How is it that I never before drew the connection?
You know, every once in a while, how someone comes up with a new theory about the identity of Jack the Ripper, or claims to have discovered the secret of Elgar’s “Enigma Variations?” Well, it only just occurred to me, I may have solved the mystery of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s death. And it is far more sinister than any alleged poisoning by Antonio Salieri.
Mozart gave up the ghost on this date in 1791. A prodigy at the keyboard and on the violin, and a composer from the age of five, alas, in death he was also ahead of the curve.
Mozart was 35 at the time of his passing, yet there was always something childlike in his personality. At times, he seemed much younger than his years. There’s no question that he could be naughty. He was certainly disobedient to his father, autocrat though he was. He defied the Pope, was extravagant in his spending, was inappropriate in his speech, and could be perhaps a mite too arrogant for his own good.
The cause of Mozart’s death was recorded as “severe military fever.” Even so, over the years, there have been dozens of theories put forth as to the true nature of his passing. Acute rheumatic fever. Streptococcal infection. Influenza. Mercury poisoning. A rare kidney ailment. Even a bad pork chop. Combined, of course, with overwork.
Alas, we’ll never know for sure. Mozart was buried in a common grave – not a communal grave, or a pauper’s grave, as has been frequently stated, but one whose wooden marker has long since worn away.
Here’s the thing. December 5, the date of Mozart’s passing, also happens to be Krampusnacht. As a former native of Salzburg and later Vienna, Mozart should have known better. Because, you see, Austria is the dark, beating heart of the Christmas devil.
What exactly is Krampus? Why, he’s St. Nicholas’ austere helper. Horned, hairy, and egregiously long-tongued, Krampus emerges from his Alpine domain to assist the patron saint of children on the eve of his feast day. Saint Nick bestows small gifts to all the good girls and boys. The rest are handed over to Krampus.
For milder offenses, there is the sting of the switch; for the especially ill-behaved, there are chains, a short ride in a wicker basket, and drowning in a stream or immolation by hellfire. When a recalcitrant child hears the dull clatter of approaching cow-bells on December 5, he knows it’s all over. With anxiety a thousand times worse than the anticipation of a bad report card, the wee sinner pulls the sweat-soaked blankets over his head and prays vociferously for a stocking full of coal.
No doubt, Mozart was a chronic offender. Could he have withstood a sound thrashing in his weakened state?
Confutatis maledictus, indeed.
