The Second Life of Moztrot

by CrackedInkWell

Chapter 31: Setting Up the Stage

About the day after New Year’s, my butler gave me a stack of letters. “Wolfgang, I have some good news and bad news regarding the Opera you want to produce. Which do you want to hear first?”

Looking up from the score of Beethoven’s first symphony, I chose. “Give me the bad news first, the good might even it out.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why? What do those letters say?”

“Well, the bad news is, every invitation to an orchestra has been turned down.”

My jaw dropped. “All of them?”

“From the Crystal Empire to Applewood. They give a variety of reasons, but the most common is that they have other things they need to do and they can’t afford to lose entire sections for the sake of an opera. With that being said, the good news is that the Canterlot Opera Company gladly accepts to do it as they have done in the past, with a director who’s itching to work with you.”

“But you’re saying that there’s no orchestra.” I set the score aside. “Wilfred, I can’t do this if I have no musicians. Who else am I going to get to do this in time for Heart and Hooves day?”

My butler put a hoof to his chin. “Thereisan orchestra that comes to mind that may offer assistance. Only, if my memory is correct, you did somewhat offend two of its star musicians.”

I leaped out of my chair in the library. “You do? Who is it? What group?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Forgive me if I get this wrong, but I think that you conducted that orchestra once, two hundred years ago in Canterlot.”

“What orchestra are you...” Then it all came to me what he was referring to, “You mean the Philharmonic?”

It pains me to say this, that as much as I’m regarded as a genius, there are moments in which I realize how big of an idiot I really am. This happened to be one of them. In all the chaos of what transpired, that group had completely slipped my mind. How could I have forgotten about them! They were the best-trained musicians in the land, capable of playing a piece perfectly after only a few rehearsals. They were the first to perform my music before anyone else. How can I --

“Wolfgang?” Wilfred interrupted my train of thought.

Shaking my head to clear it, I asked, “Sorry, are they busy this time of year?”

“Aside from performing the best versions of Beethoven’s Symphonies, I can’t say. But it never hurts to ask.”

“But did you say that I’ve offended someone?”

“Do you remember Octavia and Horseshoepin at your welcoming party?”

Oh… My oh my, did I have quite a bit of explaining to do.

One great advantage to Canterlot: although they may add new buildings, they don’t change the street names that often. I bring this up because it helped me to locate the place where the Philharmonic that I had known practiced and performed in. Although the theater had changed in both architecture and name, it was still at the same location: 2406 Faust Street. And as expected just from walking in, the same sign reminded those who entered to be silent while the orchestra rehearsed.

The first thing that I heard as I walked through the glass door was a trio of a piano, violin, and cello in a somber mood while the keyboard led the opening of a strange melody. Then a soprano began to sing a simple aria, like that of a lullaby. The instruments were cold as a winter night while the voice provided the only source of warmth and solace. As I entered the theater itself, the orchestra was watching this haunting quartet at center stage.

If there was a perfect setting to show how uneasy I felt at approaching the ones performing, Providence couldn’t have chosen a more perfect arrangement. For the one playing the cold cello was the same mare that I had embarrassed, while the one at the piano was the one whose music I had rearranged. Those icy chords were almost mocking me, walking on thin ice towards the stage. But given the delicacy of the circumstance, I dared not try to break their performance. So I waited to make my presence known.

“That is a curious piece,” I said aloud, finally, getting their attention. “What was it?”

“Is that Moztrot?” I heard one of the musicians ask while the cellist and pianist gave me the cold shoulder.

A blue mare hopped off the stage and went up to greet me. “This is a huge honor to have you here, Mr. Moztrot,” she said as she shook my hoof. “I’m the current conductor, Sea Sharp. And uh, to answer your question, that was called Bellman’s Lullaby, as arranged by Beethoven. So what can we do you for?”

“Well, if it’s not too inconvenient, I came here for two reasons. The first is to give a few apologies.” While this caught the attention of the cellist and pianist, the conductor was confused about what I meant by that. “What I mean is that I want to come here to explain my behavior to certain musicians here, whom I’m afraid I offended some months prior.”

“You came to apologize?” the gray mare with the black mane inquired in her Trottingham accent.

Nodding, I went up to the edge of the stage, “Indeed ma’am. I recognize you as the mare that I embarrassed with one of my party songs. Back in the world, I came from, that was considered humorous; I hadn’t considered that taste in what one finds funny would have changed over time. In the process, I must have embarrassed you in front of all those ponies that were listening when that wasn’t my intention. And you,” I pointed at the stallion at the keyboard. “I’ve started to hear more about you and how self-conscious you were with your music. What I did that night was take the spotlight away from you from what was overall a uniquely sublime piece. True, I do love a bit of mischief now and again, but that time I might have taken it a bit too far. For that, I am sorry. And I do hope that we might become friends, in a way.”

The two of them looked at one another. “Well I did remember you being drunk that night,” the stallion by the keys said. “So at least we can forgive you on that account.”

“What did you say your names were?” I asked.

“Octavia,” the mare said.

“Call me Horseshoepin, sir,” the stallion added with a nod. “So, what was the other thing that you came here for?”

“Oh! That’s right,” clearing my throat, I addressed the orchestra as a whole. “Mares and gentlecolts, Conductor, members of the Philharmonic – I know that I, personally, haven’t been in touch with any member of this orchestra since 787. However, I’ve come to you because, to be quite frank, I have literally nopony else to turn to. For you see, I’m trying to produce a particular opera for this coming Hearts and Hooves day. But the only problem I have is that, while I did get the local opera company to perform it, I have no orchestra to assist me. Since I can see that this group has grown tremendously since the last time I’ve worked with it, I ask to borrow a pair of flutes, oboes, clarinets, bassoons, horns, and trumpets, along with timpani and strings. I know that calling upon you with only about a month and a half left is a little too soon, but I promise that those who do come will be well paid.”

A chorus of murmurs was heard, and then the conductor asked. “And which opera are we talking about?”

The very next day, I was in the foyer. Since the piano was pushed out of the way for the afternoon, I only have my clavichord to relieve my boredom. In the middle of the spherical room, I sat on a chair, nothing more than me, the instrument and two pieces of paper that came out of my Hearth’s Warming present with the interesting title: For Elise.

My guess is that whoever this was for, it was meant to be a gift of some sort. Probably a mare that had some training in music as it was a rather simple but nice-sounding piece. To me, this bagatelle wasn’t sad nor tragic but it masqueraded as a dance. For, as my hooves tapped out a rhythm, it had the feel of having a mare in one’s arms. Almost like a private love note that, although short, was dripping with a romantic intention for the recipient.

However, this was interrupted by the doorbell. With a smile, I hopped over to it. “I’ll get it, Wilfred!” I called out as I reached for the doorknob. Opening it wide, I discovered a crowd of ponies in many shapes and sizes as well as different ages. Upfront at the steps of the door was a dark green stallion with a light blue vest that matched his mustache. “Come on in everypony!”

The one up front went up to shake my hoof while the others flooded into the foyer. “Mr. Moztrot, this is a pleasure, really. I’m Stage Hoof, the director of the Canterlot Opera Company.”

“Director, come in! I’ll ring up the cook and bring out some refreshments before we get started.”

The cast of ponies, by my count about thirty, chatted freely in the rotunda area. Each of them I noticed had a little book, no doubt containing copies of the music they’d be singing. A few minutes later, Mr. Sauté rolled out a cart of a punch and a vegetable tray. Once the company was comfortable, I stood up on the chair in the middle of the room. “Everyone! Everyone! May I have your attention please?” The chatter died down as all eyes were on me. “Before we do anything, I must personally thank all of you for taking the time to perform this opera. And I know that all of you have some questions for me, but before we do, can I be introduced to all of you?”

Stage Hoof stepped up, “Well, you already know who I am. I’ll let you get to know the main cast for this production since, well, we were planning on doing this next year but given your personal invitation, we just couldn’t refuse moving it up. So anyway, let me show you the ponies that I’ve personally chosen to play in this.” And so the director plucked out of the group the mane actors: the four baritones, the two tenors, one colt that still had a soprano’s voice, three grown mares and a filly, also sopranos. The rest were to be the chorus.

“Of course, there is one thing that we’ve been curious about,” said Stage. “Where exactly are we going to perform this? Do you have a particular theater in mind?”

“I do indeed,” I smiled. “Actually, we’re already in it.”

The opera group expressed flabbergasted remarks all around the room.

“What?” the director question, “You mean like opera at home sort of a thing?”

“I can’t think of a better setting,” I said hopping down from the chair. “No theater in the world is more equipped because those that are have been turned into museums. Remember, it’s all set in a mansion, one very much like this place. Besides, those balconies and this floor have enough room to fit about nearly two hundred ponies while giving you all enough room to act.”

“But where’s the orchestra going to be playing?” one of the chorus asked.

“Top balcony, where we can see and hear everything. Besides, it’s the best place for the acoustics to reverberate because of the dome. When the time comes, I’ll conduct from up there.”

A hoof has risen, “So what time period are we setting this opera in?”

“In the true spirit of it, I want to set it in the modern day. I’m going to ask a certain seamstress I know to dress you all accordingly. I’ll be lending you props and furniture from this very house for you to use. Also (and this is from my butler) the performance is to be done in this very room -- and nowhere else. So, any other questions?”

I was asked if I’d be using one of the keyboards to help them with the music. But once all questions were answered, I picked up the clavichord and asked them if we could run through Scene One, Act One.

Weeks after the rehearsal for both cast and orchestra went underway, posters were underway to advertise the opera. Each one that was put up on walls or on windows said the exact same thing: