Beethoven was never the musical prodigy that history recorded him as. Many people may call it blasphemous to say such a thing about such a renowned artist. But the truth about Beethoven was that he was a simple piano player. He wasn’t that simple, for he could play the piano like an ostrich performing fellatio on an elephant, that said, his talent as a piano player was quite rare. But the music that Beethoven was accounted for having written. He didn’t write any of it. He received the applause and the gratitude of the audience every time he did play, but all he was, was a mask for some other genius composer. The true story of Beethoven and why he received the credit for all these great works of this nameless genius composer is a sad story. It is a story in which everybody lost. And not just Beethoven and the nameless genius composer. But all the people of the world lost something and that is why the truth has been recanted and struck from the records of history.
It was in the spring of the late seventeen hundreds in which this tragedy occurred. It was a time in which the celestial orgies of musical symphonies integrated with one another, the stars themselves aligned to create the prodigious circumstances in which the nameless composer could produce it. That is, his magnum opus. He had stood by in the shadows and watched as Ludwig van Beethoven received all of the fame and fortune, accumulating the celebrity status that he achieved through playing his great works. Yes, he was nameless. Yes, he stood by and received a pittance for the work that he had created. But he was a genius composer and for this, the nameless composer revelled in his own existence at the status of genius.
The nameless composer had produced work, after work, each outdoing and surpassing the last. The crowds of high society were enlightened for the construction of each note that was produced through the nameless composer’s pieces. With each piece he outstanded and amazed those who listened to his music and when Beethoven played his music, nothing but a standing ovation was what they both received.
There was some confusion of differentiation between Beethoven and the nameless composer. For Beethoven thought that he had drawn the crowds with his exceptional skills as pianist. The nameless composer knew differently and knew that it was his music that was drawing the crowds. At first Beethoven and the nameless composer got along famously. But as fame and fortune began to corrupt the mind of Beethoven, the relationship between himself and the nameless composer became strained.
It was in that spring that the nameless composer wrote the piece he called magnum opus. A twelve hour symphony that would spark a light within the darkest souls of mankind. The nameless composer had locked himself up in his hole of a room for the previous twelve months writing it. And when spring arrived, he was finished. He was joyous, he was bouncing and dancing across the walls. For his magnum opus meant that he would not simply be the genius composer that he was, but he would be the greatest composer of all time. It is quite a statement. The greatest composer of all time. But let me assure you, his magnum opus would have allowed for this to occur. It was nothing short of perfection. Even the flaws that he had written into it, highlighted its own great capacity as the greatest single musical work of all time.
Now that he had finished. He wanted to hear it. So, with the bounty of pages of music in hand, he went to Beethoven.
Beethoven listened to him with brandy in hand. Listening to this madman who had locked himself up in his room for the past twelve months, seeing no-one, dedicating himself to the creation of his magnum opus. And it was the first time in twelve months he had seen anyone, he was quite detached from the civilised world and human interaction.
After Beethoven had listened to him, the nameless composer handed the pages of music that was his magnum opus over to Beethoven. Beethoven looked at it as he rolled through all of the pages with his thumb.
“So many pages, so many pages, so many pages…”
“Yes! Yes! Twelve hours of divinity.” The nameless composer stated.
“You want me to play the piano for twelve hours?!” Beethoven was shocked and offended. “Are you mad?”
“No, I’m not mad, it’s twelve hours of perfection. It is my magnum opus.”
And that’s when he did it. Beethoven held the pages of music above a candle and laughed. “I’m not playing the piano for twelve hours you madman!”
And with that act the nameless composer and his genius were destroyed forever, “No! My magnum opus…” He fell to his knees and held the burnt pages and tears rolled down his cheek as Beethoven walked away.
Beethoven walked away muttering to himself, “Twelve hours! The audience would shit themselves in their seats if they stayed seated for that long.”
The world had lost two things that day, the destruction of the greatest musical work in all of history and the mind of the greatest composer of all history.
It did not end there. There would be a third thing that would be lost. For the nameless composer no longer possessed the passion for creating music. But he did possess a passion for something else: revenge.
After one of Beethoven’s concertos, the nameless composer and some thugs that he had hired cornered Beethoven.
The nameless composer said this, as they drew in on Beethoven, “Because you have denied the ears of everyone on this planet from hearing my magnum opus, I will ensure that you will never hear again.”
The nameless composer stood by and watched as the thugs slammed Beethoven’s head in the piano’s top and clashed cymbals next to his ears.
When the people heard of this tragedy that had befallen upon the great pianist Beethoven, they were outraged. Beethoven had lost his hearing and the public jailed the nameless composer. The nameless composer died in his prison cell and Beethoven received the recognition for all of the great works.