//------------------------------// // Chapter 25: The Cold Presto in D Major. // Story: Beethoven's Tenth // by CrackedInkWell //------------------------------// Ludwig van Beethoven Destroys Blueblood at Concert Manehattan, Equestria Last night, the Giant of Ponyville has done something that no other artist had dare done before. At the end of the hour-long concert of his 4th Piano Concerto and 4th Symphony, Ludwig van Beethoven (see above) was criticized by Prince Blueblood that saying while the pieces were good, they did have, “Too many notes.” Enraged, Ludwig declared to everypony in Carneghie Hall that the prince had no say in his work. That he doesn’t get to judge because he was so detached from both society and artists that he has no right to criticize, “You with your servants and comforts,” he says, “you don’t speak for anyone inside this room other than yourself.” When Blueblood questioned what gives him the right to say such a thing, Beethoven tells him that divinity gives him the right since he’s deaf. “Since you seem to be such an eloquent speaker, sir, perhaps when you go mute, only then you’ll have the authority to judge anyone.” The Prince, after losing his temper in calling the giant a: “hotheaded swine.” The composer responded the biggest burn ever said to Equestrian Royalty. “What you are, you are by accident of birth; what I am, I have made it my own… There has been, and always will be a thousand Prince Bluebloods, just like you; but there’s only one Beethoven!” he said before storming out of the theater and into the rainy night. “That was really shocking,” the Prince said after the performance. “Even when I gave the harshest of criticism to anyone, I’ve never heard such a sharp insult in all of my life! Mr. Beethoven is really lucky that he’s not an Equestrian citizen, he would have gotten into much deeper trouble he should have been for such disrespect.” “If you ask me,” Spike, dragon assistant to Princess Twilight told the Manehattan Times, “I think I understand where Ludwig is coming from. He’s very sensitive and can be easily offended if you’re not careful. So what that he lost his cool? The guy can’t hear a thing, so how can anypony not in his situation?” “I can’t say if what Beethoven did was brave or stupid,” a teenager, Blasted Earphones said. “But what he did back there was bad flank! I mean, I’ve been to every concert in Manehattan to where the prince shows up, and I’ve never seen him get owned like that before. The guy stood up for his art and I respect him for that.” Then he added, “Can’t wait for the record to come out. That guy can write some wicked piano solos!” Indeed, despite what the younger audience had seen from last night, many of them hold the opinion that they will buy the record of his new piano concerto and symphony when it comes out. Svengallop couldn’t believe his eyes at what he just read, especially at the last sentence. What any sane manager would consider being career suicide, that not only had this Beethoven done just that, but he’s getting respect from that demographic because of it! He stared on perplex, how was something like that even possible without a much bigger backlash then that giant should get? Putting the paper down and propping his elbows on the desk for his chin, he pondered the whole situation. For the sake of the Countess, he must do something. The record of the third symphony is still killing it on the top ten charts, and that doesn’t even cover all the printed music that’s going on in circulation! Now the manager pondered over a single question. How to get their young demographic back? His eye trailed down to the calendar on his desk. It contained a schedule of future concerts, events, interviews, and places to be for the Countess. Then, he suddenly got an idea. Getting up from his chair, he went over to the door to the office to say to his sectary: “Pen Stroke, find me the schedule for Beethoven’s next concert.” _*_ Ludwig sneezed, to which the doctor quickly stepped back. Beethoven was back in Ponyville, it was a few days after the last concert, and the composer woke up sick. The landlady called for a doctor when she noticed that Ludwig wasn’t making his usual noises and that she went up to check up on him. For the yellow doctor, he was wearing a surgical mask for the sake of caution before he checked the old man’s symptoms. Turning to the green unicorn at the door, he told her, “From what I can see,” he said. “He has a fever, sneezing, runny nose, watery red eyes… I can safely say that Mr. Beethoven has come down with a cold.” “So nothing contagious right?” Lyra asked. Shaking his head, the doctor took off the mask over his muzzle. “In theory, we don’t have anything to worry about. Although I don’t know anything about human biology, it does look like he has the common cold, which, give him some soup, cough medicine and two weeks rest, he should be back to normal.” “What did he say?” Ludwig asked. Picking up a blank sheet of paper, Lyra wrote to him that he has a cold and should rest for two weeks. “Ugh, I feel like I’m dying.” “If his condition worsens,” the doctor said as he trotted out the door, “please come and tell me. Until then, good morning ma’am,” with that, the stallion went down the stairs and out of the building. Lyra wrote him a message, asking him where the magic scroll was. He pointed to one of the newer pianos that were still legless on the floor. After finding it, she unrolled it so that they could talk, “Could I get you something,” she asked. “My composition book, for one,” he said before he coughed. “I must work.” “But the doctor said that you need rest.” Beethoven snorted, “So what? I’ve lost my hearing a long time ago, that’s a flimsy excuse for being lazy.” “It’s not being lazy, you need healing.” Lyra pointed out, “I’ll go run some quick errands, and inform Princess Twilight that you’re sick.” As soon as the mint unicorn left, however, Beethoven rolled out of bed and grabbed some scrap paper, a hardcover book, and a pencil. Sitting back down with a blanket wrapped around him, he immediately started drawing lines on the paper before dictating a quartet. Since he still has to work on the symphony, he decided to write something short. Though his runny nose provided an annoying distraction, his mind hammered out a theme for two violins, a viola, and a cello. His pencil started jotting quick notes as a melody starts to sprout. All four strings seemed to be nervous, jumpy even at first. The first violin starts to gain strength before it flies all over the page in a hurry. His writing hand was restless, even when his sneezing and coughing were telling him to slow down. But his imagination was relentless as he continued on, ever forward even in sickness. Not even taking notice that the door had opened. “Mr. Beethoven?” Dinky Do asked as she entered the room with a basket of freshly made muffins on her back. She spied the giant on the edge of the bed, humming to himself a tune while his face was looking downward at what he was scribbling. She stomped on the floor to get his attention. Nothing. She took a step closer and did it again, but he still didn’t notice her. So the young unicorn went up to the bed-frame itself to kick at it, this time it got Ludwig to look up at her. Wiping his nose, he asked, “What is it? What do you have?” “These are for you,” she said loudly as she placed the basket on the bed. As Beethoven picked up one of the muffins, Dinky took the chance to take a look around at the room, and even a closer look at the writing on the walls. Only, she could barely read the notation since some of it was scratched out. “Looks like a small cake,” Ludwig commented, taking out the scroll with his free hand. “What are these?” “They’re muffins,” she told him. “Lyra said that you’re sick so mom and I baked these for you. And you’re holding a blueberry one, by the way.” Ludwig put down the scroll to tare a part of the top of the muffin off to examine it closely. After sniffing the warm, cake-like substance, he popped it into his mouth. “It’s like very sweet bread,” he commented. “Is this really something you would eat for breakfast young one? This is like something you would eat as a dessert.” “You could eat them at any time,” Dinky stated, “My mommy and I ma-” “Too many words little unicorn,” he handed the filly the magic scroll. “Hold it up, and then talk.” After she followed his instructions, Dinky continued, “As I was saying, muffins can be eaten at any time, Mr. Beethoven. We’re known in Ponyville for making the best muffins in town. When we’ve heard that you were sick, mommy fixed these up and hopes that you might get better soon.” Ludwig sniffed before taking another bite, “These barriers are tart… This is by far the kindest thing a neighbor has done for me. In Vienna, where I come from, I tend to move often. The neighbors I had either didn’t like me or were afraid to go near me. But I can’t recall the last time anyone has offered me food out of kindness. Tell your mother that Herr Beethoven thanks you both.” “I’ll tell her that, just take it easy, okay. I heard Lyra is going to get you some soup, just to let you know.” Dinky placed the scroll back on the bed. Before she could make it out, she heard Ludwig say, “I ought to remember to repay the kindness little one.” And with that, he sneezed. “Bless you,” Dinky said instantly before she left, leaving Beethoven alone with a string quartet in his head.