Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Mozart's Muse (Wednesday Wanderings)

Author's Ramblings: And another day of Wednesday Wanderings! (and yes, still no button. Too much homework on the weekend.>_>) This week, I am posting a new short story written this semester as part of a pet project during my music appreciation class. It is a short, featuring Mozart and his muse and is immediately after a short time trip to the future. A historical note must be added--it was said that Mozart never changed any of his music after having written them. Recently, it is said to have come to light, that this was not true and notes have been found among Mozart's things, proving this. However, I chose to highlight the detail in honor of his musical genius and have chosen not to alter the story after hearing this news.The official disclaimer is below--enjoy! ^_^

DISCLAIMER: A Fictional Short of a possible conversation between Mozart and his Muse discussing his 23rd Piano Concerto after traveling briefly to the future to hear the rendition of Chick Corea and Bobby McFerrin. All material, ideas and suggestions within are solely for entertainment purposes and not intended to serve any other purpose. The above author retains all rights. © S. H
 For The Sake of A-MUSE-ment : A Musical Muse Episode #1

“Well? What did you think of it?” The Muse demanded, standing on tip-toe to see over the shoulder of his armchair and around to the pensive face of the man occupying it, in some hopes to read into the expression plastered across it.

Mozart offered a smile, the cross between a grin and a frown, the closest reaction to happiness he ever dared to show to this muse. “It was…” He hesitated.

“Ha! I knew it! You hate it!” The Muse danced excitedly around his armchair, waving her skinny, glittering arms about. “I knew it! I knew it!” She sing-songed.

The almost-smile immediately went downhill, opting to remain as a frown of disapproval. “Do not do that…you’re off key.”

“Off key?” She sputtered, freezing in place at once, drawing all her regal height of barely three feet to stand directly before him. “Off key! I will have you know that if you’d only used this as an introduction, my music wouldn’t be mangled in that dreadful future.”

“Your music?”

“Yes! It’s mine! You’re merely the vessel by which I choose to bestow my favor upon.”

There was no answer, but the frown did not change and Mozart made no other attempt to communicate his thoughts on that what he had just witnessed. The Chick Corea gentleman and his friend, the Bobby McFerrin had managed to reproduce his piano concerto in a form close to heavenly angels singing, if he dared to look that hard at it.

While the end result was most certainly not something he’d have chosen, there was a certain satisfaction in knowing the concerto had passed through dozens to over a hundred years. His gaze flitted briefly to the sulking muse standing by the window, staring out at nothing, her fairy-wings drooping, pouring the magical dust in a puddle by the window.

He tucked the detail away for later use. It would be a good spot to stand for his musical effort. “I think…” He began, careful not to look at her.

“I don’t want to hear what you think!” She stomped her little foot, accenting it with a toss of her head. Movements that were witnessed out of the faintest corner of Mozart’s eyes, when no reaction was garnered from such a display, the cheeky muse replaced herself in the prominent position of a few inches away from his face. “That was not the way it was intended to be! You need to do something about it!”

If he was going to say something, he did not bother to, because the expression on his face spoke more at that particular moment.

“You can do something about it!” She snorted. “You can change the tune by one eighth of a fraction of-”

“Absolutely not.” He found his voice at once, turning away from the pixie face so intent on breathing in his ear. “No changes.”

“Excuse me!” She gasped. “I’m the muse! I wrote that-”

“It was absolutely perfect the way it was and I see no reason to change it.”

“Was! Was! Past tense…did you not see what happened to it when it traveled a few years into the time of the-”

“No changes.” He repeated, adding a little more gruff to his voice.

“None?” The skinny glittered arms crossed over her chest. “I give you absolutely everything there is to be and yet you cannot even grant me one little favor? This mindless, absolutely harmless little alteration between-”

“No changes.” Mozart shifted to his feet, moving around her and heading for the window.

“A little more to your left.” She sniped.


“You were intending to stand in the runoff of my fairy dust.” There was a dramatic sniffle. “It’s a few more inches to your left. Never mind…all you care about is my dust…I’ll be gone…away…forever…and ever…and ever. You won’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine, I will not…ever…”

There was a sigh from the window. “What was wrong with it?”

Her curly head popped up at once. “Oh, absolutely nothing!” She chirped, twirling over to stand beside him. “It was just that…weird…singing…in the front.”

“Singing? Is that what it was?”

The muse-fairy muttered something and then gave a quick bow. “Yes! That was music! He was singing and he has to his credit a fairly loverly voice…it just wasn’t meant to mangle my perfect—your perfect—concerto! It was about the piano, absolutely nothing to do with singing!”

“That is all?”

“Yes! Yes, yes! Do you not see?”

“I see, but what I am seeing I am not sure I see.”

“Then don’t see…you need only say a single word…and all will be taken care of!” She waited a moment, then tugged his hand. “Well?”

“Splendid idea.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll write him his own concerto.”

The little muse-fairy stared at him for an entire half-second. “His own concerto?”

“It was…nicely…preformed.” Mozart defended. “Not the way either of us intended for it to be, but it was still a decent performance by-”

“Write him his own concerto!” She shrieked. “As if I don’t have enough to do with pulling genius from your head, I have to visit his as well?”

“I did not ask you to take anything out of my head-”

“Oh, be quiet!” She snapped. “This is going to take all week! We’re going to be hours and hours behind work!”

“Hours? Behind? Is there something I should-”

“Nothing.” She flashed a brilliant, sparkling smile. “Absolutely nothing. I cannot tell you what the future holds for you, but I can witness it and lament it…and remember to never share it with you…again!” With one last sigh, the muse-fairy lightly skipped over to the armchair, painstakingly draping her small form across it.

“Paper, my dear Mozart.” She fanned herself with one bejeweled hand. “Paper…we must begin at once…I absolutely refuse to fall behind…”

(c) Sara Harricharan