The Second Life of Moztrot

by CrackedInkWell

Chapter 35: Le nozze di Figaro (Act 4)

Some ponies would say that this should be none of my business. That I should leave these personal affairs alone for others to sort them out. However, that goes against my curious nature. After all, when you notice that someone left the previous act in such a rage, you can’t help but see if everything is all right.

Down the stairs to the second floor, through the ponies that wanted to say hello, getting past them to go down a hallway, and there at the other end was a stallion knocking on my bedroom doors. As I trotted over, it became clear that he and his marefriend were the same couple that had unexpectedly left.

“Can we not do this right now?” the stallion groaned. “Especially in front of everypony? In Moztrot’s own house?” This was a gray stallion that, judging from his appearance, was at least a few years younger than I was. The unicorn with glasses was oblivious of me at first as he knocked on the doors again.

“You do know that it’s useless to uphold the façade,” a mare’s voice scolded through the double doors.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t act dumb you cheating bastard! It’s rather funny how art imitates life – why it’s almost as if Moztrot knew the sad state of our marriage.”

“Uh… excuse me,” I spoke up, thus getting their attention. “Is everything all right?”

“M-Mr. Moztrot? The stallion blinked.

“It’s rather hard not to become curious when some of the audience members unexpectedly storm out when the opera hasn’t finished. I know this is a stupid question, but were you two quarreling?”

“What?” the husband lied, “No no. Not at all, it’s just that she was looking for a bathroom to powder her nose.”

I raised an eyebrow, “An interesting location as that happens to be my bedroom.”

At this one of the doors opened, and the wife stepped out. She was a yellow unicorn whose noticeable features included the pink and turquoise jewelry that set off her pink overcoat, whose sleeves were tied around her neck like a cape. “This is your room?” she asked me. “Oh I… I’m sorry I didn’t --”

“Don’t be,” I waved it off. “But is there something wrong? My opera didn’t offend either of you two did it?”

“Oh no! Not at all,” the wife glared at her spouse. “Although, that Count did happen to remind me of a certain someone that, coincidentally enough, I caught in bed with the maid.”

“For the love of,” he grumbled, “It was not what you thought it was!”

“Really now? What was she doing then? Dusting off balls?”

These two were like watching a fire getting near to a powder keg so I had to separate them. “Please, if either of you is planning on drawing blood, do it outside, otherwise Wilfred would scold you for untidiness.”

Both of them looked at me in confusion, “Who’s Wilfred?”

“My butler, and one that you don’t want to deal with if you make a mess. So, who are you two again? I’m afraid I haven’t caught either of your names.”

The two of them managed to cool down. The stallion introduced himself, “My name is Jet Set, and this is my wife, Upper Crust. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss something else.”

“What do you think of the opera so far?” I asked. “I’m curious to see a modern audience’s reaction to something over two centuries old.”

“I don’t usually care for opera all that much,” Upper Crust said. “No offense to you, but before we’ve almost never been given any idea what the actors were saying, to begin with. Those translation scrolls are a tremendous help in grasping what’s going on. Honestly, I didn’t know that someone like you would write about such a thing.”

My eyebrow was compelled to rise. “If you’re referring to the words being said, that was from someone else, I just chose the story to write music to. At the time, I found it funny, interesting and full of good characters to play with. That and it was complex too. Which I think is a good way to get your audience’s attention.”

“To be honest,” Jet said, rubbing a foreleg. “I’d never seen this opera before. The only reason why we came at all was that Fancy Pants was going to it. You are back in fashion, after all.”

“So… You two have never seen this before?” they shook their heads.

“All I know that it’s very famous,” Upper Crust explained. “And I have heard a few of the songs before. I didn’t know that they came from this.”

“But what do you think of it so far?” I questioned. “Even if it’s a little too -- relatable for you two.”

They glanced at one another for a moment, “If anything,” said Jet. “It’s almost accurate to the point where it’s frightening. Although, we don’t want to go into detail how much of it matches reality.”

“Well as the composer, let me assure you both with the exact same thing I said to Celestia, which is that these characters are not based on anypony living or dead. No matter what my wife might have said.”

“Pardon?” they said in unison.

“Nothing,” I lied. “However, I must confess that it’s a relief for me that something like this has lasted this long. In fact, the conflict with the Count and the Countess was commonplace back where I come from. Yes, infidelity that was rampant. I mean…” my cheeks turned pink. “Even before I met my wife, I too was guilty of this.”

This took the couple completely by surprise. “You!” Upper Crust exclaimed. “But… You’re Moztrot.”

“Yes, thank you for jerking and lubricating my ego, that’s very kind of you.” I giggled. “But I’m no demigod. I’m a pony like you two. I too have passions, urges, and feelings like any other. Even after I married my wife, I had fallen in love with what few students I had. But even then, as I was writing this, I did learn something.”

“Which was?” Jet’s curiosity was peaked.

“True beauty can never truly fade, but you do need to be reminded of it every once in a while. After all, isn’t it the nature of ponies? We at times, we lose what matters to us, thus we make mistakes so that we may learn from our follies. However, there is one important thing to learn: while we are all students and teachers, patience is always the key.”

The mare blinked, “Wow. I never took you to be the philosophical kind.”

“You must be confusing me with Star Swirl, I’m just an idiot.” I stuck my tongue out playfully, giggling. “And who knows, perhaps you two would learn the same lesson that the Count and his wife had learned.”

“Which is?” the husband inquired.

“Oh, I can’t tell you that yet! It’s no fun to spoil a perfectly good story. Besides, there will be champagne after the opera.”

“You have champagne?”

“It wouldn’t be a wedding if you didn’t have a few bottles on ice. Now come! We’re starting the final act very soon.”

The couple said that they would do just that shortly. This allowed me to return to the rotunda to find the chorus (at least, those who are able to fly) hard at work draping the windows and the glass dome in a black fabric with holes to look like the night sky. Even the electric candelabras along the wall and the chandelier were lit, but not too. On the ground floor, small trees and bushes in potted plants were arranged to simulate a garden.

This simple set was enough to impress the audience even before starting the music. So I climbed up towards the top of the stairs, where the orchestra was waiting for me. Returning to my spot, I noted Jet and Upper making towards their seats. I smiled as it would seem that might resolve their quarrel.

Soon after, the final act began as Barbarina walked into the dimly lit rotunda, worry and dread upon her face. I raised my forelegs, watching all around as the strings, including Octavia, raised their bows to begin. When everypony was ready, I lead them into the dark, slow opening.

The opening was simple, but it painted a sort of quiet melancholy that was constantly moving. Much like how the filly search was clearly becoming fruitless. The violins tried to uphold the façade of being calm, but even they realized the seriousness of the circumstances.

“Oh dear me, I’ve lost it! Wherever can it be? I can’t find it.” While this tiny aria was slow, it was short and to the point as Barbarina conveyed her dread. “My cousin and my lord, what will he say?”

Entering from the wings of the hallway was Figaro who asked what the matter was. “I’ve lost it, cousin.” She sang, “The pin his lordship gave me to take back to Susanna.”

“To Susanna?” Figaro questioned, “The pin? So young and already so dutiful?”

“Why are you angry with me?”

“Can’t you see I’m joking,” and with a clever idea in his head, the valet plucked a hairpin out of his cousin’s mane. “Look,” he sang. “This is the pin the Count gave you to take back to Susanna. It was used to seal a note. You see, I know all about it.”

“Then why ask me if you know it all?”

He shrugged, “I wanted to hear how his lordship sent you on this errand.”

“Nothing remarkable,” Barbarina told him as she took the pin back as she quoted what her master said, “‘Here, my filly, take this pin to pretty Susanna and say: this is the seal of the pine grove.’ And then he added: ‘Take care no one sees you!’ But you won’t tell.”

“Trust me,” Figaro responded coldly. After biding his cousin farewell and off to see Susanna then to Cherubino, the Pegasus was then visited by his mother. He tells her that it’s all over between him and his newly-wedded wife.

“Patience,” she sang. “Patience, and yet more patience. Things are serious, and we must think them out. But wait, you don’t know whom the joke is on.”

“Oh mother, that pin was the one he picked up a little while ago.”

“True,” she agrees. “But this only justifies your being on your guard and keeping your eyes open. But you don’t know if in fact-”

“I’ll be on the alert! I know where the meeting has been arranged for.” As Figaro spread his wings, his mother asks him where he’s going. “To avenge all husbands. Farewell.” And with that, the valet flew up and down a hallway on the second floor. His mother, meanwhile, feels that she must warn Susanna as she believes to be innocent.

One aria that, in hindsight, was completely pointless later, she leaves as Figaro reappears along with his newly discovered Father and the music teacher that hides in the shadows. The Valet lands on the iron railing, his ears cocked this way and that. “Who goes there?”

“Those whom you invited to come,” the teacher replies cryptically.

“What a scowl! Do not go away from hereabouts. I must go and give some instructions; I’ll be back very shortly. When I whistle, all of you rush out.” Figaro disappears into the wings once again and the two stallions walked out into the dim light.

“He has Discord within him,” the teacher comments.

The valet’s father questions, “But what’s amiss?”

“Nothing. Susanna pleases the Count. She agreed to meet him, and that doesn’t please Figaro.”

“So what? Should he bear that calmly?”

“Couldn’t he bear what so many have to bear? And then, listen: what would he gain by it? In this world, it is always dangerous to clash with important ponies. They can give away ninety percent and still win.”

Another aria from him later, (in hindsight, I could have written it out of the opera, too, and not lose anything) the two of them depart and Figaro comes back in from the top of the staircase. He starts his aria, his mind swimming with confusion and betrayal that this, his sweet Susanna, would shatter his trust and his heart. “Oh Susanna,”he laments.“Susanna, what anguish you have cost me! With that sweet face… With those innocent eyes… Who would have believed it!”

Now on the ground floor, his anger explodes at not just his newly-wedded wife’s betrayal, but towards all the female sex. Unleashing his rant to the sky. “Ah, to trust mares is sheer folly. Just open your eyes, you rash and foolish stallions, look at these mares, see them as they are. These goddesses, so called by intoxicated senses, are offered tribute by undermined reason. They are witches who cast spells for our torment, sirens who sing for our confusion, night owls who fascinate in order to pluck us, comets who dazzle to deprive us of light. They are thorned roses, alluring vixens, smiling she-bears, malign doves, masters of deceit, friends of distress, who cheat and lie, feel no love and have no pity. No, No! The rest I need not say, for everyone knows it already.”

I will admit, during his aria, every single mare in that audience (as well as the orchestra) was staring steel tipped arrows at me. It was a rather uncomfortable feeling. Even when I looked over to Octavia, even though we had rehearsed this, whenever we got to this aria, there was something in her eyes that said she was about ready to throw me off the balcony.

Anyway…

Figaro hears someone coming so he goes to hide behind one of the bushes. From a hallway, two figures in black emerged. The Countess now wore the maid’s apron and wedding veil that not only covered her face but her horn as well. Susanna followed behind but was in her lady’s clothes including a hat that would have hidden her horn if she had one.

“Madame,” Susanna asks, “you are trembling: are you cold?”

“The night is rather chilly. I’ll go in.”

“Now comes the climax of the drama.” Figaro mocked from his hiding place.

“If your ladyship will allow me,” the maid in disguise suggested.“I’ll stay among these trees to take the air for half an hour.”

“To take the air!” Figaro muttered.

“Stay, and take your time.” The Countess replied. But her maid smiled as she noticed movement from the bushes.

“The rascal’s watching,” she sings with a smirk to her ladyship. “So we’ll have some fun. We’ll reward him for his doubts.” Another aria came in which, with soothing clarinets, and pizzicato of violins, they harmonized hope underneath the darkening sky. While she sings of confidence that her love will not fade in this lovely garden, Figaro silently wonders which lover she was referring to.

After Susanna scurries away, the hidden Countess now glides towards the center of the foyer. While the Valet had thought that he had discovered in how his wife was deceiving him, the Page-Colt came in through the kitchen. Cherubino was looking for Barbarina, and while he spotted a mare in the dark, he wasn’t exactly sure who it was. Judging by the apron, he thought he recognized her as Susanna. The Countess, meanwhile, tries to shoo him away before her husband comes.

Then the Count came down from the top of the staircase, his heart full of passion. The Countess tells Cherubino to go away, but the colt won’t go without a kiss. Of course, if his lordship discovered him, he’d punch him in the face… or at least he would if Figaro hadn’t stood up just then. After Cherubino is scared off, the Count was now free with “Susanna” in the dark.

“At last that impudent fellow’s gone.” His lordship sang as he turned to his disguised wife. “Come nearer, my dear.”

“As you wish. Here I am, my lord.”

Figaro, still rubbing his snout, commented, “What an obliging filly! What an open-hearted bride!”

Both of the now eloped lovers sang in the cover of night, linking hoof in hoof. While the Valet is livid with jealousy, the wife was trying her best to keep from laughing at what was truly happening. “Besides your dowry, my dearest,” sang the Count as his horn glowed to levitate a golden bracelet. “Take this jewel too, which a lover gives you a token of his love.”

“Susanna accepts everything from her benefactor,” his wife replied with intended bad acting. “My lord, I see the glow of torches.”

“Come then, my Aphrodite, let us conceal ourselves.”

While Figaro was crushed at this moment, the two of them continue with the Countess asking: “In the dark, my lord?”

“That’s what I want. You know I’m not going there in order to read.”

The couple rushes out down a hallway, thus giving Figaro a chance to come out into the open, humiliated and heartbroken. It is in this moment that the hidden Susanna decides to appear at the top of the staircase, calling him to be quiet.

“You came in time,” he sings to her. “There you’ll see for yourself the Count and my bride. You can touch them with your own hoof.”

“Speak a little softer,” she replies, and as she sings, the groom slowly realizes something about her. “I shall not stir from here, but I will be avenged.”

Figaro grins happily, as he realizes that not only is he being tricked, but that the one doing it is none other than – “Susanna! Be avenged?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, if my lady wishes it!” Taking off his overcoat, Figaro flies up the stairs. “Here I kneel at your hooves. My heart is full of fire. Look at this spot. Think about how you were betrayed.”

Susanna on the other hoof wasn’t so much impressed by her groom’s honeyed words as more disgusted than anything. “How my hoof itches!”

“How my bosom heaves!” replied the valet.

“I’m impatient, I’m furious!”

“I’m impatient, I’m on fire!”

“Without any love?” she asks, ready to hit him across the face.

“Let my indignation be sufficient. Let’s waste no more time in vain. Give me-”

“Take it, sir!” And just like that, she punches him dead in the muzzle. “And that, and that as well!” She keeps singing as she was delivering blow after blow.

“Don’t beat me so fast,” Figaro cries abjectly, but she keeps hitting him. “How sweet these blows! How happy is my love!”

“That’ll teach you, false one, to play the seducer!”

Poor Susanna looked like she was on the edge of crying when her husband comforted her. “Now peace, my dearest treasure, I recognized the voice I love and which keeps my heart in thrall.”

She pauses, “My voice?”

“The voice I adore. Then peace, my dearest treasure, peace, my sweetest love.” The two of them echoed in reconciliation. But the two of them couldn’t celebrate just yet, as they hear the Count trying to find Susanna. “That’s the Count,” they sang in unison. “I recognize his voice.”

While their lordship is calling for his new beloved, Susanna tells Figaro that she’s relieved that the Count didn’t realize that they simply switched clothes. “Let’s end this comedy, my dearest, and console this strange lover.” And just like so, the two of them act in the open with his wife taking the part of the Countess that he’s trying to seduce.

The Count enters, furious to see that his valet was trying to practically hump what he thinks is his wife. Catching them, he calls out to arms as the cast comes in to see what was going on. “The scoundrel has betrayed me,” he accuses, “shame me, and you shall see with whom.” While the spectators had found themselves bewildered, he brings out what he thinks is to be his wife. Susanna, along the mother Marcellina, Cherubino, Barbarina and Figaro pleaded for forgiveness, the Count tells them that such a thing is hopeless.

That was until the voice of the Countess was heard as she entered from the top of the staircase. “At least let me plead forgiveness for them.” As she enters, she lifts up a foreleg to reveal the same bracelet that his husband had given to her as he thought to be Susanna.

The Count, now realized the nature of this prank, has his perspective turned upside down. The mare that he was trying to seduce was the one that he had loved years ago. And on that night, she reminded him of why. He walks over to the staircase as, in that moment of silence, he sits down next to her, his head bowed low.

“My Countess, forgive me.”His voice, for the first time since they were married, was tender and repentant. After he says those words, a brief moment of silence as his wife looks at him, before reaching her hoof to be placed upon his.

“I am kinder: I will say ‘yes.’”

Vulnerable, the Count nuzzled his head in her withers as her forelegs hugged him as the chorus swelled in absolute, forgiving, tender resolution. “Then let us all be happy.” In these simple words, I saw in that dim light, genuine tears that showed that my audience was indeed moved by this sound that healed them with every passing bar. Even now, it is a moment that I am most proud of accomplishing. Misery and despair were resolved in that one, sweet moment that was unstoppable. Love incarnate echoed through the halls of my home, as in that resolution, the chorus sang their happily ever after.

“This day of torment, of caprices and folly, love alone can end in contentment and joy. Lovers and friends, to the dancing! Let’s set off the fireworks! And to the sound of a joyful march let’s all hurry off to celebrate.” Thus, in the final, golden chords of brass, winds, strings, and percussion, the opera was drawn to a close.

The applause was beautiful and loud as the starry curtains were pulled aside to let the natural light in. Actors and actresses gathered around in a circle on the ground floor to bow as the audience from the main and second floors stomped and cheered. They waved their forelegs upward to the orchestra above, at which point I signaled them to stand and take a bow, too.

---

It wasn’t hard to convince a good chunk of the audience to stay when bottles and glasses of champagne were being passed around. They swarmed around both the musicians and the actors, congratulating us for this risky, but well paid off performance. I went up to the colt that played Cherubino to say to him, “Bravo magnifica!” I cheered to him. “That was fantastic back there!”

“Thank you Mr. Moztrot,” he said as he sat on one of the chairs. “If you don’t mind, I’m really tired, but it was a lot of fun.”

“Pardon us, Mr. Moztrot,” I turned to find Princess Twilight, along with Sunburst and Starlight there holding up a glass. “Congratulations on your success,” the purple alicorn said. “This was worth coming up here with some of my friends.” Her tiny entourage, in turn, said the exact same thing.

“That is excellent to hear,” I replied, “At last, my flop has turned into a hit. Who knew the secret was to wait a couple hundred years?”

“Yes, and we have to do all that again tomorrow,” the colt pointed out as he was lying down on his back upon the cushion.

A blue aura helped turned him over, “I think everypony here did an excellent job,” said Fancy Pants. “After all, this is truly a triumph. Hooves down the best cast and orchestrated version of the opera I’ve ever heard.”

“Maybe you could make a suite of it sometime,” Sunburst suggested. “Just to give everyone some of your best hits in a way.”

While I hummed, completing such a score in my head, I felt a tap on my shoulder to find Jet Set and Upper Crust there. “We’re going to go home from here,” the husband told me. “But before we go, we just want to say thanks.”

I blinked, “What for?”

“Giving us a new perspective on things I guess,” Upper Crust said. “While I can’t say if things will be good from here on out, I can say that this opera and what you said earlier is some of the greatest advice we’ve been given. At the moment, we have some things to talk about when we get home.”

“Oh don’t thank me,” I bowed a little. “I’m just a composer.”

But they thanked me nevertheless and went out.

Yet, among all the ponies that came up to speak to me, the orchestra and the cast, there was one pony that I hadn’t seen. Star Swirl. I looked about high and low, but I didn’t find him at first. However, from a window, I saw he was actually outside, sitting beneath one of the trees. So stepping out into the open air, I went up to him with a glass of sweet champagne in hoof.

“There you are, I’ve spent a good ten minutes looking for you,” I said as I approached him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Reflecting,” he replied, and I asked him what he meant. The beardy wizard didn’t respond at first, but he told me to sit down next to him. “Do you know what the worst part of being in the future?” I shook my head, “It’s that the longer you remain here, the more you realize how out of date you really are.”

“Out of date?” I cocked my head to the side. “Forgive me sir, but I don’t fully understand.”

“What I mean is that the knowledge and talent you have acquired over the years doesn’t mean much when you’re surrounded by ponies that have gone above and beyond. It’s as if suddenly all the accomplishments you’ve made is foal’s play compared to what they, and by extension, you can do. Take that music I’ve just heard. At the time, where I came from, I was considered to be the greatest musician as I practically invented a way to write music that anypony can play off from. A whole new writing system that revolutionized music itself.”

Now, this surprised me, “Wait! You’re a musician too?”

He nodded, “I dabbled in many things, not just in magic or music, but whatever knowledge I could get my hooves on and learn how to be good at it. Ponies now would consider me the first renaissance stallion. Though granted, I could play the mandolin and the lyre as I sang my songs, but that…” he pointed at my home. “You, sir, had done something that I couldn’t do. You moved others from joy to tears and back again. The ending to that opera will haunt ponies even after we’re gone.” Star Swirl placed a hoof on my shoulder, “You should be proud of that. Where I have experimented, you sir have perfected the art beyond perfection. To that, you’ve now earned my undying respect.”

“Then let me offer you this glass, my friend.”

Comments

[Voltaje]

Hopefully stars wirl didnt hear the mágic flute first, or don giobanni, i wonder if the barber of sevilla was already written, anyway, lets wait what comes next un moztrot second life.