The Baron von Steich was especially jovial that night. He swept about, favoring guests with ham-hocked back-slaps and belly laughs from deep in his prodigious gut. The wine flowed freely, as one might see from the stains on the fine silk shirt straining against his girth at every outburst.

“My symphony! My symphony in C, it shall melt you! The inspiration – my nephew Carls… none shall appreciate this so much as he! Carls’ commission, this symphony in C!”

Carls was a sickly boy, shorter than the Baron and a third his weight, with no interest in music. He smiled weakly at the strange faces the Baron pulled him towards, each offering empty praise and struggling not to laugh at the inebriated host. The clock struck the hour, and von Steich exploded.

“Come! Experience my symphony! In C!”

They did. All present would toast the magnificence of the Baron’s symphony in C, commissioned for his nephew, Carls.

Carls was not present. Forgotten by his uncle, he had slipped off to bed before the first note was played.