France: [Finishes an elegant piece]
Germany: [Polite applause] Oh well /done/, France! Definitely in the tradition of Beethoven! Yes indeed, very much in His footsteps.
France: I should think so! After all, you may all /make/ composers, but it is to France that they come to gestate!
Italy: Pish posh. Italy is still the center of civilization. I challenge you to find a truly great composer who has not studied under an Italian master.
England: ...You know, Frederick Delius is credited as an English composer. Yup. He was /born/ here. His skin sucked the genius right out of our soil.
Norway: You know, Delius spent some time here in Norway. Maybe that's-
Germany: Why all his music sounds like the gentle glimmer of snow that clings to edges of a brook in spring? Please. Your music has no /pain/!
Norway: ...We're okay with that.
France: Psh, pain! You want pain! Come to France!
Italy: Oh yes, do go to France. Their music is so profound that it shall forever be remembered as cartoon backdrops, and the sort of operas that establishments put on during slow seasons to fill up the gallery.
France: We have /Debussy/!
Norway: Ooo, Debussy! We love Debussy!
Germany: Pah! Need I say more?
England: Poland, I'm amazed you're not joining this pissing contest.
Poland: [Looks up from newspaper] Hm? Oh. We've got Chopin. Whatever. Carry on with your little squabble.
Germany: This reminds me- I met this fabulous fella named Russia. I invited him to join our little tea party. Russia!
Russia: [Pokes head around doorframe] ...
Germany: Do come sit with us!
France: Oh my, yes, please do. Don't be intimidated.
Italy: Perhaps you can learn a thing or two from us.
Poland: Wow, seriously, you invited Russia? Thanks. Thanks a lot. [Storms out]
France: ...[Whispers to England] What's his problem?
England: Awkward ex. Also, don't lean so close to me.
Germany: Russia, we were just discussing how /pain/ adds a certain non-replicable profundity to music. What do you think?
Russia: ...[Pulls out violin]
France: Oh my, a performance! Splendid! I warn you, good fella, you can hardly follow my act, but we'll give you some pointers. [Has a sit]
RUSSIA: [ASSAULT OF PEERLESS MUSICAL GENIUS AND ANGST] [I SHALL SWALLOW YOUR SOUL WITH DARKNESS] [EVEN MY WALTZES SHALL MAKE YOU WEEP] [THE UNIVERSE IS COLD, EMPTY, AND EXISTENTIAL] [DIE, EMOTIONS, DIE!]
France: [Eyes bleed]
Germany: [Dead on the floor]
England: ... [Tea slowly spills in lap]
Italy: [Crawling toward exit, fingernails scraping at the floor]
Norway: ... [Hides behind Sweden]
Sweden: Sorry- What are we talking about?
-
(If I wasn't so lazy, I would draw all this.)
Poland also had Szymanowski! Smugness EARNED.
Notes
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