Several minutes later, the orchestra and choir continued into the next section: The Credo. From what those in the theater could interpret, this next prayer was more of a decoration of the god that Beethoven worshiped. It explained, rather slowly, of what the composer believed from the message the banner showed.
Like the Gloria, the singers passionately sang their hearts out. Unapologetically, and loudly saying the mystical language out into the darkened theater. But then, just as it rose to a new height in volume, the orchestra suddenly slowed down and became quieter. In the sudden stillness, the basses and tenors started to sing.
Et incarnátus est de Spíritu Sancto Ex María Vírgine,
(He was incarnate by the Holy Spirit, of the Virgin Mary,)
In the balcony, Luna tilted her head. The sound of it was something very old, no, ancient sounding. It was like a fuzzy memory to her as the now humbled choir let out a melody, seemingly older than time. But no matter how much she tried to recall, she couldn’t find a reference to tell if such a tone was original or not. Yet, the voices, eminence and eternal, was like listening to the sky of her own domain.
Even with the quartet took over for a moment, the odd sounding notes that seemed to have no key signature, said the words in a melody that was timeless. The theater was perfumed with mystery as the Equine audience listened to the almost exotic theme. For there was nothing, even for the performers on stage, could compare it with. No culture that they know of has come close to something like this.
But then, the orchestra grew in strength, and with the main tenor leading the way, returned the piece to a familiar key.
et homo factus est.
(And was made man.)
The choir repeated the words, rejuvenating the music back to the world of the living. As the mass of ponies and the tenor took turns repeating the words, it was as if they had gained some new wisdom in the meaning that nopony else understood. But just as this relief was heard, suddenly the mood came to a dramatic and serious, with the quartet not taking the lead.
Crucifíxus étiam pro nobis sub Póntio Piláto;
(He was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate;)
Princess Luna looked down over the balcony, heads turned to one another, with as just much confusion as she. No doubt that everypony had the same questions as she had, ‘What does crucified mean? Who, or what is a Pontius Pilate?’ Even when the choir joined in an epic but still serious manner, it still didn’t give them any other indication that this “crucified” thing must be bad.
Passus, et sepúltus est,
(and was buried,)
When one of Luna’s guards read that, he leaned towards the Princess and whispered, “You know, as good as the music is, this whole thing is getting really weird.”
“One must remember that Mr. Beethoven is not from our world,” the blue alicorn softly reminded her guard. “After all, he is from a different time, culture, and society altogether. Perhaps it is no surprise that these prayers would appear strange to our eyes. Although, I do agree, a little more explanation would have helped to understand the significance of these said prayers. Though, it does make one curious as to why is giving such praise to this god.”
“Personally,” her guard whispered back, “I think that it’s just overall odd.”
Several minutes later, the choir came to the very end of Credo. A clarinet and horn singled for the beginning of the end of that movement. The short intro by the winds was cut short as the sopranos on the stand truly began the prelude.
Et vitam ventúri sǽculi. Amen.
(And the life of the world to come. Amen.)
As voices add on, the audience’s ears picked up the familiar rhythm of a fugue beginning. The counterpoint from the other singers gave off the impression of a Buch fugue as the main theme of the Latin phrase was repeated a few times. Like a living organ, each voice and instrument took turns playing with the melody before weaving notes with the others like a complex tapestry of sound.
Then, minutes later, the choir paused while the orchestra continued on, setting the theme of another fugue. This time the tempo was much faster, almost like a dare from the composer himself to try to sing on a melody as difficult as this. The choir took up the dare, the result, from Soprano to Baritone, First Violin to Percussion, engaged into the near impossible, each performer pushing themselves to the brink at the whizzing notes that went by like a hive of bees.
In the very back, Ludwig waved his hand around as if he was conducting at the beat from the choir with each powerful pronunciation of the text. For a split moment, he imagined himself as God controlling the heavens as stars and planets spun around at a madman’s pace. From this disorienting speed, he saw an order from the impossible that his equine performers were performing such a miracle.
But as the choir grew soft, he crouched in his seat, leaning forward to listen in to the quartet of voices taking on part of the mass. From what he could pick up as they sang the “Amen,” he was pleased that these opera singers were giving their voices resonate the sheer awe of what was heard. This went on for a moment before the thunder of the choir repeated the word twice before the quartet closed it with humility on their lips.
_*_
Bow was a bit nervous when he stood up before the closing of the Sanctus. He had already memorized his solo, but he felt reinsured to at least see the sheet music for the teenage Pegasus to play off from in case he had forgotten something. Looking over at the conductor and listening to the orchestra behind him, he felt tired after spending over an hour straight of playing this music in a dead language.
But as the time came when he placed his violin underneath his chin and bow at the ready, he took one last glance at the composer that was sitting in the very back. Thankfully, he was listening. Closing his eyes, he waited for just the right moment to start playing his solo. From his hooves, an aria arose with the orchestra and a gentle choir behind, Bow’s violin sang probably more sweetly than it ever been. Although, even when the young Violinist could describe it, he felt as if the song was written for him. He was on the very edge of crying.
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.
(Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.)
In his solo, Bow heard a reflection of what he wanted most for a dream come true. Although it wasn’t his voice, his violin was being heard, not in the background, but front and center. He didn’t even notice that his wings opened slightly from the heavenly ecstasy of the high notes. Even when the quartet of singers began their parts and took a few bars to breathe, Bow wanted more. He didn’t want his solo to end. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait for long as his instrument took wing into this airy melody.
The Violinist couldn’t explain it as his bow took flight, but as he played minute after glorious minute, he could have sworn that somehow, Beethoven had written the solo just for him. For the first time, all worries had melted away, nothing existed except for peace. It was sweet from those climbing high notes and rich with the choir in the background. The emotion he put into it was like how he felt when he flew for the first time – free.
Hosanna in excelsis.
(Hosanna in the highest.)
At the final minutes of the piece, when the choir sang with all their glory, a tear escaped Bow’s eye as he played on. It was not out of sadness, but one from pure joy. For all he cared, he found his destiny on that stage, playing the last, closing note before it gave way to an avalanche of applause.
“Brava!”
“Do it again!”
“Bravo!”
Cheers erupted in the theater, and although the symphony had one last movement to go, for them, it would seem that they’ve reached their finale. For the Violinist, with tears running down his face and a humble smile, bowed low to them.
“Pony! Eure Sünden werden vergeben werden!” the giant in the back bellowed out.