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.