The Second Life of Moztrot

by CrackedInkWell

Chapter 19: Requiem (Part 1)

Author's Note:

Now since I feel that putting the Requiem into one chapter would take much longer then it already is, so I’ve decided to split it up into parts.

I will not bore you with the week of rehearsals with this mixed orchestra. Nor will I tell you of the discussions I had with them as they pointed out how different my finished work was. That is not what I want to tell.

But rather, I want to begin this chapter on the train to Saltzburg. The orchestra and choir in tow, I had invited a few friends to this extremely late funeral. In a train car, I remember looking out on a familiar landscape. Sitting beside me were my friends, Wilfred holding onto one of my violins, Fan and Sauté on the bench. Across was Sunburst, Princess Celestia and her sister. On the other side of the car from where we sat was Princess Twilight with her student and friend to Sunburst, a mare named Starlight Glimmer. I remembered that all of us were wearing black for the occasion. Normally, I would be cracking jokes or talking with the new mare.

However, considering where we were going for this performance, I didn’t exactly feel like it.

“When was the last time you were in Saltzburg?” Sunburst asked me.

This gave me pause, “Not since I was twenty-five so… almost two hundred and twenty-five years give or take. The last time I was here, was before I moved to Canterlot. I wonder how much of that town has changed, or rather if it changed at all.”

“Are you sure that you’re okay doing this?” Fan inquired. “I mean, considering where and whom this piece is performed for, are you sure that you’ll be able to conduct it?”

I closed my eyes, “I think I have to. I owe it to the four of them.”

“Excuse me,” the Princess of the Moon asked me. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you were playing your Requiem for your wife, child, and sister?”

Fortunately, Sunburst answered this for me, “Actually, they’re not the only Moztrots that are buried in Saltzberg. His father Leopold had passed away there too.”

“You might say that he was the reason why I hadn’t come back to the place… until now.” I let out a melancholic sigh. “Of course, all of you know how personal this is to me.”

They told me that they understood. From there I turned towards the window, to the mountains that surrounded the place where I was born. In a way, little had changed as there are still plenty of trees around, and when the train pulled up to the town, I found that neither had Saltzberg. The same town, cradled in a valley of ancient roads, with towering houses made out of brick and plaster. Most of the architecture I noticed was left untouched. If anything, the only new thing about it was the advertisement signs.

Once the train had stopped and we had disembarked, I looked behind to see the unusual funeral parade of black cloth. Princesses, a wizard, students of magic and music, young, old, ponies, a hoofful of Changelings, vocal soloists, and the choir were all waiting on me to show the way. The orchestra that I picked out had their instruments on their backs while the royal servants carried with them the music stands and candles. So, recalling the old map from my mind, I retraced my steps towards the cemetery, a place that I hadn’t set hoof in since my mother died.

I took the lead, going down the old cobblestones, past the shops that bore my name and image. Deep down, I had a feeling that my father would have approved of such a thing, but I didn’t feel that keen to explore them at that moment. When ponies saw us, some took pictures while others followed us to see what was going on.

We reached the cemetery which looked more like a garden than a plot of land to bury the dead. Before I stepped through, I turned around and asked Wilfred, “Do we have the wreaths?”

He nodded solemnly, “All four of them. But how will we know where they’re buried?”

“I think I have an idea.” And indeed, I had an educated guess. If there were anypony in the family that had died in Saltzberg, the most logical place that they would be buried would be next to their closest relative –in this case, my mother. While there were more flowers around the gravestones, I managed to retrace my steps to find not just her, but them as well.

“Excuse me, everyone,” I said turning around to the funeral procession. “While some of you might wish to go ahead and tune your instruments, I’d like to have a moment with them in private.” Without waiting to hear what their response was, I asked Wilfred to bring out the wreaths. A few of the royal servants came up to me, each holding a ring of roses and a candle. After taking one of them, the first grave I went to was my father’s. I lay the wreath down against its cold, white stone.

“Hello Papa,” I began softly. “So… first things first. I’m sorry that it has taken me this long to finally come here.” My ears folded backward, “And I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring myself to come to the funeral. I mean, at the time I could if I wanted to but… I was angry at you, as much as it devastated me. On the one hoof, yes I know that you taught me as much as you could. I know how hard you worked to get the Moztrot name immortalized and, by the way, you’ve done a fantastic job at it. But after what you said to my wife…” I shook my head. “It made it so hard to forgive you… until it was too late to do so. Papa, you were right about us. Yes, we did end up sleeping on straw and were driven to poverty. Yes, I did spend and drink too much. Yes, I should have learned how to keep my mouth shut. You were right about those things. But Papa, do you know what you were wrong about? Constanze was the best thing to have happened to me. I had partied hard and worked just as much. My music was not forgotten because of her but forever remembered. And Papa… I tried. I tried as hard as I could to make it all work. And while I didn’t see it at first, that same music had an influence that I couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Not to say that I don’t miss you. Even the very memories of you haunt me; they have come up again and again in some of my music. At first, I had imagined you to be unforgiving. Your spirit haunted me when I wrote Don Giovanni. However, slowly my view of you changed, it became more forgiving, as I have forgiven you. Now my life has changed, but before I could move on, I want to say to you that not only do I forgive you, but even beyond time, I still love you, Papa.”

After lighting a candle over his grave, I went over to fetch the next wreath and candle, which I placed on my sister’s tomb. “Hello, Nannerl. Long time no see.” I paused to rub the back of my neck. “You know, I did want to write to you back before I became ill about what I thought about what you wrote to me. But at the time I didn’t have the energy to give you a proper reply as I was dying. However, since I’m here, I can tell you that little tune you wrote was simply charming. Truly wonderful. I was curious to see what you would do with it once you’d written that sonata out.” Again I sighed,

“Truth be told, big sis, I never got the chance to see the finished work. Even centuries later, as I and a friend were trying to find what music was left behind from the family, I couldn’t find a piece from you. To me, this is an upsetting tragedy because…” I put a hoof over my eyes, trying to hold back the tears. “Sister… The truth is I have… always been jealous of you. Of the two of us, you are the greatest and most influential composer that I personally know. I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for you and Papa. I mean, let’s face it, you’re the genius in the family. And to have you be forgotten... Nannerl, you don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve to have everything you wrote lost to time. I want to make it up to you somehow. At the moment, I can’t figure out how, since the only thing that remained from you is a few pieces we wrote together as foals. But I promise that I will think of something.” And with that, I lit a candle over her grave.

The next grave that I placed a wreath on was of my youngest. “Hello, Franz. First of all, I wanted to say that I’m sorry for not being there for you, your brother and mother. The last time I saw you, you were so tiny in our arms. It pains me that I never got to know both of you colts, even more than it does to see you here. I have spent some time looking up what I could of what became of you. The good news is that through the help of a friend, we’ve managed to recover scores that you’ve written. I have taken a look at your piano concertos, and I must say that I may be late in saying this, but I’m proud of you – more than any father in the world. I do wish that you had taken a little more pride in yourself for your compositions. You have my approval anyway, and I am more than happy that you had such a gift too. So I’ll tell you what: I’m planning on a special concert in which I will be playing something from you. After all, somepony talented who had put so much effort into his work deserves to be recognized.” Like the other two graves, I lit a candle on his tombstone.

Then finally… the final tombstone. It took all my strength to hold back everything not to burst out crying as I stood before the stone that bore my wife’s name. I knelt down in the grass as I placed the wreath before it and for several, quiet minutes, I didn’t say a word.

“I must be honest with you,” I began, finally. “I’m not exactly sure what to say. There’s so much that has been left unsaid, and much more than I wanted to say before our parting. I never thought that our time as a couple would end like this. Believe me Constanze, I wasn’t ready to go. You know, I still have your portrait with me, the little locket that I’ve kept with me this whole time.” Here, I pulled it out of my pocket and opened it. Alongside that tiny painting was a lock of her mane, still as vibrant as the day she clipped it. I put a hoof over it, stroking that last, physical reminder of her. At this point, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. “I’ve missed you.” I whispered. “My little darling wifie, I missed you so…”

There was a pair of hoofsteps that cautiously walked up behind me. A hoof gracefully touched my shoulder and I looked upward with those tear-filled eyes at Celestia. She put a wing over me as I cried there like a child.

I don’t know how long I bawled my eyes out, but I assume that it must have been a long time as, eventually, I noticed that the orchestra and choir were getting rather anxious. “Do you remember the Requiem I was writing?” I asked my wife’s tombstone. “The good news is that I finally got it done. I know that it has taken me two centuries to do it, but I did promise you that I would get it finished and to have you hear it.” With the last candle being lit, I waved a hoof for the orchestra and choir to circle around the graves as I stood in its center.

Wilfred undid the latches of the violin case, and then he tightened up and rosened the bow before giving it and the instrument over to me. Taking it into my hooves, I made sure that the old piece of wood was in tune before turning to the orchestra. By then, the royal servants were setting up their music stands while the singers were flipping through their lines.

“My darling,” I said over my shoulder to my wife’s grave, “I once had written this for myself as I thought I was dying. Now, this Requiem is for you.” I glanced once more over to the strings. The cemetery was given a moment of silence. And then, taking on the role of the first violinist, I cue the strings in the slow, pulsing march. Horns and oboes let out their moans and suppressed wails while the clarinets drew out long lines of depression. But when the crescendo came and the orchestra began to layer itself, one on top of another like bricks, I wept. While I was able to conduct, my tears blinded me, yet I could hear that great tomb being built for them. An indestructible monument of death!

In that music, I heard all the things of what had been and what could have been. Just in the opening fugues my mind was at once consumed by those four ponies whose remains were long since turned to dust. In my head, I envisioned Papa scolding me, my sister drafting the perfect keyboard sonata, my son at his first concert, and my little wife reciting poetry without knowing it. Four lives and voices wove together like a tapestry of sorrow in my eyes. All the things that I wanted to do for them when they were alive, gone. All the music that could have been inspired by them, dashed. And the future that I might have had with my family, a memory that had been blown away.

The choir was singing their hearts out while the mixed orchestra was keeping time with me. To my mournful ears, it was perfect in form and emotion as notes floated about the graveyard like a mist. The symphony of death reigned supreme; I could have sworn that even Saltzburg had stopped to listen. Every note was clear and powerful, a performance that was the only thing to balance my grief.

Almost immediately after the double fugue, I let the choir unleash rage in its purest form.It came fast and loud, each burning note accusing me of every terrible sin. Each word blamed me for every miserable thing that I had to the four of them. Abandoning them, wasting money that they gave me, turning my back on them, not being in their lives when they needed me, and pursuing pleasure over their well-being. Every single venom-soaked, hate-filled sharp word that the choir spoke was towards me, and yet, I was the one who wrote them in the first place. Huh… talk about self-hatred.

Comments

[Greenhorn]

Artists are known for their emotional side. Another good chapter.

[Chrome Masquerade]

As Moztrot was weeping openly, i must admit that I shed a few tears myself. Thus, i feel the need to flex my artistry muscles in respect.

Many bonds do tie us,
But no stronger will (or should) you see,
Than that with brothers, sisters, parents,
Yes, bonds with our family.

Perhaps a wise mother, giving wisdom,
(though at first you might not know it).
A stern father can still be caring,
Even if he often doesn't show it.
A brother can look up to you,
A sister might look slightly down.
But both will love you in their own way,
And often find ones so you smile, not frown

And that isn't even covering,
The other bonds that you might make.
But here i will not leave them out.
No, make no mistake.

Your wife or husband can challenge you,
But always show they care.
Uncles, aunts and cousins help out sometimes,
Even if they aren't always there.
Sons and daughters also will,
Hold places there within our hearts.
And as they grow up, love them back.
That's where the next generation starts.

Yes, love those of your family.
They won't be there froevermore.
Find any reason, when you can,
To warm their hearts and make them soar.

[Merula]

And thus, we finally hear his Magnum Opus

[caalv24]

8505330
That's Beautiful Man. That speech just touch my soul.

[Chrome Masquerade]

8506320 Like i said, it's my kind of art.i have more... control over it than my storywriting.

[mastermenthe]

i wonder if something is wrong with me, i dont feel sadness in this chapter?