Mozart

Mozart
Wolfgang Schwindl was sitting in his room in the University of Tübingen overlooking the Neckar river, worrying. He was only six months away from the date he was due to complete the thesis for his PhD after three years work and was anxiously looking forward to being awarded his doctorate. Being addressed as “Herr Doktor Schwindel” sounded good to him after the many years of learning and researching.
He had completed his first two degrees in Düsseldorf, learning to play the piano to near concert standard before switching to conducting, with a little secret, unadmitted, composing in his free time. After a lot of thought he had decided on his thesis subject as “ The life and times of Wolgang Amadeus Mozart”. His stated reason was that he was fascinated by his music and wanted to know as much as possible about his hero. His favourite composition was the piano sonata No. 16 in C Major K545, he thought the second movement sublime. Another secret reason for choosing this subject was that he shared his name and thought he may also be a genius. Schwindl wasn’t known for his humility. The move to Southern Germany with its semi bohemian lifestyle was a welcome change from the company of the repressed hardworking drones of Nord Rhein Westphalia.
The research was nearly complete, he had laid out the shape of his thesis, written it out, checked the accuracy, completed the editing so his magnum opus was nearly complete – except for one fact that was still missing – how tall was Wolfie? He had checked through all the literature and stories of his life but nowhere did it say how tall he was – what to do?
He knew that Mozart died on 5^th December 1791 in Vienna. He was buried in St. Marx cemetery. There was only one thing to do and he was determined to do it. He wrote to the Major of Vienna asking for permission to exhume the body and so find out once and for all how tall he was. It took four months but, after a great deal of correspondance and explanation of the need to find out the fact and record it for posterity, he finally got his permission.
The long-awaited day came at last. All were gathered around the grave site as the earth was removed from above the coffin and the lid was slowly prised open. There was Mozart, sitting up with a pile of his manuscript on his lap slowly crossing off each note.
 ( German accent now please, ) “ Vot are you doing Herr Mozart?” asked Wolfgang of his hero.

“Decomposing of course “ replied the great man.