//------------------------------// // Chapter 46: The Great “Riot” Fugue in F minor. // Story: Beethoven's Tenth // by CrackedInkWell //------------------------------// Inside Beethoven’s mind, orchestras of powdered wigged angels were playing out a heavenly fugue. Walking over the snow, the giant jotted down the notes of the baroque style fugue for the strings and the counterpoint he relearned from the pony form of Bach. Like a god, he extended or shortened the notes of the main theme, played it forwards, backward, upside-down and sideways. On that cold morning through the park, he was getting close to finishing the First Movement of his symphony and he knew it. Singing, scratching, humming and jotting, the fugue was soaring in his imagination, in which would make the very composer of those organ pieces he played as a teen proud. Then he attacked the wind section, juggling counterpoints, reversing the second theme in the oboe section, letting the clarinets tumble down the scale before they repeat the earlier theme. Though bitter winds may blow about and around him, slapping loose snowflakes in his face, Beethoven’s creativity was in overdrive. Flipping over to the next page, Ludwig rushed over to the finishing line. Stabbing in trills and opening up crescendos to the final, closing chord. Then Beethoven stopped, the First Movement was complete! Three out of the four movements were finally finished! But just to make sure, Ludwig flipped over to the very beginning to see what could be expanded or cut out. “I’m rather glad to see this is coming along nicely.” Out of shock when he saw the words on the manuscript, he dropped the book. There on the ground stretched within his shadow in the sunlight was the creature that was looking back at him with those piercing white eyes. “What do you want now?” Ludwig scolded as he picked up his composition book. “I’m very busy as it is.” The shadow tilted his head to the side and stretched out a hand into the snow, and with his fingers, spelled out words in the ice. “In truth? I know that you just completed your First Movement at last. And sooner then I or my Employer thought. I won’t be here for long, just show me the manuscript and I’ll leave you alone for a while.” “Right now? The last time we’ve met you’ve encased me in darkness, and now you appear as my shadow to ask to see my work?” Beethoven folded his arms. “What exactly are you, that you require the music of a deaf man? You’re a spirit of sorts are you not? Are there orchestras where you come from?” “No one plays music where I am from.” “Then for God’s sake, why do you want my symphony so badly!?” He threw his composition book at it, to which the shadow started flipping through the book. “Believe it or not, it is just for my benefit, as well as yours.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “The only benefit you’re offering me is to go back to Vienna, same time, same place, to rescue my Karl from killing himself. So what could you benefit from kidnapping me and forced to write something at this magnitude?” “I’m not bound to tell you.” “Why!” “Because my Employer says so.” “Why!” Ludwig stomped in the snow. “You have kept me in the dark for far too long! I demand to know!” “But you’re not allowed.” “Say’s who!” “My Employer!” “Cut the nonsense! It’s clear that you… Shadow People are doing this for a reason! That Princess Twilight has said that your kind has done this before. To get treasures from other people, but you’re a spirit! What in all of creation do you need treasures or my art for? Ghosts don’t need treasures, only the living can enjoy th-” “SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH LUDWIG!!!” Beethoven saw in the snow, the shading of the words had become gigantic as if the spirit was screaming at him. But the composer blinked, “Why did you call me by my first name spirit?” The words faded, and the turning of the pages on the ground ceased. “In all of this time, you only referred to me by my last name, yet, you just used my first?” No reply. It was then that Ludwig thought of a question that he hadn’t thought up before. “You knew me before, have you?” “This conversation is over.” The shadow wrote to him. “For my sake, and yours, let’s not bring this up ever again. Don’t question it!” “Too bad, you know me before all of this has begun! How else would you know where to find me in that apartment on the edge of Vienna?” “Goodbye… Herr Beethoven.” The eyes on the shadow closed, and the form of Ludwig’s shadow morphed until he recognized it was his. “Wait! Who are you?” he knelt on his knees and clawed at the ground, but it was already too late. The creature, whoever it was, was gone. _*_ About a month of rehearsing later in the month of February, the Canterlot Philharmonic proceeded to have its annual charity concert; the money from the tickets would be contributed towards the orphanage in the capital. But that year, the event had to be extended for several days, because for that year, the theater had a full house because of the main attraction at the very end: a series of six, experimental movements for string quartet by Ludwig van Beethoven. Among those in the crowded theater, the composer, Princess Twilight, Spike and Rarity sat in a private box while Ludwig was listening in with his pair of headphones. On center stage, Braeburn, Bow, Alto, and Octavia played through the first five movements on their instruments in front of a microphone. Over the course of their performance, they’ve to swoon their audience from tears to joyful cheers between the movements they played. So far, their reaction was pretty good. At the applause of the end of the fifth movement, the quartet flipped their pages and adjusted them to the final movement of the whole concert. For a moment, all four hesitated; they looked at one another, then over to the composer who only nodded at them. Taking in a deep breath, Octavia said, “No matter what happens, keep going.” The rest of the quartet nodded and readied their instruments. It was up to Braeburn to take the lead as he raised his bow. After taking a deep breath, and making sure his hoof was on the right notes, the quartet began with him making those first quick “grace” notes. What the audience heard, was something monstrous. Chords clashed against one another of something huge, harsh and cruel on their ears. Many ponies in the audience looked at one another in confusion for the first few bars. Was that opening a mistake? Then why haven’t they started over? But for a moment, the quartet continued on with the mood suddenly changed to a somber, serious tone. The audience for a moment assumed that this was what they were really going to be hearing. Many of them leaned back in their seats as each instrument takes its turn of a smooth but cold melody. The quartet then became soft, as the first violin tip-hoofed slowly towards something. But what could it be? Then suddenly, Braeburn’s violin shrieked as the notes became faster while the viola pulsed out the beat. Bow’s violin repeated the same ugly theme, and when Alto’s turn came into play, the whole quartet’s music became hideous. It was as if the whole music was in a freefall with no logic or reason. “Boo!” Somepony from the audience cried out, many other tied to shush that pony until someone else objected. “My ears!” “Shut up!” “Stop this!” “Brilliant!” “Garbage!” “Bravo!” “Cease this trash!” “Keep playing!” “Awful!” “Quiet!” Voices in the theater multiple, some booed or hissed, others applauded and cheered for the quartet to keep going while the rest tried to quiet everyone else down. Ludwig looked over in disbelief, even with his limited hearing; he could pick up from the microphone what was being said. “Quiet down!” “Tell them to quiet down!” “Hey, I’m trying to listen!” “I’m out!” “Oh no you don’t!” “Take your hooves off of me!” “Sit down!” As the music continued to play on, ponies were either tried to get up or have them stay and listen. Through his headphones, Beethoven could hear some of them were whistling, imitating the sounds of animals, and he even saw some threw their playbills at the quartet. Yet, even from all of this, the quartet continues on playing, focusing not on the audience but on the sheet music as the bows ricocheted over the strings. Notes flying this way and that in total chaos yet even with the intense shrill; the musicians tried their best to find a harmony with the disorganized counterpoint. Ludwig turned to Twilight, “Can’t you do something?” “I can try,” she said slowly for him to read her lips. Standing up and putting her forelegs over the balcony, she shouted over, “HEY! QUIET DOWN!” “Princess Twilight!” someone in the audience yelled, “Stop this infernal music at once!” “It’s terrible!” another said. “WOULD YOU ALL PLEASE SETTLE DOWN?” but the audience wouldn’t listen as they and the music got louder. Twilight focused her magic, and tried to make sure that it didn’t affect the composer or the performers, “EVERYPONY FREEZE!” a burst of magic later and the theater freeze except for the quartet that continued to play the fugue. “Whether you like this music or not, could you at least be civil so the rest of us can listen?” She holds them still for a moment before releasing them, as soon as she did, several ponies got up and walked right out of the theater. But after the theater went quiet for a minute, the riot started back up again. “They need a psychiatrist!” a mare said to which there was laughter. “Beethoven needs a psychiatrist!” “Shut it!” But still, the quartet continued to play on. Braeburn tried his best to shut out what the world was saying and focused on not only the music but the memory of what happened in Baltimare. His conflicting emotions of loss, anger and confusion beat upon the strings. In a way, he almost felt like crying, but it would seem that his violin was doing that for him. All that emotion that he was feeling in the past month poured out into his section of the fugue. The teenager played his violin as well; his focus was more on the disrespect they were getting from the audience. He figured that in these intense bars where they were screaming at them, his instrument might as well scream right back. The Pegasus has come so far and he’s not going to be discouraged like this. Alto was uncomfortable, sweating even. She had never seen anything like this where they played classical music, and yet the audience is telling them that it is horrible while she was playing. As much as she tries to keep focus, she wished that this fugue was shorter so she could get up and leave herself. Octavia on the other hoof, from time to time looked over to Ludwig, feeling rather sorry for him. Months of playing wonderful, incredible music and suddenly they’ve come to playing something brand new from him that turns out to be terrible. Yet, as the old saying goes, the show must go on. It has to go on. _*_ About ten minutes later, the quartet ran towards the final bars. Braeburn played out the overall theme as the rest of the quartet came to a loud finale. When they were at last finished, the theater was quiet for a tense moment before they were rained on with both boos and applause. “That’s it,” Beethoven’s voice can be heard, “you did it!” The curtain finally dropped, separating the audience from the quartet. What remained of the packed theater, some were shaking their heads in disgust while others with intrigue. Before Ludwig could get out of his seat, a folded note popped on the velvet railing. Twilight took the note to unfold it, she frowned. “What?” Beethoven inquired, “What does that say?” Twilight’s lips moved, but Ludwig didn’t understand so he snatched the note anyway. On it, there was only one sentence: Good Celestia, you really are deaf. While he felt a comforting hoof on his arm, the giant swat it away as he stormed out of the theater. Twilight sighed as she went backstage to where the quartet was. When she found them, she said to them, “That was a very brave thing that all of you did.” “We were booed,” Alto pointed out. “Did you hear what they shouted at us?” “Not to mention they threw things at us,” Octavia said, “Never in all of my years as a Cellist have I received such treatment.” “And we have to do it all again on Monday night,” Bow shook his head. “I am truly sorry for everypony’s behavior,” Twilight said. “What happened back there was inexcusable, even for Canterlot. I have no idea why they reacted like that.” The yellow Apple sighed as he put his instrument away, “Ah don’t think Ah can do this anymore.” The three musicians turned to look at him, “What do you mean?” Octavia asked. “Ah want ta leave,” he told them, “Maybe, after next week, Ah wanna go back to Appaloosa. If ponies are gonna be like that fer the next concert… Ah don’t wanna play no more.” “But you’re the best violinist here,” Bow objected. “What about that choir piece after Winter Wrap Up?” “How about you can be mah understudy,” Braeburn put a hoof on the teenager’s shoulder. “After all, you have some pretty good fiddlin’ skills too. Perhaps ya can put them inta good use. But as fer me, Ah sorry, but Ah’m done.”