“It’s a shame that I’ve never known that your son had composed,” I turned towards the one who commented, away from the bowl of the ever so immortal milk punch. The one who spoke was Paganeighni with the violin still under his foreleg and a water bottle in the same hoof. “Where did you find that concerto anyway?”
“I had some help, but it wasn’t easy,” I said as I sipped the creamy punch. “I have a friend who helped me with whatever copies that could be found in libraries and some personal collections around the country. For those collectors, I can tell you that they protective of their libraries until I showed up. It’s rather funny in a mundane way, now that I think of it.”
“How so?”
“Before I had my near-death experience, sure I was known but not to the level where my very face opened doors on a level like say… Celestia’s. Maybe it’s because to them, I’m a walking artifact who somehow has the right to the past. It’s sad that, of the composers I knew, many of their works are gone. Take, for example, the piece you’re about to play. In my time he was the most famous violinist in Prance; I’ve heard from the mouths of nobles that his composition easily rivals mine. Out of hundreds, only one survived… and yet,” I smiled, “it is a masterpiece.”
“Regardless,” said the violinist, “I am honored to be performing for you, Master.”
I waved a hoof, “Stop calling me that. I never had a drop of noble blood in me. I’m from a small town so small that if you sneezed, you’ll miss it.”
“But you’re one of history’s greatest composers.”
“True,” I said after guzzling the cup. “But in hindsight, I’m called that because I’ve earned it. Yes, I’m talented at the keyboard and the violin, but I had to spend years learning how to compose to the public’s liking. After all, I chose you to play this upcoming concerto because I thought the skill I’ve heard matched that of the composer. I can easily tell that you like complicated things, no?”
He nodded, “I’m known for playing difficult techniques, even inventing my own.”
“Which is why, to my thinking, you’re the only pony alive who can play at the same skill level as he. I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think you could accomplish it.”
He bowed his head, “Thank you Mr. Moztrot.”
“How close are we til’ we start?”
Paganeighni took out a pocket watch with his teeth, giving me a glimpse of its face. “Okay, two minutes left.” We downed our drinks, “I wish you good luck on your end, sir.” I held out a hoof to him, to which he shook it.
“And I wish you the same, good luck with your new pieces near the end.”
I smirked, “Why? Do you need it?”
“Not really, but it’s good to hear nonetheless.”
“Let’s go everypony,” one of the stageponies said. “We have a minute left so let’s hurry.”
So it was back on stage with me, as soon as the lights dimmed, I strode on stage to the applause of the audience. “Oh good,” I said aloud, “nopony has fallen asleep yet, wonderful! Now for this second half, I’ve already introduced you all to my family, now I’m going to introduce to you to two individuals who might come as a surprise to many of you.
“To start this off, I’m going to tell you all a little story. Many Hearth’s Warming Eves ago, back when I was a teenager, the family were in Versailles to show off to the Prench Court. The day before, after I demonstrated to the King my musical gifts, he said that my virtuoso playing reminded him of his court composer. This captured my attention as that at every court, the pony that I most wanted to meet was the court composer. The King told me that he was coming to the palace to put on a Hearth’s Warming Eve concert in their private theater, and since I was able to win his favor, I was given a seat to hear a brand new violin concerto.
“However, when the soloist walked on stage, I was taken by surprise, as I have never seen such a face before.” The projector’s light fell upon the wall behind me; in which there were sudden murmurings among the audience. What they saw was a portrait of a zebra in a red coat, holding a rapier in his right hoof and a violin on the left, while there were sheet music and a cluster of smoky clouds on the right. “His name was Joseph Boulogne, Knight of the Order of the Fleur de Lis. A freed slave, he was taught by his father first in fencing, then the violin. He was so good in fact, that no sooner than he’d picked up the bow, he learned to compose. And what you are about to hear, was the very same concerto that… actually made me envious of him. Once you hear it, you’ll all know why.
“Nowhere again to perform this very difficult concerto is the violinist, Paganeighni.” They applauded as he walked onto the stage again with me stepping forward in front of the orchestra and the violinist by my side. I took a last checking glance at the strings, who had all their eyes on me. Lifting my front hooves, I conducted Boulogne’s resurrection.
The first movement was, to my mind, was a caricature of Versailles. It was large, elegant, and covered head to hoof in gold leaf. From its sweeping rhythm to its easy but unforgettable melody, it reeked of Prench aristocracy from the first minute. If anything, I was feeling impatient for the solo violin to make its entrance. But nevertheless, it did come, richly dressed like a King. Paganeighni was perfect in recreating its long-reaching double-steps, its flawless harmonies, and ballet-like trills. All the while, it stayed true to the theme while letting notes fly without ever sounding harsh upon the ear. If anything, I partly wondered if he was improvising and I hadn’t noticed it.
Nevertheless, in the eleven-minute movement, he and the orchestra never clashed. The other strings, the winds, and the occasional brass revolved around him like the planets. Going through serene majors and lonely minors, the soloist always strode forward as the king of the concerto. I confess, the music, since it was made up of cadenzas, did sound rather pompous, proud, and prancing around like a peacock. At the same time, considering whom it was originally played for, I felt that it was an accurate portrait of the King of Prance at that time. And I had to give credit for Paganeighi for mastering something that, to any other soloist, would have been unplayable; he hit every single note with perfection while leaving the empty spaces to ring out. Still… the last cadenza, without any of orchestral accompaniment. was still enough to take my breath away.
The second movement was a complete tonal shift in more ways than one. The Adagio was depression incarnate from the soft strings only playing out a single note. And the solo… I confess that I fought so hard the urge to cry. Because to me, it was the very sound of loss – like how a parent would grieve over the death of a child. It had memories of the past, happy ones from time to time, but there was a melancholy in the chords, as if no matter how joyful the thought, that dark feeling was still haunting right behind like a shadow. I don’t know if Boulogne himself had lost a child, but even if he didn’t… I’d say that it’s a damn excellent representation of it.
Both soloist and the violin section began together in the final movement. While the soloist played out a much needed, upbeat tune, somewhere in the orchestra could see that all of this was for show, especially when the minor keys illustrated his true thoughts. But nevertheless, he upheld the mask around the other instruments, to say that everything is fine. However, when my ears dug beneath the surface in the underlining register, it turned out that he isn’t confident at all, but is putting on a brave face nonetheless. The lie, after that sweet credenza, was believed by all, including the audience at the final recapitulation.
The soloist bowed deeply to them before he shook my hoof. I thanked him as he left for the backstage, “Same some of that punch for me!” I called out. Now my attention was turned to my piano. “Now can you see why I’d envied him for a while?” I asked, pointing at the projected portrait behind me.
“So for this next one, apparently there has been some debate about the character of a composer that, unfairly I think, has gone down in history for all the wrong reasons. Chances are, you too have probably have fallen under the spell of this myth as well. The one I’m referring to,” I turned around to see the projector change to the final portrait of that night. An old oil painting of an even older stallion – one that had golden metals, an expensive fur coat over his blue waistcoat, and a high white collar that upheld his wrinkled face. “What you see is the only known existing portrait of Antonio Salieri.”
An explosion of mummers reverberated in the music hall. “And before you ask,” I raised a hoof, “The answer is no, he didn’t kill me, otherwise I wouldn’t be putting on this concert. But yes, Salieri, with whom there has been some confusion as to what sort of relations I had. In reality, by the time I moved to Canterlot to stay for good, he was already Celestia’s favorite composer. Yes, it’s true that we did know of each other’s work, even respected each other, but when it comes to music, we saw ourselves as friendly competitors. Always an unofficial popularity contest between us. For a while I thought he was winning, guess all of you proved me wrong.” There was a chuckle as I sat down at the keyboard.
“If anything, I’m rather surprised that nopony has ever heard a note of what he wrote. Tonight, however, that’s going to change. Tonight, for the first time in two centuries, we shall be performing Salieri’s Piano Concerto in C.”
Among the audience, I could hear the same confusion that I’d heard from the orchestra when I proposed this to them. ‘Why in the world would you want to conduct something from a minor composer like Salieri?’ Even when I started conducting, they didn’t seem that impressed. However, I gambled that if they waited long enough, they’d have a different opinion by the time the piano solo came in.
The opening theme on the keyboard was a perfect example of composers of the eighth century: simple to follow, elegant, but still with an educated touch. For my part, I’d had to learn how to play the solo literally overnight. Playing it, the first movement reminded me of some of my earlier work in the grammar of how the orchestra and keyboard conversed. At times throughout the performance, I wondered if I had a bigger influence on him than I thought, or had him on me?
At least, that vision of being a servant was similar to the techniques that I had used. From the smiling trills to the sweeping bows, I did feel familiar in this sort of landscape. Even when the chords changed, I could easily predict what the next bar was going to be like. And to spice things up, near the end I improvised a cadenza based on that opening theme that managed to get an applause out of the audience before the final chords were played.
The Larghetto is a personal favorite of mine. It’s as if I’m exploring Salieri’s mind in the echoing strings. If anything, it’s simple but still shows his own thought process of creating a theme and determining not only what variations to add, but when and where to let the orchestra have their moment or to be combined for dramatic effect. Of course, I would have done this differently, but for what this second movement is worth, Salieri still had some good ideas. It’s a mystery of how any of this was forgotten.
Now the third movement, the Andantino Rondo, I think this would have been easily passed as ballroom music because of its rhythm and the tempo in which one could easily dance to. This one I think was a good deal of fun on my part as I was letting my hooves dance their complex minuet over the keyboard. At one point, I just let it go wild once it went into a minor key and notes cascaded one on top of the other like a gust of wind circulating in a ballroom. But just like that, it returned to the theme to close it off.
After modest applause, I stood up to say, “And now the moment you all have been waiting for. I know that this concert has been dragging somewhat, but we all know why you’re here. Tonight I have some special Hearth’s Warming presents to give out. Two brand new pieces that have never been heard by the public until now.
“In the spirit of my family tradition, the first gift: I wish to dedicate each movement of my new piano concerto to my three servants that have become my closest friends in this new world. The first movement will go to Mr. Sauté, my cook, the second to my butler Wilfred, and the third to my maid Fan.” I looked over to the box in which all three of them sat. “This is my gift, without you I may not have recovered from my depression. So here’s my Hearth’s Warming present for the three of you.”
I began as soon as I sat back down to play out my concerto. It started with the piano taking the lead to establish the basic theme: a warm mix of nostalgia and innovation before the orchestra joined in. The spectrum of sound was busy but calculated like inside of Sauté’s kitchen. Of stirring violins, boiling oboes, savory clarinets, and baking cellos, my piano was in command of it all. It was organized noise spiced up with poetry and balance, much like his meals. In this movement, he juggled from chopping, stirring, baking, cooling, spicing and organizing it all on silver plates. The keys along flowed along with his movements and the artistry of turning basic nourishment into works of art – a perfect musical representation of his work in the kitchen.
With the second movement, I kept it light with the strings that echoed in the foyer where I work. While all my sheet music lay scattered on the floor, the phantom hoofsteps of my butler walked in from the piano. Almost like a strange ballet, he picked up the sheets with his magic to float in the air. There was something heartbreaking in the sound, almost tired but dedicated to his work. Like how a god would oversee a universe that made sure everything was running smoothly like a machine. And once everything seemed to be well organized, the paper accidently fell over with them flying everywhere. In a desperate attempt but still trying to keep his cool, he grabbed many of it before levitating and reorganizing it back onto the piano. However, in the quiet moment, he held up one of the sheets, staring at it in appreciation before placing it back in the neatly piled paperwork.
In the final movement, the keyboard started with something bubbly. I was depicting my maid in the library dusting every shelf while on a ladder with wheels. With every push of her hind leg, she used the feather duster to brush over several books in seconds. Another stronger push and the orchestra illustrated how she seemed to fly around the room. Even with my keyboard playing, I could see her giving such a mundane task as something fun. (Now that I think of it, I really ought to give that a try myself.) I could envision how she would glide from shelf to shelf, creating a dust cloud in her wake. But even when the dust cleared, all that float down to the floor in which she now has to clean up. But even with a broom, an idea seems to get her as she just puts on roller skates to go around the room. In the end, she sweeps it up into a mountainous dust pile that she removed from the library, leaving a clean room behind.
I was completely satisfied when not only the audience applauded, but so did they. By the time it died down, I turned my attention to the Princesses in their red box. “Now to close this performance, I have one last gift, and this time, it’s for these princesses here tonight.” I looked up towards Sunbutt, “Celestia, a long time ago you suggested that one of these days I should write a carol for Hearth’s Warming. I'm pleased to tell you that requests from all those years ago have been completed. So with your approval, I’d like to close this concert of a carol of my very own.”
“Please do,” she called out. “I have been waiting for two centuries to hear what you’ve come up with,” she winked at me.
I bowed, “As you wish, Your Highness.” I flipped around to the orchestra. “Strings,” I lifted my hooves, “You all know what to do.”
After the audience laughed at that, I lead the strings into my idea of Hearth’s Warming. The violins, violas, and cellos painted a picture of the perfect holiday. Of dolls that sat on the fireplace, of the flag pole with that silk flag in the wind, of the warm comfort foods that were both a delight to the eye and to the tongue and the rows of presents. But even this warmth is counterbalanced by the icy snow from outside. The dance of a blizzard, the war of snowball fights, the slipping of sleds down a hill, and the ice skating. All of these experiences tied up with a lovely red bow at the final note to which the theater practically fell apart from the avalanche of applause.
And a standing one too. The lights went up to reveal, from floor to ceiling, everypony in the theater was standing and cheering. I singled for the Philharmonic to bow first as they did much of the work. Then I motioned for my star violinist to do likewise. And finally, I bowed low to not just the Princesses, but all of the audience.
“I thought that was rather sweet of you to dedicate those movements to us,” Fan said as we returned to our hotel.
“As I said, I do owe you three when I needed it. To me, it would be too inconsiderate not to do something to repay you for all you have done.”
“We appreciate the thought put into it Wolfgang,” Wilfred nodded as we walked up the steps of the Ritz. “For now, let’s get our things together and make that midnight train back to Canterlot.”
“Speaking of which,” I inquired. “Since I’ve given the three of you the day off tomorrow, what are you going to do for Hearth’s Warming?”
“Most likely spent it with my brother,” said Fan.
“I promised that I’d spend the day with my parents,” Mr. Sauté told me.
“And I’d like to visit some friends that I hadn’t seen in a long time.” As we got on the elevator, my butler asked. “At the same time, I’m concerned for you.”
“How so?”
“Pardon me for being so blunt about this, but you don’t have anywhere to go for tomorrow. There is no living relative of yours as far as I’m aware that you could visit, and we will be having obligations of our own. I don’t know how you’ll be spending the holiday.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I waved it off. “I’ll think of something, besides, I was known for crashing parties here and there.”
The elevator rang and its doors were open to our penthouse. However, it wasn’t entirely empty for there were two pegasi Solar Guards there as we stepped out.
Wilfred stepped forward, “Can we help you?”
“We’re looking for Wolfgang Moztrot,” said one.
The other held up a scroll under his wing, “We have come to bring him a message from Celestia.”
I walked up to them, “I’m Wolfgang, may I see that?” the letter was given to me. Breaking the seal, I unrolled it to find the biggest surprise of the whole evening. “It’s an invitation,” I told them. “To attend Hearth’s Warming at Canterlot Castle.”