“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.