Servus. Wolf here. I’ll try to keep Holliday writing about more than the Potterverse in these posts; but the congruences continue to offer blinding enlightenments. Hogwarts has magical art, as Maria Anna has enabled me with her gifts. And the students’ quarters at the castle remind me of some of the wonderfully decadent rooms in which I was housed on my travels.
Compared to home. We lived in a pretty ordinary house you would call an upper-floor apartment in Salzburg. Not luxurious, but clean. Orderly. Good old Salisburgo. I had my problems there, but it still had its good points. Herr Hagenauer’s, the greengrocery tycoon’s place where we rented fourth floor rooms, was a short stroll from the Cathedral, where Papa and I worked for our living.
The best times there were Christmas, with the Christkindlmarkt. Christ Child Market. Also called the Nikolaimarkt, named for Saint Nicholas, your Santa Claus. This winter celebration dazzled you with booths, booze, food, and more. If you‘ve been to one of your local Christmas markets—I’m sorry. Let me share ours with you.
But first: There was nothing commercial about it. Not much money changed hands. I don’t think we, or at least I, ever engaged with the concept of commerce. From time to time, Papa talked the talk; but except for what he held out from his salary—400 Gulden a year—we never had or needed much cash in hand. Except when we traveled—but that’s a different story. In 1756, the year I was born, 400 Gulden would buy the equivalent of 10,700 of your dollars. Not poverty wages, but just adequate to pay food, rent, clothing for a family of four…and music paper and ink.
As far as commerce went, I was the worst anti-commercialist. I was so in love with music that, as long as you fed and put me up, I’d write you a symphony or a concert aria for the fun of it—and maybe write it down five or ten years later.
Depending on the decade. I’m prompting Holliday to write these mystery/thrillers; but none of us was in receipt of a pass from mortality. I made it to 35, against a legion of odds: 5 siblings who never made it out of infancy; childhood illness that claimed many of our friends. Our rulers even. Take smallpox: I did. Got a face full of thankfully minor scars for my trouble. Then there were the exhaustion of constant travel in more or less open carriages during all weathers in the years I worked away from home—the years I mentioned in my first entry. And then, the lack of sanitation. Food and water contamination. It’s why people threw back the alcohol, which neutralized the worst threats. The whole business wrecked my kidneys…but enough of that for now.
Back to Christkindl: It opened two weeks before St. Nicholas’ Day—around October18—and rolled off after December 26. The tow’s natural setting had a fairytale feel, with the looming fortress on the highest hill, snow-covered Alps in the background, a river running through it all. You could make yourself sick on the pretzels, bratwurst, sauerkraut, gingerbread, beer, mulled wine, hot punch strong enough to blind you.
My favorite parts, though, were the parades—you had to be there. From all the streets that fed into Cathedral Square, a chorus of howls, shrieks whistles, grunts, roars, the pounding of stout clubs on wood and tin tubs swelled as it approached. The hideous Krampus appeared—masked male demons, nasty curve-horned beasts dressed in shaggy pelts whose cavorting was accompanied by raucous bells, cries, stomping, acrobatics; and two kinds of Perchten—female beasts—Schönperchten, pretty white snow maidens; and Schiachperchten, the aged horrors with the most terrifying masks, by themselves or in company with the Krampus. Individuals of both types rushed up to me, seize me fast, throw their claws over my eyes and shake hard, threatening to break the neck, scream-croaking, “Been good this year? Ach, Wolf Mozart! Maybe a little overnight in hell would teach you better manners” Followed by a spine-rattling cackle as Krampus or Perchta thrust me away and onto my ass. I’m pretty sure that was my sister Nannerl. There was a lot of resentment and jealousy simmering in her, and Schiachpercta was her perfect excuse. The whole point of these demon-races was to scare the Bejesus or Be-elzebub out of us kids. I created a universe of opera characters from this raw material: They may look human, but no matter how beautifully the sing, Krampus- or Perchta-in-waiting lurks beneath thin skins.
So welcome to my Christmas…and be good, for goodness’ sake.
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