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Ok, this is a fan fiction work. Based off of Trans-Siberian Orchestra's Beethoven's Last Night. That version had no dialogue in it, and I thought that it should. This is what came of it.
With the rumbling of thunder, Beethoven finally put down his pencil.
At last, he thought. At last it is done. My most beautiful work of art is complete. It will overshadow even my 9th! He put the whole fifty pages in order, smiling to himself, but still a little troubled. He finally looked up, and realized there was a tall, pale, and beautiful woman, with a short boy, with an evil smile on his face at her side in his room.
“Ludwig von Beethoven. It is time for you to die. You have lived a full life, giving humanity beautiful music. Now, you must leave this world, and never know how it will affect the future.” Said the woman. As she spoke, she spoke with a slivery shiver of a voice.
“But you don’t understand, my music, it is not yet published! I can’t leave yet!” pleaded Beethoven. As he walked over to woman and boy, he saw opaque spirits, babbling in the background, causing a cacophony so great, Beethoven had to cover his ears, even with his hearing abandoning him.
“I am not the one you must beg and plead with. You must talk to Mephistopheles . He is the one that is going to being picking you up at midnight tonight.”
At that moment, the clock tolled midnight. With a flash of lightning, there was a short man standing on the balcony. He walked in, brushing the rain off his cloak, and raised his head. His face looked sunburned, and at the corners of his forehead, there were horns, curling almost like a rams.
“Ludwig von Beethoven! Your time has come to die! Come with me quietly, and you may be able to get to Heaven!” shouted the man, in a pinched, but deep voice.
“Please, you must not let me go yet! My Tenth Symphony, it is not yet finished,” begged Beethoven, knowing full well he would not change a note. “Please, give me just enough time to finish editing, and you can have my soul.”
“Well now, this is certainly a twist. I have much admired your work, but I need to get going, seeing as I have to grab some couple out of the Rhine, and several thieves out of Munich.” Stated Mephistopheles, obviously undecided and really trying to figure out what to do.
“However, seeing as your work does seem to need some work, I will give until it is complete.” Mephistopheles told him, docilely. Beethoven looked down at the work, and shuddered at the thought of destroying his greatest work.
“That’s what I thought. You can’t bear to toy with your music, even if it means your death. How about this then. I will give you one hour to think. And while I am gone, think about your music. Would you be willing to live, but have me wipe the memory of it from the minds of men?” he asked, and as soon as the last word was out of his mouth, he was gone with another flash of light.
The woman walked over the Beethoven, and told him, “You are a brave man to stand up to that bully. He takes lives like a child takes candy.” She was speaking in a soft tone which caused Beethoven to have to lean in close to hear what she was saying.
“Why do you have these spirits around you? I see the people I once knew, but I can’t understand them.”
“These are the people who have inspired you to make all of your music. Whether you know it or not, they have all played a part in your life, and if you want, I could grant you a favor, seeing as you have and will always benefit humanity with your music.” Replied the woman.
“No, mother Fate! Remember what happened last time? The man decided to go to Asia, and brought back the Black Death, as oppose to being a simple business man! Do you want something like that to happen again?” implored the boy at Fates side.
“Calm yourself Twist, you and I both know that Ludwig would never do such a thing, like Marco Polo.” Replied Fate evenly. Twist crossed his arms in obvious annoyance.
“What my favor is a chance to change your life. Everything that ever went wrong, you can now change. But bewarned,” Fate added, seeing the euphoric expression on Beethovens face. “Anything you change, will affect the future. Thus saying, it will affect your music.”
“I will do it! Take me back to when I first met Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!” yelled out Beethoven. With one final blast of thunder, there was a sense of being pulled backwards, and Beethoven saw different scenes of his life go by in a blur. All of a sudden he was back in the grand room he had stood in, thirty years ago. He saw himself at the piano, his fingers a blur, and he saw Mozart, sitting in the front row, his fingers in a steeple formation, almost as if he was praying. When the song finished, Young Beethoven stood, and looked to Mozart.
“What did you think Herr Mozart? Is there anything that I could change to make it better?” Young Beethoven pleaded.
Mozart just sat there, with his hands in the same way. Fate leaned to Older Beethoven, and asked, “What do you want to change about this scene? It can always be reversed.”
“Make him give me the advice I was craving.” Older Beethoven replied in a whisper, as if not to disturb the people that couldn’t hear or see them.
Fate twitched her fingers in Mozarts direction, and Mozart replied then, “Mark this young man’s name, for he shall make a name for himself in the world! However, there is room for change. For instance, try a few octaves lower . . .” He then went on a rampage of how the already amazing music could be improved, and when played to Mozarts liking, Older Beethoven could not have disagreed anymore, even if he had been paid.
“Never mind, take it back! The man may have been amazing writing his own music, but editing another’s! By God, the man has no ear then!” Exclaimed Beethoven, only then realizing he was back in his room again, the clock showing he still had half an hour left.
“True, and if he had given you this advice, and you had taken it to heart, as you know you would have at that age, your music would soon be under fire for copying his work, and people would never pay attention to any of your work at all. Do you want to try and change anything else?” Fate asked in the same silvery whisper.
“My hearing! Why must it be leaving me! Change that!” cried out Beethoven, hoping for a positive change this time. All of a sudden, he felt something like cotton leave his ears, and he could hear perfectly.
“Thank you Fate! Are there any changes though?” asked Beethoven.
“Yes, of course. Because you are now able to hear again, you have become a perfectionalist. Your music is now so far apart, you put something into the world of music, and people recognize your talent, but then after a few months of nothing, they forget you. Your work will still be remembered, but it will have little effect on the world.” Whispered Fate again.
“No! No, no, no, no, no! I do not care if I am forgotten now, but after knowing how many people have loved my music, I cannot deprive the future of it! Take it back! TAKE IT BACK! This is not better than what Mephistopheles offered me!” yelled out Beethoven, pulling on his hair with fear and anxiety. There was the feeling of cotton being shoved into his ears again, and everything again became stuffed up.
Beethoven looked again at the clock, and he realized Mephistopheles must be playing with the time, for it was now within a minute of the hour being completed. Suddenly, he reappeared again, just as the minute hand hit the 12.
“Your hour is complete! What is your answer?” he asked in the same deep, pinched voice.
“No, I would not have my music forgotten! I have worked to hard, and these people love it to much!” Beethoven replied in anger.
“Alright then, if you really must keep your music in the world, try this. All your music you have composed before tonight will be remembered. But, your final piece shall remain unknown forever!” cried Mephistopheles in delight.
Beethoven looked down at the music in his hand, hearing the cymbals crash, the drums pound, and the chorus cry in his head, changing tempo and pitch with every paper changing.
“No, I can’t do that either. It would be an abonmination.” Said Beethoven in resignation.
“Ludwig, you drive a hard bargain! Fine, my last offer!” Mephistopheles looked around, and spied a homeless orphan girl in front of the apartment.
“You see this child in front! She has no home, no family, no money at all, and yet she still dares to sleep on your front step! For an added thirty years, I will make the next five years of her life agony! I will stick a finger in every wound she gets! Fire will consume her at night, ice will freeze her during the day! Oh, but she won’t know that it’s me. She’ll think its her fate and destiny, but we’ll know its me! I will spare her life for your final symphony as mine! What say you now?”
Beethoven was about to agree to this, but all of a sudden, Fate was at his shoulder, asking him, “If you agree to this, could you live with yourself? Knowing you doomed this girl to a premature death? To a life filled with agony, misery, and destruction?” Beethoven looked at her, and realized she was right.
“Alright Mephistopheles, we have a deal. What do I do now?” Beethoven finally said. Mephistopheles jumped in glee, and told Beethoven, “Just sign this paper! It comes from the Holy Bible, and therefore unbreakable!” Mephistopheles held out a thin sheet of paper that had matearilzed out of thin air, that read:
It is agreed upon this night, March 26, 1827, between the undersigned, that the music of the Tenth Symphony, composed by Ludwig von Beethoven, first born son of Johann and Maria von Beethoven, in the city of Bonn, shall henceforth be the propery of Mephistopheles, Lord of Darkness and first falled from the grace of God. It is also understood that it is his intention to remove any signs of this music from the memory of man for all eternity. In exchange for the destruction of the aforementioned music it is also agreed that Mephistopheles and all his minions will remove themselves from the life of the child presently sleeping in the gutter directly across from the window of this room. This removal of influence is to be commenced immediately upon signing and to be enfored for all eternity.
Ludwig von Beethoven Mephistopheles
As soon as Beethoven had signed the paper, Mephistopheles grabbed the papers from Beethovens hands, and held them over a candle. But even after five minutes of exposure to the flame, the papers refused to burn. Soon Mephistopheles was trying to rip them into shreds, and yet again they refused to be destroyed.
Twist, all of sudden, gave out a bark of laughter, and fell to the floor in convulsions of humor.
“Why won’t they burn or be destroyed!?!” cried out Mephistopheles in frustration.
“Because-because- Oh!” Twist couldn’t continue, his laughing was to strong.
“Because this Ludwig von Beethoven that you bought a Tenth Symphony from will never write one, seeing as he was dead by the time he was two. This is the second born Ludwig von Beethoven of Johann and Maria von Beethoven.” Replied Fate evenly, with a small smile.
Mephistopheles gave a cry of pure malice, and disappeared with a flash of thunder. Beethoven gave a whoop of happiness, and ran out of the room. Lightning flashed again, and Fate disappeared, but Twist remained behind. With a small chuckle and snicker, he grabbed the sheets of music, and jumped onto the bookcase across the room. When he landed, he quickly slipped the papers behind, and flashed out of the room, with a final bark of laughter.
For those that care, Mephistopheles is a German fallen angel. He was the one that collected the damned and brought them to Hell for Satan. Also, this is based off of real research. Ludwig did meet Mozart, and he really did declare that Beethoven's name must be marked down, for he would make a name for himself in the world, and he really did try and write a Tenth symphony, but I think he died in the process. I can give you a link for the real document I wrote if you want it.
With the rumbling of thunder, Beethoven finally put down his pencil.
At last, he thought. At last it is done. My most beautiful work of art is complete. It will overshadow even my 9th! He put the whole fifty pages in order, smiling to himself, but still a little troubled. He finally looked up, and realized there was a tall, pale, and beautiful woman, with a short boy, with an evil smile on his face at her side in his room.
“Ludwig von Beethoven. It is time for you to die. You have lived a full life, giving humanity beautiful music. Now, you must leave this world, and never know how it will affect the future.” Said the woman. As she spoke, she spoke with a slivery shiver of a voice.
“But you don’t understand, my music, it is not yet published! I can’t leave yet!” pleaded Beethoven. As he walked over to woman and boy, he saw opaque spirits, babbling in the background, causing a cacophony so great, Beethoven had to cover his ears, even with his hearing abandoning him.
“I am not the one you must beg and plead with. You must talk to Mephistopheles . He is the one that is going to being picking you up at midnight tonight.”
At that moment, the clock tolled midnight. With a flash of lightning, there was a short man standing on the balcony. He walked in, brushing the rain off his cloak, and raised his head. His face looked sunburned, and at the corners of his forehead, there were horns, curling almost like a rams.
“Ludwig von Beethoven! Your time has come to die! Come with me quietly, and you may be able to get to Heaven!” shouted the man, in a pinched, but deep voice.
“Please, you must not let me go yet! My Tenth Symphony, it is not yet finished,” begged Beethoven, knowing full well he would not change a note. “Please, give me just enough time to finish editing, and you can have my soul.”
“Well now, this is certainly a twist. I have much admired your work, but I need to get going, seeing as I have to grab some couple out of the Rhine, and several thieves out of Munich.” Stated Mephistopheles, obviously undecided and really trying to figure out what to do.
“However, seeing as your work does seem to need some work, I will give until it is complete.” Mephistopheles told him, docilely. Beethoven looked down at the work, and shuddered at the thought of destroying his greatest work.
“That’s what I thought. You can’t bear to toy with your music, even if it means your death. How about this then. I will give you one hour to think. And while I am gone, think about your music. Would you be willing to live, but have me wipe the memory of it from the minds of men?” he asked, and as soon as the last word was out of his mouth, he was gone with another flash of light.
The woman walked over the Beethoven, and told him, “You are a brave man to stand up to that bully. He takes lives like a child takes candy.” She was speaking in a soft tone which caused Beethoven to have to lean in close to hear what she was saying.
“Why do you have these spirits around you? I see the people I once knew, but I can’t understand them.”
“These are the people who have inspired you to make all of your music. Whether you know it or not, they have all played a part in your life, and if you want, I could grant you a favor, seeing as you have and will always benefit humanity with your music.” Replied the woman.
“No, mother Fate! Remember what happened last time? The man decided to go to Asia, and brought back the Black Death, as oppose to being a simple business man! Do you want something like that to happen again?” implored the boy at Fates side.
“Calm yourself Twist, you and I both know that Ludwig would never do such a thing, like Marco Polo.” Replied Fate evenly. Twist crossed his arms in obvious annoyance.
“What my favor is a chance to change your life. Everything that ever went wrong, you can now change. But bewarned,” Fate added, seeing the euphoric expression on Beethovens face. “Anything you change, will affect the future. Thus saying, it will affect your music.”
“I will do it! Take me back to when I first met Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!” yelled out Beethoven. With one final blast of thunder, there was a sense of being pulled backwards, and Beethoven saw different scenes of his life go by in a blur. All of a sudden he was back in the grand room he had stood in, thirty years ago. He saw himself at the piano, his fingers a blur, and he saw Mozart, sitting in the front row, his fingers in a steeple formation, almost as if he was praying. When the song finished, Young Beethoven stood, and looked to Mozart.
“What did you think Herr Mozart? Is there anything that I could change to make it better?” Young Beethoven pleaded.
Mozart just sat there, with his hands in the same way. Fate leaned to Older Beethoven, and asked, “What do you want to change about this scene? It can always be reversed.”
“Make him give me the advice I was craving.” Older Beethoven replied in a whisper, as if not to disturb the people that couldn’t hear or see them.
Fate twitched her fingers in Mozarts direction, and Mozart replied then, “Mark this young man’s name, for he shall make a name for himself in the world! However, there is room for change. For instance, try a few octaves lower . . .” He then went on a rampage of how the already amazing music could be improved, and when played to Mozarts liking, Older Beethoven could not have disagreed anymore, even if he had been paid.
“Never mind, take it back! The man may have been amazing writing his own music, but editing another’s! By God, the man has no ear then!” Exclaimed Beethoven, only then realizing he was back in his room again, the clock showing he still had half an hour left.
“True, and if he had given you this advice, and you had taken it to heart, as you know you would have at that age, your music would soon be under fire for copying his work, and people would never pay attention to any of your work at all. Do you want to try and change anything else?” Fate asked in the same silvery whisper.
“My hearing! Why must it be leaving me! Change that!” cried out Beethoven, hoping for a positive change this time. All of a sudden, he felt something like cotton leave his ears, and he could hear perfectly.
“Thank you Fate! Are there any changes though?” asked Beethoven.
“Yes, of course. Because you are now able to hear again, you have become a perfectionalist. Your music is now so far apart, you put something into the world of music, and people recognize your talent, but then after a few months of nothing, they forget you. Your work will still be remembered, but it will have little effect on the world.” Whispered Fate again.
“No! No, no, no, no, no! I do not care if I am forgotten now, but after knowing how many people have loved my music, I cannot deprive the future of it! Take it back! TAKE IT BACK! This is not better than what Mephistopheles offered me!” yelled out Beethoven, pulling on his hair with fear and anxiety. There was the feeling of cotton being shoved into his ears again, and everything again became stuffed up.
Beethoven looked again at the clock, and he realized Mephistopheles must be playing with the time, for it was now within a minute of the hour being completed. Suddenly, he reappeared again, just as the minute hand hit the 12.
“Your hour is complete! What is your answer?” he asked in the same deep, pinched voice.
“No, I would not have my music forgotten! I have worked to hard, and these people love it to much!” Beethoven replied in anger.
“Alright then, if you really must keep your music in the world, try this. All your music you have composed before tonight will be remembered. But, your final piece shall remain unknown forever!” cried Mephistopheles in delight.
Beethoven looked down at the music in his hand, hearing the cymbals crash, the drums pound, and the chorus cry in his head, changing tempo and pitch with every paper changing.
“No, I can’t do that either. It would be an abonmination.” Said Beethoven in resignation.
“Ludwig, you drive a hard bargain! Fine, my last offer!” Mephistopheles looked around, and spied a homeless orphan girl in front of the apartment.
“You see this child in front! She has no home, no family, no money at all, and yet she still dares to sleep on your front step! For an added thirty years, I will make the next five years of her life agony! I will stick a finger in every wound she gets! Fire will consume her at night, ice will freeze her during the day! Oh, but she won’t know that it’s me. She’ll think its her fate and destiny, but we’ll know its me! I will spare her life for your final symphony as mine! What say you now?”
Beethoven was about to agree to this, but all of a sudden, Fate was at his shoulder, asking him, “If you agree to this, could you live with yourself? Knowing you doomed this girl to a premature death? To a life filled with agony, misery, and destruction?” Beethoven looked at her, and realized she was right.
“Alright Mephistopheles, we have a deal. What do I do now?” Beethoven finally said. Mephistopheles jumped in glee, and told Beethoven, “Just sign this paper! It comes from the Holy Bible, and therefore unbreakable!” Mephistopheles held out a thin sheet of paper that had matearilzed out of thin air, that read:
It is agreed upon this night, March 26, 1827, between the undersigned, that the music of the Tenth Symphony, composed by Ludwig von Beethoven, first born son of Johann and Maria von Beethoven, in the city of Bonn, shall henceforth be the propery of Mephistopheles, Lord of Darkness and first falled from the grace of God. It is also understood that it is his intention to remove any signs of this music from the memory of man for all eternity. In exchange for the destruction of the aforementioned music it is also agreed that Mephistopheles and all his minions will remove themselves from the life of the child presently sleeping in the gutter directly across from the window of this room. This removal of influence is to be commenced immediately upon signing and to be enfored for all eternity.
Ludwig von Beethoven Mephistopheles
As soon as Beethoven had signed the paper, Mephistopheles grabbed the papers from Beethovens hands, and held them over a candle. But even after five minutes of exposure to the flame, the papers refused to burn. Soon Mephistopheles was trying to rip them into shreds, and yet again they refused to be destroyed.
Twist, all of sudden, gave out a bark of laughter, and fell to the floor in convulsions of humor.
“Why won’t they burn or be destroyed!?!” cried out Mephistopheles in frustration.
“Because-because- Oh!” Twist couldn’t continue, his laughing was to strong.
“Because this Ludwig von Beethoven that you bought a Tenth Symphony from will never write one, seeing as he was dead by the time he was two. This is the second born Ludwig von Beethoven of Johann and Maria von Beethoven.” Replied Fate evenly, with a small smile.
Mephistopheles gave a cry of pure malice, and disappeared with a flash of thunder. Beethoven gave a whoop of happiness, and ran out of the room. Lightning flashed again, and Fate disappeared, but Twist remained behind. With a small chuckle and snicker, he grabbed the sheets of music, and jumped onto the bookcase across the room. When he landed, he quickly slipped the papers behind, and flashed out of the room, with a final bark of laughter.
For those that care, Mephistopheles is a German fallen angel. He was the one that collected the damned and brought them to Hell for Satan. Also, this is based off of real research. Ludwig did meet Mozart, and he really did declare that Beethoven's name must be marked down, for he would make a name for himself in the world, and he really did try and write a Tenth symphony, but I think he died in the process. I can give you a link for the real document I wrote if you want it.