Lucetific - Very old Lucetific
Jun. 3rd, 2013 03:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: A Piano Lesson With Miss Grune
Fandoms:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Eternal Sonata, Axis Powers Hetalia, original works
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 1491
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: Frédéric François Chopin teaches a typical atypical piano lesson to Grune.
Author's Notes: This is the fic I wrote in honour of Frédéric's departure from Luceti ages ago. Now that he's back, I suppose it's a good time to post it. :D;;
This was an interesting exercise, in that teaching piano lessons is kind of my job, but presumably I would teach very differently from someone from the 19th century. I've also never taught anyone like Grune (although I certainly have taught my share of wiggly small children!), so that was another fun challenge. Writing this was a little too much like work, though, so I don't think I'll do anything like it again anytime soon. Whoops.
It was mid-afternoon when Miss Grune remembered to come for her piano lesson. While he was of course far too polite to let it on, Frédéric was pleasantly surprised. Last week, she had forgotten until he and Feliks were preparing for bed. Feliks had been very cross, and he had been forced to send her away until the following day. It had taken Feliks quite that long to forgive her innocent intrusion.
Fortunately, today, Feliks was out paying a visit to the bakery. He could only pray someone would detain him for the duration of Miss Grune's lesson. It would make it much simpler to preserve the peace between the one he loved, and his student and dear friend.
At first, teaching Miss Grune had been . . . well, a rather frustrating affair, until he had adjusted his approach. He had never before taken on a student with such an—impairment to the memory. It had turned out to be a learning experience for both of them.
To begin, he had reduced the duration of her lesson to a bare half-hour, although he was hardly strict about the time. Occasionally, she could focus longer. Far more often, their lessons were shorter.
He'd also scheduled her lesson on a day when he had no other students, then attempted to remain at home as much as possible. He found he made good progress on his latest compositions as he waited for her to arrive, and what originally had been a minor inconvenience had turned into a pleasure.
That day, when Miss Grune arrived, it was with a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers in one hand and . . . only one of her piano books in the other.
"Hello, Frédéric! These are for you."
He smiled. "Thank you, Miss Grune. They're lovely. Why don't you prepare for our lesson while I find a vase for them?"
"All right."
He watched her momentarily to make certain she was moving in the proper direction, then went to look after the flowers. More often than not, their lessons began in this manner. Miss Grune was always very generous with her gifts.
When he joined her at the piano, he selected a fresh sheet of paper from its place by the piano and a pen and asked, "Miss Grune, did you remember to practice your finger exercises?"
There was no recognition in her expression as she repeated, "Finger exercises?"
"Like so." He reached over from his chair next to the piano and demonstrated the simple pattern. This was the fifth week running this brief scene had played out, but to Miss Grune, it was always as if she were witnessing the exercises for the first time. It could have been exasperating, had he not long ago abandoned any expectations of steady progress.
He was met with the same confusion over her scales, but he was pleased to discover she had practiced the study he had written for her. He had learned early on that she seem to remember to practice his music more often than that of other composers (he could not help feeling rather flattered) and she remembered more often still if he titled the small scraps of music he wrote for her after her friends. There was a trick to how her memory worked, and with each lesson, he was learning it better.
When she played her study for him, he could not help but smile and sigh at once. When she did practice, she was among the most gifted of all his students in Luceti. She always turned his notes into music, despite the simplicity of the pieces, evoking the personality and warmth of the people for whom he had named each study.
Today, it was Ginia. He could almost see her full smile fade from the air as Grune brought the study to a close.
"That was lovely, Miss Grune," he complimented. "I'm happy to see you're remembering the melodic third in measure four. Would you mind reading the next study, 'Sophie'?"
"Thank you! I will!" She began to look over the piece.
It was the strangest thing, he found himself thinking as he watched her. He had struggled to teach her to read music for perhaps three weeks. During that time, he had used every memory technique he could think of and had invented a few especially for her in hopes of letting even one note stay in her memory. He had failed every time.
Then, at one lesson, it was as if someone had lit an electric light in her mind: she had gained the ability to read music as easily and as naturally as he himself. Even now he was at a loss to explain it.
After a moment, he became aware her examination of the music had become rather . . . blank.
"Miss Grune?" he prompted.
She blinked and looked at him. "Yes?"
"Would you play the next piece for me?"
"All right!"
She did quite well in her sight reading despite her earlier loss of focus, but all the same, he wrote it down for her to practice. He knew she would enjoy it, and this would be a good chance for her to refine her staccato playing.
"Now let us practice our duet," he decided.
Miss Grune had forgotten her duet book along with the others, and so he set out his copy where they both could see. (He could only be grateful there were no page-turns. Sitting as close as they were on the bench, there was an unfortunately strong likelihood of his hand accidentally brushing an area . . . not meant to be brushed.)
"Are you ready?" he asked, well aware she was not.
"Oh!" Miss Grune placed her hands on the piano. "There. That's better."
"Mm, indeed it is. Will you count us in?"
"All right! One, two, three, four!"
They started together very well, but within three measures, the duet had become a solo.
He stopped and sighed. "Miss Grune, you need to play your part as well."
"Oh, but your part sounds so nice, I can't help but listen," she replied earnestly. "You're such a wonderful musician!"
He smiled and his cheeks turned a little pink. Miss Grune always delivered her compliments with such sincerity. It was of course touching, but it could also cause him slight self-consciousness. Though naturally Miss Grune would remain unaware of his state, all the same he said with a touch of haste, "Perhaps it would be best if I played my part alone for you."
"Oh, yes, that's a good idea."
He played, and Miss Grune gave every appearance of listening carefully, but when they returned to the duet, she never lasted more than a few measures before her fingers drifted to a stop.
At last, with another sigh, he asked, "Miss Grune, would you like to hear some of my music?"
The true delight in her face as she exclaimed, "Oh, yes, I'd like that very much!" was once again both a balm to his soul and a cause for mild embarrassment.
It took him a little time to realise Miss Grune was not about to vacate the piano bench, and so he simply began a prelude, doing his best to play around her. Noticing she was still focused by the end, he slipped into a waltz. Partway through, she rose and began to dance with petal-light feet, following alone the steps of the dance. Seeing this, he greatly reduced his rubato playing and kept to stricter time, but oddly, it made no difference. Without paying attention, Miss Grune appeared able to follow the music wherever it led.
As the waltz came to a close, he briefly considered testing just how far this gift of hers could go, but already Miss Grune was wandering away from the piano. It was time to bring the lesson to an end.
Listening to her float about in the next room, he took some time to write up his suggestions for practice as carefully as he could, then brought both the paper and her abandoned book with him.
"Here. Make sure you read what I have written every time you practice," he told her.
"Oh, I will," she assured him, as she always did. He had no doubt she meant what she said, but . . . he also knew the chances of her actually doing as he asked were none at all. "Thank you for the lesson, Frédéric—that was a lot of fun!"
"I am glad you enjoyed it. I look forward to our next lesson," he said truthfully and smiled.
Giving him a bright smile of her own, Miss Grune said her goodbyes and soon left.
Her lessons were easily the strangest ones he had ever taught, and yet, he admitted to himself as he gently closed the door behind her, they were among the most pleasurable. Truly, he was already anticipating the next week.
Fandoms:
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Eternal Sonata, Axis Powers Hetalia, original worksGenre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 1491
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above fandoms.
Summary: Frédéric François Chopin teaches a typical atypical piano lesson to Grune.
Author's Notes: This is the fic I wrote in honour of Frédéric's departure from Luceti ages ago. Now that he's back, I suppose it's a good time to post it. :D;;
This was an interesting exercise, in that teaching piano lessons is kind of my job, but presumably I would teach very differently from someone from the 19th century. I've also never taught anyone like Grune (although I certainly have taught my share of wiggly small children!), so that was another fun challenge. Writing this was a little too much like work, though, so I don't think I'll do anything like it again anytime soon. Whoops.
It was mid-afternoon when Miss Grune remembered to come for her piano lesson. While he was of course far too polite to let it on, Frédéric was pleasantly surprised. Last week, she had forgotten until he and Feliks were preparing for bed. Feliks had been very cross, and he had been forced to send her away until the following day. It had taken Feliks quite that long to forgive her innocent intrusion.
Fortunately, today, Feliks was out paying a visit to the bakery. He could only pray someone would detain him for the duration of Miss Grune's lesson. It would make it much simpler to preserve the peace between the one he loved, and his student and dear friend.
At first, teaching Miss Grune had been . . . well, a rather frustrating affair, until he had adjusted his approach. He had never before taken on a student with such an—impairment to the memory. It had turned out to be a learning experience for both of them.
To begin, he had reduced the duration of her lesson to a bare half-hour, although he was hardly strict about the time. Occasionally, she could focus longer. Far more often, their lessons were shorter.
He'd also scheduled her lesson on a day when he had no other students, then attempted to remain at home as much as possible. He found he made good progress on his latest compositions as he waited for her to arrive, and what originally had been a minor inconvenience had turned into a pleasure.
That day, when Miss Grune arrived, it was with a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers in one hand and . . . only one of her piano books in the other.
"Hello, Frédéric! These are for you."
He smiled. "Thank you, Miss Grune. They're lovely. Why don't you prepare for our lesson while I find a vase for them?"
"All right."
He watched her momentarily to make certain she was moving in the proper direction, then went to look after the flowers. More often than not, their lessons began in this manner. Miss Grune was always very generous with her gifts.
When he joined her at the piano, he selected a fresh sheet of paper from its place by the piano and a pen and asked, "Miss Grune, did you remember to practice your finger exercises?"
There was no recognition in her expression as she repeated, "Finger exercises?"
"Like so." He reached over from his chair next to the piano and demonstrated the simple pattern. This was the fifth week running this brief scene had played out, but to Miss Grune, it was always as if she were witnessing the exercises for the first time. It could have been exasperating, had he not long ago abandoned any expectations of steady progress.
He was met with the same confusion over her scales, but he was pleased to discover she had practiced the study he had written for her. He had learned early on that she seem to remember to practice his music more often than that of other composers (he could not help feeling rather flattered) and she remembered more often still if he titled the small scraps of music he wrote for her after her friends. There was a trick to how her memory worked, and with each lesson, he was learning it better.
When she played her study for him, he could not help but smile and sigh at once. When she did practice, she was among the most gifted of all his students in Luceti. She always turned his notes into music, despite the simplicity of the pieces, evoking the personality and warmth of the people for whom he had named each study.
Today, it was Ginia. He could almost see her full smile fade from the air as Grune brought the study to a close.
"That was lovely, Miss Grune," he complimented. "I'm happy to see you're remembering the melodic third in measure four. Would you mind reading the next study, 'Sophie'?"
"Thank you! I will!" She began to look over the piece.
It was the strangest thing, he found himself thinking as he watched her. He had struggled to teach her to read music for perhaps three weeks. During that time, he had used every memory technique he could think of and had invented a few especially for her in hopes of letting even one note stay in her memory. He had failed every time.
Then, at one lesson, it was as if someone had lit an electric light in her mind: she had gained the ability to read music as easily and as naturally as he himself. Even now he was at a loss to explain it.
After a moment, he became aware her examination of the music had become rather . . . blank.
"Miss Grune?" he prompted.
She blinked and looked at him. "Yes?"
"Would you play the next piece for me?"
"All right!"
She did quite well in her sight reading despite her earlier loss of focus, but all the same, he wrote it down for her to practice. He knew she would enjoy it, and this would be a good chance for her to refine her staccato playing.
"Now let us practice our duet," he decided.
Miss Grune had forgotten her duet book along with the others, and so he set out his copy where they both could see. (He could only be grateful there were no page-turns. Sitting as close as they were on the bench, there was an unfortunately strong likelihood of his hand accidentally brushing an area . . . not meant to be brushed.)
"Are you ready?" he asked, well aware she was not.
"Oh!" Miss Grune placed her hands on the piano. "There. That's better."
"Mm, indeed it is. Will you count us in?"
"All right! One, two, three, four!"
They started together very well, but within three measures, the duet had become a solo.
He stopped and sighed. "Miss Grune, you need to play your part as well."
"Oh, but your part sounds so nice, I can't help but listen," she replied earnestly. "You're such a wonderful musician!"
He smiled and his cheeks turned a little pink. Miss Grune always delivered her compliments with such sincerity. It was of course touching, but it could also cause him slight self-consciousness. Though naturally Miss Grune would remain unaware of his state, all the same he said with a touch of haste, "Perhaps it would be best if I played my part alone for you."
"Oh, yes, that's a good idea."
He played, and Miss Grune gave every appearance of listening carefully, but when they returned to the duet, she never lasted more than a few measures before her fingers drifted to a stop.
At last, with another sigh, he asked, "Miss Grune, would you like to hear some of my music?"
The true delight in her face as she exclaimed, "Oh, yes, I'd like that very much!" was once again both a balm to his soul and a cause for mild embarrassment.
It took him a little time to realise Miss Grune was not about to vacate the piano bench, and so he simply began a prelude, doing his best to play around her. Noticing she was still focused by the end, he slipped into a waltz. Partway through, she rose and began to dance with petal-light feet, following alone the steps of the dance. Seeing this, he greatly reduced his rubato playing and kept to stricter time, but oddly, it made no difference. Without paying attention, Miss Grune appeared able to follow the music wherever it led.
As the waltz came to a close, he briefly considered testing just how far this gift of hers could go, but already Miss Grune was wandering away from the piano. It was time to bring the lesson to an end.
Listening to her float about in the next room, he took some time to write up his suggestions for practice as carefully as he could, then brought both the paper and her abandoned book with him.
"Here. Make sure you read what I have written every time you practice," he told her.
"Oh, I will," she assured him, as she always did. He had no doubt she meant what she said, but . . . he also knew the chances of her actually doing as he asked were none at all. "Thank you for the lesson, Frédéric—that was a lot of fun!"
"I am glad you enjoyed it. I look forward to our next lesson," he said truthfully and smiled.
Giving him a bright smile of her own, Miss Grune said her goodbyes and soon left.
Her lessons were easily the strangest ones he had ever taught, and yet, he admitted to himself as he gently closed the door behind her, they were among the most pleasurable. Truly, he was already anticipating the next week.
