters but hides until his lordship leaves so that she may come out.

“What did the Count say then?” the Countess asked as the two of them were alone.

“You could read his anger in his face.”

“Gently now,” her ladyship advised. “It will be easier to catch him. Where is the rendezvous that you suggested?”

“In the garden.”

The Countess smiled as an idea began to form in her head. “Let’s fix a place for it. Write to him.”

“I write?” her maid blinked, “But my lady-”

“Write, I tell you, and I’ll take it all upon myself.” While she sat on the step of the stairs, Susanna takes out a small notebook with a pen. “A song to the Zephyr.”

Out of the oboes and clarinets, an airy melody emerged as Susanna repeats, “To the Zephyr.”

“‘How sweet the breeze…’” the Countess begins to dictate.

“The breeze,” her maid repeats as she scribbles it down.

“‘…. Will be this evening…’”

“Be this evening.”

“‘…. In the pine grove.’”

“In the pine grove?”

The Countess nodded, “In the pine grove.” With a smile, she adds, “The rest he’ll understand.”

Once the note was written up, Susanna gave the letter to her ladyship to review it. What follows… honestly, to me, is the most memorable thing in the entire opera. These two mares, these actresses had the right voices to give that hypnotic effect to those who hear it. Off the walls of the rotunda, the heavenly sound bounced while they wove their gorgeous tapestry of harmony. Why, sirens of old wish they could sing a spell like these two in that moment of bliss.

But I’m rambling on.

After the note was folded, Susanna realized that she had nothing to seal it with. To which, the Countess pulled out a hairpin. “Wait.” Her ladyship adds, “Write on the back of the letter: ‘Send back the seal.’’”

Then her ears perked up as she heard ponies coming to the front door. Once opened, a rush of young fillies holding flowers came towards the mares. In the chorus, they sang to the Countess to accept the roses as a token of their affection. Barbarina was in the lead, presenting her rose to her, “These my lady, are the fillies of the district. They offer what little they have and beg pardon for being so bold.” While the Countess thanked them, she was rather curious about one particular “filly” that seems to hide “her” face underneath a straw hat. “That’s one of my cousins,” young Barbarina explained. “Who’s come yesterday evening for the wedding."

“We should honor this fair stranger.” The Countess smiled as she bid the stranger to draw near and to let her the flower. She chuckles when the “cousin” jerked a foreleg over to present the flower. “How she blushes! Susanna, don’t you think she resembles someone?”

Just then, the Gardener and the Count bursts into the foyer, “There you are!” the gardener pulls off the straw hat to reveal an embarrassed Cherubino. “There’s your officer!”

The Count turned to his wife. “Well, madam?”

“My lord, I am as annoyed and surprised as you are.”

He raises an eyebrow, “But this morning…”

She quickly thinks up the excuse that they wanted to dress him up for the party after the wedding. Thus, the Count, with rage in his voice turned to the colt, questioning why he hadn’t left yet. But fortunately, Barbarina intervenes. “Your lordship,” she slips over to his side, “You’ve told me so often when you caressed and kissed me: ‘Barbarina, if you love me I’ll give you whatever you want.’”

Two things at once happened when she sang this line: the first was that the Countess gave him a death glare as if she were mere seconds away from murdering him on the spot. The other was from the audience in which I could practically hear every plothole in the room uncomfortably shut tight. I wonder why.

“I-I said that?” the Count asked.

“You did. So please give me, sir, Cherubino for a husband, and I’ll love you as I love my kitten.”

“Well, now it’s your turn,” his wife exclaimed through her teeth as she stormed out of the room.

The Count turned to the page colt as he lit up his horn to drag him out of the foyer as well. “Well done, my ‘filly!’ You’ve learned your lesson well. What pony, demon or god turns everything against me?”

Just then, Figaro comes in, telling the Count that if they keep these other fillies here, there’ll be no party or dancing. This gave his lordship pause as he thought that his valet has an injured hoof. After taking a leap in the air, he tells him that it doesn’t hurt anymore. Figaro tries to have the other fillies, including Cherubino to get ready for the wedding, but the Count and the Gardener stop him to question him about the colt.

“Here’s someone who says my nephew-to-be is a liar,” the gardener sang as he took off the straw hat and places the military cap upon the colt’s head.

Figaro acts surprised and asked for his story.

“No story,” the Count replies, “but he says he jumped on the carnations this morning.”

“He says so?” Figaro gestured over to the gardener. “Well, if I jumped, it is possible that he too could have done the same.”

“He too?”

“Why not? I never dispute what I don’t know.” Just then, a marching melody came from outside of the mansion. “There’s the march, let’s go. Take your places, ladies.” He reached over to his wife-to-be, “Susanna, give me your arm.” The two of them, plus Barbarina and Cherubino follow them out the front door as the music was getting louder.

“Such presumption!” the Count grumbled as his wife comes into the foyer. “My lady-”

“Say no more now!” she responds coldly. “Here are two couples: we must receive them. One especially has your protection. Let’s sit.”

“Let’s sit,” he too agreed coldly. “And plan my revenge.” The two of them walked up on opposite sides of the staircase so that they may sit on their thrones. From outside, the march became louder until, at the crescendo, the front door opened to a procession of the chorus. Barbarina and Cherubino marked the path for the couples, tossing white petals about before they sang their praises to the Count.

“Faithful and honorable fillies, sing praises to your wise lord. By renouncing a right which outraged and offended, he leaves you pure for your lovers.”

As these two sang, Figaro and Susanna with the doctor and his housekeeper marched in, hoof in hoof. They walked up both staircases to the top, where they were married.

From the chorus, the three couples walked down the stairs as the tossed-up flower petals and rice. “Let us sing praises to our wise lord!” Now on the marble floor, the three of them performed a minuet. Strings and winds carried out this elegant dance as they gracefully moved about. At one point, Susanna hands the Count the note, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Figaro.

The Count, taking the note, had to leave the dance floor to open it. However, not without pricking his hoof, “Just like a mare, to stick pins everywhere.” He opens it, “Ah, ha! I see her meaning.”

Figaro raises an eyebrow in suspicion. “Some flirt, in passing, has slipped him a love letter sealed with a pin. It has pricked his hoof.” His newly wedded wife slips over to his side, he masks his concern with a smirk as their Count goes to his wife. “Our Narcissus is looking for her; what fun!”

The Count climbs the stairs, however, as he raises a hoof to get everypony’s attention. “Now go friends, and let the wedding celebration be arranged for this evening with the richest ceremony. I wish there to be a splendid entertainment, with singing and fireworks, a grand banquet and a grand ball. You shall see how I treat those dear to me.”

To this, the chorus congratulates the couples while singing praises to the Count and the wife who exits the room unexpectedly. Although they too began to leave through the front door, leaving only the two couples behind, their cheers and congratulations still rang as the third act came to a close.

“Faithful and honorable fillies, sing praises to your wise lord. By renouncing a right which outraged and offended, he leaves you pure for your lovers.”

At the final chords, I also noticed that a mare in the audience got up and left in a full rage before the stallion next to her rushed after her. I told the audience that the final act will commence in ten minutes, but my curiosity also compelled me to go see what that sudden anger from that mare was about.

Chapter 35: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 4)

Some ponies would say that this should be none of my business. That I should leave these personal affairs alone for others to sort them out. However, that goes against my curious nature. After all, when you notice that someone left the previous act in such a rage, you can’t help but see if everything is all right.

Down the stairs to the second floor, through the ponies that wanted to say hello, getting past them to go down a hallway, and there at the other end was a stallion knocking on my bedroom doors. As I trotted over, it became clear that he and his marefriend were the same couple that had unexpectedly left.

“Can we not do this right now?” the stallion groaned. “Especially in front of everypony? In Moztrot’s own house?” This was a gray stallion that, judging from his appearance, was at least a few years younger than I was. The unicorn with glasses was oblivious of me at first as he knocked on the doors again.

“You do know that it’s useless to uphold the façade,” a mare’s voice scolded through the double doors.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t act dumb you cheating bastard! It’s rather funny how art imitates life – why it’s almost as if Moztrot knew the sad state of our marriage.”

“Uh… excuse me,” I spoke up, thus getting their attention. “Is everything all right?”

“M-Mr. Moztrot? The stallion blinked.

“It’s rather hard not to become curious when some of the audience members unexpectedly storm out when the opera hasn’t finished. I know this is a stupid question, but were you two quarreling?”

“What?” the husband lied, “No no. Not at all, it’s just that she was looking for a bathroom to powder her nose.”

I raised an eyebrow, “An interesting location as that happens to be my bedroom.”

At this one of the doors opened, and the wife stepped out. She was a yellow unicorn whose noticeable features included the pink and turquoise jewelry that set off her pink overcoat, whose sleeves were tied around her neck like a cape. “This is your room?” she asked me. “Oh I… I’m sorry I didn’t --”

“Don’t be,” I waved it off. “But is there something wrong? My opera didn’t offend either of you two did it?”

“Oh no! Not at all,” the wife glared at her spouse. “Although, that Count did happen to remind me of a certain someone that, coincidentally enough, I caught in bed with the maid.”

“For the love of,” he grumbled, “It was not what you thought it was!”

“Really now? What was she doing then? Dusting off balls?”

These two were like watching a fire getting near to a powder keg so I had to separate them. “Please, if either of you is planning on drawing blood, do it outside, otherwise Wilfred would scold you for untidiness.”

Both of them looked at me in confusion, “Who’s Wilfred?”

“My butler, and one that you don’t want to deal with if you make a mess. So, who are you two again? I’m afraid I haven’t caught either of your names.”

The two of them managed to cool down. The stallion introduced himself, “My name is Jet Set, and this is my wife, Upper Crust. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss something else.”

“What do you think of the opera so far?” I asked. “I’m curious to see a modern audience’s reaction to something over two centuries old.”

“I don’t usually care for opera all that much,” Upper Crust said. “No offense to you, but before we’ve almost never been given any idea what the actors were saying, to begin with. Those translation scrolls are a tremendous help in grasping what’s going on. Honestly, I didn’t know that someone like you would write about such a thing.”

My eyebrow was compelled to rise. “If you’re referring to the words being said, that was from someone else, I just chose the story to write music to. At the time, I found it funny, interesting and full of good characters to play with. That and it was complex too. Which I think is a good way to get your audience’s attention.”

“To be honest,” Jet said, rubbing a foreleg. “I’d never seen this opera before. The only reason why we came at all was that Fancy Pants was going to it. You are back in fashion, after all.”

“So… You two have never seen this before?” they shook their heads.

“All I know that it’s very famous,” Upper Crust explained. “And I have heard a few of the songs before. I didn’t know that they came from this.”

“But what do you think of it so far?” I questioned. “Even if it’s a little too -- relatable for you two.”

They glanced at one another for a moment, “If anything,” said Jet. “It’s almost accurate to the point where it’s frightening. Although, we don’t want to go into detail how much of it matches reality.”

“Well as the composer, let me assure you both with the exact same thing I said to Celestia, which is that these characters are not based on anypony living or dead. No matter what my wife might have said.”

“Pardon?” they said in unison.

“Nothing,” I lied. “However, I must confess that it’s a relief for me that something like this has lasted this long. In fact, the conflict with the Count and the Countess was commonplace back where I come from. Yes, infidelity that was rampant. I mean…” my cheeks turned pink. “Even before I met my wife, I too was guilty of this.”

This took the couple completely by surprise. “You!” Upper Crust exclaimed. “But… You’re Moztrot.”

“Yes, thank you for jerking and lubricating my ego, that’s very kind of you.” I giggled. “But I’m no demigod. I’m a pony like you two. I too have passions, urges, and feelings like any other. Even after I married my wife, I had fallen in love with what few students I had. But even then, as I was writing this, I did learn something.”

“Which was?” Jet’s curiosity was peaked.

“True beauty can never truly fade, but you do need to be reminded of it every once in a while. After all, isn’t it the nature of ponies? We at times, we lose what matters to us, thus we make mistakes so that we may learn from our follies. However, there is one important thing to learn: while we are all students and teachers, patience is always the key.”

The mare blinked, “Wow. I never took you to be the philosophical kind.”

“You must be confusing me with Star Swirl, I’m just an idiot.” I stuck my tongue out playfully, giggling. “And who knows, perhaps you two would learn the same lesson that the Count and his wife had learned.”

“Which is?” the husband inquired.

“Oh, I can’t tell you that yet! It’s no fun to spoil a perfectly good story. Besides, there will be champagne after the opera.”

“You have champagne?”

“It wouldn’t be a wedding if you didn’t have a few bottles on ice. Now come! We’re starting the final act very soon.”

The couple said that they would do just that shortly. This allowed me to return to the rotunda to find the chorus (at least, those who are able to fly) hard at work draping the windows and the glass dome in a black fabric with holes to look like the night sky. Even the electric candelabras along the wall and the chandelier were lit, but not too. On the ground floor, small trees and bushes in potted plants were arranged to simulate a garden.

This simple set was enough to impress the audience even before starting the music. So I climbed up towards the top of the stairs, where the orchestra was waiting for me. Returning to my spot, I noted Jet and Upper making towards their seats. I smiled as it would seem that might resolve their quarrel.

Soon after, the final act began as Barbarina walked into the dimly lit rotunda, worry and dread upon her face. I raised my forelegs, watching all around as the strings, including Octavia, raised their bows to begin. When everypony was ready, I lead them into the dark, slow opening.

The opening was simple, but it painted a sort of quiet melancholy that was constantly moving. Much like how the filly search was clearly becoming fruitless. The violins tried to uphold the façade of being calm, but even they realized the seriousness of the circumstances.

“Oh dear me, I’ve lost it! Wherever can it be? I can’t find it.” While this tiny aria was slow, it was short and to the point as Barbarina conveyed her dread. “My cousin and my lord, what will he say?”

Entering from the wings of the hallway was Figaro who asked what the matter was. “I’ve lost it, cousin.” She sang, “The pin his lordship gave me to take back to Susanna.”

“To Susanna?” Figaro questioned, “The pin? So young and already so dutiful?”

“Why are you angry with me?”

“Can’t you see I’m joking,” and with a clever idea in his head, the valet plucked a hairpin out of his cousin’s mane. “Look,” he sang. “This is the pin the Count gave you to take back to Susanna. It was used to seal a note. You see, I know all about it.”

“Then why ask me if you know it all?”

He shrugged, “I wanted to hear how his lordship sent you on this errand.”

“Nothing remarkable,” Barbarina told him as she took the pin back as she quoted what her master said, “‘Here, my filly, take this pin to pretty Susanna and say: this is the seal of the pine grove.’ And then he added: ‘Take care no one sees you!’ But you won’t tell.”

“Trust me,” Figaro responded coldly. After biding his cousin farewell and off to see Susanna then to Cherubino, the Pegasus was then visited by his mother. He tells her that it’s all over between him and his newly-wedded wife.

“Patience,” she sang. “Patience, and yet more patience. Things are serious, and we must think them out. But wait, you don’t know whom the joke is on.”

“Oh mother, that pin was the one he picked up a little while ago.”

“True,” she agrees. “But this only justifies your being on your guard and keeping your eyes open. But you don’t know if in fact-”

“I’ll be on the alert! I know where the meeting has been arranged for.” As Figaro spread his wings, his mother asks him where he’s going. “To avenge all husbands. Farewell.” And with that, the valet flew up and down a hallway on the second floor. His mother, meanwhile, feels that she must warn Susanna as she believes to be innocent.

One aria that, in hindsight, was completely pointless later, she leaves as Figaro reappears along with his newly discovered Father and the music teacher that hides in the shadows. The Valet lands on the iron railing, his ears cocked this way and that. “Who goes there?”

“Those whom you invited to come,” the teacher replies cryptically.

“What a scowl! Do not go away from hereabouts. I must go and give some instructions; I’ll be back very shortly. When I whistle, all of you rush out.” Figaro disappears into the wings once again and the two stallions walked out into the dim light.

“He has Discord within him,” the teacher comments.

The valet’s father questions, “But what’s amiss?”

“Nothing. Susanna pleases the Count. She agreed to meet him, and that doesn’t please Figaro.”

“So what? Should he bear that calmly?”

“Couldn’t he bear what so many have to bear? And then, listen: what would he gain by it? In this world, it is always dangerous to clash with important ponies. They can give away ninety percent and still win.”

Another aria from him later, (in hindsight, I could have written it out of the opera, too, and not lose anything) the two of them depart and Figaro comes back in from the top of the staircase. He starts his aria, his mind swimming with confusion and betrayal that this, his sweet Susanna, would shatter his trust and his heart. “Oh Susanna,”he laments.“Susanna, what anguish you have cost me! With that sweet face… With those innocent eyes… Who would have believed it!”

Now on the ground floor, his anger explodes at not just his newly-wedded wife’s betrayal, but towards all the female sex. Unleashing his rant to the sky. “Ah, to trust mares is sheer folly. Just open your eyes, you rash and foolish stallions, look at these mares, see them as they are. These goddesses, so called by intoxicated senses, are offered tribute by undermined reason. They are witches who cast spells for our torment, sirens who sing for our confusion, night owls who fascinate in order to pluck us, comets who dazzle to deprive us of light. They are thorned roses, alluring vixens, smiling she-bears, malign doves, masters of deceit, friends of distress, who cheat and lie, feel no love and have no pity. No, No! The rest I need not say, for everyone knows it already.”

I will admit, during his aria, every single mare in that audience (as well as the orchestra) was staring steel tipped arrows at me. It was a rather uncomfortable feeling. Even when I looked over to Octavia, even though we had rehearsed this, whenever we got to this aria, there was something in her eyes that said she was about ready to throw me off the balcony.

Anyway…

Figaro hears someone coming so he goes to hide behind one of the bushes. From a hallway, two figures in black emerged. The Countess now wore the maid’s apron and wedding veil that not only covered her face but her horn as well. Susanna followed behind but was in her lady’s clothes including a hat that would have hidden her horn if she had one.

“Madame,” Susanna asks, “you are trembling: are you cold?”

“The night is rather chilly. I’ll go in.”

“Now comes the climax of the drama.” Figaro mocked from his hiding place.

“If your ladyship will allow me,” the maid in disguise suggested.“I’ll stay among these trees to take the air for half an hour.”

“To take the air!” Figaro muttered.

“Stay, and take your time.” The Countess replied. But her maid smiled as she noticed movement from the bushes.

“The rascal’s watching,” she sings with a smirk to her ladyship. “So we’ll have some fun. We’ll reward him for his doubts.” Another aria came in which, with soothing clarinets, and pizzicato of violins, they harmonized hope underneath the darkening sky. While she sings of confidence that her love will not fade in this lovely garden, Figaro silently wonders which lover she was referring to.

After Susanna scurries away, the hidden Countess now glides towards the center of the foyer. While the Valet had thought that he had discovered in how his wife was deceiving him, the Page-Colt came in through the kitchen. Cherubino was looking for Barbarina, and while he spotted a mare in the dark, he wasn’t exactly sure who it was. Judging by the apron, he thought he recognized her as Susanna. The Countess, meanwhile, tries to shoo him away before her husband comes.

Then the Count came down from the top of the staircase, his heart full of passion. The Countess tells Cherubino to go away, but the colt won’t go without a kiss. Of course, if his lordship discovered him, he’d punch him in the face… or at least he would if Figaro hadn’t stood up just then. After Cherubino is scared off, the Count was now free with “Susanna” in the dark.

“At last that impudent fellow’s gone.” His lordship sang as he turned to his disguised wife. “Come nearer, my dear.”

“As you wish. Here I am, my lord.”

Figaro, still rubbing his snout, commented, “What an obliging filly! What an open-hearted bride!”

Both of the now eloped lovers sang in the cover of night, linking hoof in hoof. While the Valet is livid with jealousy, the wife was trying her best to keep from laughing at what was truly happening. “Besides your dowry, my dearest,” sang the Count as his horn glowed to levitate a golden bracelet. “Take this jewel too, which a lover gives you a token of his love.”

“Susanna accepts everything from her benefactor,” his wife replied with intended bad acting. “My lord, I see the glow of torches.”

“Come then, my Aphrodite, let us conceal ourselves.”

While Figaro was crushed at this moment, the two of them continue with the Countess asking: “In the dark, my lord?”

“That’s what I want. You know I’m not going there in order to read.”

The couple rushes out down a hallway, thus giving Figaro a chance to come out into the open, humiliated and heartbroken. It is in this moment that the hidden Susanna decides to appear at the top of the staircase, calling him to be quiet.

“You came in time,” he sings to her. “There you’ll see for yourself the Count and my bride. You can touch them with your own hoof.”

“Speak a little softer,” she replies, and as she sings, the groom slowly realizes something about her. “I shall not stir from here, but I will be avenged.”

Figaro grins happily, as he realizes that not only is he being tricked, but that the one doing it is none other than – “Susanna! Be avenged?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, if my lady wishes it!” Taking off his overcoat, Figaro flies up the stairs. “Here I kneel at your hooves. My heart is full of fire. Look at this spot. Think about how you were betrayed.”

Susanna on the other hoof wasn’t so much impressed by her groom’s honeyed words as more disgusted than anything. “How my hoof itches!”

“How my bosom heaves!” replied the valet.

“I’m impatient, I’m furious!”

“I’m impatient, I’m on fire!”

“Without any love?” she asks, ready to hit him across the face.

“Let my indignation be sufficient. Let’s waste no more time in vain. Give me-”

“Take it, sir!” And just like that, she punches him dead in the muzzle. “And that, and that as well!” She keeps singing as she was delivering blow after blow.

“Don’t beat me so fast,” Figaro cries abjectly, but she keeps hitting him. “How sweet these blows! How happy is my love!”

“That’ll teach you, false one, to play the seducer!”

Poor Susanna looked like she was on the edge of crying when her husband comforted her. “Now peace, my dearest treasure, I recognized the voice I love and which keeps my heart in thrall.”

She pauses, “My voice?”

“The voice I adore. Then peace, my dearest treasure, peace, my sweetest love.” The two of them echoed in reconciliation. But the two of them couldn’t celebrate just yet, as they hear the Count trying to find Susanna. “That’s the Count,” they sang in unison. “I recognize his voice.”

While their lordship is calling for his new beloved, Susanna tells Figaro that she’s relieved that the Count didn’t realize that they simply switched clothes. “Let’s end this comedy, my dearest, and console this strange lover.” And just like so, the two of them act in the open with his wife taking the part of the Countess that he’s trying to seduce.

The Count enters, furious to see that his valet was trying to practically hump what he thinks is his wife. Catching them, he calls out to arms as the cast comes in to see what was going on. “The scoundrel has betrayed me,” he accuses, “shame me, and you shall see with whom.” While the spectators had found themselves bewildered, he brings out what he thinks is to be his wife. Susanna, along the mother Marcellina, Cherubino, Barbarina and Figaro pleaded for forgiveness, the Count tells them that such a thing is hopeless.

That was until the voice of the Countess was heard as she entered from the top of the staircase. “At least let me plead forgiveness for them.” As she enters, she lifts up a foreleg to reveal the same bracelet that his husband had given to her as he thought to be Susanna.

The Count, now realized the nature of this prank, has his perspective turned upside down. The mare that he was trying to seduce was the one that he had loved years ago. And on that night, she reminded him of why. He walks over to the staircase as, in that moment of silence, he sits down next to her, his head bowed low.

“My Countess, forgive me.”His voice, for the first time since they were married, was tender and repentant. After he says those words, a brief moment of silence as his wife looks at him, before reaching her hoof to be placed upon his.

“I am kinder: I will say ‘yes.’”

Vulnerable, the Count nuzzled his head in her withers as her forelegs hugged him as the chorus swelled in absolute, forgiving, tender resolution. “Then let us all be happy.” In these simple words, I saw in that dim light, genuine tears that showed that my audience was indeed moved by this sound that healed them with every passing bar. Even now, it is a moment that I am most proud of accomplishing. Misery and despair were resolved in that one, sweet moment that was unstoppable. Love incarnate echoed through the halls of my home, as in that resolution, the chorus sang their happily ever after.

“This day of torment, of caprices and folly, love alone can end in contentment and joy. Lovers and friends, to the dancing! Let’s set off the fireworks! And to the sound of a joyful march let’s all hurry off to celebrate.” Thus, in the final, golden chords of brass, winds, strings, and percussion, the opera was drawn to a close.

The applause was beautiful and loud as the starry curtains were pulled aside to let the natural light in. Actors and actresses gathered around in a circle on the ground floor to bow as the audience from the main and second floors stomped and cheered. They waved their forelegs upward to the orchestra above, at which point I signaled them to stand and take a bow, too.

It wasn’t hard to convince a good chunk of the audience to stay when bottles and glasses of champagne were being passed around. They swarmed around both the musicians and the actors, congratulating us for this risky, but well paid off performance. I went up to the colt that played Cherubino to say to him, “Bravo magnifica!” I cheered to him. “That was fantastic back there!”

“Thank you Mr. Moztrot,” he said as he sat on one of the chairs. “If you don’t mind, I’m really tired, but it was a lot of fun.”

“Pardon us, Mr. Moztrot,” I turned to find Princess Twilight, along with Sunburst and Starlight there holding up a glass. “Congratulations on your success,” the purple alicorn said. “This was worth coming up here with some of my friends.” Her tiny entourage, in turn, said the exact same thing.

“That is excellent to hear,” I replied, “At last, my flop has turned into a hit. Who knew the secret was to wait a couple hundred years?”

“Yes, and we have to do all that again tomorrow,” the colt pointed out as he was lying down on his back upon the cushion.

A blue aura helped turned him over, “I think everypony here did an excellent job,” said Fancy Pants. “After all, this is truly a triumph. Hooves down the best cast and orchestrated version of the opera I’ve ever heard.”

“Maybe you could make a suite of it sometime,” Sunburst suggested. “Just to give everyone some of your best hits in a way.”

While I hummed, completing such a score in my head, I felt a tap on my shoulder to find Jet Set and Upper Crust there. “We’re going to go home from here,” the husband told me. “But before we go, we just want to say thanks.”

I blinked, “What for?”

“Giving us a new perspective on things I guess,” Upper Crust said. “While I can’t say if things will be good from here on out, I can say that this opera and what you said earlier is some of the greatest advice we’ve been given. At the moment, we have some things to talk about when we get home.”

“Oh don’t thank me,” I bowed a little. “I’m just a composer.”

But they thanked me nevertheless and went out.

Yet, among all the ponies that came up to speak to me, the orchestra and the cast, there was one pony that I hadn’t seen. Star Swirl. I looked about high and low, but I didn’t find him at first. However, from a window, I saw he was actually outside, sitting beneath one of the trees. So stepping out into the open air, I went up to him with a glass of sweet champagne in hoof.

“There you are, I’ve spent a good ten minutes looking for you,” I said as I approached him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Reflecting,” he replied, and I asked him what he meant. The beardy wizard didn’t respond at first, but he told me to sit down next to him. “Do you know what the worst part of being in the future?” I shook my head, “It’s that the longer you remain here, the more you realize how out of date you really are.”

“Out of date?” I cocked my head to the side. “Forgive me sir, but I don’t fully understand.”

“What I mean is that the knowledge and talent you have acquired over the years doesn’t mean much when you’re surrounded by ponies that have gone above and beyond. It’s as if suddenly all the accomplishments you’ve made is foal’s play compared to what they, and by extension, you can do. Take that music I’ve just heard. At the time, where I came from, I was considered to be the greatest musician as I practically invented a way to write music that anypony can play off from. A whole new writing system that revolutionized music itself.”

Now, this surprised me, “Wait! You’re a musician too?”

He nodded, “I dabbled in many things, not just in magic or music, but whatever knowledge I could get my hooves on and learn how to be good at it. Ponies now would consider me the first renaissance stallion. Though granted, I could play the mandolin and the lyre as I sang my songs, but that…” he pointed at my home. “You, sir, had done something that I couldn’t do. You moved others from joy to tears and back again. The ending to that opera will haunt ponies even after we’re gone.” Star Swirl placed a hoof on my shoulder, “You should be proud of that. Where I have experimented, you sir have perfected the art beyond perfection. To that, you’ve now earned my undying respect.”

“Then let me offer you this glass, my friend.”

Chapter 36: A Promise to Keep

By the time that March came around, and the opera had proven to be a success beyond my wildest dreams, Wilfred reminded me of a promise that I once made. Especially towards a gifted filly in Ponyville. The winter coat I had received a few months prior had not only kept me warm but was rather stylish as well. Besides, my usual red overcoat was in need of repair as some of the golden buttons were coming off.

So after the Marriage of Figaro had finished its run, I wrote a letter to the filly’s older sister that I was open to teaching her in exchange for my clothes being repaired, or for new ones to add to my limited wardrobe. Over the next few days, I negotiated with Rarity about the place and time for Sweetie Belle’s lessons in composition. It was decided that I should be the one to come down to the town after Winter Wrap Up.

Wilfred went down with me by train on the day of the first lesson. I sat on my seat with a sack of composition books (pencils included) on one side and my favorite violin in its case on the other. My butler sat on the other side. He asked me, “Do you feel ready to do this?”

“What? Teaching?” I glanced out the window at the passing countryside. “It has been a long time, yes, but I’m not nervous about it if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t ask if you were nervous. I asked if you felt ready to do it. Teaching someone composition, that is.”

With a smirk on my lips, I replied, “Oh shame on you, Wilfred. I’ll leave those monotonous piano, violin and singing lessons to ponies who cannot do anything but play the instruments. I am a composer after all.” Turning my attention back to him, I added: “Besides, from what I saw from the filly’s work, I’m grateful that she has an imagination. Teaching composition is impossible if the student or the teacher doesn’t have it.”

“How exactly are you planning on teaching her?”

“Ohh I have several ideas in my head. From having her do variations or improvise. However, I do want to see how the gears in her head turn so that I have some idea what kind of composer I’m working with.”

Several minutes later, the train arrived in Ponyville and we went straight to the boutique. As expected, the tailor Rarity was the first to greet us with her little sister behind. I had to surrender my beautiful red coat to her; she did say that she would have it repaired by the end of the lessons. I turned to the little composer and asked, “So where do you do your work?”

“On a good day like this,” she said, looking out of the window, “there’s a place not too far from here where I like to write my music. Near a pond.”

I blinked, “You compose outside? Would your sister allow it?”

“Just as long you return to the shop to pick up your overcoat, I won’t mind,” the seamstress said as she placed the coat on a table, examining it. “Just remember to come back here in an hour.”

“This way, Mr. Moztrot,” the filly said as she snatched up some blank sheet music and a pencil before showing us out. Wilfred and I followed her for a brief walk until she stopped underneath a tall umbrella tree that drooped over a pond.

As soon as we arrived there, I asked her, “Why do you work here?”

“Let’s face it,” she said. “My home isn’t always quiet with Rarity’s sewing machine and certain loud customers. Here, however, it’s always quiet enough to give me some time to think. Weather permitting, that is.”

“Ah, I see.” As I took out my composition book, my butler sat the case down to take the violin out and rosin up the bow. “Thank you, Wilfred,” I said as he gently leaned bow and instrument against the tree. He then teleported to the other side of the pond, out of hearing distance.

I sat down next to the filly. “So Sweetie Belle, before we begin, do you have any questions for me?”

“Just one,” she said. “It’s something that’s made me curious since the day I met you. How come you were so quick to give me lessons in the first place?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, back when Beethoven was around, he said that he came from roughly the same time period that you did… maybe a few decades later, but still. When I asked him if he would teach me, he wasn’t exactly keen because I happened to be a girl. If anything, he was skeptical that I could write music at all. However, when you came along, I was surprised that you took me on so quickly. Why is that? I mean, no offense, I didn’t expect you to be this open-minded, given the time period you came from.”

I nodded, “Yes, what you said is quite true – but at the same time, quite false. The mares from where I came from didn’t think they had the creativity to write music. Ponies saw someone like yourself as only having the mental capability of a foal, so there was little point in teaching them such advanced things. And I would have agreed with them too if it weren’t for two things: that I was a child who could outplay the grown-ups; and my sister could out-compose them.”

Sweetie blinked, “You had a sister?”

“That’s not the first time ponies have been surprised when I told them that. But yes, my older sister was living proof that mares could be at least as creative as stallions, if not more so. Not only was she capable, but in my view, she had surpassed even me. I’m not so quick to write off your talent because you happen to be a girl. If I did, and knowing my sister, she would crawl out of the grave and haunt me until I gave in.”

“Fair enough,” she said as she laid out the paper in front of her. “So… what do you want me to do?”

“To begin with, I want to see the method you use to create one of your pieces.”

“Like what?”

I hummed in thought, “How about we start with something simple? Like, say... a slow movement for violin and piano?”

“Let me think…” the young mare leaned back against the bark of the tree, lifting a pencil underneath her chin. She looked out onto the waves of the pond as I watched the gears turning in her head. For a moment she remained still until I heard her hum a string of notes but then sang in “Ah’s” with a melody that was more structured. She scribbled the key signature of B-Flat Major before she sketched the melody.

“You didn’t put in the time,” I pointed out.

She shook her head, “I don’t need to at this stage. Usually, I put in the melody first; the tempo comes last once I’ve written it out.” The unicorn repeated her method of humming, singing and writing out a few bars before she was satisfied. Before she handed the paper over, she inscribed at the top corner the words: Andantino sostenuto e cantabile. “What do you think?”

“Hold that up,” I said as I took my violin in hoof to play the melody. As I played, immediately ideas formed in my head as to how this theme could be structured between the violin and piano. However, I did have to remind myself that I was supposed to be teaching her how to compose. “All right, this has promise. We’ll deal with the harmony later, but tell me, what would you do with this from here?”

“Well, I guess I could write a second melody… but what would you do with this?”

“If it were me writing it, I’d have this theme as the home key as this starts and ends in B-Flat. And I would use this melody to create some variations that flow from one idea to the next. Like for example,” I repeated the theme, but I put some of the notes on the lower register of the violin and others on the higher strings. Then I created a variation in a minor key with pizzicato before I stopped, “Do you see what I mean? That is how I would do it. For when I write music, I look at sheet music as an architect looks at a blueprint. Because that’s exactly what you are doing, creating a building of sound that has logic, rhyme, and reason.”

“Like having music be symmetrical?” she asked.

I nodded, “Exactly! However, do keep in mind that while you are the architect, that doesn’t mean that you just repeat the theme at the beginning and end with only one variation in the middle. Ponies wouldn’t find it interesting. Although you’ve already given yourself a theme that somewhat restricts you, at least use it to your advantage to be clever with. This can be done easily by a change in key, or by splitting up the melody among the instruments. Or better yet, have the solo suspend the theme at every other bar while the other instruments slow it down with chords and introversion of the same tune. However, regardless of what you do with it, the most important thing for any composer to do is to be sure that there’s a flow throughout that is clear and direct.”

“So it’s like a puzzle in a way,” I told her that was precisely the point. “Okay… Let’s see what I can do.” What this filly did next fascinate me as below the main theme she started to write out different variations in individual staffs on the paper. I watched as she not only broke up the theme, separating certain phrases so they were at higher or lower registers, but she wrote it backward, upside-down and inverted as well. She gave some variations a pizzicato once every fourth line while joining notes for longer strokes of the bow. Then once she came to a point where she couldn’t think of any more, Sweetie then lit her horn and tore the sheet music into long strips.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“You said to think of it as a sort of puzzle, right? Why not put it together as such?”

My eyes widened, “Oh!I see what you’re doing.”

From there, I also taught her more about the flow of a piece as we put together of how this slow movement was structured. I let my young student listen as I played out the violin, encouraging her to figure out on her own how to create her music using symmetry as a guide. Eventually, after some moving some strips around and sewing pieces of others, I gave her my approval of the end result.

“At this point,” I said as I set my violin down to open up my composition book. “we must sketch out the piano part to give the solo a counterpoint. I don’t need to explain what that is, do I?”

Sweetie Belle shook her head, “It’s basically a different melody or a set of chords that make the overall theme richer.”

I nodded. “This, for me, is my favorite part of composition.” Reaching out the strip of paper with the main theme, I asked her, “How would you begin this piece? Does one instrument take the lead, or do they start together?”

The filly looked over my shoulder, “Can the piano start out with the first four notes before the violin starts in?”

“I believe it can.” So I started to sketch it out for her.

After pushing through the door while the bell rang overhead, my butler called out, “Ms. Rarity? Are you here?”

“In a moment,” she entered through a curtain, my red coat in her aura. “Hello Mr. Moztrot, you came at just the right time as I was stitching the last button. And I must say that since I’ve gotten a close look at this coat I’m already coming up with some new ideas. But I’m getting ahead of myself.” She turned her attention to her little sister. “How was your lesson?”

“It was a real eye-opener,” she said as she levitated my composition book towards an open page. Rarity asked what she was looking at. “A slow movement for piano and violin. Mr. Moztrot was teaching me a different way of writing music. Sure, it took a while, but I think we got it just right.”

“Would you like to hear it?” I asked her as I looked around the shop. “You don’t happen to have a piano nearby, would you?”

She groaned, “Oh… I’m afraid that I don’t.” Her eyes widened at a realization. “However, I do know somepony that does. But I don’t know if she’s in yet. Besides, I know that you’re busy-”

I gasped, “What’s this? Me too busy to show off my student’s talent? Oh, the Equininety!” But I giggled and restated, “I’m never too busy to play something worth someone else’s time. If anything, today is my free day.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Wilfred added. “Wolfgang doesn’t have anything in particular that he needs to do.”

“But I am a little curious,” I said. “Whereisthe nearest piano?”

“Are you sure we’re allowed in here, Ms. Rarity?” my butler asked again as we walked through the purple halls that looked like they came from the Crystal Empire. According to our tailor, the nearest piano that she was sure that nopony would mind our playing was the one in Princess Twilight’s castle. A castle that was lacking in guards for some reason. So it was understandable from Wilfred’s point of view that we just showed ourselves in what might be considered trespassing.

“Twilight won’t mind,” the seamstress said with a wave of her hoof. “Even if she were here, she would welcome us in. After all, it’s practically the town public library on the ground floor.”

My friend raised an eyebrow. “And we just happen to be on the second?”

“That’s where the piano is.” Sweetie Belle replied. “I come here sometimes when I need one. Besides, it actually belongs to Spike who pretty much critiques my work.” Inside my head, I tried to recollect if I had ever heard that name before. Since I couldn’t find it, I asked her who Spike was. “He’s Princess Twilight’s number one dragon assistant, and he plays the piano.”

Before I came to this modern Equestria, if someone had spoken that sentence to me, I would never have believed it. However, since I’ve spent almost a year in which I’ve been introduced to light bulbs, photographic cameras, the phonograph, trains, microphones, speakers, more than one alicorn princess, a play about me, and ponies that I once thought were fairy tales… I thought it wise to keep an open mind.

We followed her into a music room. There in the center was one of those modern, black pianos, and I set my violin case on the lid. “So,” I turned to them, “Do any of you know how to play the piano?”

Of course, I knew that Sweetie Belle couldn’t because she told me so as we composed the movement. “I technically could,” her older sister told me, “but I’m not good at sight reading. I would need a good deal of practice if I were to get it just right.”

“I can,” my butler said.

And this surprised me. “You can play the piano?”

He nodded. “And sight read.”

“Huh… I never knew that you were a musician.”

He frowned, “I didn’t think it was important. However, if you wish me to --”

“Oh by all means,” I waved a hoof as Sweetie placed the book on the stand.

My friend simply nodded as I got out the violin. Of course, there was no need of me to read over the score as it was already in my head. But as I placed the instrument underneath my chin, a thought came to me. “Is it too difficult for you?”

Wilfred flipped over the pages. “It’s playable for me,” he said as he raised his hooves over the keys and told me to begin when ready.

Thus he started with the soft, opening bar before I came in. With my held notes, together with his near-dancelike notes, it was almost like… As if my sister had come back from the dead. Even writing this, it’s strange for me to admit, but even back then, I thought it was true. The simple, breathtaking melody from the violin and the keyboard that draws you into this heaven was like something that my older sister could have written. For a moment as I played on my part, it was as if her ghost was the one that was really playing the piano.

Even though I helped to compose it, even though I knew every note, at the same time, the sound and harmony didn’t sound like either my own or Sweetie Belle’s. But it was hers… Nannerl’s. As I played on, it was almost as if that was her sound. Even as we went into the development section with the double stops and the quickened tempo in a different key that an untrained ear wouldn’t notice. But I would. And she would too in a moment.

From the violin solo, it was like hearing her whispering. She wasn’t vengeful or angry. For this was a kinder, forgiving assurance. While I may not have heard her actual voice, the meaning was still present: “Oh look Wolfie, another me! How marvelous. I’d keep a close eye on her if I were you, little brother. From what I can hear, she may one day give the world something to talk about.”

By the time the movement came to a close, Ms. Rarity was in awe. “You wrote all of that within an hour?”

I shook my head, “I didn’t,” I smirked. “She wrote and developed the melody. I just added the piano part. Which reminds me, excellent playing, Wilfred.”

“Very much appreciated,” he nodded.

“Do you like it Rarity?” her little sister asked.

She, in turn, nuzzled her, “It’s beautiful.”

Chapter 37: Drinking with Horseshoepin and Paganeighni

There is one advantage in jumping into the future: at least you know where the best remaining pubs in Canterlot are. While the prices have certainly gone up, the quality is not only as good as I remember it but in some cases, it has improved tremendously. Take for example the pub that, in my time, was known as “The Laughing Canary” but now is “Musician’s Corner.”

In fact, when I first went to the old pub soon after coming back from the dead, I asked the barpony why the change in name. From what I understood, apparently, they did so because someone did some research on the place that, as it turns out, was a favorite hangout of other composers and famous musicians. Not just me. But I was surprised to learn that even the Master Buch, Hayden, and even someone named Vifilli came to drink at least once here. Because of that, not only was this place turned into one of those historical sites but it became a tradition for famous musicians who come here for the sake of luck.

Ah superstitions, as useless as you are, you are hard to kill.

I will give the owners this: they’ve managed to (mostly) preserve the interior to the way that it was when I first visited all those years ago. White plaster walls supported by dark wooden beams that held oil paintings of ancient landscapes, cracked with age. As one enters, a row of windows that faces the street illuminates the pub during the day while iron chandeliers that now are lit by electric lights take over by night. To the left as one enters, a hearth that is continually burning regardless of day or night, summer or winter. It is also a billiard table where I myself had played many games. To the right are booths and tables made out of dark wood. At the back behind the bar are shelves of liquors stacked in front of a mirror, which reflects some additional light.

Apart from keeping and improving the drinks being served, they immortalized my usual seat with a brass plaque on the back of a chair by a table facing the street. I confess, I still find it amusing that the establishment has commemorated my spot so that worshippers can leave roses on the seat like a shrine. In fact, when I returned there for the first time in centuries, that was the first thing I noticed.

“The usual Mr. Moztrot?” One of the barponies asked as I walked through the door.

“Just a few glasses of champagne for now,” I said sitting down. “But not too much as I want to be home in time for dinner.”

At this time, it was mid-March and I was taking a break from writing out variations for the piano. I knew that it was best for me to take a breather for a while, watching the ponies pass by, letting my little head wonder for new ideas to play with. As I waited for my glass, I looked through the window, playing a game with myself to see if I recognized any of the faces that moved along.

Not a few minutes had passed before I saw a familiar figure past by my sight and enter the front door. I whistled and called out, “Horseshoepin!”

He snapped his attention over to me. “Moztrot?”

“Fancy running into you, are you planning on drinking?”

“More of an afternoon snack.”

I waved him over, “Well come sit with me! I can pay for a drink or two if you want.”

He hesitated for a moment before walking over to my table and sitting next to me. “I can pay for my own.”

“Pfft,” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever it is, I can pay for it, I got the money you know.”

“But I only came here for the stuffed mushrooms,” he said. “After all, I can’t stay very long, the orchestra is expecting me.”

“Well so? You could at least spend a few minutes here, so I can on my part be able to get to know you properly.” At that moment the barpony returned with my glass and a bottle. “Ah thank you,” I said to him. “Could you also cook up some stuffed mushrooms for my friend here?” After he nodded and left, I returned my attention to the pianist. “You know, I actually do want to meet you. I haven’t seen you around since I asked the Philharmonic for help.”

“That reminds me, I was rather curious about something.” He shifted a little in his seat. “Why did you charge ponies admission when you get an allowance from Celestia herself?”

“Two reasons: the first is that my home has limited space so ergo, I had to limit the number of ponies who could attend in one sitting.”

Horseshoepin nodded, “Okay, and the other reason?”

“You are right on the money issue. As of now, I don’t have any need for it. So I gave it away?”

“What? To a charity?”

I shook my head, “No. To fund a scholarship I’m putting together. In short, it’s to sponsor talented students of music who have gotten themselves into debt as I had. Of course, there’s some paperwork that I had to fill out, but once that goes through, I’ll sleep easy at night knowing that I’ve made life easier for somepony else.”

“Really?”

“Why not? Before I only wished that I had money to enjoy life. But what does one do when they’ve already got everything they’ve ever wanted and money to you becomes plentiful as pebbles in the road? I think the real secret of wealth isn’t so much how to get it as what to do with it when you have too much of it. But I’m rambling. I want to hear from you, tell me about yourself.”

He sat there in thought, “My… where do I start?”

“You start it off with a once upon a time.” I giggled. “Everypony knows that.”

Thankfully this at least got him laughing, “Well… I guess I could start with saying that I wasn’t born in Equestria and that I came here seeking asylum.”

“Oh?” Now, this caught my interest. “That begs the question then: where are you from?”

“Ponland,” he answered. “I studied music there and started to compose a little when I was a teenager. Originally, I left the country to go on tour for a short time, but I found that I couldn’t return as it was – and is -- going through a bloody revolution. Do realize that I had to keep away for safety reasons.” Horseshoepin sighed, “I’ve been away for years now and I haven’t seen my family since then. Only a few letters come through to let me know how bad things are getting over there.”

“Do you miss your country?”

He nodded, “Oh yes… I think about it nearly every day. But luckily, I have a job at the orchestra as a pianist when they need me. Personally, I prefer to play alone in a smaller setting, like a salon, where it’s just me and the piano.”

I nudged the bottle of champagne towards him, “I think you need this more than I do.”

“No thank you,” he pushed it back. “I’m not here for a drink, just a snack is all.”

“Still, I understand where you’re coming from. You’re lonely in a way.” I refilled my glass. “Believe me, I’ve been there. Especially recently since I came back from the dead.”

He raised an eyebrow as the barpony set a plate of the famous stuffed mushrooms in front of him. “Really? How so?”

“My family and friends are all dead. I have no living relatives, and to top it off, I’m the only one apart from Celestia who had been alive from around the eighth century. While I dare not say that your situation is less troublesome than my own, I can say that I empathize where you’re coming from.”

“I miss my home,” he said as he picked up and stabbed a mushroom with a fork. “With all the ponies, the festivals, and the music. Ah, the music is something that I miss the most of all, the ballads, waltzes, and barcarolles. While I can’t recreate all the sounds on the piano, I can get the feel and rhythm of them. No matter how homesick I become, I can turn to it because the music itself has no mother or fatherland; its homeland is the whole universe.”

Raising my glass to him, I said: “I’ll drink to that.”

“So what’s next for you?” he asked, “I mean after the Marriage of Figaro.”

“To begin with,” I said as I downed my glass. “I’ve taken up teaching again, composition with a talented and imaginative filly in Ponyville.”

“Really? How often?”

“Once a week on Friday. And in return for lessons, her older sister, a designer of some note, fashions new clothes for me. Other than that, I’ve been writing back and forth to the King of the Changelings.”

“Wait what!” This got Horseshoepin’s attention. “Whatever for?”

I smiled, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I’m planning to conduct the Magic Flute come May, in the way that I’ve always envisioned it.”

“But why them?”

Shrugging, I answered, “Why not? I saw first hoof how they can change, not only in appearance but in voice as well. Not only that, but they have very good memories. They would need only a few rehearsals until they could perform it flawlessly.”

He blinked. “And what did the King say about this?”

“Oh, he’s thrilled by the idea. The Changelings have put on plays before, but never an opera. Besides, they can do things in their style of theater that I thought was only possible in my imagination. So I honestly can’t wait, but I do have to organize the perfect orchestra for this.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, you know Star Swirl the Bearded? The one who also returned to Equestria?”

He nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

“Get this,” I leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s never heard a symphony in his life.”

“You’re kidding!”

With a wide grin, I shook my head. “Nope! Not a one. And I’m also planning on treating him to a good one as a way of introduction. Of course, the problem is which one. Even if I don’t show him one of my own, there are still thousands of high-quality symphonies to choose from.”

“What about Beethoven’s? They’re very popular around here.”

“True, I have copies of all of his works in my library. They look quite promising, but I’ll have to do some research before I find the one that I can introduce him to.”

“Very well,” Horseshoepin quickly ate the rest of the mushrooms. “I have to go. Perhaps we’ll meet again some other time?”

After bidding my friend goodbye, I returned to my glass and my bottle.

Now I confess that the more of that sweet, delicious champagne I gulped down, the less I was paying attention to the time. So much so that as I turned my attention to a game of billiards, I didn’t notice another musician coming in. In fact, I didn’t know that he was there at all until I finally looked up from my game. There alone in a booth with a couple of mugs of ale was a familiar, long-haired stallion, slumped over the table.

“Paganeighni!” I called out as I abandoned the game and took the bottle in hoof. “What a surprise I didn’t see you come in. How are you?”

He looked up with a gloomy eye. “Go away,” he muttered, “I want to be left alone.”

“Don’t you know it’s considered bad luck to be drinking alone?” I sat down across from him. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how’s the fiddle playing coming along?”

“Forgive me, master, if I’m not in the mood to chat.” He groaned as he fell face first onto the table. “Especially not after today.”

“Why? Did something bad happen?”

He favored me with an annoyed look, which, combined with his scraggly mane, made him look like an enraged creature rising from the sea. “Happened? Nothing happened, and that’s the problem! Why do I have all of these fans that come to listen to someone like me anyway?”

I blinked, “What are you talking about? You’re still popular, are you?”

The violinist ignored me as he downed a gulp of ale. “Ehh… What’s the point? I don’t deserve fame or your attention in the first place. Maybe it’s best that the world ends up forgetting me.”

“Why? You’re the most brilliant violinist that I’ve ever heard. I’ve seen, up close, you do things with your instruments that even I couldn’t do.”

He snorted, “I cheated.”

“Pardon?” I said, taken aback. “Cheated, how?”

“Whenever those idiots come to listen to me play, they expect a pony like you and them to come out onto that stage and perform feats of skilled musicianship. When in reality, I’ve been lying to them this whole time. I don’t know which I find more depressing: that what they call talent is not what I consider to be a skill; or the fact that they think they’re cheering on a pony.”

I tilted my head, “Are you saying that you’re not?”

“Siren,” he muttered as he downed another gulp. “Or at least on my mother’s side. Sure, I don’t have fins, and my singing voice is an abomination, but what I lack in the voice I make up in the bow. Why, if they knew that every single time I pick up that violin that I was casting a spell upon them, they’d probably run me out of the country. I know that I have been lying to them, and I don’t blame anyone if what I do is ultimately forgotten. The truth is, if anyone here has any real talent, it’d be you. You were born with a gift and me with a curse. What talent do I have when to my ears it’s all ugly scratches? I can’t pick up the violin without those so-called fans considering it a masterpiece.”

I leaned back in my seat, “So why do you play?”

“Because I’m part Siren,” he told me. “Music is in my blood. Literally. It’s always been a passion that I obsessed over. But compared to them, and even you no less, I don’t have any talent to be proud of. How can I even call what I play music at all if I can’t hope to have the mind and creativity like yours?”

“Paganeighni,” I frowned. “One must never sell himself cheap in life – for that is a cardinal sin – or else he is done. Whoever is most impertinent has the best chance.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Impertinent?”

“To put it more simply, you have to have a little pride in yourself, but never too much. In my life, I have learned that talent can come from anywhere. From my older sister to a freed Zebra that composed for the King of Prance, music comes from those who have the pride to compose it, and the confidence to play it. You, sir, should be ashamed for thinking such nonsense! You’re part Siren? So what? As a colt when I heard about your kind, I would have killed to know what your music sounded like.”

The violinist gave me a deadpan stare, “Your music is better than any Siren could do.”

“But it’s not perfect.”

This took him by surprise, “What?”

“If it were perfect, everyone else would have stopped. Even I’m never satisfied, which is why I strive to do better. If a genius like me is constantly trying to improve himself, what does that tell you?”

“That you’re… a pony?”

I nodded, “You may be part Siren, but you’re a pony too. And that’s the thing about us ponies: even if we don’t have an inborn talent or skill, it doesn’t stop us from earning one. If you want to be better at the violin, then do so. No problem in the world is ever accomplished by moping about it.” Then I paused as a thought came to me, “What time is it anyway?”

Paganeighni took out his watch, “Almost seven.”

“Dammit, I’m late!” I exclaimed out of my seat. “I’d like to talk more, but I completely forgot something. Bartender!” I rushed over to slap several bits upon the counter. “Here’s for the champagne,” then I turned to the Violinist. “And thanks for the chat. See you around.” And like that, I galloped out to head home and face a rather annoyed Wilfred.

Chapter 38: To Write a Symphony

For many weeks, I pondered over the problem of what symphony to introduce to Star Swirl. For the longest time, between composing, sending and reading letters, greeting unexpected and expected guests – I pondered over this puzzle. What exactly does one show a pony who has never heard a symphony in his life? Especially the father of music himself! As a child, I had already known that he invented musical notation. The earliest surviving melodies existed because of his efforts. So in a way, it’d be like showing one’s grandparents how much their children have grown up.

Such a problem that I fretted over for several sleepless nights. Me in bed with dozens of scores, weighing the sophistication and clarity of each. I had ordered copies of symphonies from other composers to be judged under my scrutiny, in addition to my own work. And it might come as a surprise to you the reader that out of the forty-one symphonies, I ended up rejecting nearly all of them. In fact, I narrowed down my own work down to three: the 25th, 40th and 41st. But even then, I also considered Beethoven’s 3rd, 5th and 9th.

However, to my mind, while all of these pieces are without a doubt clever, there was something that was lacking. I wrestled with the problem to find the perfect symphony to impress the old wizard. Something to show him great magic in sound, something that would amaze him. But even with all the scores that were strewn on my bed, as accomplished as they were, they were still missing that vital magic which makes music incredible. At one point, I wondered if there ever had been such a thing.

And then one spring day I went down to Ponyville to teach. I meet Sweetie Belle at our usual spot by the pond. She was already there composing underneath the shade of the tree. “What’s that?” I asked her as I approached.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out myself,” she confessed. “Lately I’ve been worrying a couple of ideas over the last few days. The only problem I have is what exactly to do with them. I’ve been making a few variations of them but nothing’s really jumping out at me.” She levitated the scraps of paper over to me and asked what I thought of them.

“Well, let’s see what we have today.” Sitting against the back of the tree, I looked over at the sketches. She had jotted down two main melodies which did show signs of struggle to get the variations just right. “These are good,” I said to her. “Is there anything you want to work on today?”

“I’m trying to figure that out as well. We wrote that sonata, the aria, and an overture, so what’s there to learn next?”

I glanced at the sketches again, “Tell me Sweetie Belle, what’s the most ambitious work you’ve attempted?”

“Well… I did try to write a piano concerto once, but I ended up scrapping it because it wasn’t all that good.”

Under the shade of that tree, an idea came to me. It was risky, almost bound to fail from the start. However, given how gifted she was, the attempt could be worth it in the end with some guidance on my part. “Ms. Belle,” I asked, “Have you ever thought of writing a symphony?”

She looked at me as if a creature had crawled into my powdered mane and died. “A symphony?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Um…” she sat there uncomfortably. “Not really.”

“How about we write one, just from the sketches you have?”

She avoided looking at me and I asked her what the matter was. “I don’t know if I could write a symphony. The last time I tried something this complicated was with the concerto, but… I don’t know, everything just went wrong. I couldn’t figure out how to piece it together. It became so big that it just fell apart. And even if I could, I don’t know if anypony would like it.”

“At least you have one advantage now that you didn’t have back then.”

“What’s that?”

“Me,” I smiled. “I know how daunting such a task can be. Trying to figure out which instrument in the orchestra should get what turns and how to make it pleasant to the ear without displeasing the players or the listeners. In fact, even I had doubts about my own work.”

“You did?”

I nodded, “Oh yes. When I was several years younger than you are now, my family and I were in Trottingham for a tour that we hoped would bring great wealth to us. However, even though my sister and I were quite popular, it didn’t reap many cash rewards. And to make things worse, my Papa fell ill and had to remain bedridden. He was the leader of the family and if we lost him, why we might be stranded, destitute. So at the age of nine, I knew that I had to do something. In fact, I had to break a rule.”

“What rule?”

“At the time, Papa made it clear that I should only write small things like for the keyboard and such. But when it came to large scale orchestral pieces, he thought they were too complex for me. So when he became sick, I took the opportunity to write a symphony to try and save the family. However, to be honest, when the concert was organized, and the musicians had rehearsed it, I was scared stiff about how the audience would take it. In fact, I was scared that they wouldn’t take it seriously because it was written by a colt. Something that had never happened before in the history of the world. And I was terrified that it wouldn’t be good.”

“Of course it would be,” my student remarked, “You’re Moztrot.”

“True, but back then I was a nobody. Just a colt that knew how to play the keyboard blindfolded. I had never before attempted to write something as big as a symphony, and I wasn’t sure how ponies would take it. And you know what? I am glad that I took that first step. While I have certainly gotten better over time, I don’t think that I would have gotten to where I am without taking that first big risk. Besides,” I patted her head. “I do know where you’re coming from, and I must say that you should remember that you do have a talent for composition when you put your mind to it. All I’ve been doing is giving you some tricks and tools of the trade. What I can’t ever do, is to dictate to you what your music should sound like. I may try to imitate your work, I cannot fully capture your sound. You alone can accomplish that.”

The little mare sat there in silence for a full minute, looking at her sketches. “What do I do?”

“Remember our method?” She nodded. “It’s just like how we wrote the overture, only this time you’re writing it four times over. The first thing is to decide in what order do you want these melodies to go. With me, I always try to put the most interesting at the beginning and the most exciting at the end.”

“What about the slow movement?”

I waved a hoof, “Traditionally that can easily fit in either the second or third movement. Once again, it all depends on the flow of the piece as a whole.”

Humming in thought, Sweetie scanned over the pages of her sketches once more before taking up a pencil to create not only new variations but even paired them with a bass clef. I watched on wondering what this filly was going to do. “Would it be possible if I wrote it like a story?”

“Hayden did write many of his symphonies based on various themes and ideas. So, I think that you can give it a try.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh!” she cried out as she suddenly got up. “Mr. Moztrot, stay right there, I’ll be right back.” And just like that, she galloped home and a few minutes later she came back with a thick book in her aura.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” I asked.

“I think I know what I want to write about,” she said as she showed me the cover. It was a blue book with intricate patterns of gold, white, red and light blue. There in the center of this beautiful book was the title. I read aloud, “‘The Thousand and One Saddle Arabian Nights’? What’s it about?”

“This is one of my favorite stories that Princess Twilight turned me onto. It’s about a king who discovers that his wife has cheated on him, and he decides that he would marry a new wife every night only to execute her the following morning.”

I blinked, “That’s rather dark for a filly to read don’t you think?”

“There’s more,” she held up a hoof. “Eventually, the advisor’s daughter decided to volunteer in order to stop this. And the way she does this is, every morning just before the sunrise, she tells the king a story that captures his imagination. Stories full of adventure and romance, of magic and mythical creatures. But just when she gets to the good part, she does something very clever. She stops.”

“And how is that clever?”

“She leaves him on a cliffhanger every time,” she smiled. “So the king can’t execute her, or he’ll never know how the story ends. So in that way, she is able to keep her head night after night.”

I put a hoof to my chin as I hummed, “Alright. How does it end?”

She blinked. “I… I’m not sure, I haven’t gotten to it.”

“In that case, if you’re going to do it in a Saddle Arabian theme, look,” I pointed at her sketches. “Change these into their melodic scales, then you got something.”

The unicorn flipped through her sketches; I could see the gears turning in her head. “You know what,” she said. “I think this could actually work.”

The very next day I walked across the street to visit my neighbor. Fancy’s butler answered the door and let me through the mansion into his garden. To be honest, I was jittery with excitement as I couldn’t wait to ask him my question, so much so I could fart.

Fancy was having tea underneath a canopy of white roses with Jet Set and Upper Crust. “Mr. Moztrot,” the white unicorn got up to greet me. “Well, this is unexpected. How long can you stay?”

“Not long neighbor,” I said as I shook his hoof. “I came here to ask if you could do a favor for me.”

“Oh certainly,” he waved a hoof towards the little tea party. “Can I offer you a little something?”

I ended up grabbing something that had frosting on it. “I promise that I won’t take up much of your time Mr. Pants, but I was hoping that you might be able to help me out a little.”

“In what regard?”

“Well, let me explain the situation,” I said between mouthfuls. “Currently, I have a student in Ponyville that I’ve been teaching composition. Also, on the same day that you three attended the Marriage of Figaro, I ran into Star Swirl the Bearded.”

“Yes that’s right,” Upper Crust nodded her head. “I saw him there and I think I saw you talking to him at one point.”

“Well, as we did so, I happened upon a little juicy piece of information: He’s never heard a symphony in his life.”

The blue unicorn raised an eyebrow, “So?”

“So I wanted to introduce him to the symphony, but the problem was that I couldn’t decide which one to show him. For the longest time I couldn’t figure it out – and then my student came along.”

“Out of curiosity,” Fancy raised a hoof, “Whom exactly are you teaching?”

“Sweetie Belle,” I answered. “She has an older sister, a fashion designer named--”

“Rarity.”

I blinked, “Yes exactly. You know her?”

“She's been a pony of special interest to me for some time now, the type of pony every pony should know. And I’ve heard good things about her younger sister as well.” He lifted his cup of tea, took a sip and added: “So I can safely assume that she wrote her first symphony?”

I nodded, “Absolutely. Of course, I did guide her somewhat, giving advice on how to improve the score, but what she has is new. So new that I think ponies are going to go mad for it. Which leads to why I’m here.”

“Yes,” Jet Set inquired. “Why are you here?”

“I want to ask Fancy Pants over here if I could premiere this symphony in his ballroom.”

The snow-white unicorn nearly dropped his cup. “P-Pardon? My ballroom?”

“Uh-huh,” I replied. “I mean if you don’t mind too much.”

He downed the rest of his drink, “Firstly I must say that this is quite the honor. But secondly, I must ask why.”

“Simply put, Sweetie Belle specifically asked for a small audience to, as she puts it, ‘test the waters’ with work this ambitious. She’s feeling a little uncertain as to how others would take it and I thought a small venue would be ideal. Of course, I could go to some of the smaller theaters to see if they would be willing, but I get the feeling that my student doesn’t want too much attention just yet.”

Fancy adjusted his eyepiece. “I guess that if you can line up the musicians to perform it and give me a time and date, I suppose that I can do this. Do you have a particular time in mind?”

“That depends. My student is doing research about the style of music she’s chosen and I’m assisting her writing it. So I presume that she’ll finish it in about… two… maybe three weeks. And of course, there’s rehearsal so… a month.”

“And I’m guessing this will be a personal invite?” Upper Crust asked.

“Why not? It’s best to show off one’s art to those we care for most.”

Chapter 39: Star Swirl the Bearded

One thing I have been neglecting in this journal is, of course, Princess Sunbutt. Do not misunderstand me, reader, it is not that I ceased all communications with her since Hearths Warming; on the contrary, every Sunday at eleven on the dot, I attended her tea break from her duties at day court. We met in either her personal tea room adjacent to the Throne Room or in the royal gardens when the weather wasn’t too inclement. The reason why I left out this detail until now is that there wasn’t much for me to write about. Usually, the talk was about how I was doing and what my future plans were. And it should be kept in mind that we only had about an hour.

On the last Sunday in March, the Solar Guards escorted me to the castle-like clockwork. They flew me to the front gate. One of the guards on duty asked why I was there. I told them, “I’m here to have tea with Her Highness, Princess Celestia,” they let me through and I was led to the gardens.

Whenever Celestia has tea at that time of day and the weather is just right, she has it in a certain location in the hedge maze. A quaint little corner which contains a cast iron table, cushions, and one white alicorn. However, as I got closer, my ears picked up not only her voice but also someone else’s, not one of the servants or guards. It didn’t take me too long to put together who it was.

“Mr. Star Swirl,” I said as I walked into the sanctuary. “I didn’t know that you were in Canterlot.” The old stallion looked up from his cup as the Sun Princess sat across from him. In between the two was the tea set and a stacked tray of oh so delicious sweets laced in sugar. “In fact, I didn’t know you attended these little tea breaks.”

“I don’t,” he answered. “Her Highness wished that I would attend. Something about giving us a chance to catch up.”

“Come join us, Wolfgang,” Celestia said. “There’s so much to talk about, so little time. But we have a seat for you here.”

After taking my seat, I immediately went straight for the tarts. “Since you’re here,” I turned to the wizard. “I’ve been meaning to ask you where exactly do you live. I’ve been meaning to write to you, but didn’t catch that detail.”

“I don’t have a permanent home for the time being.”

“You mean you’re homeless?”

“Not exactly,” Celestia said. “He gallivants around the country in a gypsy wagon. I offered him a more permanent residence here in Canterlot, but he insisted on traveling.”

“I didn’t see the reason in staying here to begin with,” he explained. “The capital is not the same city that I once knew. Since the realm has changed I wanted to see what has and hasn’t withstood the test of time.”

“Understandable,” I commented. “I visited my birthplace several months ago for… personal reasons.”

“You’re not the only one,” Star Swirl nodded. “The other pillars have returned to their homelands. I have checked with them to see how they’re adjusting.”

“And how are they?” Celestia inquired.

He sipped his cup. “Last time I heard, Mist Mane has reclaimed her garden while Meadowbrook was fixing up her old tree home. The latter has a distant relative who not only is helping her, but she’s begun to teach him the craft of medicine. Flash apparently is trying to join the Royal Guard; he’s still a soldier at heart.”

“What about the other mare and the giant?”

“Somnambula and Rock Hoof? They and Stygian are assisting archeologists in uncovering villages and monuments from their pasts. This gives those who study in that field tremendous insight, not only in the locations that they’re digging up but also into what contemporary life was like, from somepony who was actually there.” He took another sip. “And what about you?”

“Well before I say anything, how exactly am I supposed to get in contact with you if you keep moving about?”

Celestia explained that they communicate through a magical journal of which they have the only copy. In other words, if I wanted to send a message to him, I’d have to go through the Postmaster Princess. Oh well.

“Since you happen to be here,” I pointed at the wizard, “I figured that I’d offer you a personal invitation. As well as yourself, Your Majesty.”

He raised an eyebrow, “An invitation to what?”

“Well, just as I told Celestia here last week, I have a student who is learning composition from me. She is in the process of writing a symphony with a fresh, new, I might even say poetic take. In fact, she has so dedicated herself to composing it that she’s working extra hard in order to finish it by the next time we meet. My student is excited about this, of course, and I was hoping to invite a few ponies to come and listen to the premiere of it. And considering how you told me that you hadn’t heard a symphony before, Star Swirl, it would make perfect sense to invite you as well.”

Grandpa Wizard looked over to the Sun Mare. “He’s teaching?”

“Sweetie Belle, I believe it was?” I nodded as Celestia guessed right. “Yes, a young teenager, but has shown great promise as a composer.”

He on the other hoof deadpanned. “You know, at this point, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“What?” both I and Sunbutt questioned.

“Never mind,” he waved a hoof. “Just another sign of how much things have changed.”

“How so?” I asked.

After refilling his cup, he answered. “Mr. Moztrot, in the time that I come from, it just wasn’t heard of for mares to create music. I mean, it was one thing for them to play instruments or sing, but composing? Such a thing was unthinkable. However, I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised as anything can happen in a millennium.”

“The only thing that doesn’t surprise me about this modern age,” I said, “is that ponies still -- thankfully -- have the same needs. Working, relaxing, eat good food, gulp down a good drink, be entertained and maybe rut a mare or two.”

“Moztrot!” the wizard objected, nearly spitting out his tea. “Not in her majesty's presence.”

“Believe it or not, he is always like this, if not worse,” Celestia rolled her eyes. “I’ll give him this, that if he were born later, I might have made him the element of either laughter or honesty. If anything, the very first time we met, he said to me something that I’ll never forget.”

“Oh Goddesses,” Beardy groaned, “Do I want to know?”

“I asked if any of the shorter guards salute with their doodles every time they look up.” I giggled as the wizard looked horrified while Celestia groaned. “What? She’s as tall as most ponies’ houses, can you blame me for thinking that?”

“How is it that your music isn’t as vulgar as you are?” Star Swirl questioned.

After reaching for the tarts, I replied, “Because I’m smart enough to never offend the ear when musicians play me. Oh, I don’t deny that I can get dirty, but my music is not.”

It was around this time that a pony came into the tea sanctuary to inform Sunbutt that she was needed elsewhere. Celestia excused herself and we bowed as she got up, “I do hate to leave this early. But I hope that next week will be without interruption. Farewell Moztrot.” And with that, she left Beardy and myself to our own devices.

“Well then,” I said turning to the old stallion. “Now that it’s just us, what shall we talk about?” I asked before stuffing my mouth with that sweet lemon tart.

He got up, “Follow me,” he said. “I tend to think best when I’m walking.”

So with a mouthful of that rich pastry, I followed him into the maze. I noticed (and he probably knew it) that we were taking the long way out as he led the way through the twisting, winding bushes. The old wizard spent a good minute in thought while I patiently waited for him to start.

“How old were you when you found out that you had a gift in music?”

“Four.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Really now?”

I nodded, “If you were to ask anyone in my family, they would have told you the same story. Back then, I lived in a town called Saltzberg. It’s a sleepy little place where apparently the greatest thing to happen was me being born. Anyway, when I was a little colt, my family used to tell me that as soon as I learned how to walk and talk, I became fascinated by patterns. In fact, they used to give me a piece of chalk and I would do sums on everything I could get my hooves on. On the walls, the floor, the tables, the chairs, everywhere. But when I heard my Papa play on the keyboard, I was enchanted by the sound, and so was my older sister. Eventually, this magical sound had gotten to me that I would look into the sheet music to find patterns and why they sounded the way they did.

“One day, Papa came home and saw little me on the floor. He asked me what I was doing, ‘A keyboard concerto,’ I told him. ‘And I’m nearly finished with the first part.’ For I was beginning to understand how musical notation worked. Unlike the many other scrawls which the maid would have washed away, Papa copied what I had written on the floor and played it out on the keyboard. I guess since then… he knew. That I wasn’t like the other children who couldn’t understand what these notations meant. And from there, he taught me everything he knew. Harmony, counterpoint, key signatures, rhythm, you name it. He cultivated genius within me and the encouragement to create.” After turning a corner, I asked, “What about you?”

He frowned, “My story is nowhere near as miraculous as yours.”

“But you can tell me. I mean, you’re Star Swirl. The unicorn that has contributed so much to the modern world. You were really the first Renaissance Pony, so good at a variety of different things.”

The old wizard sighed, “Mr. Moztrot, you are gifted in having a family that encouraged you to peruse your music. Until I was fifteen, I didn’t have that luxury. If anything, I was expected to do one job for the rest of my life: to raise and lower the sun and the moon. You might think that we unicorns are privileged to have these gifts, but back then our magic had to be practical: making sure that we had the sun to have crops or the moon to give light to the darkness. Anything else would have been laughed at as pointless. However…”

He went silent for a moment before confessing, “That was before Celestia and Luna. When those two showed the world that they could raise and lower the sun and moon all by themselves, everything changed. Now that we unicorns weren’t bound to using our magic to move those celestial bodies about, we were free to peruse knowledge and wisdom like never before. For a long time, I never considered myself a genius, just somepony who was curious about why things worked the way they did. Not just strictly magic, but many other things, like why does music sound pleasant? How can I get from here to there without walking or flying? Why are creatures the way they are? And there were so many questions that I wanted to answer that I went out to seek them.”

“So you weren’t born a genius then?”

“Of course not,” he smirked. “If anything, most of the time I was doing all of those things because I was bored. And trust me, living in the realm a thousand years ago, there was practically nothing for us to do back then.”

“Father Boredom and Mother Necessity are the parents of invention,” I commented.

Beardy shrugged, “There might be some truth in that. After all, it may not look like it, but I taught myself how to play the lyre and the mandolin because of boredom.”

“And I suppose you sang too?”

“I had to,” he nodded. “If anything, it was popular among the courts as it gave poetry life when put to an instrument or five. Plus, developing a way of transcribing the tune was a necessity for me because I couldn’t remember all the ballads I sang.”

Now, this got my ears perked straight up, “Can you still sing?”

“What? Me? I used to do it in my youth but I don’t--”

“Oh please,” I whined. “It’s not every day that you get to hear the very father of music actually sing.I just have to know what it originally sounded like.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do know that time may not have been kind to my voice. I haven’t sung in years.”

“But you still know how to play?”

After thinking over his answer, he replied, “If I had a mandolin on me… and some actual sheet music… I might recollect how to play it.”

“Great!” I dragged him by the hoof as I led the way out of the maze and into the palace. Despite all the protest and commotion he made as I dragged him about, I was determined to hear the very origin of Equestria’s modern music straight from the wizard’s mouth. I was determined to get him to the castle’s music room regardless.

As soon as we stepped through the threshold I let him go. He asked, “Was dragging me here like a sack of potatoes really necessary? I can walk you know.”

“This is exciting,” I replied as I hopped over to the row of string instruments. Disappointingly, there were no mandolins on display. “Here,” I said taking down a guitar, “Do you think you might be able to play this? I know it’s several strings short of a mandolin, but the method is the same.”

After accepting the instrument, he studied it, plucking at its strings as if he was relearning how to play from sound alone. “Do you happen to have a ballad from my time in here as well?”

“No,” said I as I went to the door, “But I can write it down.” After calling the servants to bring up some scratch paper, I jotted down a tune and presented it to him on a music stand. “Do you remember this?”

He smiled. “I’m pleased that it’s lasted this long,” Star Swirl said as he began to play. His hooves strummed the strings as he invented a prelude to what has now become a folk song. Though he had only been playing for thirty seconds, I admired the simple but atmospheric sound that sounded ancient yet contemporary. And then, he started to sing.

His voice, I must admit to you reader, wasn’t of operatic quality, but it wasn’t horrible either. I realized what made him a legend among music was through what he sang was simple, it was haunting at the same time. While I listened, he sang with a sort of melancholy, but graceful as well that matched up with the harmony of the guitar. It reminded me why I had strived to be at his level from the beginning. He wrote his ballads and songs in a way that anypony could enjoy them as much as another. I was able to do that with orchestras, but he just needed a stringed instrument and his voice.

Granted, his composition was unquestionably simple. But as I listened, I realized that it was from this was the root, that music had changed over time to what it has become. Hearing this song directly from its creator, the living ancestor of harmony, is something that I would never forget as long as I lived. After all, music had to start from somewhere.

Chapter 40: Sweetie Belle’s First Symphony

Weeks later after polishing Sweetie’s new score, getting the Philharmonic to rehearse it and sending invites to those we deemed worthy to hear this work – we were ready. While my student had indeed composed and at times sang her own pieces, it should be noted that she had never really conducted an orchestra before. So because of this and the limited time frame we had, she personally asked me to conduct her symphony. (Even though she did make several objections during rehearsals.) In fact, when I offered to teach her how to conduct it, she refused to do so on the grounds of nervousness.

Now before I can tell you, dear reader, what exactly happened at that world première, I should give my thoughts about the style of music. Critics have said that what she wrote isn’t exactly a symphony as it reused certain themes over and over, that variations in every movement don’t fully explore possibilities beyond it. However, in my opinion, while my forty-first symphony was contorted to fit the standards of the time, to me this was like a breath of fresh air.

After all, the criticism put me in mind of Beethoven’s symphonies, particularly his third as it, like Sweetie’s, was interested in telling a story, then just serenading the audience with a lovely melody. This music, to me, was original; it showed what a symphony could do outside the standard four movements and the fixed structures in between.

Besides, to me, this symphony was about fantasy. Which was why on the day before, I penned an orchestra transcription of something from Beethoven that would act as a sort of overture for our small audience. Granted, the orchestra was rather annoyed that I would spring this on them at the very last minute, but at least it was something that they’d already liked.

Now it was time to open the curtain, with the setting in the ballroom of Fancy Pants. The orchestra was tuning up by the time my student and I got there with her big sister right behind. We walked through rows of empty chairs; in the very front row were two violet cushions that waited to be sat upon by royal bottoms. Fancy was the first to greet us.

“Isn’t this exciting?” he said as he went up to my student. “It’s not every day that we get to hear a symphony from a talented lady such as yourself.”

“I’m just hoping that it goes over well.” She blushed modestly.

“Don’t be afraid,” I said, patting her head. “This orchestra is ready for something new. And with all that I’ve heard, this is as new as it gets.”

“So who’s coming if you don’t mind of me asking?” Ms. Rarity asked. While I and her sister listed off the names of our small audience, she on the other hoof adjusted the new overcoat I was wearing. Since this was made by her, she had been making last-minute stitches and cutting off threads to make sure that forest green overcoat with silver buttons was presentable.

In time, our guests fell in. First were my student’s friends, the ones who called themselves the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Then came the student of Princess Twilight and her wizard friend Sunburst. Wilfred along with Mr. Sauté and Fan took their seats. Star Swirl sat in a corner of the room, Horseshoepin taking his place right next to him. Finally, both Princesses Twilight and Celestia, along with their everpresent Solar Guards, seated themselves at the very front.

At three o’clock as our very small audience settled down to engage in small talk, I stepped forward onto the little platform of the conductor’s stand. “Good afternoon everyone! Thank you all for coming to this little get-together. Today is a rather special one as this will be the first time that our guest of honor, Star Swirl the Bearded, shall hear a symphony. So for the occasion, my student has composed the perfect piece to introduce the symphony, to him and all of you as well.

“However, before we begin, I wrote a little arrangement for the orchestra as a warm up to Sweetie’s first symphony. I have chosen something that should get us all in the mood for what lies ahead: an arrangement from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata Number 14, his Quasi Una Fantasia. Which for me is quite fitting, as this little concert has much to do with fantasies as only music can successfully tell them. Do not think that I am playing this overture so that I may lull you to sleep, but in order for you to come dream with me.” Thus I turned to my orchestra where they too, began to dream.

First came the rhythmic stability of eighth notes that danced among the violins and the violas. Their movement gently rocked those who listen with their quiet bowing. Even the chords from the cellos and double basses drifted into slumber. But by the fifth bar, out from the oboes, came a lullaby without wordswhichBeethoven, as I imagined it, was singing. A simple tune, but even here in this slow adagio, it was perfect in every bar. Every chord was carefully thought out. While this was originally for the keyboard, even here the very impression of dreaming a passionate trance was still present.

As I conducted, I glanced over at my shoulder to see how Star Swirl reacted. Thankfully he was indeed awake, but his gaze was not to the orchestra, but to the windows at the sky. No doubt that if I were to look at him in the eye, it would have the look of daydreaming. I wondered for a brief moment what exactly could he be thinking about – yet, at the same time, I realized that it was working. Indeed, it wasn’t just him, but even this small audience was driven into a meditative-like state. Even Sunbutt was pondering as the violins swooned in the flow of this rich melody.

I have to admit, up until then, it was only until now the effect that Beethoven really had on his audience was made evident. This one movement alone showed that his music was doing something incredible: it moved them. To me, this showed the power of a composer is to weave sound in a way that could bring their listeners to humorous laughter one moment and to tears the next. I wondered what sort of being who crafted these notes was like… (Note to self: ask someone who knew Beethoven.)

The concert’s overture ended with two closing whole notes that ended quietly before the stomping of hooves. I turned around to face them, but my attention was caught on Sweetie’s as her hooves were hugging her sister’s foreleg. We both knew that this was it.

“I’m going to tell you all a story,” I began as I recited as the young mare had to me. “There was once, upon the sands of time in Saddle Arabia, a king that was cruel. But the king wasn’t corrupted by power or wealth, but by a broken heart from his queen. She betrayed him with a servant, and that made his heart turn to ice. For such an act alone had convinced him that all mares were as wicked as his queen. So much so, that every evening he married a new wife, only to have her executed the following morning.

“While many mares were afraid, there was one, very brave lady that not only volunteered to be the king’s new wife but made a vow that he would cure him of his illness of the mind. In fact, before the sun could be raised, she asked her husband, ‘If it would please you, I wish to tell you one of my charming stories to pass the night away.’ So he bid her to do so. Thus, on that first of many nights, she began her tale of a sailor named Sinbad.”

(Now before I go any further, I should reassure the reader that I had almost to no involvement in how Sweetie composed her first symphony. If anything, the only influence I had was helping her in constructing harmonies for the instruments of the orchestra. Everything she did with the music was entirely her own invention. Her rhythms, use of chords and how she created variations was entirely her own.)

So I quickly turned around, thus opening the symphony with dark, intimidating brass chords. No doubt that it was the king that orders our heroine to tell him a story right away before he has the executioner chop her head off. With intimidation from the clarinets and flutes, she speaks from a solo violin. The voice of a haunting, exotic but no doubt feminine solo that tells him with a silken tone to sit down so she may tell him a story.

Thus, she begins as the cellos move about as waves while the violas and violins conjure up the image of the high sailing, buccaneer sailor. As instructed by the young composer, he was strong and handsome like the one described in her book. I had to give her credit; her ingenious use of the strings did rather make one feel as if they were at sea with the waves moving back and forth. But you don’t get sick of it because of the combinations and variations of melodies that work together in this colorful movement.

I will give my student credit that she has a gift with painting a picture with nothing more than sound. More than just her use of variation, but in a way, she made it almost sound like she was crafting different characters for a ballet. If anything, just having them without dancers or pictures had given her the advantage as the orchestra crafted the scene inside the listener’s minds. Simply because of how lyrical it is and not at all abstract.

At the end of the ten-minute movement, the small audience stomped their hooves, much to my student’s relief. In fact, before I was given a chance to speak, I heard one of her friends, an orange filly Pegasus saying to her. “You wrote all of that? That was amazing!” she said with a hug.

Even Twilight got into the act, “I saw the swelling sea with the ship with Sinbad just setting out for adventure. That was good.”

“Don’t praise me just yet,” Sweetie told them. “We’ve just got through the first part.”

I cleared my voice and the ballroom fell silent once again. “Scheherazade’s method had worked as the king was now enticed by her fantastic stories. So much so, that after she completed the tale of Sinbad, that he wished to hear another. Thus, his wife began with the tale of a bored prince whose curiosity led him to see what was outside his palace walls. This was the story of the Kalandar Prince.”

Thus the violin solo began the second movement as she whispered the words, “Once upon a time…” with the bassoon setting up the character of a melodic but sighing prince. This opening theme was undoubtedly rich in tone but there was something from the lower register of the harp to suggest that there was something rotten, monotonous even that trapped the virtuosic soloists that passed this theme around as if they were trapped in a golden cage. But by the time that it reached the violins, the tempo picked up as they were now free. A welcoming ecstasy came with the prince who no doubt climbed over the high walls and into the streets on the other side. Everywhere the orchestra went, great wonders were to be seen and heard, hypnotizing the audience like a snake charmer. Yes, even I could tell that moment had come when the violin left the whole orchestra so awestruck that it echoed in the chamber.

But then, came the blare of warring trumpets and the threats of cellos of armed soldiers. Even the princely theme was curious about what was going on as they marched through the streets in their shiny if not pompous parade. At one point, even the hero of our story had a dreamy desire to join such a troupe who ventured forth to fight as they raised the tempo to a full-out march.

At the same time, I have to confess that what Sweetie Belle was doing in this second movement was fascinating. Because for most of this, she does repeat the prince’s theme over and over, but the way in which she wanted each instrument to play it let her create movement and development even if very little of it. In a way, it reminded me of that match game: after you used a few to create a fish, you had to make it swim the other way but only use four moves to do it. While this music had the intelligence of an adult, I could tell that there was a playful side as Sweetie is playing a match game with the orchestra in regard to tonality.

The same could be said of the second half as she now used entire sections of the orchestra to swoon and carve out a world. Yes, there were harsh moments here and there, but she countered it with richer, even lively harmonies. Besides, she had the good sense to end it with a bang, like the prince falling over into a pond.

After the applause, Celestia waved my student over. “Just out of curiosity,” she asked, “How much of this is yours, the symphony I mean.”

“Mr. Moztrot helped me out with balancing the orchestration, as well as the logic of how it all works. All the themes, however, are mine. In fact, Moztrot insisted that he wouldn’t change a note without me saying so. But do you like it, Princess?”

“It has the impression of Saddle Arabian folk music but arranged for a modern orchestra.” She added with a sly smile, “You’ve been studying your mentor’s Saddle Arabian March, have you?”

She tilted her head, “Why would I do that? I’m not interested in copying Moztrot, just in understanding how he does it.”

I cleared my throat, “As touching as that is my student, we’re just halfway through your symphony. And now to my personal favorite movement.” She nodded and returned to her seat. “Now that the king had her full attention, Scheherazade told him a new tale. One that was a romance between two lovers from different parts of the known world. Through magic pools, the two of them were able to converse as well as to see one another.”

Thus, I conducted the strings into the romance of the Third Movement. A feminine sound of the violins and violas that painted a portrait of a mare in a garden. One with exotic orange and date trees with eternal flowers, towering palms and clear waters that flow. Yet, this mare, whose beauty was only matched by that of the music representing her, wasn’t interested in the flora around her, but towards the pond in the very center. The calm water of the pond did not reflect her image, but that of someone else. The lower register had a masculine tone that acted as a counterpoint, but still gentle within its waters.

To me, this movement is my personal favorite because of how lyrical it is. If I were to use this same melody, I would set it to words in an aria. Personally, I would simplify the melody a little, but for what she has, it fits perfectly like a tailored coat for the subject at hoof. This Arabian theme allows her to use much ornamentation to make this as beautiful as possible. Besides, Sweetie did something that showed the mark of a great composer. Any other would have set forth this beautiful melody and made a few variations before stopping. However, because she was using her music to tell a story, she brilliantly used the prince’s theme from the previous movement about halfway to show that it is he that she has fallen in love with.

Only this time, the prince enters into this scene in a march and in a new key and rhythm to show how much he had changed since his previous adventure. The theme was shown to be confident but not vulgar. Charming the mare in the pool as from time to time the violins were being wooed.

When it returned to the mare’s point of view, she recited poetry to her love as the violins and winds seemed to echo those loving words off the walls – even in the ballroom. A poem of longing to kiss the handsome stallion in the pool, to have those warm lips against hers. Yet, at the same time, she knew that this cannot be so as her love is far away. How it pains her that she could see and hear, but never feel him. And in this melancholy, Scheherazade narrated once again from the violin solo that it is in this moment of despair, that something fantastic does happen. The prince in the reflection kneels down, close to the water and bids to kiss his lips within the mirrored pond. At first, the mare isn’t sure what good it would do but obeys. Just as she was about to lean forward, the prince popped out and granted her wish to be kissed. The movement ends with the two of them enveloped in the embrace of the violins.

One burst of applause later, I turned to face them again. Before they could speak, I began. “At this point, the mad king was getting impatient with his queen. Our heroine struggles to think of something new, that if she could do it, she may live to see another night. Although sleep tried to lure her to her death, her mind had to come up with something, anything to keep herself alive.”

Quickly turning back to the orchestra to have the music portray what I had just described, with both the king’s and Scheherazade’s theme at a quick, desperate pace. Even the soloist seemed hasty but worried as the notes jumped over the strings in an attempt to figure out what to improvise. Fortunately, with a whack from the percussionist, a new tale was spun. It began briskly as, in a marketplace, a cry of someone being robbed was heard. A flute in a gallop rushed through the streets and vendors as violins and brass thundered in pursuit, waving their sharp notes. But the flute did acrobatics over ponies’ heads and hopped onto, and over, the walls. But as this chase was going on, they incorporated past themes including the Prince and his lover.

This was without a doubt a chase as it seemed that one section of the orchestra was pursuing the other, their virtuosic rhythm bouncing off the walls of the ballroom. Sometimes, there were moments in which the thief had to hide so that he might catch his breath, but even then, the chase had to continue. But about halfway, in the background, the Sinbad theme reappears as it seems that his ship has crashed into the harbor by the market. Yet, even with the ship destroyed, he captures the thief and returns the precious item to the guards who were chasing.

Near the end, the king, now satisfied in the dawning twilight, approves of this tale. But Scheherazade, exhausted and tired, asks her husband to sleep as she is weary. The king, in turn, bids her to sleep but made her promise to continue the story for tomorrow night. So the symphony ends with the violin drifting off to dream of new adventures and characters for the next night.

Amongst the applause, I turned my attention to Star Swirl. He wasn’t stomping nor clopping his hooves, but he took off his jingling hat, respectfully placing it over his heart. At first, I was confused by this action, but Celestia and Twilight both got up and went over to my student. “Your skill and command of your music are much improved over your previous work,” the younger alicorn told her. “Sweetie Belle, you should be proud of what you’ve created.”

“I agree,” Sunbutt nodded. “While you’ve learned much from Beethoven and Moztrot, I do think that Equestria will always remember the music of Sweetie Belle.”

She bowed, “Thank you Princesses, but I couldn’t do this without my teacher. He’s the one that brought the orchestra together.”

“Don’t be so modest,” I said stepping off the platform. “All I did was call in a few favors. But one of these days I ought to teach you how to conduct. For what we’ve heard, you should be proud.”

Thus came the praises from around the small audience, each congratulating my student. However, the last of all to come was from the father of music himself. “Young one,” he said to her. “That was some impressive magic you’ve demonstrated.”

She blinked, “Magic? But I didn’t do anything.”

“Not from what I’ve heard. You actually did something that not even I think was possible: you’ve created a world with it. From many ideas, you’ve painted cities of far South of Equestria that I think even Somnambula would approve.”

“You mean it?”

He knelt down and put a hoof on her shoulder, “Music has come a long way since my time, but even when the day comes that I too must part from this world, I can rest easy knowing that it is in good hooves of ponies that can create songs of the Divine. For this is simply a work of genius.”

My student’s sister took her aside, whisking her off to celebrate the success of her first symphony before the wizard turned to me. “You have a good student.”

“I’m impressed myself,” I confessed as the orchestra was packing up. “She may be young, but she’s quite the fast learner. If she keeps this up, she will be going places.”

He nodded, “Like my Clover. One of the best students I had who learned my lessons quickly. Although, I do wish that I’d kept him on, considering how much I’ve learned since then.” After shaking his head, he changed the subject, “I noticed not many ponies have talked about that opening bit. The one you’ve arranged?”

“Oh! Yes, the Beethoven, what did you think of it?”

“Breathtakingly beautiful. I don’t listen to a lot of modern music, but after what I’ve heard, that one is a gem compared to some of the so-called modern songs they played. That and Sweetie’s symphony. I hope that composers won’t forget to make music beautiful.”

I chuckled, “Of course, that would only defeat the purpose.”

Chapter 41: The Changeling Hive

Even before the trek to the Hive of King Thorax, there were preparations to be done, to make sure that everypony I needed came with me. For the Magic Flute, which had gone from just a vaudeville act to the pinnacle of opera, I had to invite the best of the best from across the country.

I invited the Crystal Empire Youth Orchestra and the Applewood Orchestra to take the first and second violin sections. The Fillydelphia Philharmonic for their violas and the Canterlot Philharmonic for the cellos. The brass section was made up from members of a combination of the Manehattan and Ponyville orchestras while Appaloosa took up the percussion. But as to the winds and the actors, however, that's where the Changelings were needed.

Getting them together was only half of the challenge; the other half was to transport them, their instruments and their music from Canterlot to the Hive. Not only that, but the railroad could only take us part way. This means that carts of instruments, food, water, and other supplies had to be taken with us. Plus a row of carriages just to get everyone there on time.

So in mid-April, the musical caravan came through the woods, the musicians going over their sections of the opera while I in my carriage passed the time reading the latest book called, “Beethoven Lives Upstairs.” (I got the book because it was written by the landmare who housed the composer.) With me in this confined space were Wilfred, Fan and Mr. Sauté; the butler and the cook looked out the windows as the forest went by while the maid was jotting a nocturne in her notebook.

“So who’s coming to see the opera?” asked Mr. Sauté. “I mean, has the Changeling King told you about it?”

“Apart from his own subjects, he is inviting the Princesses as well as a few other rulers from around the world – at least, those who can make the trip. Other than that, I have no idea who else will be coming.” I peeked my head out of the window. “Have any of you three been to the hive before?”

They shook their heads. “Wolfgang,” Wilfred said, “not many ponies have seen the Hive. As far as I’m aware, the only ones to visit are the royal family and friends or students of Princess Twilight. So we’ve really no idea of what to expect.”

“Hey, Mr. Moztrot,” I heard one of the coach drivers call out, so I leaned out of the window. “I think we’re here.”

Down the road in a field of spring flowers of white, light purple and yellow was a towering structure covered in moss, vines, flowers, and climbing ivy. Never in the world had I ever seen anything like it. It was like an old, dark wooden tree where only the stump and trunk remained, the tower the only thing standing in a field of wild vegetation.

“It’s… perfect!” I grinned. “I couldn’t ask for a better-”

“Halt!” With a jolt, the caravan stopped, causing me to fall over. After I crawled out of the stagecoach, I found myself confronted by a dark purple creature similar to King Thorax, from his height to the moose horns on his head. “Why did you come to our kingdom?” he demanded.

“Sorry, who are you?”

“I’m the one that’s asking the questions! Now answer me, why did you bring this caravan to our kingdom?”

Pulling out a scroll from my breast coat pocket, I presented it to the intimidating Changeling. “We were invited by King Thorax. I’m Mr. Moztrot, and this is the orchestra that is to perform in a few days.”

His horn glowed a plum color as he levitated the scroll up to his face; he glanced between it and the line of carriages. “All of you?” I nodded. “This is indeed my brother’s seal…” he murmured before rolling it up and giving it back to me. “Go on through. Park these carriages around the hive.”

“Thank you… Prince…?”

He shook his head, “Pharynx, and it’s more Captain of the Guard then Prince. Now go on, my brother should be expecting you.”

So after our caravan had circled around the tower, and we'd asked some of the Changelings where their king was, they showed me in. Up the garden tower, passing by the adorable creatures with a violin case on my back, I was told that I could find Thorax in a room known as the “Feelings Forum,” listening to his subjects. Eventually, I was guided to an oval space. It quickly became clear what the name meant as the King sat there in a circle with his subjects as a green, elderly-sounding Changeling with spectacles and a bandana was leading the conversation.

“The best thing one should do is to speak the truth,” said the elder one. “Even if it’s painful, your friend will appreciate your gentle, firm but constructive criticism.” She then leaned over and spotted me. “Ah, another to join the forum?”

Those assembled, king included, looked over towards me. “Oh! Mr. Moztrot,” Thorax got up on his hooves to greet me. “My apologies, I didn’t think you would be here until tomorrow.”

“And I thought your kingdom would have been much further away,” I bowed my head in a respectful nod. “But I must say that the orchestra and I are really looking forward to this.”

“Give me a sec,” he turned to the group. “I’m going to need a minute, so you guys go on without me. I’ll be back soon.”

As he ushered me out and into another room to the side, I inquired, “Your court?”

“Oh no. They’re not my advisers or anything. I’m part of a group in which we connect and give advice about problems involving our feelings and such. But anyway Mr. Moztrot, on behalf of the Hive, I welcome you.”

“This is certainly a lively place, Your…” I looked up at him. “What should I call you?”

“You can call me just Thorax.”

“Well if that's the case then just call me Wolfgang. Or Wolfie if you like.”

“Very well.” He smiled, “So Wolfie, I can tell that you’re excited. So are our actors and musicians at the chance to work with you. That said since you’re here, I was hoping you’d answer a question that has been bugging me for quite some time now.”

While I chuckled at the word “bugging” I answered that he could ask freely.

“Why did you choose the hive’s theater troupe? With the musicians that play the winds, I understand why, but how come our actors too? Don’t think I’m suspicious or anything, I mean, this is a first for us, putting on an opera. But I’m just curious is all.”

“Do you remember when we met at the Music Festival in the Crystal Empire?” He said that he did. “Well, ever since you’ve shown me that not only could you change form, but even your voices, and that you have perfect memory like mine, to brush off such an opportunity would be completely foolish. After all, your subjects can easily transform into beings that I only dream about seeing and hearing. With my last opera, especially, we were limited in what we could do to bring this fantasy to life. The fact that you can change form and your voices is fantastic!”

The king put a hoof over his withers, “You really think so?”

“Of course,” I smiled. “Doesn’t everypony?”

He looked at me for a long time, “You mean… no one told you?”

“Told me what?”

With a sigh, he began. “Mr. Moztrot, we Changelings have been made tremendous progress in international relations, but there are those who can’t look past who we were. You see, before I came to the throne, the Hive was ruled by Queen Chrysalis. She was what you might call greedy. Not for gold or gems, but for a food source: love. To her mindset, love was always to be taken by force. She was cruel and heartless, so much so, that she tried to invade Equestria, twice. After the first attempt, most ponies could only see us as nothing but monsters.”

In a brilliant flash of green fire, he transformed into a curious creature like that of a large insect that had the form of a pony. It was black, thin with solid blue eyes, fangs, and holes in its legs, translucent tail and wings. “This, by the way,” he said, “is what we used to look like before we found out that it was possible to share love instead of taking it. Thus, we transformed into this.” And like that, he changed back. “But even after we... changed, there are those who won't accept us.”

“And you think I might not, Your Highness?” I inquired. “I may not be familiar with what your tribe did in the past, but I look to you as a blank slate. For I personally have no quarrel with the Changelings; if anything, your race is nothing less than a wonder.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Then how do you see us?”

“Quite simply, everything that I think that our ponies could become one day.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where I came from, ponies were given titles and duties, not because of merit but simply they happened to be born into it. There was little hope of moving up from your position. However, I don’t believe that. I think that anyone, pony or no, can raise themselves up because of what talent and natural gifts they have. My Papa has taught me that, and I’m living proof. And I’m glad to see that it’s not just me or ponies that could do the same.”

He gave me a tender smile, “Mr. Moztrot, you are indeed ahead of your time.”

“Well it only helps to catch up,” I laughed, and he did so too.

“So then, shall I introduce you to the cast you’ll be working with?”

“Oh please do! I’ve made it this far to meet them, and hopefully, we can get to work right away.”

Thus the Changeling King showed me the way towards what he called the “Auditorium” part of the Hive. It was a large, elongated bowl-shaped space that resembled the stadium from the Crystal Empire in its seating and the stage in the center. Yet, here this place looked as if it had occurred in nature, with the stones, vines, and moss everywhere. In the very center was a group of changelings, buzzing excitedly as they held the scores in their hooves. About thirty in all, they didn’t notice our arrival until their king cleared his throat.

After Thorax introduced me to the troupe, a blue changeling came up to me. “Mr. Moztrot this… oh gosh, i-it’s such an honor having you here,” he said as he took my hoof to shake it. “I’m the director of this production, you can call me Antten.”

“Pleasure,” I replied. “I can’t wait to meet the cast. So is this all of you?”

He nodded, “Yes, and we’ve just assigned roles.” He introduced me to the actors and actresses. One by one, I shook hooves with those who would play Prince Tamino, the bird catcher Papageno, Princess Pamina, the Queen of the Night, Sarastro, the three hoofmaidens, the head slave Monostatos, the three foal-spirits, the speaker of the temple, its three priests, Papagena, the two armed sphinxes, three slaves and the chorus.

After the King excused himself I turned towards them. “I hope that I’m not late for the rehearsal.”

“Oh, not at all,” Antten told me. “We were about to do our warm-ups until you arrived.”

“In that case...” I put my violin case down and asked, “Can I get everyone’s attention, please? Thank you. Firstly, I want to say that I am really looking forward to working with all of you. If anything, this is the absolute perfect opportunity to do something that no other production has ever done before. The very fact that all of you can shapeshift and change your voices means that we’ll have something that no other production has had: you’ll be able to recreate,” and I tapped my noodle, “what I see and hear in my head. If it’s true that you all have good memories, then we’ll be able to pull off The Magic Flute the way that I envisioned it, for the first time. We’ll show our audience that we’ve brought these characters to life. Now, I’ll let you tend to your exercises, and, with your permission Mr. Director, I’d like to tune my instrument, and their voices.”

With that, I brought the violin up to my chin and began to tune it.

Chapter 42: King Thorax’s Surprise

Words cannot begin to describe the efficiency of the Changelings once they’ve set their minds to it. Although nowadays the Changeling actors have rightfully earned their place on the stage, back then nopony had any idea of the full range of their capabilities. Their memories were just as remarkably sharp as my own. So much so, that on the first day they’d memorized their lines and then likewise the music on the next. And because they could transform into anything they desired from a pony to a rock, they never bothered with costumes, makeup or even set designs. Even now I am still amazed by how they could do naturally what ponies on stage have tried to do artificially.

While the rehearsals were extremely short, I remembered being highly impressed with these actors and actresses. Their powers of communication were extraordinary; they asked me questions on what this or that character should say and do to make them sound natural. Even if they made mistakes, I would point it out gently and suggest another way. Which they did. By the time we rehearsed with the full orchestra, every line, every word and every note they sang was perfect, because they knew it all by heart.

The night before the opera itself, I was in a guest room that King Thorax lent us, sitting on the edge of an open window and gazing at the stars. At the same time, I was improvising on my violin, searching for interesting melodies, hoping for inspiration. That is until Wilfried came in.

“Wolfgang,” he said, “King Thorax wishes to see you.”

I stopped playing. “Why? What does he want?”

“He said he wanted to show you something. Although he never said exactly what it was.” Setting my violin aside, I asked him where the King was. “Waiting for you outside your door.”

Curious, I went over to the curtain that separated the small guest room from the rest of the Hive. And there was Thorax wearing a suspicious smile. “Good evening Mr. Moztrot,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Oh no, not at all, Your Majesty. Is there something wrong?”

He tilted his head a little. “Why would there be anything wrong? I just wanted to show you something that I think you’ll like. Come walk with me.” He gestured with a wing so thin that I could see through it. Still curious, I followed him as he leads the way through the maze of the Hive. A minute after we started he asked: “So… Mr. Moztrot, how are my Changelings treating you?”

“Quite wonderfully,” I replied cheerfully. “Your subjects and yourself are amazing. As I said before, I have never seen anything like this kingdom before, and I have done my fair share of traveling.”

“So no complaints?”

I snorted. “Nothing but praises on my end. They’re friendly, delightful, intelligent and have a cornucopia of talents that are just waiting to be tapped into. I know it’s peculiar to say, but I feel like I’m home.”

Thorax stared at me. “Wow, really?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “You see, Your Highness, the home I grew up in was filled with geniuses that created together and laughed together. When I was a colt, I didn’t always feel that I fit in with foals; intellectually they couldn’t understand me or do what I could do. What few friends I had, where we could talk and joke on the same level, were almost always older than I was.”

“Oh…” Thorax said as he nodded. “That’s why.”

I blinked. “Why what?”

He looked around the hallway we were trotting down as he craned his neck down to me. “You do know that we Changelings can easily read emotions?” I told him that I did. “Well… When we first met at that Music Festival, I immediately sensed your emotions, many of which were positive ones. But at the same time, I also picked up a few that confused me. I didn’t want to bring it up for fear of sounding rude.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Loneliness,” he replied. “But not the kind that comes from depression, but a feeling that had sat there for years and years. For a long time, I couldn’t figure out why you would be feeling that deep down. Because I could tell that there was more to it than the, uh, funeral you had a while back.”

My ears folded back flat against my head. “Oh… Was it that obvious?”

“Not quite. Loneliness, like all other emotions, comes in a variety of distinct flavors. The only way I can describe it is like if someone were to make wine. Sure, the ingredients are the same but even the smallest deviation in how it’s made can change the quality and flavor of it. Same with emotions. Even if the same ingredients are there, the countless ways in how it was made could change the outcome. Like your loneliness for example.”

“Understandable.” I nodded. “Do you still sense that now?”

“Yes, but it’s been reduced quite a bit since you came to the hive. But anyway, I have a question for you.”

“Ask away and you shall receive.”

“What are you planning on doing after this?” He raised his neck back up to look down at me. “I mean, not for the next few weeks or months, but for the long term.”

“Honestly?” I breathed in deeply. “I only have one main goal after this.”

“Which is?”

“I’m planning on going to Istally, to perform my Requiem for my other son that is buried there.”

King Thorax gave an understanding nod. “Ah, I see. And after that?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe give public performances. Write more. Maybe get into composing for films or radio, or whatever that is exciting nowadays. I mean, now that I’ve been given a new life, health and wealth, the possibilities are endless.”

“And… personal?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I guess… are you going to date someone?”

Now I was confused. “Date? Forgive me but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know… asking somepony out, getting to know them… getting romantically attached.”

“Oh! You mean courting?” I giggled. “Well, if you’re talking about flirting with mares.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up since uh… you know.”

I frowned. “Yes, I see what you mean. Coming to grips of Constanza’s and my children’s death has been hard but I’m getting better. However, what can I say, I love mares, so what can you do? Besides, knowing her, she would probably come back from the grave to haunt me just to get me to move on anyway.”

“Out of curiosity, is there anyone who’s caught your eye?”

“You mean besides the whorses?”

Thorax almost snapped his neck as he looked at me in shock. “Wait what!?”

I laughed uncontrollably on the floor. “Oh, Celestia! You should have seen your face!”

He for his part rolled his eyes as he helped me back up. “Were you serious? I can’t exactly tell if you are.”

“I was joking, Your Highness,” I said with a few snickers. “Although, to be serious, the answer is no. I have been working so much that I haven’t exactly slowed down, so to speak. Although…”

King Thorax raised an eyebrow as I trailed off. “Yes?”

“I would be lying if I said that I haven’t found a few ponies attractive.”

“Oh?”

“Like… Take my maid Fan for instance. She’s pretty, and we could hold up a conversation once we get started. And don’t let her appearance fool you: It may not look like it, but she’s a composer as well.”

“Your maid is?”

“I’ve seen it too. In fact, she was composing on the way here. As far as I know, she and her brother are composers. She focuses on the piano while her brother prefers orchestral pieces. And to be honest, between the two, the sister has more talent.”

With a smirk on his face, he asked, “How come you haven’t decided to da- uh, court her yet?”

I stopped and stared. “Is that even allowed? I mean, I’m her employer after all. (Alright, Princess Celestia pays her salary but still.)”

Thorax paused too as he said, “Moztrot if you’re developing feelings for --”

“Hold on, I didn’t say I was in love with her!”

“Still, where would the harm be if you did? I mean, as long as she consents. You said yourself that your wife would want you to move on. And if you want to get into a relationship with your maid, then ask her. If she says no, then respect her decision. If otherwise, see where it could go.

“Now I’m not saying at all that it would work, but as I said, I can sense that deep down you’re lonely. If you’re lucky, really lucky, perhaps asking her out might help.” As he started walking again he added, “But I’m getting off track. I have something to show you that I think you’d like.”

Down several hallways and up a few staircases, the King of the Changelings led me through a curtain of a dark room. Before I could ask Thorax what was going on, lights suddenly lit up all at once with a room filled with Ponies to Changelings yelling out simultaneously: “SURPRISE!”

I admit I was both bewildered and confused at first. Not until I saw the silver platters of alcohol did it occur to me that this was a party. In no time the sight of those bottles turned my perplexity into delight. As it turned out, the Changeling actors and the orchestra had gotten together on a sort of cast party in my honor the night before the big opera, with all the wine, spirits, beer and whatever modern creations I could chug down. Party or no, I never turn down a drink or two with good company.

There was also another reason for the party. Unbeknownst to me, King Thorax had conspired with the orchestra on a surprise for me. I remember that while I was being served with a modern drink called a cocktail (a name in which to this day I still snicker at) Thorax came up to me with a smaller, younger-looking Changeling that held a clarinet in her hoof. At first, I was paying so much attention to the drinks that I hardly noticed their approach until Thorax tapped my shoulder.

“Mr. Moztrot,” he said, “I want you to meet someling.” As I glanced over, the little one ducked behind the King. “This is Ocellus. She’s a rising prodigy in the Hive and do forgive her, she’s kind of shy when meeting new people.”

“Ah,” I nodded as I turned my attention towards the Changeling in hiding. “Pardon me little miss, am I that scary looking?”

A light teal head poked out with dark turquoise eyes peering over. “N-No.”

“Then why are you hiding?”

She ducked her head back with a squeak. Eventually, I got up to go around Thorax. “Let me guess, you are intimidated by me?”

Ocellus nodded.

“Why?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Why are you intimidated by me? I haven’t done anything to you, have I?’

“N-Not really. It’s just…” I pressed on for her to continue. “I just uh… wanted to p-play you something.”

A realization came to me. “Oh, I see. You wanted to impress me, but you feel nervous doing so because you might make several wrong notes.” She nodded. “Ocellus isn’t it? Here, sit down, I have a story that might help a little.”

She did so as I downed the cocktail mix. I then asked her how long she’d been playing the clarinet. “About two years,” she said meekly, “but I’ve b-been told that I’ve gotten better.”

“Better?” Thorax questioned. “Ocellus, you play the clarinet like an angel.”

“I see,” I said. “Now, did you know that I had an older sister?” She shook her head. “Like yourself, she was a musician too, and a great composer in her own right. When I was a little colt, she and I played together at courts and theaters all around. I noticed that whenever we played, she was almost never nervous beforehand. One night I asked her why this was, as I was afraid of playing the wrong notes. She told me that she had this trick: right before we went on, she would go into a separate room and then bash out sour notes that screeched. After she banged out enough noise to relieve her anxieties, then when she came on, she would be flawless.”

Ocellus raised an eyebrow. “So… You want me to just make noise?”

“Yes, right here.”

“But they’ll stare.”

“That’s the idea! If you get the bad notes out of the way, then you will be comfortable in playing the right ones. Here, give it a try.”

She looked between me and her instrument. “I don’t know…”

“Trust me. This tends to help. Make the funniest sounds you can think of.”

After some thought, she brought the clarinet to her muzzle and a squeaky, wet, melancholic sound issued forth. Almost immediately I started giggling like mad as one farting note after another burst into the crowded room. Even convulsed as I was, I couldn’t help but harmonize by making similar sounds with my mouth. Fortunately enough this got her laughing as well between each toot and poot. Even though I can see in some of the Changeling’s (even the orchestra’s) eyes that they thought it childish, Ocellus’ mood did improve. She was beginning to be comfortable around me. One look and it was clear that her nervousness and anxiety had melted away.

“Feel better?” I asked, and the young Changeling nodded. “So little miss, what were you going to play again?”

“Oh! That’s right,” Thorax said as he spoke up. “I asked a favor from your orchestra and they agreed. It was Ocellus’ idea actually. She wants to play your clarinet concerto. All three movements.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised, as I turned to Ocellus. “For someone who’s been playing the clarinet for two years, playing that is rather advanced.”

“I know what you mean.” The young Changeling nodded. “I’m told that, for beginners, it’s like shooting a bow and arrow in the dark a few miles away from a target that’s about the size of a ring painted black. But with this, I’m told that I’m an excellent shot, Mr. Moztrot.”

Looking up at King Thorax, he nodded. “She really is. You should hear her.”

“Well, if you’re confident enough. Let us see what you have to show.”

In a matter of minutes, the Changeling King assembled the orchestra. Music stands were set up and instruments tuned as copies of the concertos were being around. They insisted that I should conduct on account of I wasn’t quite tipsy yet.

“Uh, do you need a copy of the music?” One of the members of the orchestra asked me as he hoofed me a copy.

“You can keep it if you want,” I replied as I tapped my noodle, “it’s already here inside my head.”

With the orchestra assembled, Ocellus meekly went up to me, clarinet in hoof. Before I could cue the first movement, she called out. “Uh. W-Wait. Mr. Moztrot, if you don’t mind. Could I rather just sit next to you with so many around?”

I blinked. I have to admit that in all the years I have conducted, even with the hoofful of foal prodigies, such a request was never asked of me. “Well I… I suppose so?” She scuffled over by my side, sitting right next to me, clarinet at the ready. Looking up at me, she gave me the nod to go right ahead.

So lifting my hooves I led the orchestra into the First Movement. From the start, I was rather impressed that this orchestra had managed to rehearse this as the sounds produced were so smooth. In the first two minutes of the Allegro, the strings from the violins to the cellos glide elegantly, with the winds and horns bringing back the nostalgic sounds of a garden party that Celestia would host. The very main theme to my imagination brought back memories of nights where hooves moved swiftly but gracefully while rare wines flowed from the fountains like a sweet spring. In my mind’s ear, even the blooming flowers had a melody of their own in this lively nocturnal air. Even the lively violins echoed the chatter and laughter from those guests long ago.

Then, it was Ocellus’s turn as she drew the instrument to her lips. From my side, as I conducted, a humble sound came to the party. Far from simple, this new voice brought attention to herself as if she was the belle of the ball. Just by herself, warm notes with virtuosity danced among the greenery. The clarinet was completely in control as she played the simplified theme one moment and spun new steps the next. She was unpredictable but never out of place, even to me who wrote it!

When it came to the difficult notations, Ocellus’ hooves moved with the speed of summer lightning as she scaled up and down the register without missing a beat. Even at the trills, they were clear as a keyboard. Never in my ears did it seem as if any note was out of place. Even in the lower register, she kept her breath even to let out smooth, low sounds. Yet her playing was vibrant as roses, flexible as water but disciplined as court dancers. Almost paradoxical to the orchestra but even with the variations it was still in tune at every bar.

Every so often, I would glance down at the young Changeling as her eyes remained shut but her ears perked straight up as she paid close attention to the rhythms of the strings as she navigated through the polished Allegro. Even when the orchestra suspended itself for a brief moment, her instrument would take center stage with a single gesture. Her sense of grace and restraint served her well at the very ending of the movement that tied quite nicely together with the orchestra finishing.

At the Second Movement, the Adagio, Ocellus, while keeping her eyes closed, went from focused determination to daydreaming. Right from the opening theme, her playing was gentle, as if she held a broken heart in her hooves. Not even from the first time this concerto was played had this lone clarinet sounded as if it were drowning in longing. Her playing was unquestionably beautiful, but behind it, there was something sad.

The only way that my ears could describe it was as if one were to walk into a room where one was trying to comfort their beloved while the orchestra let those tears flow nonetheless. I never asked the young Changeling if she had lost someone once, but that night I could hear it in each phrase from the lonely high to the serious low. As if we had awkwardly stumbled into something private. Yet, when she played out the main melody, it was heartbreakingly tender. So much so, when I looked down, I swear that I saw tears rolling down her cheeks.

If it hadn’t been for the revelation in Manehattan, I would think that this moment would confer to me what my work meant to these modern times. Those tears came about because it touched that Changeling’s soul, comforting her with a melody. Even the clarinet within that movement took up the role of a mother reassuring a crying child. Telling her that it’s alright, everything will be fine. In other words, it moved her to tears.

As I conducted the orchestra, the soloist by my side, my thoughts turned to what King Thorax had said about moving on. Even in my own music of the Adagio, I could practically hear Constanza’s voice within the reassuring clarinet that I shouldn’t have to be alone anymore. That I should seek someone to be happy with as she had been with me.

Perhaps…

However, I couldn’t get too lost in my thoughts as before I knew it, the second movement drew to a close.

Ocellus dried her tears before the final movement, the Rondo Allegro, could begin. She took the lead in a lively melody. Her tricks and virtuosity made her a ballerina for the orchestra to follow. I found this interesting. Here was a shy Changeling who mere minutes ago was petrified of making mistakes in front of me, but once she got going scaling the clarinet she became confident. Especially after the Adagio; how quickly she turned from one heartbroken to putting up a façade in a matter of a few bars.

As in the first movement, she played with grace but more playfully this time around. Ocellus had energy to spare as she got around to the exciting bits and her hooves went up and down. In my mind, I had the image of a dancer, childlike but more experienced than the grown-ups. But still, the orchestra provides the scenery which the soloist dances before. Violins and violas flicker about like candlelight while the wind and brass mimic the spectators that “Ooh” and “Ahh” the soloist.

Minutes later, a much calmer Ocellus finished off the closing trill as the orchestra played out the final few bars, bringing the concerto to a close. As expected, those within the room applauded the young Changeling’s efforts – and so did I. “That was wonderful,” I told her.

She laughed embarrassedly but happily. “I take it that it was good enough?”

“More than that, I think you surpassed the original soloist that played it first. You should be proud of yourself, little miss.” Taking hold of a wine glass, I called out. “Everyone! A toast! To young Ocellus, may her star rise ever higher and brighter.”

“Cheers!”

Of course, the only downside to attending parties with barrels of alcohol is that I tend to get blackout drunk before said party is over and wake up with a head-splitting, eye-stinging hangover. The kind that Wilfried would scold me over, that at my age I should know when to stop drinking before passing out somewhere. And of course, he did as soon as I was awake.

Now that I think about it, that alone, I think, was a major improvement from the age I lived in: the servants back then would never dare upbraid their employer -- unless they wanted to be let go. Yet, in this modern era, I had to sit with a cup of coffee and my aching head while Wilfred lectured me as if I was a child. I confess that on some days I wonder if he enjoys doing that.

“It’s already embarrassing enough when you slip into an alcoholic coma,” my butler rebuked. “But to be found passed out on the lap of a mare! If you’re about to slip into unconsciousness, then the least you could do is find a couch or a chair to knock yourself out on.”

I smirked. “I didn’t know it was that kind of party.”

This remark resulted in him rolling up some sheet music to batter the back of my head with. “Really, Wolfgang,” he rolled his eyes, “I know you’re a party animal, but one would think that you’d know how to restrain yourself when necessary.”

“Alright Papa,” I muttered sarcastically.

Before Wilfred could make a retort, the sound of someone clearing their throat was heard. We turned to see Ocellus poking her head through the curtain. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Is there something you need young lady?” My butler asked. “Right now isn’t the best time for Master Moztrot to receive visitors.”

“Oh, I’m not visiting. I just wanted to come by to thank him.”

“For what?” I questioned before taking a sip.

“Well, giving me a technique for easing my uh… stage fright. That and for being willing to listen to me play. I was scared that you wouldn’t like it.”

Another sip. “Ocellus… wasn’t it?” she nodded, “Did I toast you?”

“You did.”

Nodding, I added, “This might come to a shock, but even I have standards, including in music. If I didn’t think you were talented, I wouldn’t have done that. From what I heard of your playing, you deserved it. And yes, not only do I think so, but I’m rather surprised why you’re not in the orchestra to begin with. I mean you could easily play alongside the other clarinetists for tonight’s opera.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Personally, I see playing music as a hobby. I would much rather listen to someone else play than stand up there with everyling watching. I mean, playing for you was scary enough. Which is why I came up here to thank you… and uh… to apologize too.”

“Why? What did you do?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” She sighed. “I kinda came to you with the wrong mindset. That for a moment, I thought that you would be this uptight perfectionist. A snob basically. But once I got to start talking to you, not only were you the exact opposite of what I thought you were, but you’re kinda like Changelings my age.”

“Finally!” I raised my cup of coffee. “Someone that actually gets it!”

She giggled. “Anyway, thank you, Mr. Moztrot for helping. And I hope the opera goes well tonight.”

“Would you be coming?” I asked.

“I think I should.” She answered. “After all, I’m not the only Changeling in the Hive to not know what the Magic Flute is about.”

For the first time that morning, I smiled. “My, you Changelings are in for a real treat.”

Author's Note

First of all, sorry for getting sidetracked for a couple of months from my other stories. I just want you the reader to know that not only am I back with this story, but I'm now determined to see to its end as well. That's right, I'm going to focus my attention on finishing this thing. I don't know how long it will take, but now I'm going to see to its end.

Chapter 44: The Magic Flute (Act 2)

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter 45: Her Name is Clypeus

The next morning, the Orchestra prepared to head home, full of pride at pulling off the most perfect performance of “Magic Flute” in history. We bid our Changeling actors goodbye, secure in the knowledge that their king had given them tremendous honors and praise for an astounding, ambitious feat of the arts such as the kingdom had never seen before. But at dawn (and before I was completely awake) Wilfred, Fan, and Sauté were getting ready for our next trip towards Istally. By the time I was conscious, I had one last thing to do in the Changeling Kingdom before we set out – breakfast with King Thorax.

I must say that in comparison to the other meals with royalty I’ve had in my life, this was rather unusual. Firstly, unlike those that required some privacy (except for some guards and courtiers), breakfast for the King was a communal act. There was an undoubted banquet; trays upon trays of strange and exotic foods were served, designed to please the eye and the tastes of royalty. It struck me that it wasn’t just Thorax that was given his fair share; everyone, even the humblest of Changelings, partook in this morning feast.

The King wanted me to sit next to him at the Royal table. Such a thing was, of course, a tremendous honor. But at the same time, it was as if one was eating at some other family’s get-together. Some of the rules of etiquette were outright ignored, even by the King! The subjects spoke freely with him as much as he did to them. Here, foals played with their fortress of mashed potatoes as armies of edible flowers threatened to invade. There a grandparent recalled tales of times gone by. Above all, the Changelings didn’t treat their own king any differently than any other family member.

“Waffles, Mr. Moztrot?” a colt asked as he offered a pyramid of the stuff.

I took a few and a spoonful of strawberries from a passing filly. And before I could start on those, a young mare asked if I wanted my cup of coffee refilled. Before I knew it, I was offered freshly whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate sauce.

“You have the best cooking in the world, Your Highness,” I commented as I cut up the sweet treat before me. “This is the only place I know that serves dessert at breakfast. I feel like a colt again.”

King Thorax laughed, “Waffles, I think, have been around for a while now as a breakfast food.”

“Since when? I mean, not that I’m complaining of course.” I said before taking a forkful of that warm, creamy, sweet goodness.

“No idea. But I do know it’s been around for some time. Still, at least you're satisfied.” He let me consume the scrumptious meal before asking, “So I take it that you’re going back home to Canterlot?”

After swallowing, I answered, “Actually, I figured that we should go to Istally next for a… long overdue visit.”

“I see…” He nodded. “Will this as big of an affair as the last funeral you held in Saltzberg?”

“Depends who comes. But even if it wasn’t for that, I’d still be excited. I haven’t been to Istally since I was a teenager. Beautiful country with mares to match. It makes me wonder what has changed since my last visit there.”

“But I was wondering if you’re planning to perform the Requiem there, what will you do for an orchestra and choir now that your musicians have gone home?”

“Oh, I’ve already thought of that,” I told him as I cut another piece. “I spoke with the vice president about providing me one for family matters and he said he was going to pull some strings here and there. I should have one ready for me by the time I get there.”

“Ah. I see.” After he munched on something unidentifiable, he changed the subject. “I want to say that your opera last night was actually fun. And my Changelings who took part say that they had a ball doing it. I’m really impressed at what they managed to accomplish.”

“As you should be. They are natural born actors. It’s amazing to me that they managed to pull it off so perfectly in such a short amount of time. Really, you ought to show Equestria their talent, they would become stars overnight.”

“I may consider that, thanks to your efforts. Still, what a creative way to introduce my kingdom to opera. No doubt it’s giving my Changelings a few ideas.”

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. If I have influenced anyone here, then I say my job is done.”

“Not quite.”

This snapped my attention. “Huh?”

“Before you go, there is one more thing that I think you should know.” He said as he took a drink of… something from his cup. “Is it true that you’re still open for teaching?”

“Well, that depends. Why do you ask?”

“After the opera last night, I was approached by one of my Changelings. She said that she’s interested in learning to play a new instrument, in this case, the piano, from you.”

“Oh?” My ears perked up. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-six. She played the clarinet in your opera, but she told me that she wanted to learn how to play a keyboard from the very best.”

“How come she didn’t come to me?”

“I think she tried,” he said picking up an orange, “but you were so swamped with everyone congratulating you that it didn’t seem possible.”

That made sense. “I don’t know if I could give her a lesson right away.”

“Ah, there’s more.” The King added. “She said that since she doesn’t have any bits, she’s willing to work as a maid to pay for her lessons. She does chores, you give her lessons. If you ask me, it sounds like a fair trade.”

“Another maid? Well… I guess I could ask Wilfred about it. Knowing him, he’s itching to get more staff at home. Has she been trained in service?” When he said he doubted it, I shrugged, “Since we are going to Istally, I suppose that she could be trained along the way. Very well. If you can have her come to my guest room after breakfast, then we’ll see if she’s qualified.”

“I’d say thank merciful Celestia.” Fan said. “It’s about time we get more staff. Working in a mansion and traveling around with you.”

“Agreed.” Wilfred nodded. “It’s a wonder why you haven’t considered doing this before.”

“You all know that it’s been busy since I came back from the dead,” I replied. “I just couldn’t find the time.”

“But regardless,” Mr. Sauté smiled, “at least we are getting someone new.”

“And I can use the help,” Fan nodded. “When do you think she might get-”

“Uh, excuse me.” The four of us turned towards the curtain door to see a very light pink head with blue eyes poking out. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Mr. Moztrot.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my butler raise an eyebrow. “And who are you?”

“I’m Clypeus,” she said as she entered, “I’m the one that wants to become a maid and be your student, Mr. Moztrot.”

“Ah,” Wilfred stood up as he went up to her, “you’re the one that’s applying for the position. I understand King Thorax is aware that you’re planning to work for us?”

She nodded, “He knows and he’s okay with it. And uh… who are you?”

“I am Wilfred, the butler. This is Fan, currently the head maid, and Mr. Sauté the cook. Now, since we are about to head towards Istally, Master Moztrot-” I cleared my throat. “Ah, pardon me, Wolfgang has suggested we train you as we travel. Tell me, miss, have you ever worked as a maid before?”

“Well, I’m good at following directions, and a fast learner. If tasks are set before me, I’ll do them immediately. Plus, since I’m a Changeling, food shouldn’t be much of a problem; I personally see it as an optional luxury. But don’t worry, I’ve learned how to share the love as much as feed on it, so I’ll be able to take care of myself. Plus, I don’t have any personal possessions except for my clarinet.”

Nodding, Wilfred turned to us, asking our thoughts. “If she’s willing to learn, then hire her,” Fan said. “I can show her the ropes.”

“As long as she doesn’t harm any of us,” my cook said, “she’s in.”

“And you know what I think,” I said.

“Right then.” He turned to her with a stern look. “We will be leaving in a few hours. There are a few rules. We will set a number of hours per day you will work. During those hours you will follow any instructions given to you by myself or Fan, who from now on is your supervisor. You will assist us with cleaning, answering the door, attending to Wolfgang’s guests – in short, whatever duties that must be done. Speaking of which, you will refer to him as Wolfgang in private but as Master Moztrot in a public setting. At the end of the week, you will get your pay, the amount to be set by the Equestrian crown depending on the labor and hours you put in. We will teach you how to act professionally in your work, and the behavior you should adopt. Do I make myself clear?”

Clypeus indicated she understood.

I approached her. “You know, I’m surprised that you’ve decided to do this all of a sudden.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I embarked on this passion project, I didn’t expect that I would be getting a new maid and student as well.”

“Have you heard your own music?” She asked with a giggle. “Don’t get me wrong, I have heard of you a few times and heard some of your stuff here and there. But actually, playing that opera… I don’t know, I’d never heard anything like that. Something so simple but bursting with creativity. I just knew that I had so much to learn.”

“But don’t you have family or friends here?”

“Besides my parents, no one who’s really close. My friends say that I should try to move up in the world. Someone said once that when the opportunity comes by, it’s best to go with it to see where it leads you.”

“And you think I’m the opportunity that you’re looking for?”

She shrugged, “You never know until you start.”

I smiled. “I’m beginning to like your way of thinking, miss.”

Chapter 46: The Final Visit and New Beginnings

Istally had grown quite a bit since the last time I visited there. The vineyards on its rolling hills remained the same, trees stood tall and the waters still ran as sweet. Of course, many of its ancient towns and cities had expanded a little, but its ancient houses stubbornly remained. Aside from the modern stores and new restaurants, there were many landmarks that I recognized. From the ruins of the old Pegasi Empire to the standing Opera Houses, it was like returning to the home of an old friend.

I will spare you, the reader, the superfluous details of the crowds that welcomed me. While it’s true that I wasn’t born anywhere in Istally, they practically adopted me because of the operas were written in their language. They greeted me by tossing roses into our carriage. Wilfried often griped that the adulation would spoil me after too long. However, I didn’t see the problem. After all, why refuse the gift of fame when the crowd offers it to you?

However, we were there for personal business. It was in the north in Milan that the grave of my second son lies. As soon as we arrived in the city, the first thing I did was to order funerary flowers and to search for his grave. It took many hours of asking and looking like even the names of the grave markers had been eroded away by time. I worried that perhaps my efforts in finding my son Karl would be in vain.

In the end, it was Clypeus that found it, by nightfall. Tucked in a corner of the graveyard, a tiny marble slab stuck out of the ground. Most of the carvings were unreadable as centuries of rain had worn them down. The only legible things on the stone were the birth year of 784, and the last name of Moztrot. After placing the wreath of roses, I asked to be alone so that I might say a few parting words to my son.

Plopping my flank down next to the grave, I placed a hoof on the dry grass. “I know I’m probably the very last pony you’d be expecting to visit your grave. And yes, I do feel guilty for not coming here sooner but couldn’t with all that has happened to me in such a short amount of time. But since I now have the opportunity, I came all this way to make some apologies to you.

“Karl… I want to say I’m sorry for not being there for you or your brother. I wished that I had the means to give both of you and your mother the security you needed in the case of my passing. I’m glad to hear that you’d gone to school and got ahold of a stable position; it’s much more than I could say. I know this is a few centuries too late, but I hope that you’re not too angry at an old fool like me.”

Sighing, I leaned against the stone wall for support. “Karl… if you can hear me… I just wanted to say that I’m proud of both of you and your brother. If I had lived long enough, I would have supported you regardless of whether you had a passion for music or not. I might not sound like it, but even after coming back to life, I know deep down of all the moments that I’ve missed out on. Such as your first words, your first steps, the first day of school, piano recital – and who knows, maybe your first marefriend if I hadn’t gotten ill. Even with this second chance in life, I know that I will have missed all the moments that are precious to any caring parent. Worst yet, I’m completely powerless to do anything about it except to move on.

“But Karl… I think you would have loved it here. I have fame and wealth to the point where I have no idea what to do with it. I have fallen back to Princess Celestia’s good graces. I have a mansion with servants that I’ve come to regard as friends. I create concerts and stage Operas of the highest quality, and I have a small hoofful of students who are genuinely good. That, and the food and drinks are incredible. And the mares are beautiful. It’s a paradise here, but not fully when you, your brother and your mother aren’t here to enjoy it with me.”

I stood back up on my forelegs, I didn’t take my eyes off the marble slab. “In the next few days, Karl, I’m going to conduct my finished Requiem in your honor. While I’ve already played it for Franz, your mother and grandfather, your dedication have been long overdue. But until then… I will have to move on. While in truth, I have no idea what is in store for me in the coming years, as long as I have this second life, I’m planning on using it to the fullest. Go to new regions of the world. Write more music. Play often. Fall in love again. And up until the day that I truly die, laugh my head off -- until it does come off.” With a chuckle, I kissed the head of the gravestone. “Until then, goodbye my son. I love you.”

Now that I had made my peace, I turned around to head towards the gates of the graveyard where my friends were waiting for me. “All that is left now is the Requiem now, is that so, Wolfgang?” Wilfried asked.

I nodded, “After the dedication to Karl, then we go home.”

“Fair enough,” Fan said, “but that won’t happen in a few days, what with the national choir and orchestra rehearsing it. But what are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Well, we are in Istally…” I mused. “I think that for all the trouble of dragging all of you about, I should give you the day off.”

All four stared at me. “The day off?” Mr. Sauté asked, “As in starting right now, or…”

“Yes. The day off. We are in Milan after all. I’ll be going back to the hotel to rest a little; the rest of you should enjoy yourselves. In a place this big, there should be plenty of things to do.”

“Certainly you’re not going to be left alone.” Wilfried objected.

“I don’t see why not. I’ve managed to do so before.”

“It’s one thing to leave you be in Equestria or its capital, it’s another when we’re in a different country.”

“If it would be alright,” Clypeus raised a hoof. “I wouldn’t mind staying with him. Look after him while the rest of you enjoy the day off. Besides, I’d like to get to know Wolfgang a little better.”

My ears perked up. “What? Like a date?” I smirked.

“Well…” she shrugged. “Why not? It would at least give us something to do.”

Wilfred, Sauté and Fan looked at one another. My butler nodded, “Ms. Clypeus?”

“Yes, sir?”

He smiled. “Do look after him and be sure to bring him back to the hotel before dark.” Then to me, he added, “And Wolfgang, do stay out of trouble.”

“But of course,” I smiled, “however, let me pick up my violin beforehoof.”

“And my clarinet too.” Clypeus smiled.

Soon enough, the Changeling, her clarinet, my violin and I were out in the streets, side by side. Treading over the cobblestones and passing by ancient homes down the winding, crooked roads. All the while, neither of us not really paying any attention to where exactly we were going but getting lost in conversation.

“So, what about you?” I inquired.

She tilted her head, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, tell me something about yourself. Who is Clypeus of the Changelings? What are her interests? Her dislikes? How long has she played the clarinet and why did she spontaneously decided to run from the hive and join the servitude of a composer?”

“Okay, one thing at a time.” She said before taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “Well, to begin with, I’m twenty-six years old, and just someling who’s trying to figure out herself.”

“What does that imply?”

“It’s just that, after the fall of Chrysalis, where before we were so used to being told what to do that there wasn’t any time to figure out what exactly we wanted... Before we were drones, we weren’t meant to think, create or learn, we just did. Like standing watch for intruders, or hunting for love, or learning fighting skills in case we had to attack someone. But when King Thorax came, suddenly, we found ourselves free.”

“But isn’t that a good thing?” I inquired. “Where I come from, there were many millions that must do what their sovereign said -- or else. Why Prance when I was there had talked of revolution. Which, if my reading on modern history is correct, they ended up freeing themselves from tyranny. The books said that they were overjoyed to get rid of their king.”

“Yes, well I don’t know much about that. But what I do know is that once we were free from being told what to do, we all found ourselves asking: ‘Now what?’ Without a control freak to tell you what to do, suddenly you find that you’re not sure what to do with this new freedom. The King said that we should probably start finding our own culture, and the only way to do that, was by looking at others to draw inspiration. And in that way, I was drawn to music.”

I nodded as we turned a corner. “That makes sense. But what about interests? What are the things you like?”

“Well… I like playing the clarinet, laughing at jokes, looking at the stars on a clear night, watching a sunset, learning new things, listening to records, playing in our band. I guess you might say that I like simple things.”

“And the things you don’t like?”

She paused for a moment, “That’s kinda a tricky one to be honest.”

“Why?”

“Well, I know what I like, which is why I always stick around those things. No one, I think, wants to be near the stuff they don’t like, like being caught in the rain or listening to something annoying. It’s one of those things that you have to avoid if you don’t like it.”

I nodded. “That’s pretty reasonable. And your clarinet? How long have you been playing it?”

She glanced over at the little black case on her back. “I wanna say a year or so after Chrysalis was overthrown… I think? Truth be told, I haven’t been keeping count. But the reason I chose the clarinet was because of the recordings I’ve heard – especially your concerto, the one Ocellus played for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I mean up until then, I never even heard of your name. But when I came across that record, well… I became curious. So I, like my fellow Changelings, tried to get whatever pieces I could find, not just your works but many others. Sure, there are those who like Jazz or Beethoven, but personally, I find your music appealing.”

“Oh?” I smiled. “Why?”

For a good few minutes, we walked on in silence, as I waited for her reply. “I guess,” she said at last, “it’s because I had a different viewpoint on you.”

“How so?”

“Many say that your music is all sentimental, full of slow-moving strings from a time that’s all about making everything beautiful and nothing challenging. But from what I’ve heard… yes, it has that, but it would be incorrect to say that’s all there is to it. Because really, there’s more than that. Especially when it comes to the piano. Because there, it’s up close and personal, like having a friend come over for a visit to tell you about how their day has been.”

I hummed. “Now I’m curious, what kind of days have I had?”

“Well, there were times when you had fun. And other days when it’s been lonely. At times I hear you relax while there are some when I can almost hear you cry.” She paused, glancing over to me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get personal.”

“No, don’t be,” I told her as we continued on. “It actually explains why you wanted to learn about playing the keyboard. That being the case… I suppose that if I’m going to teach you, then I don’t think I can do it the same way I taught my students in the past.”

“Why not?”

“Because when I teach them, I showed them how to play something, not so much how to feel.” At this point, we came across the edge of the city it was open to farmland. The rolling hills of Istally stretched out and the sun bathed the buildings in a bright, orange glow. A wonderful scene, for a wonderful idea. “Here,” I suddenly stopped and put down my violin case, “I’ll show you.”

She blinked. “What? Right here? Now?”

“Why not?” I shrugged as I unlatched and opened the case. “Oftentimes, explaining how to play with emotion is difficult to put into words.” Taking out my violin and bow, I added, “It has to be experienced.”

“Okay…” She sat down and opened up her clarinet case before putting the instrument together. “If you don’t mind, is it possible that maybe you go first? Maybe like play me something to give me an idea.”

Thus, I put the instrument underneath my chin, thinking up a tune that I could really work with to help illustrate it for her. “Very well, do you want to know how I see music?”

Clypeus tilted her head to the side. “No, but I’m curious.”

“Well, most ponies tend to think that us musicians, that all we do, is just play notes that we read off from a sheet of paper. But that’s complete nonsense! To us, regardless what we play on, this violin, isn’t a violin at all, it’s more like a character, an individual; it doesn’t speak the way we do, but you can tell whatever it’s feeling buy the tone it makes. As a composer, whenever I write something, I don’t just see notes. I see these colorful characters engaging in a conversation, an argument, making love, forgiving each other, fighting each other, looking for hope and rejoicing when it’s found. Or… take this moment here. Look at that landscape, that sunset, these ponies around us. I try to imagine, ‘What would a character like a violin think and feel in a place like this?’”

“Do you know what it would say?”

I smiled as I raised my bow, “Oh, I have a few ideas.” And there, among the glow of the setting sun as I began to play for her with a newfound passion, one that I hadn’t experienced since I was married. Within that performance, a new seed was planted that I could see how I can fully move on. And it started with her.

Author's Note

At long last, it's finally done. I do apologize for getting distracted for over half a year now, but I've finally given this story an ending. I hope to hear from you readers what you think of it.

Happy Holidays, and congratulations on making it to the finish! -- Bitpull

Chapter 1: Life After Death

This is not the book about the life I lived between 756 to 791. It is not about the struggle to keep myself and family financially secure; nor the reasons I wrote my operas, symphonies, concertos, sonatas, and choral pieces. For that is not the story I want to tell. Everything about my life -- from private letters to first hoof accounts -- has been exposed by historians and teachers of music. Myths have been spun about my life, and countless concerts, recitals, and festivals have performed every piece that I have ever written.

That is not what I want to write.

Rather, this story is about my second life, after all of that. So, I suppose the best way to tell it, is to begin from the earliest memory I have of this new world.

I woke up on a bed that wasn’t my own. I lay on a bed that propped my upper half up. My clothes were replaced by a blue, paper gown that was covered with white sheets and a blue blanket. A turquoise curtain surrounded the bed, and above was a light that never flickered. My left foreleg had a needle in it, connected by a tube to a clear bag with what I assumed was water in it. My ears heard a steady tempo beep like a note of a clarinet. I felt around my face and discovered a mask with a tube connecting it, but it made my throat quite dry. So much so that I had a coughing fit as I was pulling it off me.

“Oh Celestia, he’s awake!” I heard a voice say while all around me, I heard the movement of hoofsteps like actors behind a closed curtain. Then suddenly, a mare in a white uniform and a pink mane pulled apart the curtain.

“Sir, are you okay?” Of course, I wasn’t. After I begged for water and she retrieved some in a paper cup, a stallion in a white coat with spectacles stepped in.

“Hello sir,” he said. “My name is Doctor Red Cross. I’m sure that you have a lot of questions.”

“That I do,” I told him as I downed the thimble of water. “Where am I?”

“Canterlot Medical Hospital,” he answered as he took out a clipboard. “You were admitted for emergency surgery for kidney failure and influenza. To which I am happy to report that the surgery has been a success, but you will definitely need to stay here at the hospital overnight.”

“Surgery?” I looked down at myself, pulling the covers over to the side and pulling up the paper gown to reveal a scar with black stitching. “What did you do to me?” I demanded.

He held out a hoof. “Mr. Moztrot, calm down. You shouldn’t move too much. We’ve replaced your failing kidney with a donated, healthy one. For the time being, we will be keeping an eye on you until you fully recover.”

“But… But sir, I can’t afford to pay you-” I stopped, “How did you know my name?”

Both ponies glanced at one another. “W-Well, you don’t have to worry about that, it’s already being taken care of,” he said as he flipped through his papers. “In fact, Celestia herself is paying your medical bill, but there is something that we need to clarify for you now that you’re awake.” He stuck his head and gestured for another pony to come in. The curtain was drawn a little bit aside to show a stallion that I had never seen before. He was orange and had a blue cloak like the night sky. His hooves and muzzle were white while his dark orange mane and beard were rather unkempt. Like the doctor, he had spectacles. “This is Sunburst, he is the one who brought you here.”

I tilted my head, “He brought me here? I never have seen this pony in my life.”

“Technically,” the stallion called Sunburst rubbed the back of his head. “You’re correct on that account. And uh…” I saw his ears folded backward as his face gave a rather guilty expression. “Mr. Moztrot, I’m so, so, so, so sorry for what I did.”

“Did wh- owe!” At that moment I tried to sit up but instantly I felt a pain in my abdomen.

“Please, don’t strain yourself,” the doctor put a hoof to gently lay me back.

“What in Tartarus is going on?!” I demanded. “Who are you ponies? Why am I here? Where’s my wife?”

Three ponies looked at one another until the mare pointed at the stallion in the cloak, “You tell him.”

Again, I demanded an answer, and the one called Starburst cleared his throat, “Before I say anything, I want to ask a very important question: What’s the last thing you remember?”

Now I was more confused than ever before, “What does that have got to do with anything?”

“Quite a lot,” he pulled on the collar of his starry cloak. “I promise that I won’t ask any more questions if you could answer that one.”

I sighed, “I was home when my wife had just returned with the children. And I was very sick… I had aches, pains, and my thoughts became sluggish as if time was slowing down for me. The last thing I recalled, I was in my bed with the manuscripts strewn about the blanket… And…” A thought came to me. I had many dark thoughts in the past, but this one horrified me. Terrorized me so much that I couldn’t bear to finish that sentence, the doctor put a comforting hoof on my shoulder as I looked up in fear. “Am I dead?”

“Uh… Yes and no,” Sunburst continued. “Yes for the fact that on December the fifth, 791, history says that you died. At the same time, however, the answer is also ‘no’ obviously because, well… again, it’s my fault.”

My jaw was gaping, “I don’t understand.”

He rubbed his hooves over his eyes, “I guess there’s no other way of sugar coating this: I’m responsible for taking you out of your own timeline. As of right now, today is August 13th, 1007. In other words, I have taken you two-hundred-and-sixteen years into the future.”

Admittingly, I lay there in complete silence for a good solid minute while the other three ponies waited to see my reaction. Well, I did what any sensible pony would do: I laughed in my usual hyena-like giggle. “This is a fantastic joke!” I declared. “The best one yet! So, who is the mastermind of all of this? Salieri? Schikaneighder? Oh! Is this Princess Celestia’s doing? I know she’s quite the trickster but I can never imagine her pulling off such a prank as this.” However, I had to pause when nopony else was laughing along with me. “Why are you all looking at me like that? You’ve all made a fool out of me and the joke is over… This is a joke, right?”

“No Mr. Moztrot,” Doctor Red Cross told me. “If anything, we wouldn’t believe it ourselves if it weren’t for the fact that members of the Royal family witnessed you come through.”

“I was only trying to demonstrate a very complex spell,” Sunburst explained. “One in which was to fetch something that was lost in the past. I tried to bring back some trinkets like some pottery or keys that nopony could find… but when you came through… Celestia knew who you were and how sickly you looked that we had to get you to a doctor immediately.”

Another long pause, this time it was mine to speak up, “None of you are suggesting that this claim is… is real?” Sunburst nodded. “But, even if it were true, you can get me back home, could you? I have a wife and two small colts that are depending on me.”

The bearded unicorn’s ears folded backward. “I… I can’t. The spell I cast was already complex enough to take you out of the past and into our present, and doing the opposite requires knowledge and mathematical precision that doesn’t exist. What’s more, even if I could, Celestia herself wouldn’t allow it as to prevent a paradox in time. Mr. Moztrot, I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry.”

Even still, I couldn’t believe it. Why would I after all? I have some fantastic tales before but this one goes above and beyond the nonsense that I like. “I will tell you this,” I said. “If you could so much as get Princess Celestia off her throne and plop her right here in this room, I will take you more seriously. Until then,” I turned to the doctor. “Could you send a letter to my wife Constanze? Have it say where I am and that I’m fine. Oh! And in the meantime, could I get some paper and something to write with?”

Chapter 12: Music Festival (Part 1)

Days went by as I rehearsed with the young orchestra. By rehearsing, I mean practically taking over it. Forte Waltz settled on being the conductor while I took over as the pianist. Those next few days were amusing, considering the graceful fact that the orchestra did have a sense of humor. Especially at one point during the third movement, when I set those teenagers to roaring by commenting, “A little more from the brass – let it be known to the world as if you’ve given a great fart!” While the teacher didn’t approve of this, the students certainly did.

At the same time, the closer it got to the opening of the Empire’s music festival, the more excited I became. Even as I went to and from the Opera House, I could hear it in the air that musicians were warming up, getting ready to unleash new melodies on the crowd. Indeed, new faces appeared in the streets, whose very presence prophesied the coming of unheard harmonies. Stages were being built this way and that. Banners and posters that were blank in the morning became a rainbow of images by the evening. Even the pubs too were scheduling performances.

But the morning when the first concert was to be performed, my fortepiano was carried through the streets and me in a carriage behind it. Around me in the blinding light of dawn, guards were keeping the path towards the theater open as crowds came to see me. Countless onlookers were flashing their cameras in my direction.

“Remind me again why you don’t want to go discreetly?” That came from Wilfried as he, the cook and the new maid were riding with me.

“Because,” said I, “it would be a crime to have been missing for two centuries, have your works become famous over the years and then not show your face in public. That’s just rude,” I giggled, turning my face at another flashing camera. “Are you all as excited for the festival as I am?”

The maid nodded, “We’re looking forward to it. Every singer, band, soloist, orchestra, for every genre of music, has come here to play. There’s a few of them, I admit, that I especially want to hear.”

“So do I.” Grinning, I practically bounced in the carriage. “This is going to be so much fun! It’ll be like a carnival, only for music lovers!”

“But what exactly are you planning on doing after you perform the opening number?” my cook inquired.

“Get lost of course,” I laughed my hyena cackle. “That’s the real fun. You can’t enjoy any festival if you can’t get lost in it a little.”

Soon enough we arrived at the Crystal Opera House where there were lines encompassing the place. We disembarked from the chariot and followed the piano until my servants had to go take their seats. I, however, followed it closely to the open stage behind. After carefully placing the instrument down, I hopped onto the lid, letting my hindlegs dangle off the floor, watching the theater being filled up. For several minutes, I watched the young orchestra come in, wearing their finest clothing, tuning up their instruments. Meanwhile, in the audience, flashes of light caught my eye as they flared up here and there before disappearing in the flood of faces.

I waited on the lid of my piano until it was time. At ten o’clock sharp, the last empty seats -- the Royal Box -- were filled in. Right across from me I saw not just Princesses Cadance and Twilight, and Prince Shining Armor – but also Princess Celestia, and three other figures that I’ve never seen before. One was a unicorn with a blond mane. One was a small dragon with green and purple scales (many of the crystal citizens cheered him on sight). And there was another who I couldn’t see but stuck to Celestia like a shadow.

The princess in pink walked up to the railings as her horn sparked. “Mares and Gentlecolts, Citizens of the Empire, fellow Equestrians, and those from afar: On behalf of the Crystal Empire, I welcome you to the opening of the annual Crystal Music Festival.” There was applause all around, the familiar stomping hooves against the ground. “Now, this year’s festival is extra special. As we have with us a legend in the realm of music, as you’ll soon see, he’ll be the one to start it all off. We are fortunate enough to have one of history’s greatest virtuosos: Wolfgang Amadeus Moztrot.”

I smiled and waved both my forelegs while the crowds cheered. At this point, I jumped off from the piano and landed all four legs on the crystal stage. “I have to say,” I called out as the cheering died down. “That this, right here, is the largest audience I’ve ever had. Really, even with my most popular of operas, never have I beheld so many ponies come out just to hear me play. So I thank every one of you for coming here.” There was another burst of applause, and then I added, “Just one more thing.” I turned to the children. “Out of all the orchestras I’ve performed with, this one here is of the highest quality that I have heard in years, so please, give them the credit due them for the hard work they’ve put into this.” Another round of applause; the young musicians stood up from their seats and took a bow. “So how about we don’t waste any more time and get straight to what you came for?”

Buoyed by the energy of those eager ponies, I hopped over to the keyboard, signaling to the conductor to begin. Forte Waltz lifted up a white stick (surely the sad, distant, starved to the edge of death descendant of the baton) and his students raised their strings and brass, readying themselves for the opening bar.

The Allegro began from the strings. A dark tonic in D minor, which in its brightness casts foreboding shadows. Like the fading light of a sunset, darkness stretched and expanded over those who listened. Bassoons, clarinets, and brass softly come like threatening clouds. A storm was coming, approaching in the twilight hours, disturbing the calm night. Within a moment, once the only light had gone down behind the horizon, and the storm approached with great urgency, did thunder from the tympani strike!

I turned to look out at the reactions of the audience, and there were plenty to choose from. The elder folk were listening with reverence; however, the young seemed to look at one another with confusion and perplexity. In fact, near the front row, I heard one of them ask, “Is it me, or does it sound like something that Beethoven would write?” Ah! A clue to this unknown musician: that he was known for darker, if not a little bit noisy, works. However, I hadn’t much time to ponder about it as my part was coming up.

With my hooves on the keyboard, I redirected my imagination towards a coach driver who had lost his way. Pulling a sleepy family in the carriage behind him, he tried to navigate the woods through flickering lanterns. And as I began softly, I noticed that every murmur went dead silent, leaving nothing but the sound of my instrument to echo in the great hall. As much as I wanted to look out over the audience, my attention was firmly on the instrument before me as my hooves played out our hero’s desperate plight to find his way through the woods in the midst of the chaotic storm. Several times, this imaginary driver pleaded to nature to have mercy and give him guidance – much like how a worshipper begs their angry Deity for deliverance from Their wrath. Back and forth, this dialogue continued as the coach driver tried to survive the strong wind, the heavy rain, all the while holding on to that desperate hope that he may make it through this uneven landscape.

Having my hooves synchronized to the story of a lost traveler in my head, I unleashed notes in rapid succession and harmony with the orchestra. Icy winds made my left hoof tremble. As the hero sought shelter my right let the notes linger in anticipation. In my mind’s eye, I saw the coach driver galloping through the mud, shining his lantern this way or that while pulling the heavy carriage behind him. However, the orchestra proved the storm was still in control as woodwinds blew a hurricane at the precious cargo, threatening to topple it over. The strings provided the wintery rain that blindsided the driver. And the crashing horns and drums, too, shook the hope of our hero.

Then in the few minutes before the end of the first movement, I decided on a whim to improvise, to increase the dramatic climax of the coda. The music instructor glanced over to me bewildered. “What are you doing?” he whispered. I didn’t answer him; I was too focused on what my muse commanded me to do. She instructed me that the driver was getting close to the edge of the woods so he made a mad dash towards the end. I didn’t know why he -- or even the orchestra, come to that -- looked surprised, for I improvised in the middle of my concertos all the time. If anything, you were considered dull if you didn’t do so.

For a brief moment, I let my hooves spin a new addendum to the tale in my head while at the same time, never straying from the same key, time signatures and even the bars of the original passage. Then with a wave of a hoof, I set the orchestra back again on the story’s course, into the closing of the movement.

Thankfully, the audience approved of this. Before the students could flip their copies to the next movement, the opera house gave over to the stomping of hooves. I couldn’t resist standing up and taking a bow while encouraging the young ones to do the same.

In the second movement, it was my turn to start. The romance began with a nostalgic memory for the hero in my head -- that of home, of a burning hearth, the warm nuzzle of a beautiful spouse and the plucking of a music box playing a forgotten lullaby. However, my thoughts had drifted to a different sort of daydream. It was a sort of fantasy when I and Constanze were just married, of that morning when we woke up in our wedding bed.

Even the orchestra too, had provided the right atmosphere in which we were woken up as the dawn was shining through the curtains of the window. The movement brought it all back to me as if it had happened yesterday. Of those warm sheets, my hooves still wrapped around her. The scent of that garden-like perfume on her mane and the faint scent of long burned out candles. And those soft lips that told me: “Good morning, Wolfie.” It was almost enough to have me just stay there forever and ever in that cocoon of the finest sheets in the entire world. How I thought that I was holding a sleeping goddess. Then as I reentered with the piano, to which the students played in harmony, other memories came to mind. Of parties that we spent hours playing our games and disgusted the guests to the point they vomited. Or the times in which we made up dances, stomping around our apartment until those living below shouted at us to keep it down.

From the violins and violas, came the same passion that I’d had for my wife; the winds and brass were my heart swelling up every time I came back home. Even on my worst of days, I could always count on her to make me smile.

Back in the present, I glanced over at the audience again. Among the sea of faces, were islands of couples with hooves wrapped around each other. Many of them leaned together like couples bathing in the warmth of the sun – no doubt relaxing in the atmosphere so serene.

But then came the development that disrupted that tranquility: Father. Out of the explosion of sound, the piano and the orchestra became battling opposites. From one side, the orchestra suddenly took on the role of my father, always against our marriage; and on the other, the piano that had taken on my wife’s voice, quarreling how he was wrong. In other words a musical impression of a furious argument. Stubborn chords clashed with arrogant harmonies, creating a vast gap between the high and low registers. However, this descent into chaos ebbed away; the tyrannical strings and brass eventually lost their voices until only the piano was left, drifting back to the original theme which it closed as softly as it began.

We then moved on into the final movement in which I began with a tantrum. Sharp, loud chords opened the beginning of the end where notes tumbled in a sort of freefall. When the orchestra made its reply in a whirlwind of sound, my ears picked up murmurs from the audience. It was many different things, but I could tell that they were all talking about the same pony: “Beethoven.” Even in this last movement, it was like his mysterious spirit hovered about. Yet, I was left to wonder why as the youth performed contortions of pianissimo and fortissimo with a dramatic flair.

Still, I carried on, as now my mind went back to a particular moment in time. Vague at it was, I played with grace, at the memory of how I was thrust from the day I died to the day I was reborn. All I could remember of my travel through time was the sensation of falling without end. Of how my sickly, weak body flung about this way and that as if I were a ragdoll. Even when the movement took on a more lighthearted theme, my virtuosity still refused to let my hooves become frantic, as though possessed by a musical demon.

The rest of the movement was a rush, ending just as soon as it began. As the young orchestra and I made it through the final cadenza, these children playing their hearts out towards the final chords, it was over. The opera house was an avalanche of applause. Both from the audience and from the orchestra. I had never heard such a loud expression of delight before. So I got up and bowed in every direction.

While my forelegs were weary, I was excited because now the music festival was open. I couldn’t wait to hear what new music this new age had to offer on a golden platter. And I knew as I bowed just what I wanted to do: seek out Beethoven.

Chapter 27: Hearth’s Warming Eve Concert

Even before I stepped out of the wings, I knew that the hall was already filled from the front row to the rafters. The mummers and last-minute talks from the audience not only gave me an idea what size of a crowd that I’d like playing to, but also the acoustics as well. In my ears, I could hear everything at once from the orchestra tuning up to the backstage ponies right across from me. What I could see in this clean white hall was my piano that stood in the very center, waiting.

Before it was time, I reviewed every note in my head of all the concertos, sonata, symphony and the carol at the very end. My hooves were tapping in anticipation, my mane was washed, dried and powdered, and my red overcoat was still stunning as ever. I was more than ready by the time the lights over the audience went down.

“Mares and Gentlecolts,” the announcer over the speakers said. “Carneighie Hall is proud to present our special Hearth’s Warming Eve concert, featuring the Manehattan Philharmonic Orchestra and your host, Wolfgang Amadeus Moztrot.”

I walked out onto the simple stage to the applause of a full house. The music hall was already trimmed in the garlands and red bows of the season from its walls to the towering balconies. On the second balcony in the very center was a reserved red box in which had the draping tapestry of the Royal Family crest, and a projector aimed at the white wall behind me. The latter would come in use once the concert began.

“Presenting the two royal sisters, Princess Celestia and Luna, along with Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship,” The three royals had a spotlight as they entered and took their seats, much to the delight of the audience. I on stage bowed to them.

“Welcome your Highnesses,” I began. “And welcome to you all, Mares and Gentlecolts to this Hearth’s Warming Eve concert. First of all, I want to thank all of you for paying extra for coming out here to hear some music.” They laughed a little, “I do hope that all of you are feeling good tonight, are you all? Well, tonight is going to be both fun and nostalgic for me.

“And why wouldn’t it be? I have many good memories around this time of year. In fact, most of the music that you’ll be hearing tonight holds special meaning to me because of those who wrote them. Sadly, most of the pieces and the composers who wrote them have been forgotten by time. However, I for one want to do something for them, especially during a holiday in which we celebrate the relationships of friends and families. So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do!

“To start this off, I’m going to tell you all a story. A long time ago, in a valley that is crowded by mountains on all sides, there was a bustling town. And within this town, lived a family who each of them loved music. So much so, that the month before Hearth’s Warming, three of them would take the time to compose something for each other to present it to them on that glorious morning.”

The projector turned on, casting a beam of colorful light across the theater and towards the wall behind me. I knew instantly that the light painted the portrait of Papa (if not in his later years).

“What you’ll be hearing, is one of those gifts that was composed by Leopold Moztrot, my father, for his children. A short little piece called, ‘The Toy Symphony.’” After I hopped onto the lid of the piano, the strings raised their instruments and readied their bows. Over by the percussion, rattles, whistles and bird callers waited for me to begin. For a brief moment, as I raised my hooves, I pretended to be Papa when he gathered a whole orchestra for us. Almost instantly at the first beat, I mentally sent myself back in time to that Hearth’s Warming morning in Prance.

The violins and violas opened the first movement with a warm, lively theme like how children feel on that wonderful morning. A rattle clicked as if a toy was being wound up, thus bringing the toy cuckoo (along with the other birds) to life. From the violins, wings opened sending them into the air to fly around the room in a sort of gravity-defying ballet. Even the adults, as I heard, were amused by this foal-like fantasy. It was rather amazing to me that even all these years later that Papa’s music was still able to make anyone smile at its playfulness.

Even the younger members of the audience were giggling at the bells and whistles of the first movement that, while silly, was still in harmony with the humorous strings. This painting in sound brought as much delight to my ears as it no doubt did to my listeners. If anything, listening to that first movement alone made me feel like a colt again.

The second movement was what I imagined to be the minuet of the cuckoos. While the strings brought about the rhythm of this elegant dance with the xylophone, the whistle and kazoos added that playfulness in this slow movement that brought a smile to even my performers’ faces. If anything, even my hind hooves that I stood on couldn’t help but fall under the spell of the minuet as I slowly but cautiously danced on the lid of the piano while still facing the musicians. Hearing it again was like having a dance with an old friend that I hadn’t seen in years.

I confessed that during this slow minuet, I did move in a full circle, getting a good look at the audience, in particular towards the young. While many of them tried to remain quiet, their expressions were like that of watching a clown. I even caught a glimpse at the Royal box, while Twilight and Luna (like the adults) watched with fascination; Celestia looked on with a smile. By the final bars at its soft decrescendo, I scraped with one hind hoof and bowed like one would with an invisible dancing partner, to which I got applause for at last.

Jumping back towards the orchestra, we hopped right into the third and final movement of the symphony. A quickly paced flight as the bird calls were weaving through the air like a flock. In this finale, the tempo slowly starts going faster after the main theme was established. Yes, it did repeat but as it did, the toys too charged with controlled chaos right up to the end, and the applause.

As I leaped off the piano, the projector then changed portraits to that of a young, teenage mare in a dark pink dress with lace all over it. Beside her was a keyboard with sheet music, a column with a green curtain behind her. “In our family,” I spoke to the audience. “Whenever we opened presents on Hearth’s Warming morning, we tended to take turns in sharing our gifts, from eldest to youngest. After Papa gave us his gift, for example, what you’ve just heard, it then went down the family hierarchy — next to Mama, and then to my sister.” There was a confusion of mutterings that perked up my tall ears. “Yes, you all heard that right. I had a sister. Her name,” I looked up at the projected portrait, “was Nannerl Moztrot.

“Tragically, since my return from my literal near-death experience, as much as I searched the libraries and asked musical scholars, her music is lost to time. Her music has been completely forgotten… almost. While her music has gone missing, anything with my name on it has survived. This is a good thing because as it so happens, she and I, when we were younger, had composed together. I’m relieved to say, there was indeed something from our collaboration that did in fact survive.”

Out from the wings, one of the backstage ponies brought out my clavichord and sat it on top of the piano before setting up a microphone right over the soundboard. As this was happening, I explained. “You’re probably wondering why this is being brought out and having a microphone hovering over it. Thank you, sir,” that last remark was to the stage pony who instantly left. “That’s because this was the instrument we composed this sonata for. Oh! I nearly forgot,” I didn’t. “I nearly neglected to introduce you to my hoof-picked violinist for tonight, haven’t I? Well, here for his warm up, is the brilliant musician and insane pony, Paganeighni.”

(Now I already know what some of my readers would be inquiring. How come I didn’t play the violin parts for either the Sonata or the concerto that night? Even back in the eighth century, I was always on the lookout for whatever talented musicians I could find and composed music that was tailored to their skills. Running into Paganeighni at that music festival in the Crystal Empire was a happy accident that naturally I thought about inviting him to perform. To my relief, he accepted the invitation.)

The stallion with the untamed mane strode on stage, violin, and bow in his hoof as he went up to the center stage, bowing to the audience that welcomed him. I took my place before the keys of the clavichord while the lanky fellow stood on his hind legs, flipping the instrument ‘til it rested under his chin. “As I recall, everything from the violin was written by me, while the keyboard is from my sister. So performing for the first time in Celestia-knows-when, is Sonata number one in C Major for violin and keyboard, by me and Nannerl Moztrot.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was an expression,” Celestia called out, “a rather accurate one at that.”

While the whole theater burst out laughing (with me along with them), I went over to rear myself up to the keyboard. Stretching my hooves over the keys, I began with a trilling of notes. Followed by the violin climbing up the snowy mountains while my hooves unleashed a flurry of snow. In a strange way, I had envisioned this as two explorers trekking up the steep, slippery side of a giant mountain. Up in front, an older keyboard marking the path while behind her the playful violin is in awe at everything around him. Truth be told, this piece too cast a spell of nostalgia on me, only this time, from a new perspective.

The violin passage (while simplistic now to my mind) no doubt still had that childlike curiosity for exploring the trail. Not to say that it didn’t slip and fall in the snow, but with good humor, he was able to get back up to resume his lively attitude. The key, surprisingly to my review of it, was playing two parts: being the chilly, swirling wind while at the same time looking after the violin. The key signature alone suggested to me that the keys weren’t an old sound. Quite the contrary, it was young but experienced in this journey.

About four minutes later, we moved onto the second movement: the Andante opens up with the keyboard trying to get the violin to sleep. The little string instrument seems restless as if it had more energy in its tiny body than for its own good. As for the other instrument, it took up the role of the parent in trying to soothe the child while setting up their camp next to a warm, crackling fire. Eventually, the clavichord starts telling the violin a bedtime story. One that had tales of knights, performing heroic deeds to win the heart of a maiden. This was able to get the string instrument to sleep.

The third, double Minuets were in my mind like the two dreams intertwining. Their visions longed for the comforts of home. Of the glow of the fireplace and the savory foods in which they were familiar with – and of books that the elder wished to read and the bouncing toys for the younger. It would seem that both of them missed the candlelit home where the cold is kept outside of its walls and frosted windows.

Finally, the Allegro Molto, where the sun is out, and the two of them were awake and sliding down the mountain. There was joy in this last movement as the violin glided not too far away from the clavichord. Slipping past the white and even jumping over one another downwards towards the base, both keys and strings laughing all the way as they neared their destination. Gladly, with the theme reaching its home chord, both instruments were able to return to the place they missed in the recapitulation.

As the audience applauded, I went over to the violinist to shake his hoof, “Thank you for doing this for me.” I told him.

“This was easy,” he told me, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be practicing the concerto backstage.”

Once the audience calmed down with their approval and Paganeighni walked off stage, the projector changed once again. “Fortunately, this sort of tradition of giving the family musical compositions, as it turns out, went on after me. For example,” I turned to the wall in which the light showed a black-and-white photograph of aging, nearly bald stallion, sitting on a chair while his foreleg was propped up on a table. “This here, as you all can see, is the only surviving portrait of a forgotten composer: Franz Xavier Wolfgang Moztrot. In other words, this is one of my two sons.”

There was a surprised muttering in the audience, “I can tell by your reactions that you didn’t know that I had children. But no matter, this really is my son who, for a short while, wrote some compositions of his own. Take for example,” a backstage pony grabbed the clavichord off the piano while I popped open the latter’s lid. “The second piano concerto, which he wrote for my wife as a gift on Hearth’s Warming. Tonight, I’ll be playing my son’s music for the first time since its creation.”

By the time I faced the keyboard, the orchestra was more than prepared to start the first concerto of the evening. Walking up on the stool, I raised my hooves up, taking a last glance around the strings, horns, winds, and percussion that waited on me. Before I signaled to begin, I took one more look up at my son, of the old stallion that he had become so many years ago. ‘This is for you Franz,’ I thought to myself before guiding them to the open bars.

Horns and strings drew open the curtain in sunlight. In a way, this two-minute theme from the orchestra was, to my mind, like looking at a vast, painted landscape. My ears followed through the pastoral brushstrokes of hills, dotting trees and a mighty river – a natural land untouched in all its bright, uncluttered beauty. I confessed that before I plopped myself down on the stool, I did in fact sigh in satisfaction, like how one would when breathing in the early morning air.

Now being my turn at my piano, playing it all out from memory was, in my mind’s eye, like a younger me being on a nature walk through this landscape that my son had created. To be honest, I’m actually rather shocked that nopony remembers these themes centuries later. Of course, accuse me of nepotism all you wish for being the father of this particular composer, but in my frank opinion, this (not just the opening movement, but the whole concerto) is masterful. Even by my standards. To my ears, it is fresh, expressive, natural but not untamed – virtuosic but not unclear – fun but never unchallenging to both the audience and the performers. This opening theme, though is it about fourteen minutes long, is an epic journey of a fantasy that rewards its listeners’ patience. Fortunately, the audience agreed with me.

The second movement, the Andante Espressivo… the only way I could describe it, was as if I was reading out of a very personal page in my son’s diary. On the one hoof, I heard the orchestra that was, without doubt, my own sounds. But his on the piano… even the notes were too self-aware of how inadequate they feel towards what the father had pioneered. It’s a lonely sound, one that might be enough to break your heart over from the sheer isolation. If anything, I wanted my own hooves to reach out to that phantom, to comfort him in telling how proud I already was. He has earned the family name of Moztrot. But alas, I did want to stay faithful to what he had written.

But at least Franz managed to end the concerto on a happier note in his Rondo, Allegretto. Out of the whole thing, the ending is my favorite for its carnival atmosphere in which the keyboard plays a game in rhythm for the orchestra. I had so much fun with this finale because of its playful narrative and for its mischievous undertones. For my hooves, it was like watching fireworks on a fairground, watching how the colors and sparks interacted with one another to varying degrees of intensity.

As the final chords faded, the audience applauded with a roar. Standing back up on my four hooves, I bowed to them before encouraging the orchestra to do the same. The theater lights brightened; near the front rows, I saw Wilfred, Fan and Sauté stomping their hooves on the ground like everypony else.

As soon as it became calm, I announced. “We shall be taking a fifteen-minute intermission, and as soon as we come back, I’m going to introduce you to a few friends of mine.” With that, I walked off the stage, in need of a drink.

Chapter 43: The Magic Flute (Act 1)

Author's Note

Okay, before you read any further, I want to let you the reader know a few things: Firstly, for an opera with a simple story, this was shockingly difficult to not only summarize but to even adapt. Not just because of setting it in Equestria, but because there were a few things in the original opera that might make one uncomfortable in modern times. I did try my hardest to adapt the story and stay true to it the best I could, so if there are a few things that are a little cringeworthy, you'll know why.

Secondly, you'll notice that most of the singing isn't in rhyme. This is because of two reasons: first, I'm not that good a poet; and second, I had taken the translation from the original German (and changed a few words here and there in order to make the story flow). And since there's not a German language in this universe, I had to adapt here.

Also, you may notice that I didn't describe all the music in the opera. As with the Marriage of Figaro, I decided it was best to use (as I see it) the highlights of the opera.

So with all that in mind, enjoy the show.

Chapter 43: The Magic Flute (Act 1)

I don’t think I could recall a more exciting time than that night. Hours before the opera itself, a large balloon flew up to the Hive, carrying some of the world’s most powerful notables from other nations besides Equestria: The twin Princes of Saddle Arabia, the President of Prance, the Lord of Trottingham, the Duke of the Moneigh Islands and the Vice-President of Istally. Princess Cadance and Prince Shining Armor came with Sunburst, Princess Twilight with her student Starlight, and of course, Princesses Celestia and Luna.

Out of all of them, it was Princess Luna that I was worried about, especially since I had based a character on her. (At the time, I thought she was pure myth.) Yes, she had told me that she read the score, but I noticed that she didn’t say if she had seen a performance of it. On one hoof I was terrified that she might take offense to it; yet, at the same time, I hoped that she would nevertheless be entertained.

When night had fallen, and the stars were out, did the Changelings and their guests gather together in the Hive’s auditorium. The way it was set up, the audience sat around the outer edges in a horseshoe pattern, leaving a section of seats and the stage in the center for the actors. As to the orchestra, given that there was no pit to play in, I decided on the next best thing: by placing each section into certain areas of the audience but still close enough to the stage as possible. The only exceptions were the brass and the percussion, they I have them placed just above, overlooking the stage but were able to see and hear everything.

As for the more important members, they were given seats closest to the conductor’s stand. As the orchestra filed into their respective places, the audience kindly clapped as they took their seats. But I on my part dared not enter just yet, not until they started to tune up. At which point I made my entrance from the trapdoor right underneath the conductor’s stand, popping up with a “Peek-a-boo!”

There was a roar of applause as I climbed out; then, much to their surprise, I went up to personally greet the celebrated visitors, first going to the back of the section where the Duke sat. “Hello there!” I said, shaking the hoof of an elderly stallion in a colorful shirt and a necklace of flowers. “Who might you be?”

“Are you Moztrot?” he asked, astounded.

“No, Salieri,” I laughed, “Yes, but what is your name?”

“Duke Nalu Nui of the Moneigh Islands.”

“I’m so glad you could make it to the opera,” I smiled as I continued to shake his hoof, “Do enjoy the show.” Then I moved on to the next stallion seated. He was smartly dressed in a black suit with a little lapel pin of a red, white and green flag. In his hoof was a translation scroll. “Ah, Suppongo che tu sia il vicepresidente? (Ah, I suppose you're the vice president?)”

His ears perked up. “Sì. Sono sorpreso che tu possa parlare la lingua, signor Moztrot. (Yes. I'm surprised you can speak the language, Mr. Mozart.)”

“Raccolgo alcune cose nella mia vita. (I collect some things in my life.)” I said as I shook his hoof. “Tuttavia, sono molto onorato che tu sia venuto qui per vedere il mio lavoro. Spero che il viaggio qui non sia stato un problema. (However, I am very honored that you came here to see my work. I hope the trip here was not a problem.)”

“Oh no, signor Moztrot, rifiuti un invito così raro? Non mi perderebbe sentirti guidare il tuo lavoro in tutto il mondo. (Oh no, Mr. Mozart, could you refuse such a rare invitation? I would not miss hearing you lead your work for all the world.)”

I smiled. “Grazie, e goditi lo spettacolo! (Thanks, and enjoy the show!)” I said with a firm hoofshake before moving on to the next one, a unicorn mare in a simple but regal black dress with a few pieces of jewelry. She was almost elderly but had years of experience behind her eyes. She wore a pin of a striped flag of red, white and blue. She too had in her aura a translation scroll. “Madame la Présidente, je présume? (Madam President, I presume?)”

She in her turn softly smiled and offered me her hoof. “Monsieur Mozart, un tel honneur pour vous de conduire votre musique une fois de plus. (Sir Mozart, such an honor for you to conduct your music once again.)”

I accepted her hoof with a shake and a kiss on it. “Oh, le plaisir est tout à moi. Merci d'avoir pris le voyage ici pour l'opéra. (Oh, the pleasure is all mine. Thank you for taking the trip here for the opera.)”

“C'est l'un de mes favoris personnels. (It's one of my personal favorites.)” She smiled. “Je vais profiter du spectacle. (I will enjoy the show.)”

After thanking her, I then turned my attention towards the twin Princes of Saddle Arabia (they too had translation scrolls). When I came up to them, I gave them a surprise. “مساءالخير،أصحابالجلالة،أودأنأشكركمشخصياًعلىحضورعرضبرنامجي. (Good evening, Your Majesties, I would like to thank you personally for attending my program presentation.)”

Both of their mouths hung there for a moment before one of them asked, “هليمكنكالتحدثبلغتنا؟ (Can you speak our language?)”

“لا. (No.)” I recited. “فيالواقع،ليسلديأيفكرةعماأتحدثعنه. لقدعلمنيسفيرلدىالملكثوراكسأنأقولهذا،لكنآملأنتستمتعبالعرض. (In fact, I have no idea what I am talking about. An Ambassador to King Thorax has taught me to say this, but I hope you enjoy the show.)” Hoping that I got my memorized lines right, I offered a hoof to each of them. Although they exchanged a confused look, they did shake them.

Then I greeted Princess Cadance and her husband, Sunburst, Princess Twilight, her student, and King Thorax. But when I got to the two royal sisters, the first thing I did was to bow to them. “And of course, it’s a pleasure to finally have you both come.”

“We needed the break,” Celestia said, “and I myself haven’t been to the theater in a long time.”

“Just so you know,” Luna added, “I was talked into coming. Since I have mixed feelings about a certain character in your opera.”

I gave her a nervous smile. “Even if I were to offend you, I assure you it was fully unintentional. But tonight, however, the two of you shall see and hear my opera as I imagined it.”

“Considering your cast, this ought to be interesting,” Celestia commented. “At times I have wondered what goes on in that head of yours. Now it would seem that we’ll get the chance to see.”

With a final bow, I returned to the conductor’s stand where the orchestra in their assigned places was waiting for me. The audience became hushed the moment I took my place. Sitting on my haunches, I lifted my forelegs up, readying myself and the orchestra. Their eyes were on me and mine on theirs as I gave them a final once-over. Taking a deep breath, I called out, “Once upon a time.”

Thus, I opened the opera with the first five powerful notes. Horns, strings, and percussion welcomed the audience in by a grandiose, heroic prelude of what was to come. The strings stirred beneath the calm serenity of the percussion, flutes, and horns, hinting that something might not be what it seems. As the strings played the first minute of this tender music, members of the choir walked steadily on and around the stage as lights of blue, turquoise, and purple highlighted parts of it. At first, they came in lines before breaking up to stand in random places that didn’t seem to have rhyme or reason. When they had reached their position, they stood there, waiting.

Then as the strings sped up, flashes from the Changeling cast burst into green flames as, one by one, they, transformed into trees, bushes and plenty of boulders. Not only that, but they even completed the illusion of a forest by adding in wild creatures such as rabbits, wolves, deer, even birds, and insects. Every so often, these clever Changelings even transformed into other mythical creatures such as Breezes, a Gryphon, even a Cockatrice. This left the audience stupefied and amazed at the sheer detail of what they had accomplished thus far.

In the background, a shadow was seen with a panpipe that blew an upward scale. A dove landed upon its claw before passing along with a birdcage on its back. As this happened, I looked upward towards the three little stars that moved together to take their place in the night sky. Another flash of green light from the very backstage, and we could see the shadow of a very large serpent, its long body climbing up the branches to await its prey.

Halfway through the overture, another burst of green flames appeared as distant but noble horns were heard that repeated the opening five notes. This time, instead of keeping to the shadows, our hero walked out into the evening light. The prince looked exactly the way I had imagined him. A youthful stallion with a coffee black mane and a light chocolate brown coat. The mane was tied back with a silky black bow. He wore a richly blue overcoat with golden buttons and a sword at his side.

Just as the tempo raced back up, the eyes of the serpent opened and it slithered downward, silent, towards the confused Prince. The tension in the music ratcheted up and hastily, like a heart under the tempo of fear, as the beast coiled its tail around the hind leg of the stallion. At the music reached its crescendo, the Prince was dragged into the forest. In the leaves, a confusion of movement and struggle was seen as he tried to free himself. Every so often, we could see the body of the enormous snake slithering across the branches.

But at the crescendo, the prince fell through the trees, his sword unsheathed and his overcoat missing several buttons. Now fighting for his life, he waved his sword at the hissing jaws of the beast. Yet, no matter where he thrust his weapon, the creature was faster, dodging his attacks before slithering back into the trees. Frantically, the prince searched this way and that for the serpent. Now and again he jumped up to take a swing, but nothing happened. However, at the end of the overture, the snake curled down from a tree behind the Prince, slinking over, ready to pounce. Just in time, the stallion turned swiftly around to attack. But as he did so, his only weapon shattered in the teeth of the monster.

Immediately the prince fled for his life towards the center of the stage. “Oh, help me! Oh, help me! Oh, save me from dying! The vicious serpent has me in its sights! Someone, help me! Help me!” Quickly, the enormous snake slithered around the stage, enclosing the prince in a deadly, ever-tightening ring. “Now it’s closing in! I cannot escape! Oh, save me! Protect my life!” Drowning in fear, the stallion fainted.

But as he did so, three stars shot out arrows from the sky. “Die, monster, by our power!” sang three female voices. Taken aback, the audience turned their eyes towards the source of these arrows, even as the creature perished from them. “Rejoice! Rejoice! It is accomplished, the heroic deed! He is freed, by the courage of our weapon.” The three stars descended towards the stage, and I heard ahhs from the audience as they took on the form of pegasi mares that looked as if they were made of light.

The three star-mares took a close look at whom they had saved, and quickly they were stunned by the youth’s handsome visage. So stricken, in fact, that all three sang at once: “If I were to give my heart away, I would give it to this youth.” But at the same time, they all concluded that they must rush to their queen with the news of this stallion as it would bring peace of mind. However, each of them insisted of having the other two go and tell her, as each wanted to guard the unconscious stranger. But as none of them would leave any of the others along with the stallion, and after some argument, they all concluded that they must leave him behind, unguarded, and just hope they would see him again.

After the three ascended back to the sky, the prince awoke with a groan. “Well, that was the scariest dream I ever had! A serpent chasing me, closing in on me…” As soon as he opened his eyes, he instantly hopped on all four hooves. “Hold on! That was no dream! Here it is!” Using the broken sword, he cautiously approached the corpse, poking it a few times. “Seems to be dead.” Then after looking around, he spotted something in the air and pointed at it. “But someone is coming! I’d better lie low and listen.”

As he said this, a cheerful tune from the violins began to sing as the prince rushed to hide behind a boulder. Meanwhile, flying in towards the stage was Papageno, as I had originally imagined him: A hippogriff with the front half a bird and the other a leopard. He came in with his ruffled but stunning feathers that resembled those of a green parrot with yellow, white and blue highlights. The lower half was emerald green with dark spots. Papageno flew in with a bamboo birdcage on his back and a panpipe around his neck; he blew this a few times before looking around.

Eventually, he sat on a tree branch as he began to sing his happy tune: “The birdcatcher am I indeed, always merry, heisa, hop-sa-sa! I, bird catcher, am well known to old and young throughout the land. Know my way around with the traps, and how to be understood on the pipe!” As he blew on his panpipe, a dove flew right into his cage. “Thus can I happy and merry be, for all the birdies belong to me!” Another blow of the scale and another bird flew right in.

“The birdcatcher am I indeed, always merry, heisa, hop-sa-sa! I, bird catcher, am well known to old and young throughout the land. A net for girls is what I would like, I’d catch them by the dozen for me!” Another blow on the pipes. “Then lock them up I would by me, and all girls would belong to me.” After another few blows on his instrument, he hops over to another branch with a daydream glint in his eye.

“If all girls belonged to me I would bravely trade in sugar, the one I like best, her I would immediately give the sugar too. And if she kissed me tenderly then, she would be my wife and I her husband.” Another scale on the panpipes. “She would fall asleep by my side, I would cradle her to sleep like a child.”After a few more toots on his instrument, his aria ended when the Prince called for his attention.

“Hey there!”

“Huh? What!” Papageno looked around until he spotted the stallion crawling out from his hiding spot.

“Tell me, my friend, who you are?”

“Who I am?” the bird catcher asked with a smirk. “A stupid question! I’m a creature like you if I asked who you are.”

“Back where I come from, I’m a prince, of noble blood.”

Papageno blinked. “Prince? That’s all above my head.”

“My father is a sovereign who rules over many lands and creatures. That’s why I am called a prince.”

The colorful bird catcher was still puzzled but intrigued. “Other lands? Prince? Tell me, are there other lands and creatures beyond these mountains?”

“Many thousands!”

Papageno’s eyes went so wide that I could swear that they almost popped out of his head. “I might try the market for my birds there.”

“Now you tell me what this place is actually called. Who rules this land?”

“I cannot answer you that,” he replies with a shrug, “any more than I know how I came into the world.”

This surprised the prince. “How? You would not know where you were born or what your age is?”

“Not a word! All I know is that not too far from here stands my straw hut, which protects me from rain and cold.”

“Then how do you live?”

Papageno laughed. “By eating and drinking, like everyone else. Really, ‘Prince,’ such easy riddles you ask.”

The stallion had to stop to think for a moment before asking: “How do you earn your food and drink then?”

“By barter, of course.” He took the birdcage off his back and proudly held it up. “I catch various birds for the star-blazing Queen and her ladies; every day, in return, I receive food and drink from her.” Now it was the Prince’s turn to be intrigued and he asked the bird-catcher if he had seen the Queen. “See her? See the star-blazing Queen? What mortal can claim to have ever seen her? But… why are you looking at me like that?”

“Ah! It is clear now; this is precisely the nocturnal queen of which my father had told me so often.”

Papageno told him to stay back as he got increasingly uncomfortable at the Prince’s questions. He warned him that he had the strength of giants, before quickly asking why he looked at him suspiciously.

“Because I doubt whether you are telling the truth.” The Prince replied. “According to your feathers, I’ll be able to easily hold you-”

The bird-catcher interrupted this as he displayed his strength by lifting a heavy looking boulder off the ground.

“So it was you who knocked off the serpent?” The Prince inquired. At first, Papageno was confused until he pointed out the enormous corpse of a snake in the middle of the stage. “I’m very grateful.” The prince added, “You saved my life.”

“Uh… don’t mention it.” The bird-catcher lied. “Glad to be helpful.” When asked how he did it, he puffed up his chest and stated. “Simple, I strangled it with my naked claws like a field mouse.”

“Papageno!!!” Three scolding voices from above were heard. To this, the bird-catcher explains to the young stallion that they are the ones that come to exchange his birds for sweet wine and some figs, but at the same time, he wondered what he had done to make them so angry.

The three-star mares returned, Papageno displaying his cage to them with his catch of the day.

The first-star mare went up to him with a bottle. “In return for your deed,” said she, “our sovereign is today sending you pure, clear water instead of wine.” Thus, she opened the bottle to splash it in his face.

Confused, the second one approached him, “And she has commanded me to bring you this stone instead of cake.” She said as she placed a rock in his claw.

“What?” Papageno protested. “You want me to feed on stones?”

“And instead of sweet figs,” said the third as she held a golden beak, “I am to place this golden lock upon your beak.” With one swift move, she wrapped the metal muzzle around his face and keeping it in place with a golden padlock.

“I expect you would like to know why our sovereign lady is punishing you so strangely today.” The first-star mare said.

“So that in the future, you will not tell lies to strangers anymore,” the second explained.

“And never again boast of heroic deeds performed by others,” added the third one in a cross tone.

The first one questioned him. “Speak! Did you fight this serpent?” Papageno, unable to talk, merely shook his head. The three mares turned to the prince, telling him that it was they who had saved him. One of them, by order of their queen, gave the stallion a miniature portrait of her daughter Pamina with a message: “If you find that you are not indifferent to these features, then happiness, honor, and fame are in store.”

The Prince stared at the painting; simple chords from the strings and soft horns showed how he became attracted to its subject. Within a minute, he fell in love with the face of the pretty mare. One aria of singing his heart out to a picture of a stranger he has never met later, the three-star mares approved of him.

“Steel yourself with courage and constancy,” the first one said.

“The Queen of the Night, our glorious sovereign,” added the second.

“Has heard every word you have said.” The third finished. “‘If this young stallion’she said. ‘Is as bold and noble as he is tender, then my daughter Pamina is surely saved!’” The prince asked what she meant by that. “A powerful, evil demon of a sorcerer named Sarastro has stolen her away.”

Hearing the call to save a maiden in distress, the stallion asked them, “Where is Sarastro’s domain?”

“Very close,” spoke the first mare, “underneath that mountain there. His castle is imposing and carefully guarded.”

“Regardless, I swear on my life that she must be saved!” Thunder was heard, but although everyone in the audience looked up, there was no cloud in the sky. “What was that?”

“Do not be afraid! Our Queen comes!” The three cried out at once as they ascended to the sky. “She comes! She comes! She comes!”

I could sense Princess Luna’s eyes drilling through the back of my skull as the moment of truth arrived. Out from the rocks behind the stage, a second full moon had risen up among the stars. And from this surreal image, immense light shown in which a tall mare with a mane as white as the moon, and fur as dark as the night itself flew gracefully down to the stage. This alicorn had a crown and collar of stars. She opened her piercing dark eyes. The Prince, so taken aback by this, fell backwards upon the ground.

“Oh, do not tremble, my dear son.” She sang as she spotted the startled prince. “You are guiltless, honest and pious. A young stallion like you is best able to comfort the deeply distressed heart of a mother. Suffering is my lot, for my daughter is not with me. Without her I have lost all my happiness; a villain made off with her. I still see her trembling with alarm and shock, quivering with anxiety, struggling fearfully. I had to see her stolen from me, ‘Ah help!’ was all she said; but her pleading was in vain, for my aid was too feeble.”

Just then, in that most distressful moment, the strings instantly transformed the somber mood to that of a dignified, confident but regal sound as the Queen continued. “You, you, you will go to deliver her. Yes, you will save my daughter. And if you return victorious, then may she be yours forever.” From there, the Nocturnal Queen sang with utmost skill and clarity as her notes went faster and higher than ever before. Yet, even with this sound of relief (and just as instructed), she sounded a little off in her sudden mood change as she sang the most difficult part of the aria. Once finished, she spread her dark wings and flew back up to the moon. And as the orchestra played out its final bars, the second moon descended back behind the rocks.

As the audience applauded I turned my head quickly around towards Princess Luna. Her expression was unreadable although she slowly stomped her hoof on the ground. I was a little unnerved as I had no clear indication if she liked it or not.

However, I had to turn my attention back towards the stage. Papageno came back onstage, trying to talk to the Prince. Only all that come out was: “Hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm!” Although the stallion had pity on the poor bird-catcher, he admitted that he couldn’t do anything about it.

Fortunately, the star mares returned with one of them giving Papageno the message that the Queen has pardoned him and therefore his punishment would be lifted. Thus, she released the bird catcher from his muzzle. Even though he could chatter again, she warns him. “Yes, chatter! Only do not tell any more lies!” Papageno promises to do so. “Let this lock be a warning to you!”

To this, all of them sang with one voice: “For if all liars received a lock like this on their mouths, instead of hate, envy, and anger, love and brotherhood would flourish.”

At this point one of the star mares produced a wooden flute, telling the Prince that it was a gift from the Queen. “The magic flute will protect you and sustain you in the greatest misfortune. By it, you may act with all power, change the passions of all: the mourner will become joyful, hate will become love, and night turns into day!”

Indeed, such a gift was worth more than gold or crown.

Papageno tried to walk away from all of this, but the three-star mares told him that their sovereign has ordered him to accompany the prince on his quest. The bird-catcher refused on the grounds that he has heard of Sarastro and he is merciless and cruel. He would pluck and roast him and feed him to his dogs. Even when told that the Prince will protect him, he still stubbornly refused.

So one of the star mares brought about a box with chimes and a crank handle. Papageno was promised that these little bells would also help protect him. This was enough to convince him to go along.

But before the adventurers could begin their quest, they asked how they could make their way into the castle. Down from the sky (and accompanied by a gentle melody from the winds), three small pegasi colts descended and circled about them as the star mares explained: “Three colts, young, beautiful, gracious and wise will accompany you on your journey. They will be your guides, follow nothing but their advice.” After being given this final instruction, the prince and the bird-catcher bid the star mares farewell, with all taking their leave.

The audience applauded as the changelings transformed the scenery. In a burst of green flames, the forest became a dungeon. Two walls, each with a wooden door, with a wooden bed in the corner. Even the lights turned a sinister blue.

From one of the doors, a small group of Zebras entered. One of the stallions took center stage. “Our tormentors, of all the intensity of indentured Zebras, tomorrow if we are not careful, we shall certainly hang, or be spat out into the wilderness.”

“Why?” they cried.

“The lovely mare!”

“Why?”

“She nearly escaped.”

“You let her go?” asked one who was promptly struck across the face.

“Imbecile! Let her go? That is not my true desire. I do not have to tell you that there we must be careful never to let our master see us make a mistake, or we Zebras in these temples will be punished.”

“You mean he knows!?” Another asked in alarm.

“Of course! She slept before his eyes! Like some of my brothers have told, the Zebras of these temples can no longer be saved, even if Pamina could be brought back from Sarastro’s keep.”

“How so?” Inquired another.

“You know the lavish money and its manner! The filly was wiser than I thought.” He chuckled. “At one moment, she thought she was going to win, by calling out Sarastro’s name. Oh, how it shook us; for a moment we remained silent and unmoving. Pamina ran to the canal and attempted to hurry to a gondola to the palm grove. But luckily, someone was waiting on the other side.”

Just then, there was shouting offstage before another Zebra came bursting through the door, dragging a mare with him. Unlike the others, this Zebra had gold rings around his neck and hooves as well as a red robe. The mare that was struggling to get away had a long mane of flowing white with a spring green coat. As much as the exotically dressed Zebra tried to intimidate her, she, the Princess, put up a brave face.

“Death does not frighten me,” she sings at him, “I am sorry only for my mother, she will quite certainly die of grief.”

The ringleader calls to the other Zebras to chain her up before commanding them to leave him alone with her. When he sang that line, I couldn’t help but notice that the audience seemed rather uncomfortable as the Princess was chained to the bed. However, from offstage, the singing voice of Papageno was heard, “What is this place? Where can I be? Ah-ha! I’ve found a door. Have courage; I must go in.”

As he sang this, it caught the attention of the ringleader, whose ears perked up and directed his attention to the other door. The Zebra trotted over to the other door to hide behind it as it opened to show Papageno peering in. “Could this be the young maiden? Whose coat is green as grass.”

However, just as he was about to step in, the Zebra poked his head out and, at the sight of one another, they both hid on opposite sides of the door. Together they sang, shaking in fear,“Aah! What is that thing? Must be Discord himself! Have pity! Spare me!”

Amusingly, each of them tried to pull on the door shut until the Zebra rushed out the other door. A moment later, Papageno poked his head in once more, scanning the cell. “Am I not a fool to have been so frightened? For there are certainly black and white birds in the world, so why not other creatures that are black and white?” He asked himself before laying eyes of the mare chained up. “Ah look! This must be Pamina!” Rushing in he said to her, “You must be the Queen of the Night’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Who are you?” she asks.

“A messenger from the star-blazing Queen.”

“You know my mother? But I think I may know your name… Papageno?” He nodded.

“If you’re the daughter of the Night Queen-”

“I am!”

“Well, I want to verify if they’re right.” He hops on the bed next to her as he took out a crude drawing of her as he looked back and forth. “Green coat – right, green. White mane – white mane. And Blue eyes – good, blue. Perfect! Everything arrives on hooves and wings.” As he began to pick the lock that held the chain together with his claw, he explains to her. “I saw a creature this evening in front of me who calls himself Prince. This‘Prince’had so impressed your mother that she gave him your portrait and commanded him to rescue you. Why, the moment he saw your picture, he fell in love with you.”

The Princess blinked as she had a light blush on her face. “Love? He loves me?” With a squee, she leaped out of the bed. “So we have no minute to lose. Around this time, Sarastro usually comes back from the hunt.”

“So Sarastro is not at home?” He too jumped off the bed. “Well come on, beautiful picture lady!”

But before they could leave, she realized something. “Ah, but what if this is a ruse? How do I know if you are an evil spirit in Sarastro’s employ?”

“Me? An evil spirit?” Papageno chuckled. “Why, I am the best spirit in the world!”

The Princess apologized if she offended him. “You have a heart,” she added.

“Oh, indeed, I have an affectionate heart. But what good is that to me? I often want to pull out all my feathers when I think about it. This Papageno does not yet have a Papagena.”

“You poor thing,” she said with sympathy. “So you have no wife yet?”

“No wife? I wish! Not so much as a girlfriend, let alone a wife!”

The princess patted him on the head. “Patience friend. The Gods will care for you too and will send you a girlfriend before you know it!”

“If only the Gods sent her soon,” he remarked.

I cued the strings and winds with a simple but noble theme as the Princess begins the duet.

“In stallions who feel love, a good heart, too, is never lacking.”

“Sharing these sweet urges is then mare’s first duty.”

“We want to enjoy love; it is through love alone that we live.” The pair sings together as they repeated, “it is through love alone that we live.”

A sigh from the winds and violins later, the mare began again. “Love sweetens every sorrow; every creature pays homage to it.”

“It gives relish to the days of our life, it acts in the cycle of nature.”

Then together, “Its high purpose clearly proclaims: there is nothing nobler than mare and stallion. Stallion and mare, and mare and stallion reach up toward Heaven. Stallion and mare, and mare and stallion reach towards the deity.”

At the end of this simple melody, the two of them make their escape with the Princess taking the lead. After the lights go out, the audience applauded. While the stomping of hooves and whistles filled the air as the Changelings on the stage set up for the next scene, the melody of the duet brought back the echoes of King Thorax’s words about courting again. If anything, the very lyric amplified that: “Love sweetens every sorrow; every creature pays homage to it.”

For a brief moment, it gave me pause. How long had I been in this modern age, and how long have I been over my grief? Surely, at this point in time, I’d already come to accept the fact that the ponies I’d known were dead. Thorax was right about moving on; knowing Constanza, she too would have insisted on it. But why did those honeyed words sound so bitter deep down?

Yet, before I could ponder further, I had to move on to the next and last scene.

This time around, by the time the lights became bright moonlight, the scene had changed that to a small grove, and there in the center were three large, imposing stone doors embedded in the side of the mountain. From left to right, each door had a single word carved upon them: Reason, Wisdom, and Nature.

Enter the Prince, being led by the three pegasi colts with the heavenly strings to announce their arrival. They sang to our hero that from here, in order to save the princess, he must follow their advice. That to be victorious, he must be patient, wise and steadfast – in short, be a stallion and only then he may conquer as such. After this, they made their exit, leaving the Prince behind, promising to take these words to heart.

Although uncertain of what will happen, the Prince declared he shall enter boldly while adding, “My purpose is noble, true and pure. Tremble, cowardly villain! To me, rescuing Pamina is a duty.”

However, as he approached the gateway that was marked “Reason,” a deep chorus of voices cried out: “Go back!” The same thing happened when he entered the gate with the words “Nature” too. Reasoning that if neither would allow him in, then he would have to go in through the third in the middle. But even before he could set hoof in it, a cloaked figure in white stepped forward, his features hidden underneath a hood.

“Bold stranger,” the priest in a cloak asked, “where do you wish to go? What do you seek here in the sanctuary?”

“That which belongs to love and virtue,” the Prince replied.

“These are lofty high words! But how will you find these things? You are not led by love or virtue, for you are set upon death and revenge.”

“Revenge only on the villain!”

“You will surely not find him with us.”

“Does Sarastro rule in these parts?”

“Yes, yes, Sarastro rules here!”

“Surely not in the Temple of Wisdom?” After the priest confirms that he does, the Prince sang defiantly, “Then it is all a sham!” But before he could storm away, the hooded priest asked him why he was going in so soon. “I want to go, glad and free, and never see your mocking temple!”

“Explain yourself to me more clearly; you are taken in by deception.”

“Sarastro lives here, that’s quite enough for me.”

“If you love your life, speak, stay there! Do you hate Sarastro?”

“I hate him forever, yes!” When asked to give him his reasons, he responds, “He is a coldhearted tyrant!”

“Is there proof for what you say?”

“It is shown by an unhappy mare, oppressed by grief and sorrow.”

“So a mare has beguiled you?” The priest scoffed. “Such a thing does little, chatters a great deal. You, young stallion, believe the wagging tongues! Oh, if only Sarastro laid before you the reason for his actions!”

“The reason is only too clear! Did the robber not ruthlessly tear Pamina from her mother’s arms against their wills?”

The priest nodded. “Yes, young stallion! There is truth in what you say.”

“Where is she whom he stole? Perhaps…” a dark thought came to him, “she has already been sacrificed?” To this, the priest expressed how he could not give that information yet. As it is too soon to let him know. “Explain this riddle, do not deceive me.”

“My tongue is bound by oath and duty.” The prince asked when he will know. “As soon as the spirit of friendship guides you into the sanctuary to the everlasting bonds.” With that, the hooded priest reentered through the gateway of wisdom.

Now alone, the prince asked when will the dark confusion will past before an echo is heard ringing out: “Soon, soon, young stallion, or not at all!” Although further frustrated with such a perplexed response, he asked these unseen ones if Pamina is still alive. When told that she indeed was, the Prince thanked them by offering to show them his gratitude in every note on the flute as he is able.

No sooner had he played out the first few notes of that flute did Changelings in animal disguises appear in the grove. Birds and rabbits, deer and foxes, all popped up to see who was playing.

“How powerful your magic sound is, sweet flute,” the Prince remarked, “since your playing brings joy even to wild animals. Yet only Pamina stays away!” During his short aria, he prays that the Princess would somehow hear him and know how to find her way. Suddenly, the scales of Papageno’s panpipes were heard off stage. “Ah-ha! That’s Papageno’s sound!” he exclaimed as he played on the flute a small scale to be sure. His hope returned as the pipes were heard again. “Perhaps he’s seen her already. Perhaps she is hastening to me with him! Perhaps the sound will lead her to me.”

The hero left offstage, just as Papageno and Pamina snuck between the trees. While they (and the music) briskly try to hurry, the two of them wished they could find the Prince. At first, the princess tried to call to him but the bird-catcher hushed her; he’ll use his panpipes to lure him. They know he’s close, but are uncertain as to where exactly the sound is coming from. As soon as they say they should hurry, they find themselves surrounded by the Zebras.

The ringleader of the Zebras has his moment of triumph in catching them, promising to put them in chains and irons. Fortunately, Papageno remembers the box of chimes, hoping that they might do something. And so the bird-catcher turns the crank and a sweet melody pours from it. As he plays, the stern and serious look upon the Zebra’s faces became humorous and happy. Even laughter came as they began to dance out of the stage.

The chorus of Zebras sang too. “That sounds so splendid, that sounds so pretty! La-la-la la la la la-la la la la la-la! I’ve never heard or seen this before! La-la-la la la la la-la la la la la-la! I cannot stop smiling and singing along! La-la-la la la la la-la la la la la-la!”

As soon as they were gone, Papageno and Pamina looked in amazement of what the chimes have done. In a duet they sang: “If every honest creature could find bells like that, enemies would then banish without trouble, and without them, he would live in perfect harmony! Only the harmony of friendship relieves hardships; without this sympathy, there is no happiness in this world!”

Just before they could leave, they were stopped as they heard triumphant trumpets and a chorus of praising voices.

“Long live Sarastro! Sarastro, all hail!”

Papageno instantly asked what was that, and the princess informs that was Sarastro’s entourage that was approaching. While the bird-catcher was afraid of what might happen and doesn’t know what to do, Pamina calmly tells him that she will tell Sarastro the truth. “Only the truth,” she sings, “even if it condemns us.”

Another blast of golden brass with equally golden voices cried out like rows of priests descend through the crowd. “Long live Sarastro! Sarastro, all hail! We devote our lives to him, trusting and joyful! His wisdom and kindness enrich our lives. He fights against all evil and deceit.”

Then, flying over our heads, a chariot drawn by winged lions carried in an alicorn of white with a mane and beard of fire. In the split second as I turned my head around towards Princess Celestia, no sooner had she seen the fruit of my imagination than she stared right at me with a raised eyebrow. She gave me a look as if asking me if this was meant to be real. However, I had to return my attention to the orchestra as Sarastro landed near the kneeling Pamina.

Much to the audience’s surprise, she immediately apologized by singing: “Father, I broke the promise I made you that I would never run away. I beg you, do not condemn only me. For the head, Zebra demanded my love. Therefore, my father, I had to leave.”

Like a comforting Papa, he put a hoof underneath her chin to look up at a kind face. “Arise, be glad, my only daughter. You shall live here with me in peace. Yet, I sense your heart is on fire. It has fallen deeply in love for another. Yes, another stallion! Such love I cannot condemn, but you may not leave here.” Pamina objects as her duty as a daughter to leave because of her mother. But as she mentioned her, Sarastro interrupts her. “She must obey me. It would destroy you if I left you in her hooves.”

“But she longs for me, feels emptiness, and in loneliness-”

“She is far too proud! A wise stallion should guide a mare’s heart. Without which any mare will breach her boundaries.”

Entering with a chain around his neck was the Prince, led by the head Zebra with a smirk on his face. However, as soon as the Prince and Pamina see one another, their first instinct was to try to embrace one another. The chorus of priests objected to this unexpected behavior.

The head Zebra pulled on the chain to yank our hero to the ground. All the while, he bowed low to Sarastro. “I kneel at your hooves. Let this impudent lout pay. Consider his wily behavior. Using that feathery creature there, he would have abducted Pamina. But first, he had to deal with me. You know me, I have an eye on such things.”

Sarastro solemnly nodded, singing that he will give him his reward right there and then. “Let this honored gentlecolt have-”

“Oh milord, what a happy day!” the Zebra smiled widely before his master finished.

“Seventy-seven lashes!”the Head Zebra was then taken away, shocked and surprised at something so unexpected before he added: “You know I always fulfill my duties.”

The choir of priests praised Sarastro for knowing when to punish the evil and reward the good. As they did so, Papageno and other robed priests freed the Prince from his chains. Sarastro instructed them to take the new strangers to the Temple of Trials. “Allow them no sight,”he sings to them, “before their souls and minds have been purified.”

Immediately, both the Prince and Papageno’s heads were covered by black sacks as the priests lead them off while they sing. “If these two strangers enter into our Temple of Trials, when virtue and justice strew with fame the path of the great, then the earth is a realm of heaven, and mortals are like the gods!” At this, I conducted the orchestra to play out the fanfare that brought the first act to a close as the cast on stage followed the hooded strangers off, along with the others who dropped their disguises, leaving the space bare.

The Changeling audience applauded; I could see on their faces that they were intrigued. I announced to all of them that we would resume in fifteen minutes. I turned around to attend to our special guests. However, when I did so, although most of them looked pleased, Celestia, however, waved a hoof at me, her face showing no expression. Such a look sent shivers down my spine, and dread overcame me. For the last time I saw that look, my family ended up in the gutter.

‘Oh no.’ I thought as I walked over to her. ‘Please, not again.’