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.