Tale of Dr. Frankenheimer and co.

[hectorberlioz]

A Tale of Dr. Frankenheimer and co.

The INTRODUCTION

I don't know where this story leads to; originally I intended it as a frivolous (and it still is frivolous) story of the beginnings of music. My characters ended up too fleshed out, so I ditched that as the main theme (though it still plays a role).
I started two chapter II's. The first is too wacky, and the second too dull. I've also had to change the title a lot because of the shifting themes.
Hope you enjoy...

P.S. Though wacky, this was not inspired by Lemony Snicket. I wrote this a few months before I started reading those books.


The STORY...

"Music, verily, is the mediator between intellectual and sensuous life...the one incorporeal entrance into the higher world of knowledge which comprehends mankind, but which mankind cannot comprehend." (Ludwig Van Beethoven 1810)

Music's beginnings as we know them took place in an asylum just outside of Paris, France. An insane inmate, Pierre (known by that name only) was in his cell (as usual) cleaning off his dinner plate, and making the most gruesome of snorting, munching and coughing noises imaginable.
All the while, Francois, Pierre's guard listened, with loathing and contempt filling his bored mind.
Francois impatiently knocked with his fist against the inmate's door. "Hurry up you pig!" He shouted; and he stomped his feet repeatedly.
Neither Francois nor Pierre knew it at the time, but the combined noised and rhythms they had just made would revolutionize the world.

However, they would know in just a minute; thanks to Dr. Alberto Frankenheimer (Pierre's psychologist and friend, a frequent visitor.)
"Why," exclaimed the doctor "do you know you've just given the world!" He clapped Francois on the shoulders then shook his hand. "A Genius combination! The world shall know of this!"
"What, what are you talking about?" Francois, obviously bewildered, asked as he looked at Dr. Frankenheimer's smiling face.
Frankenheimer chuckled, "Francois, Francois! If only you knew of my experimentations, you'd know...I'll explain. That combination of noises that happened as I approached this cell; music, music Francois! Pierre's grunting, your knock on the door, combined with your angry yell and rhythmic stomping; that was the most delicious outburst of prose my ears have been fortunate to hear.

"My experimentations have brought me almost nowhere. Now I see what I was missing the whole time." He looked through the bars at Pierre. "We Shall, all three of us, talk about this at my home over a hot dinner. I'll just excuse myself to get a leave of absence for Pierre (It's an emergency, I'll tell them.) Back in a Tack!" and the rotund form of Dr. Frankenheimer dashed down the hallway at an astonishing speed.

Francois, still dazed-as he'd been the whole time (as he'd been the whole week! In fact, with wholesome truthfulness, it could be said that not one day had passed in Francois' life as an asylum guard that he had not felt dazed.)-Shook his head, trying to understand what had just happened.
Pierre meanwhile, had finished with his noises (he'd been finished with his food long ago...) and now was hopping about like a monkey. Something he always did when he received visitors. He had lots of those, being a former Parisian model, and previously married to the princess of...goodness knows.
Always a popular figure in the cafes, he naturally had a large band of devout followers. And most still visited, which was impressive.

Pierre, noticing the absence of his doctor's usual peering through the bars, now stopped hopping and came to the door; looking out. He was not disappointed; for at that very moment, Frankenheimer was bouncing happily down the hallway, and behind him lumbered The Key Supervisor.


[My commentary:
This story was spontaneously written. consequently, there is a lot of nonsense. Don't ask me why the asylum is in France, why Pierre is in there, or why Francois is dazed. All that was invented on the spot for the purpose of bringing about what happens next, which is when some things about Pierre's past come out...]

Within Ten minutes, Pierre was successfully evacuated from his cell to Dr. Frankenheimer's carriage waiting outside.

When they arrived at Dr. Alberto Frankenheimer's lavish abode it was well near midnight.
During the trip Frankenheimer had talked only about Pierre. How Pierre, before he'd turned top modeling, worked as a coalminer, carpenter and librarian. How he saved to women from a burning carriage, and how one of the women was the princess of...goodness knows. And how he received medals for that brave act, and many others. François listened amazed and only half believing it all.
Francois' bottom-side was horribly numb (it was a long drive), and he was relieved whe they finally arrived at their destination.

Francois had hoped that the kindly doctor would not keep up all night talking; but it wasn’t as he had hoped, and Francois the guest was obliged to stay up the entire night discussing, and listening to Dr. Frankenheimer about his favorite pastime.
"Francois, you can only guess at my delight with this new thing called music. Listen, listen to this..." and Frankenheimer clacked two spoons together, producing a nice twinkling sound. Pierre was snarling and gnashing into his previously beautiful bowl of soup. Doctor Frankenheimer looked benevolently on Pierre, and pointed to him, "You see and hear that Francois? That too is music. Here..." he gestured for Francois to stand up and hold his spoons. "Now as Pierre makes his music, we will accompany him by clanking spoons and stomping our feet. Stamp your right foot after each two clacks of the spoon, and your left foot after the third. All three of us together...go!"

The music produced by them was amazing, and their antics in making it, hilarious. A servant came in a minute later to place the dessert on the table. She stopped dead in her tracks in horrified amazement.
She knew her master was eccentric, but this! The sight of those two men stomping a silly march and clacking spoons while a third made sounds of a pig!; it was enough to make eve the most controlled and restrained of people burst into laughter.
Nanci [and yes, it is spelled Nanci. That’s how the French spell it.] The maid fainted on the spot; the cake that a second ago had been her hands now flew up ceiling-high, and back down again,

Landing with perfect grace,
On the fainted Nanci's face.


Meanwhile, Francois as dizzy and he said so. So they stopped; Francois holding his head, and Frankenheimer delighted. "See the effects of music? I could rhapsodize all night..." there was little reason to disbelieve that, "...I should show you some of my experiments. I once brought a dog and a cat of mine together to brawl: it was magnificent!
This may sound a bit broad to you, but I believe all sounds to be music."
"All this being new to me," Francois replied, "I can hardly disagree..."
"Right, right. Now lets write this all down for the newspaper." He produced a small notebook out of his pocket, and materialized a pen seemingly out of thin air.
"Firstly, lets go over the events. I walked down the hall, heard Pierre's noises and your angry reactions. Check. Now we'll translate that into verse." Frankenheimer quickly began jotting down in the notebook. Moments later he exclaimed, "Here we are Francois! I'll read it to you..." and Francois nodded his head sleepily in consent.

"Down the forbidding corridors I did walk," began Frankenheimer.

Sacrificing precious time for caution,
in such a dreaded house;
my suffering friend awaiting,
on the other end of t'hall,
for counsel and advice.

'Stead of moaning and wailing,
my ears met melodious
rhythm and a beautiful voice trailing.
Such joy o'ercame me,
I knew not what to do,
so many warm thoughts went to me,
I was luckier than Bonaparte at Waterloo.
(Who wasn’t very lucky)
O! Genius in Capital Letters,
Pierre, be unleashed from those fetters!

"And now", Dr. Frankenheimer said as he added one last thing in the notebook, "To polish it up. No hard task. In the morning I'll have it sent to Nouns appelons cela digerer (We call that digestion a fitting name for a paper I think. And its a Berlioz quote too!), the best paper in Paris!"

Francois hardly heard Dr. Frankenheimer's last sentence, he was drifting off to sleep. Pierre too looked ready to fall asleep.




The next morning, they departed from Frankenheimer’s home, and back to the asylum. Francois remembered little of his next shift, and even less of the previous days events.
When François woke the morning after, he thought it might all have been a dream. Convincing himself of this, he got ready for work.
On his way he picked up a newspaper, tucked it under his arm without looking at it, and continued on.

When he walked into the building, everyone was going about his business, and not asking him where he had been yesterday; proof that it HAD been a dream.
He walked down the aisle three, to cell no 14, peeked through the bars at Pierre, who was getting started on his breakfast. Francois sighed, “Sometimes one should be grateful that dreams don’t come true.”

The En-
“Francois!” a voice behind him. Francois whirled around. There was Dr. Alberto Frankenheimer just as he had remembered. Francois groaned inwardly.
“Look at THIS! Here’s my article, our poem, and many photographs of of our genius friend, Pierre.” Frankenheimer was showing him the front page of the paper that had a moment ago been under his arm. The Headline read:

PARISIAN GENIUS PIERRE DISCOVERS MUSIC, WITH HELP OF FRIENDS

And the article ran…”Pierre has ever been the only true Genius in Paris, and his recent discovery merely adds to his already Great Deeds. Yesterday evening, Pierre was in his cell, when suddenly an idea hit upon him. What resulted was poetry expressed as only sounds can express…” The article was long, and there were many photographs of Pierre doing brave things: saving a kitten from a tree, and helping a boy catch his frisky dog…
“You see Francois, Pierre is only in this asylum because of a certain group in the banking business. They thieved a large portion of Pierre’s fortune. This is part of what made Pierre something like a kitten stuck in a tree, with the mentality like a frisky dog. If it weren’t for all his friends, including myself, Pierre would be in an asylum of bad repute. I am hoping that in a few years I will have Pierre back to normal.”
Dr. Frankenheimer had a tear in each eye. It was quite obvious now, that Pierre was indeed a precious person to Frankenheimer…and suddenly Francois realized. Pierre was his son.

to be continued...

[Lotesse]

This is a really amusing story, H.Berlioz! I remember reading something like this ages ago; did you put this story up here in entmoot a while back, in another section? I swear I've read it before, here. The only things are the typos and a few grammatical errors here and there, but other than that, it's entertaining and I enjoy the imagery I get while reading it, as well as the witty humour you write it with. Nice!

[hectorberlioz]

Originally Posted by Lotesse

This is a really amusing story, H.Berlioz! I remember reading something like this ages ago; did you put this story up here in entmoot a while back, in another section? I swear I've read it before, here. The only things are the typos and a few grammatical errors here and there, but other than that, it's entertaining and I enjoy the imagery I get while reading it, as well as the witty humour you write it with. Nice!

Are there really more typos in there? I thought I sifted them all out in Micro Word...hmmm...
Thank you for the compliment Lotesse. I've been working super hard on this story recently, and I think everything will come out sixty pages minimum...the hard part is: I wrote it all down with pencil, and typing for hours is kinda hard

[Rosie Gamgee]

This is amusing, Hector! I haven't finished reading all of it--I've got to get to work, and only had time to skim it, really. But I do like it. The Snicket books are funny-I've skimmed over them a few times, too. Congrats!