Heroic Tragedy

Heroic Tragedy
M. Stanley Bubien
I tapped the score sitting upon my friend´s table. His newest symphony, one which he had been poring over for several months. Notes caught my eve and I tilted myhead.
“A new direction for you, I see.”
He smiled, and his hair flew back with his vigorous nod. Laying one hand upon the score, he said, “yes!” He turned it to read better, his grin becomingchildlike. “I confess, Ferdinand.” He directed a mischievous eye toward me, “I left this out hoping you would notice. It´s so nearly complete, and I´ve wanted to share it with someone.”
“Let´s have a lookthen.” I stepped to his side and we both gazed upon his creation. Melodies cascaded within my head as he flipped the pages. A lengthy work, obviously conceived on a grand scale. It conjured to mind thelife and death of someone deserving immense fanfare.
“Done? He asked, as he had countless pages before, and flopped the vellum to expose the one below. However, instead of the score´s continuation.There sat, completely out of sequence, the little page. I first noticed at the bottom. “Luigi Von Beethoven.” And then, at the top, “Bonaparte.”
“You´ve dedicated this work to Napoleon?” I asked.
Hisstood straight, as if at attention. “Absolutely. He has restored order to France, making their woundrous nation the envy of all Europe once again. The people rejoice, for he is a hero. Yes! A hero!”I frowned. “You name the emperor of France a hero?”
“Emperor.” He scowled in surprise. “He is not an emperor.”
I realized then that this news had not reached his ears. “My friends,” I said, placinga hand firmly upon his shoulder. “I am sorry to tell you this, but it is most unfortunately true. Bonaparte has declared himself an emperor.”
He did not cross-question me, nor did he try to deny mywords I believe he trusted my counsel implicity. Etched upon his face. I could see the inner turmoil as his cheeks slowly began to burn and the scowl became soild as iron.
He rested fingers upon...