NO sooner was the "Zauberflöte" completed and performed than Mozart set
to work with restless eagerness upon his still unfinished Requiem.[1]
His friend, Jos. von Jacquin, calling upon him one day to request him to
give pianoforte lessons to a lady who was already an admirable performer
on the instrument, found him at his writing-table, hard at work on the
Requiem. Mozart readily acceeded to the request, provided he might
postpone the lessons for a time; "for," said he, "I have a work on hand
which lies very near my heart, and until that is finished I can think of
nothing else."[2] Other friends remembered
{SAD FOREBODINGS.}
(353)
afterwards how engrossed he had been in his task up to a very short time
before his death.[3] The feverish excitement with which he laboured at
it increased the indisposition which had attacked him at Prague. Even
before the completion of the "Zauberflöte" he had become subject to
fainting fits which exhausted his strength and increased his depression.
The state of Mozart's mind at this time may be gathered from a curious
note in Italian, written by him in September, 1791, to an unknown friend
(Da Ponte? cf.,
Affmo Signore,--Vorrei seguire il vostro consiglio, ma come riuscirvi?
ho il capo frastemato, conto a forza e non posso levarmi dagli occhi
1' immagine di questo incognito. Lo vedo di continuo, esso mi prega,
mi sollecita, ed impaziente mi chiede il lavoro. Continuo perché il
comporre mi stanca meno del riposo. Altronde non ho più da tremere. Lo
sento a quel che provo, che l' ora suona; sono in procinto di spirare;
ho finito prima di aver goduto del mio talento. La vita era pur si
bella, la camera s' apriva sotto auspici tanto fortunati, ma non si puö
cangiar il proprio destino. Nessuno micura [assicura] i propri giomi,
bisogna rassenarsi, sarà quel che piacerà alla providenza, termino ecco
il mio canto funebre, non devo lasciarlo imperfetto.
It was in vain that his wife, who had returned from Baden, sought to
withdraw him from his work, and to induce him to seek relief from gloomy
thoughts in the society of his friends.[5] One beautiful day, when they
had driven to the Prater, and were sitting there quite alone, Mozart
began to speak of death, and told his wife, with tears in his eyes,
that he was writing his Requiem for himself. "I feel it too well," he
continued; "my end is drawing near. I must have taken poison; I cannot
get this idea out of my mind."[6] Horrified at this disclosure, Frau
Mozart sought,
{ILLNESS AND DEATH.}
(354)
by every possible argument, to reason him out of such imaginations.[7]
Fully persuaded that the assiduity with which he was working at the
Requiem was increasing his illness, she took the score away from him and
called in a medical adviser, Dr. Closset.
Some improvement in Mozart's state of health followed, and he was able
to compose a cantata written by Schikaneder for a Masonic festival (623
K.), which was finished November 15, and the first performance conducted
by himself. He was so pleased with the execution of this work, and
with the applause it received, that his courage and pleasure in his
art revived, and he was ready to believe that his idea of having taken
poison was a result of his diseased imagination. He demanded the score
of the Requiem from his wife, who gave it to him without any misgiving.
The improvement, however, was of short duration, and Mozart soon
relapsed into his former state of melancholy, talked much of having been
poisoned, and grew weaker and weaker. His hands and feet began to swell,
and partial paralysis set in, accompanied by violent vomiting. Good old
Joseph Deiner (Vol. II., p. 300) used to tell how Mozart had come to
him in November, 1791, looking wretched, and complaining of illness.
He directed him to come to his house next morning to receive his wife's
orders for their
{SERIOUS ILLNESS.}
(355)
winter supply of fuel. Deiner kept the appointment, but was informed by
the maid-servant that her master had become so ill during the night that
she had been obliged to fetch the doctor. The wife called him into the
bedroom where Mozart was in bed. When he heard Deiner he opened his
eyes and said, almost inaudibly, "Not to-day, Joseph; we have to do with
doctors and apothecaries to-day."[8] On November 28 his condition was
so critical that Dr. Closset called into consultation Dr. Sallaba, chief
physician at the hospital. During the fortnight that he was confined to
bed consciousness never left him. The idea of death was ever before his
eyes, and he looked forward to it with composure, albeit loth to part
with life. The success of the "Zauberflöte" seemed likely at last to
open the door to fame and fortune; and during his last days of life he
was assured of an annual subscription of one thousand florins from
some of the Hungarian nobility, and of a still larger yearly sum
from Amsterdam, in return for the periodical production of some few
compositions exclusively for the subscribers.[9] It was hard to leave
his art just when he was put in a position to devote himself to it,
unharassed by the daily pressure of poverty; hard, too, to leave his
wife and his two little children to an anxious and uncertain future.[10]
Sometimes these ideas overpowered him, but generally he was tranquil and
resigned, and never betrayed the slightest impatience. He unwillingly
allowed his canary, of which he was very fond, to be removed to the next
room, that he might not be disturbed by its noise. It was afterwards
carried still farther out of hearing. Sophie Haibl says:--
When he was taken ill we made him night-shirts which could be put on
without giving him the pain of turning round; and, not realising how
ill he was, we made him a wadded dressing-gown against the time that he
should be able to sit up; it amused him very much to follow our work as
it proceeded. I came to him daily. Once he said to me,
(ILLNESS AND DEATH.)
(356)
"Tell the mother that I am going on very well, and that I shall be
able to come and offer my congratulations on her fête-day (November 22)
within the week."
He heard with intense interest of the repetition of the "Zauberflote,"
and when evening came he used to lay his watch beside him, and follow
the performance in imagination: "Now the first act is over--now comes
the mighty Queen of Night."[11] The day before his death he said to
his wife: "I should like to have heard my 'Zauberflote' once more,"
and began to hum the birdcatcher's song in a scarcely audible voice.
Kapellmeister Roser, who was sitting at his bedside, went to the piano
and sang the song, to Mozart's evident delight.[12] The Requiem, too,
was constantly in his mind. While he had been at work upon it he used to
sing every number as it was finished, playing the orchestral part on the
piano. The afternoon before his death he had the score brought to his
bed, and himself sang the alto part.[13] Schack, as usual, took the
soprano, Hofer, Mozart's brother-in-law, the tenor, and Gerl the bass.
They got as far as the first bars of the Lacrimosa when Mozart, with
the feeling that it would never be finished, burst into a violent fit of
weeping, and laid the score aside.[14]
When Frau Haibl came towards evening her sister, who was not usually
wanting in self-control, met her in a state of agitation at the door,
exclaiming: "Thank God you are here! He was so ill last night, I thought
he could not live through the day; if it comes on again, he must die in
the night." Seeing her at his bedside, Mozart said: "I am glad you are
here; stay with me to-night, and see me die." Controlling her emotion,
she strove to reason him out of such thoughts, but he answered: "I have
the flavour of death on my
{THE END.}
(357)
tongue--I taste death; and who will support my dearest Constanze if you
do not stay with her?" She left him for a moment to carry the tidings to
her mother, who was looking anxiously for them. At her sister's wish she
went to the priests of St. Peter's, and begged that one might be sent
to Mozart as if by chance; they refused for a long time, and it was
with difficulty she persuaded "these clerical barbarians" to grant her
request. When she returned she found Süssmayr at Mozart's bedside in
earnest conversation over the Requiem. "Did I not say that I was writing
the Requiem for myself?" said he, looking at it through his tears. And
he was so convinced of his approaching death that he enjoined his wife
to inform Albrechtsberger of it before it became generally known, in
order that he might secure Mozart's place at the Stephanskirche, which
belonged to him by every right (Vol. II., p. 277, note). Late in the
evening the physician arrived, having been long sought, and found in
the theatre, which he could not persuade himself to leave before the
conclusion of the piece. He told Süssmayr in confidence that there was
no hope, but ordered cold bandages round the head, which caused such
violent shuddering that delirium and unconsciousness came on, from which
Mozart never recovered. Even in his latest fancies he was busy with
the Requiem, blowing out his cheeks to imitate the trumpets and drums.
Towards midnight he raised himself, opened his eyes wide, then lay down
with his face to the wall, and seemed to fall asleep. At one o'clock
(December 5) he expired.[15]
At early morning the faithful Deiner was roused by the maid-servant
"to come and dress" her master; he went at once and performed the last
friendly offices for Mozart. The body was clothed in a black robe and
laid on a bier, which was carried into the sitting-room and deposited
near the piano. A constant flow of visitors mourned and wept as they
gazed on him; those who had known him intimately loved him; his fame as
an artist had become universal, and his sudden death brought home to all
men the extent of their
{ILLNESS AND DEATH.}
(358)
loss. The "Wiener Zeitung" (1791, No. 98) made the following
announcement:--
We have to announce with regret the death of the Imperial Court
Composer, Wolfgang Mozart, which took place between four and five
o'clock this morning. Famous throughout Europe from earliest childhood
for his singular musical genius, he had developed his natural gifts,
and by dint of study had raised himself to an equality with the greatest
masters; his universally favourite and admired compositions testify
to this fact, and enable us to estimate the irreparable loss which the
musical world has sustained in his death.
A letter from Prague, of December 12, 1791, announced:[16]--
Mozart is--dead. He returned from Prague in a state of suffering, which
gradually increased; dropsy set in, and he died in Vienna at the end of
last week. The swelling of his body after death led to the suspicion of
his having been poisoned. His last work was a funeral Mass, which was
performed at his obsequies. His death will cause the Viennese to realise
for the first time what they have lost in him.[17] His life was troubled
by the constant machination of cabals, whose enmity was doubtless
sometimes provoked by his _sans souci_ manner. Neither his "Figaro" nor
his "Don Juan" were as enthusiastically received in Vienna as they were
in Prague. Peace be to his ashes!
Mozart's wife, who had been so unwell the day before his death that the
physician had prescribed for her, was rendered completely prostrate in
mind and body by his death. In her despair she lay down upon his bed,
desiring to be seized with the same illness, and to die with him. Van
Swieten, who had hastened to bring her what consolation and assistance
he could, persuaded her to leave the house of death, and to take up her
abode for the present with some friends living near. He undertook the
care of the funeral, and having regard to the needy circumstances of
the widow, he made the necessary arrangements as simply and cheaply
as possible. The funeral expenses (on the scale of the third class)
amounted to 8 fl. 36 kr., and there was an additional charge of 3 fl.
for the hearse. Rich man and distinguished patron
{INTERMENT AND GRAVE.}
(359)
as he was, it seems never to have occurred to Van Swieten that it would
have been becoming in him to undertake the cost as well as the care of
a fitting burial for the greatest genius of his age. At three o'clock
in the afternoon of December 6 the corpse of Mozart received the
benediction in the transept chapel on the north side of St. Stephen's
Church. A violent storm of snow and rain was raging, and the few friends
who were assembled--among them Van Swieten, Salieri, Süssmayr, Kapellm.
Roser, and the violoncellist Orsler[18]--stood under umbrellas round
the bier, which, was then carried through the Schulerstrasse to the
churchyard of St. Mark's. The storm continued to rage so fiercely
that the mourners decided upon turning back before they reached their
destination,[19] and not a friend stood by when the body of Mozart was
lowered into the grave. For reasons of economy no grave had been bought,
and the corpse was consigned to a common vault, made to contain from
fifteen to twenty coffins, which was dug up about every ten years and
filled anew: no stone marked the resting-place of Mozart. Good old
Deiner, who had been present at the benediction, asked the widow if she
did not intend to erect a cross to the departed; she answered that there
was to be one. She no doubt imagined that the priest who had performed
the ceremony would see to the erection of the cross. When she was
sufficiently recovered from her first grief to visit the churchyard, she
found a fresh gravedigger, who was unable to point out Mozart's grave;
and all her inquiries after it were fruitless. Thus it is that, in spite
of repeated attempts to discover it, the resting-place of Mozart remains
unknown.[20]
{ILLNESS AND DEATH.}
(360)
Poor Constanze and her two children were now placed in the saddest
possible position. Not more than sixty florins of ready money were
available at Mozart's death; to this might be added 133 fl. 20 kr. of
outstanding accounts, the furniture, wardrobe, and scanty library, which
were valued at less than 400 florins. But there were debts to be
paid, not only to generous creditors like Puchberg, who rendered every
assistance in settling the affairs of his deceased friend without any
thought of his own claim, but to workmen and tradesmen, who must be paid
at all costs; the doctor's bill alone amounted to 250 florins.[21]
In this emergency, Constanze appealed first to the generosity of the
Emperor. One of Mozart's attached pupils informed her that the Emperor
had been very unfavourably disposed towards her, in consequence of
the calumnies spread abroad by Mozart's enemies to the effect that his
dissipation and extravagance had involved him in debts amounting to
more than 30,000 florins; and she was advised to make her application
in person, so as to persuade the Emperor of the falsehood of such
reports.[22] At the audience which was granted to her, she boldly
declared that Mozart's great genius had raised up enemies against him,
who had embittered his existence by their intrigues and calumnies. These
slanderers had multiplied tenfold the amount of his debts, and she was
prepared to satisfy all claims with a sum of 3,000 florins. Even this
amount of liability was not the result of thoughtless extravagance,
but had been inevitably incurred by the uncertainty of their income, by
frequent illnesses and unforeseen calls on their resources. Appeased by
Frau Mozart's representations, the Emperor encouraged her to give a
concert, in which he took so generous an interest that the proceeds
enabled her to pay all her husband's debts.
FOOTNOTES OF CHAPTER XLIV.
[Footnote 1: The narrative which follows is founded chiefly upon the widow's
statements in Niemetschek (p. 50. Nissen, p. 563), which agree with
those made by her to an English lady at Salzburg in 1829 (The Musical
World, 1837, August and September. Hogarth, Mem. of the Opera, II., p.
196), and upon a letter from Sophie Haibl (April 7, 1827), extracts from
which are given by Nissen (p, 573), and of which Köchel has sent me a
copy in full.]
[Footnote 2: Mosel, Ueb. d. Orig. Part, des Requiem, p. 5.]
[Footnote 3: Stadler, Nachtr., p. 17.]
[Footnote 4: In the possession of Mr. Gouny [? Young], of London, copied from the
original by Köchel.]
[Footnote 5: A. M. Z., I., p. 147.]
[Footnote 6: This idea was very prevalent, and was not altogether rejected by
Niemetschek, who, remarking on his early death, adds: "if indeed it was
not purposely hastened" (p. 67). Detouche relates it to Sulp. Boisserée
(I., p. 292. Mar. Sessi was convinced of its truth. N. Berlin Mus.,
1860, p. 340). Even the widow says in a letter to Reg. Rath Ziegler, of
Munich (August 25, 1837', that her son giving no signs of his father's
greatness, would therefore have nothing to fear from envious attempts on
his life. p. 285):[4]--]
[Footnote 7: Mozart's diseased fancies were made the grounds for shameful
suspicions of Salieri, who was said to have acknowledged on his deathbed
having administered poison to Mozart (cf. A. M. Z., XXVII., p. 413).
Carpani exonerated Salieri in a long article (Biblioteca Italiana,
1824), and brought forward medical testimony that Mozart's death was
caused by inflammation of the brain, besides the assertions of Salieri's
attendants during his last illness, that he had made no mention of any
poisoning at all. Neukomm also, relying on his intimacy both with the
Mozarts and with Salieri, has energetically protested against a calumny
(Berlin, allg. mus. Ztg., 1824, p. 172) which no sane person would
entertain. The grounds on which the rumour was discredited by
Kapellmeister Schwanenberg of Braunschweig, a friend of Salieri, are
peculiar. When Sievers, then his pupil, read to him from a newspaper
the report of Mozart's having been the victim of the Italian's envy, he
answered: "Pazzi! non ha fatto niente per meritar un tal onore" (A. M.
Z., XXI., p. 120. Sievers, Mozart u. Sussmayr, p. 3). Daumer has striven
to support the untenable conjecture that Mozart was poisoned by the
Freemasons (Aus der Mansarde, IV., p. 75). Finally, the report of the
poisoning furnished the subject of a dreary novel, "Der Musikfeind," by
Gustav Nicolai (Arabesken für Musikfreunde, I. Leipzig, 1825).]
[Footnote 8: Wiener Morgen-Post, 1856, No. 28.]
[Footnote 9: This is on the authority of the widow's petition to the Emperor.]
[Footnote 10: He had prophesied of his little son Wolfgang at four months old
that he would be a true Mozart, for that he cried in the same key in
which his father had just been playing (Niemetschek, p. 41).]
[Footnote 11: A. M. Z., I., p. 149.]
[Footnote 12: Monatsschr. für Theat. u. Mus., 1857, p. 446.]
[Footnote 13: He had a tenor voice, gentle in speaking, unless when he grew
excited in conducting; then he spoke loud and emphatically (Hogarth,
Mem. of the Opera, II., p. 198).]
[Footnote 14: So says the unquestionably trustworthy account of Schack (A. M. Z.,
XXIX., p. 520. Nissen, Nachtr., p. 169).]
[Footnote 15: So also says the Joum. d. Lux. u. d. Mode, 1808, II., p. 803.]
[Footnote 16: Mus. Wochenbl., p. 94.]
[Footnote 17: A contemporary musician (Salieri must be meant) did not scruple to
say to his acquaintance: "It is a pity to lose so great a genius, but a
good thing for us that he is dead. For if he had lived much longer,
we should not have earned a crust of bread by our compositions"
(Niemetschek, p. 81).]
[Footnote 18: Monatsschr., 1857, p. 446. Schikaneder was not present; the news
of Mozart's death had affected him most deeply; he walked up and down,
crying out: "His spirit follows me everywhere; he is ever before my
eyes!" (Nissen, p. 572).]
[Footnote 19: Wiener Morgen-Post, 1856, No. 28.]
[Footnote 20: Journ. d. Lux. u. d. Moden, 1808, II., p. 801. Al. Fuchs related
the negative result of his careful inquiries in Gräffer's Kl. Wiener
Memoiren (I., p. 227). Ritter von Lucam has at last (Die Grabesfrage
Mozart, Wien, 1856) elicited by inquiries from two old musicians who had
known Mozart, Freystadter and Scholl, that the grave was on the right of
the churchyard cross, in the third or fourth row of graves. This agrees
with the statement of the gravedigger in Nissen (p. 576), and inquiries
officially set on foot in 1856 make it probable that it was in the
fourth row to the right of the cross near a willow-tree (Wien. Blatter
Mus. Theat. u. Kunst, 1859, No. 97).]
[Footnote 21: The list of effects--which owing to the kindness of my friends,
Karajan and Laimegger, lies before me--is copied in the Deutsche Mus.
Ztg., 1861, p. 284. It is affecting to see from it how simple, even
poverty-stricken, was the whole _ménage_. The collection of books and
music is valued at 23 fl. 41 kr.; and among the bad debts is one of
300 fl. to Frz. Gilowsky, who was advertised in July, 1787, as having
absconded insolvent; 500 fl. are put down as borrowed by Ant. Stadler
(Posttägl. Anzeig., 1787, No. 35).]
[Footnote 22: On a malicious rumour of the kind see O. Jahn, Ges. Aufs. über
Musik, p. 230.]
===
MOZART 44
BY DAVID WIDGER
CHAPTER XLIV. ILLNESS AND DEATH.
NO sooner was the "Zauberflöte" completed and performed than Mozart set
to work with restless eagerness upon his still unfinished Requiem.[1]
His friend, Jos. von Jacquin, calling upon him one day to request him to
give pianoforte lessons to a lady who was already an admirable performer
on the instrument, found him at his writing-table, hard at work on the
Requiem. Mozart readily acceeded to the request, provided he might
postpone the lessons for a time; "for," said he, "I have a work on hand
which lies very near my heart, and until that is finished I can think of
nothing else."[2] Other friends remembered
{SAD FOREBODINGS.}
(353)
afterwards how engrossed he had been in his task up to a very short time
before his death.[3] The feverish excitement with which he laboured at
it increased the indisposition which had attacked him at Prague. Even
before the completion of the "Zauberflöte" he had become subject to
fainting fits which exhausted his strength and increased his depression.
The state of Mozart's mind at this time may be gathered from a curious
note in Italian, written by him in September, 1791, to an unknown friend
(Da Ponte? cf.,
Affmo Signore,--Vorrei seguire il vostro consiglio, ma come riuscirvi?
ho il capo frastemato, conto a forza e non posso levarmi dagli occhi
1' immagine di questo incognito. Lo vedo di continuo, esso mi prega,
mi sollecita, ed impaziente mi chiede il lavoro. Continuo perché il
comporre mi stanca meno del riposo. Altronde non ho più da tremere. Lo
sento a quel che provo, che l' ora suona; sono in procinto di spirare;
ho finito prima di aver goduto del mio talento. La vita era pur si
bella, la camera s' apriva sotto auspici tanto fortunati, ma non si puö
cangiar il proprio destino. Nessuno micura [assicura] i propri giomi,
bisogna rassenarsi, sarà quel che piacerà alla providenza, termino ecco
il mio canto funebre, non devo lasciarlo imperfetto.
It was in vain that his wife, who had returned from Baden, sought to
withdraw him from his work, and to induce him to seek relief from gloomy
thoughts in the society of his friends.[5] One beautiful day, when they
had driven to the Prater, and were sitting there quite alone, Mozart
began to speak of death, and told his wife, with tears in his eyes,
that he was writing his Requiem for himself. "I feel it too well," he
continued; "my end is drawing near. I must have taken poison; I cannot
get this idea out of my mind."[6] Horrified at this disclosure, Frau
Mozart sought,
{ILLNESS AND DEATH.}
(354)
by every possible argument, to reason him out of such imaginations.[7]
Fully persuaded that the assiduity with which he was working at the
Requiem was increasing his illness, she took the score away from him and
called in a medical adviser, Dr. Closset.
Some improvement in Mozart's state of health followed, and he was able
to compose a cantata written by Schikaneder for a Masonic festival (623
K.), which was finished November 15, and the first performance conducted
by himself. He was so pleased with the execution of this work, and
with the applause it received, that his courage and pleasure in his
art revived, and he was ready to believe that his idea of having taken
poison was a result of his diseased imagination. He demanded the score
of the Requiem from his wife, who gave it to him without any misgiving.
The improvement, however, was of short duration, and Mozart soon
relapsed into his former state of melancholy, talked much of having been
poisoned, and grew weaker and weaker. His hands and feet began to swell,
and partial paralysis set in, accompanied by violent vomiting. Good old
Joseph Deiner (Vol. II., p. 300) used to tell how Mozart had come to
him in November, 1791, looking wretched, and complaining of illness.
He directed him to come to his house next morning to receive his wife's
orders for their
{SERIOUS ILLNESS.}
(355)
winter supply of fuel. Deiner kept the appointment, but was informed by
the maid-servant that her master had become so ill during the night that
she had been obliged to fetch the doctor. The wife called him into the
bedroom where Mozart was in bed. When he heard Deiner he opened his
eyes and said, almost inaudibly, "Not to-day, Joseph; we have to do with
doctors and apothecaries to-day."[8] On November 28 his condition was
so critical that Dr. Closset called into consultation Dr. Sallaba, chief
physician at the hospital. During the fortnight that he was confined to
bed consciousness never left him. The idea of death was ever before his
eyes, and he looked forward to it with composure, albeit loth to part
with life. The success of the "Zauberflöte" seemed likely at last to
open the door to fame and fortune; and during his last days of life he
was assured of an annual subscription of one thousand florins from
some of the Hungarian nobility, and of a still larger yearly sum
from Amsterdam, in return for the periodical production of some few
compositions exclusively for the subscribers.[9] It was hard to leave
his art just when he was put in a position to devote himself to it,
unharassed by the daily pressure of poverty; hard, too, to leave his
wife and his two little children to an anxious and uncertain future.[10]
Sometimes these ideas overpowered him, but generally he was tranquil and
resigned, and never betrayed the slightest impatience. He unwillingly
allowed his canary, of which he was very fond, to be removed to the next
room, that he might not be disturbed by its noise. It was afterwards
carried still farther out of hearing. Sophie Haibl says:--
When he was taken ill we made him night-shirts which could be put on
without giving him the pain of turning round; and, not realising how
ill he was, we made him a wadded dressing-gown against the time that he
should be able to sit up; it amused him very much to follow our work as
it proceeded. I came to him daily. Once he said to me,
(ILLNESS AND DEATH.)
(356)
"Tell the mother that I am going on very well, and that I shall be
able to come and offer my congratulations on her fête-day (November 22)
within the week."
He heard with intense interest of the repetition of the "Zauberflote,"
and when evening came he used to lay his watch beside him, and follow
the performance in imagination: "Now the first act is over--now comes
the mighty Queen of Night."[11] The day before his death he said to
his wife: "I should like to have heard my 'Zauberflote' once more,"
and began to hum the birdcatcher's song in a scarcely audible voice.
Kapellmeister Roser, who was sitting at his bedside, went to the piano
and sang the song, to Mozart's evident delight.[12] The Requiem, too,
was constantly in his mind. While he had been at work upon it he used to
sing every number as it was finished, playing the orchestral part on the
piano. The afternoon before his death he had the score brought to his
bed, and himself sang the alto part.[13] Schack, as usual, took the
soprano, Hofer, Mozart's brother-in-law, the tenor, and Gerl the bass.
They got as far as the first bars of the Lacrimosa when Mozart, with
the feeling that it would never be finished, burst into a violent fit of
weeping, and laid the score aside.[14]
When Frau Haibl came towards evening her sister, who was not usually
wanting in self-control, met her in a state of agitation at the door,
exclaiming: "Thank God you are here! He was so ill last night, I thought
he could not live through the day; if it comes on again, he must die in
the night." Seeing her at his bedside, Mozart said: "I am glad you are
here; stay with me to-night, and see me die." Controlling her emotion,
she strove to reason him out of such thoughts, but he answered: "I have
the flavour of death on my
{THE END.}
(357)
tongue--I taste death; and who will support my dearest Constanze if you
do not stay with her?" She left him for a moment to carry the tidings to
her mother, who was looking anxiously for them. At her sister's wish she
went to the priests of St. Peter's, and begged that one might be sent
to Mozart as if by chance; they refused for a long time, and it was
with difficulty she persuaded "these clerical barbarians" to grant her
request. When she returned she found Süssmayr at Mozart's bedside in
earnest conversation over the Requiem. "Did I not say that I was writing
the Requiem for myself?" said he, looking at it through his tears. And
he was so convinced of his approaching death that he enjoined his wife
to inform Albrechtsberger of it before it became generally known, in
order that he might secure Mozart's place at the Stephanskirche, which
belonged to him by every right (Vol. II., p. 277, note). Late in the
evening the physician arrived, having been long sought, and found in
the theatre, which he could not persuade himself to leave before the
conclusion of the piece. He told Süssmayr in confidence that there was
no hope, but ordered cold bandages round the head, which caused such
violent shuddering that delirium and unconsciousness came on, from which
Mozart never recovered. Even in his latest fancies he was busy with
the Requiem, blowing out his cheeks to imitate the trumpets and drums.
Towards midnight he raised himself, opened his eyes wide, then lay down
with his face to the wall, and seemed to fall asleep. At one o'clock
(December 5) he expired.[15]
At early morning the faithful Deiner was roused by the maid-servant
"to come and dress" her master; he went at once and performed the last
friendly offices for Mozart. The body was clothed in a black robe and
laid on a bier, which was carried into the sitting-room and deposited
near the piano. A constant flow of visitors mourned and wept as they
gazed on him; those who had known him intimately loved him; his fame as
an artist had become universal, and his sudden death brought home to all
men the extent of their
{ILLNESS AND DEATH.}
(358)
loss. The "Wiener Zeitung" (1791, No. 98) made the following
announcement:--
We have to announce with regret the death of the Imperial Court
Composer, Wolfgang Mozart, which took place between four and five
o'clock this morning. Famous throughout Europe from earliest childhood
for his singular musical genius, he had developed his natural gifts,
and by dint of study had raised himself to an equality with the greatest
masters; his universally favourite and admired compositions testify
to this fact, and enable us to estimate the irreparable loss which the
musical world has sustained in his death.
A letter from Prague, of December 12, 1791, announced:[16]--
Mozart is--dead. He returned from Prague in a state of suffering, which
gradually increased; dropsy set in, and he died in Vienna at the end of
last week. The swelling of his body after death led to the suspicion of
his having been poisoned. His last work was a funeral Mass, which was
performed at his obsequies. His death will cause the Viennese to realise
for the first time what they have lost in him.[17] His life was troubled
by the constant machination of cabals, whose enmity was doubtless
sometimes provoked by his _sans souci_ manner. Neither his "Figaro" nor
his "Don Juan" were as enthusiastically received in Vienna as they were
in Prague. Peace be to his ashes!
Mozart's wife, who had been so unwell the day before his death that the
physician had prescribed for her, was rendered completely prostrate in
mind and body by his death. In her despair she lay down upon his bed,
desiring to be seized with the same illness, and to die with him. Van
Swieten, who had hastened to bring her what consolation and assistance
he could, persuaded her to leave the house of death, and to take up her
abode for the present with some friends living near. He undertook the
care of the funeral, and having regard to the needy circumstances of
the widow, he made the necessary arrangements as simply and cheaply
as possible. The funeral expenses (on the scale of the third class)
amounted to 8 fl. 36 kr., and there was an additional charge of 3 fl.
for the hearse. Rich man and distinguished patron
{INTERMENT AND GRAVE.}
(359)
as he was, it seems never to have occurred to Van Swieten that it would
have been becoming in him to undertake the cost as well as the care of
a fitting burial for the greatest genius of his age. At three o'clock
in the afternoon of December 6 the corpse of Mozart received the
benediction in the transept chapel on the north side of St. Stephen's
Church. A violent storm of snow and rain was raging, and the few friends
who were assembled--among them Van Swieten, Salieri, Süssmayr, Kapellm.
Roser, and the violoncellist Orsler[18]--stood under umbrellas round
the bier, which, was then carried through the Schulerstrasse to the
churchyard of St. Mark's. The storm continued to rage so fiercely
that the mourners decided upon turning back before they reached their
destination,[19] and not a friend stood by when the body of Mozart was
lowered into the grave. For reasons of economy no grave had been bought,
and the corpse was consigned to a common vault, made to contain from
fifteen to twenty coffins, which was dug up about every ten years and
filled anew: no stone marked the resting-place of Mozart. Good old
Deiner, who had been present at the benediction, asked the widow if she
did not intend to erect a cross to the departed; she answered that there
was to be one. She no doubt imagined that the priest who had performed
the ceremony would see to the erection of the cross. When she was
sufficiently recovered from her first grief to visit the churchyard, she
found a fresh gravedigger, who was unable to point out Mozart's grave;
and all her inquiries after it were fruitless. Thus it is that, in spite
of repeated attempts to discover it, the resting-place of Mozart remains
unknown.[20]
{ILLNESS AND DEATH.}
(360)
Poor Constanze and her two children were now placed in the saddest
possible position. Not more than sixty florins of ready money were
available at Mozart's death; to this might be added 133 fl. 20 kr. of
outstanding accounts, the furniture, wardrobe, and scanty library, which
were valued at less than 400 florins. But there were debts to be
paid, not only to generous creditors like Puchberg, who rendered every
assistance in settling the affairs of his deceased friend without any
thought of his own claim, but to workmen and tradesmen, who must be paid
at all costs; the doctor's bill alone amounted to 250 florins.[21]
In this emergency, Constanze appealed first to the generosity of the
Emperor. One of Mozart's attached pupils informed her that the Emperor
had been very unfavourably disposed towards her, in consequence of
the calumnies spread abroad by Mozart's enemies to the effect that his
dissipation and extravagance had involved him in debts amounting to
more than 30,000 florins; and she was advised to make her application
in person, so as to persuade the Emperor of the falsehood of such
reports.[22] At the audience which was granted to her, she boldly
declared that Mozart's great genius had raised up enemies against him,
who had embittered his existence by their intrigues and calumnies. These
slanderers had multiplied tenfold the amount of his debts, and she was
prepared to satisfy all claims with a sum of 3,000 florins. Even this
amount of liability was not the result of thoughtless extravagance,
but had been inevitably incurred by the uncertainty of their income, by
frequent illnesses and unforeseen calls on their resources. Appeased by
Frau Mozart's representations, the Emperor encouraged her to give a
concert, in which he took so generous an interest that the proceeds
enabled her to pay all her husband's debts.
FOOTNOTES OF CHAPTER XLIV.
[Footnote 1: The narrative which follows is founded chiefly upon the widow's
statements in Niemetschek (p. 50. Nissen, p. 563), which agree with
those made by her to an English lady at Salzburg in 1829 (The Musical
World, 1837, August and September. Hogarth, Mem. of the Opera, II., p.
196), and upon a letter from Sophie Haibl (April 7, 1827), extracts from
which are given by Nissen (p, 573), and of which Köchel has sent me a
copy in full.]
[Footnote 2: Mosel, Ueb. d. Orig. Part, des Requiem, p. 5.]
[Footnote 3: Stadler, Nachtr., p. 17.]
[Footnote 4: In the possession of Mr. Gouny [? Young], of London, copied from the
original by Köchel.]
[Footnote 5: A. M. Z., I., p. 147.]
[Footnote 6: This idea was very prevalent, and was not altogether rejected by
Niemetschek, who, remarking on his early death, adds: "if indeed it was
not purposely hastened" (p. 67). Detouche relates it to Sulp. Boisserée
(I., p. 292. Mar. Sessi was convinced of its truth. N. Berlin Mus.,
1860, p. 340). Even the widow says in a letter to Reg. Rath Ziegler, of
Munich (August 25, 1837', that her son giving no signs of his father's
greatness, would therefore have nothing to fear from envious attempts on
his life. p. 285):[4]--]
[Footnote 7: Mozart's diseased fancies were made the grounds for shameful
suspicions of Salieri, who was said to have acknowledged on his deathbed
having administered poison to Mozart (cf. A. M. Z., XXVII., p. 413).
Carpani exonerated Salieri in a long article (Biblioteca Italiana,
1824), and brought forward medical testimony that Mozart's death was
caused by inflammation of the brain, besides the assertions of Salieri's
attendants during his last illness, that he had made no mention of any
poisoning at all. Neukomm also, relying on his intimacy both with the
Mozarts and with Salieri, has energetically protested against a calumny
(Berlin, allg. mus. Ztg., 1824, p. 172) which no sane person would
entertain. The grounds on which the rumour was discredited by
Kapellmeister Schwanenberg of Braunschweig, a friend of Salieri, are
peculiar. When Sievers, then his pupil, read to him from a newspaper
the report of Mozart's having been the victim of the Italian's envy, he
answered: "Pazzi! non ha fatto niente per meritar un tal onore" (A. M.
Z., XXI., p. 120. Sievers, Mozart u. Sussmayr, p. 3). Daumer has striven
to support the untenable conjecture that Mozart was poisoned by the
Freemasons (Aus der Mansarde, IV., p. 75). Finally, the report of the
poisoning furnished the subject of a dreary novel, "Der Musikfeind," by
Gustav Nicolai (Arabesken für Musikfreunde, I. Leipzig, 1825).]
[Footnote 8: Wiener Morgen-Post, 1856, No. 28.]
[Footnote 9: This is on the authority of the widow's petition to the Emperor.]
[Footnote 10: He had prophesied of his little son Wolfgang at four months old
that he would be a true Mozart, for that he cried in the same key in
which his father had just been playing (Niemetschek, p. 41).]
[Footnote 11: A. M. Z., I., p. 149.]
[Footnote 12: Monatsschr. für Theat. u. Mus., 1857, p. 446.]
[Footnote 13: He had a tenor voice, gentle in speaking, unless when he grew
excited in conducting; then he spoke loud and emphatically (Hogarth,
Mem. of the Opera, II., p. 198).]
[Footnote 14: So says the unquestionably trustworthy account of Schack (A. M. Z.,
XXIX., p. 520. Nissen, Nachtr., p. 169).]
[Footnote 15: So also says the Joum. d. Lux. u. d. Mode, 1808, II., p. 803.]
[Footnote 16: Mus. Wochenbl., p. 94.]
[Footnote 17: A contemporary musician (Salieri must be meant) did not scruple to
say to his acquaintance: "It is a pity to lose so great a genius, but a
good thing for us that he is dead. For if he had lived much longer,
we should not have earned a crust of bread by our compositions"
(Niemetschek, p. 81).]
[Footnote 18: Monatsschr., 1857, p. 446. Schikaneder was not present; the news
of Mozart's death had affected him most deeply; he walked up and down,
crying out: "His spirit follows me everywhere; he is ever before my
eyes!" (Nissen, p. 572).]
[Footnote 19: Wiener Morgen-Post, 1856, No. 28.]
[Footnote 20: Journ. d. Lux. u. d. Moden, 1808, II., p. 801. Al. Fuchs related
the negative result of his careful inquiries in Gräffer's Kl. Wiener
Memoiren (I., p. 227). Ritter von Lucam has at last (Die Grabesfrage
Mozart, Wien, 1856) elicited by inquiries from two old musicians who had
known Mozart, Freystadter and Scholl, that the grave was on the right of
the churchyard cross, in the third or fourth row of graves. This agrees
with the statement of the gravedigger in Nissen (p. 576), and inquiries
officially set on foot in 1856 make it probable that it was in the
fourth row to the right of the cross near a willow-tree (Wien. Blatter
Mus. Theat. u. Kunst, 1859, No. 97).]
[Footnote 21: The list of effects--which owing to the kindness of my friends,
Karajan and Laimegger, lies before me--is copied in the Deutsche Mus.
Ztg., 1861, p. 284. It is affecting to see from it how simple, even
poverty-stricken, was the whole _ménage_. The collection of books and
music is valued at 23 fl. 41 kr.; and among the bad debts is one of
300 fl. to Frz. Gilowsky, who was advertised in July, 1787, as having
absconded insolvent; 500 fl. are put down as borrowed by Ant. Stadler
(Posttägl. Anzeig., 1787, No. 35).]
[Footnote 22: On a malicious rumour of the kind see O. Jahn, Ges. Aufs. über
Musik, p. 230.]
===
MOZART 45
BY DAVID WIDGER
CHAPTER XLV. THE REQUIEM.
ONE of the first cares of Mozart's widow was the Requiem (626 K.).[1]
Mozart having left it unfinished, she could not but fear that the
Unknown would not only refuse to complete the stipulated payment, but
would demand the return of what had been already paid. In this dilemma,
she called various friends into counsel, and hit upon the idea of
continuing such portions of the work as Mozart had left, and of
presenting it entire to the Unknown. The completion was first intrusted
to Joh. Eybler;[2] witness the following certificate from him:--
The undersigned hereby acknowledges that the widow Frau Konstanze
Mozart has intrusted to him, for completion, the Requiem begun by her
late husband. He undertakes to finish it by the middle of the ensuing
Lent; and also gives his assurance that it shall neither be copied nor
given into other hands than those of the widow.
Joseph Eybler.
Vienna, December 21, 1791.
He began his task by filling in the instrumentation in Mozart's
manuscript as far as the Confutatis,
{THE REQUIEM.}
(362)
and writing two bars of a continuation of the Lacrimosa,[3] but he then
abandoned the work in despair. Other musicians seem to have declined
it after him until it finally fell to the lot of Süssmayr. He had been
Mozart's pupil in composition, had lent a hand in "Titus" (p. 288),
and had often gone over the parts of the Requiem already composed with
Mozart, who had consulted him as to the working-out of the composition
and the principal points of the instrumentation. The widow, at a later
time, said to Stadler:
As Mozart grew weaker Süssmayr had often to sing through with him and
me what had been written, and thus received regular instruction from
Mozart. I seem to hear Mozart saying, as he often did: "Ah, the oxen are
on the hill again! You have not, mastered that yet, by a long way."[4]
This expression was also well remembered by her sister Sophie, and we
can enter into it, remembering the manner in which Mozart himself wrote
and developed his compositions (Vol. II., p. 423).
The first two movements, Requiem and Kyrie, were finished and written
out in full score by Mozart; there can be no question about them.[5] The
Dies iræ was sketched out in his usual way, the voice parts completely
written out, together with the fundamental bass--sometimes figured--and
the instrumental parts where they had to go without the voices; where
the accompaniment was at all independent the subject was indicated
sufficiently clearly to be carried on and filled in subsequently. The
score was left in this state as far as the last verse of the Dies iræ;
Mozart stopped at the words:--
Qua resurget ex favilla
Iudicandus homo reus.
{SUSSMAYR'S WORK.}
(363)
He had not set himself, however, to compose the Requiem straight
through, but had thrown off different parts of it according to the
mood he happened to be in. Thus before the Dies iræ was finished he
had composed the Offertorium, of which the two movements, Domine Jesu
Christe and Hostias, were left virtually complete in the same state as
those mentioned above.
It will now be understood how Mozart, going through the score, either
at the piano or the desk with his pupil Süssmayr, would discuss the
various points of the instrumentation, would encourage him to make
suggestions, and explain his own ideas and intentions, so that Süssmayr
would in many respects have formed a lively image in his mind of what
the completed score would be, and would often be able faithfully to
reproduce Mozart's own intentions. Of the remaining movements, Sanctus,
Benedictus, and Agnus Dei, there were no such sketches in existence.
Süssmayer's first care was to copy out all that Mozart had left
imperfect, "that there might not be two handwritings together," as the
widow wrote to André (Càcilia, VI., p. 202)--she must have had Eybler's
promised completion in her mind--and then to fill in the instrumentation
according to Mozart's apparent design. Pages 11-32 of Mozart's original
manuscript, containing the Dies iræ as far as the Confutatis, fell
into the hands of the Abbé Stadler, and were by him bequeathed to the
Imperial Library in Vienna. The remaining sheets (33-45) containing the
Lacrimosa, Domine, and Hostias, belonged to Eybler, who presented them
to the same library. That Mozart had contemplated carrying them out, and
uniting them into one score with the Requiem and Kyrie is proved by the
continuous numbering of the pages in his own handwriting; there is no
instance to be found of his having recopied a score so sketched out when
filling it in.[6]
{THE REQUIEM.}
(364)
Süssmayr's appointed task, therefore, was the composition "from his own
head" (ganz neu) of the concluding part of the Lacrimosa, the Sanctus,
Benedictus, and Agnus Dei; only "in order to give the work more unity"
he repeated the fugue of the Kyrie with the words "cum sanctis." The
Requiem thus completed--the two first movements in Mozart's handwriting,
the remainder in Süssmayr's--was delivered over to the owner.[7] If it
was intended that the latter should accept the whole composition as by
Mozart, appearances were certainly not calculated to undeceive him. The
score in question passed in 1838 into the possession of the Imperial
Library.[8] The first impression of every one who sees it, and who is
familiar with Mozart's handwriting, must be that the whole of it was
written by him, and that the autograph of Mozart's Requiem in its
entirety is before him.[9] Closer examination and comparison raise
suspicion, many discrepancies are discovered, although perhaps only
trifling ones, and the fact must be borne in mind that, to a question
addressed to her on the subject, Mozart's widow answered (February 10,
1839) that a full score of the Requiem in Mozart's handwriting could not
exist, since it was finished not by him but by Süssmayr.
A comparison of the manuscript with several scores undoubtedly written
by Süssmayr--a terzet and bass air, composed by him in 1793 for
insertion in the "Serva Padrona"--solved the riddle. It was the same
handwriting, closely resembling that of Mozart, with the same deviations
from it which had been pointed out in the Requiem. There could
{SÜSSMAYR'S WORK.}
(365)
no longer be any doubt that Süssmayr had written the score from the Dies
iræ--the paging begins afresh, starting with page 1 at the Sanctus. In
one place the transcriber betrays himself by a mistake. The closing bars
of the Tuba mirum are noted for the stringed instruments by Mozart, as
follows:--[See Page Image]
In his copy Süssmayr has omitted the octave passage for the violins, and
the characteristic instrumentation for the violas, and has filled up the
omission in a way which is certainly no improvement on the original.[10]
Süssmayr, it is clear, had so modelled his handwriting on that of Mozart
that the two could only be distinguished by trifling idiosyncrasies.
There are other instances of the same kind--Joh. Seb. Bach's second
wife, for instance, writing a hand which only an expert could
distinguish from her husband's, and Joachim's manuscript being, at one
time at least, almost identical with Mendelssohn's. As far as the score
of the Requiem was concerned, the wish to persuade the owner of the
Requiem that he was possessed of a composition exclusively by Mozart may
have come to the aid of
{THE REQUIEM.}
(366)
custom and natural aptitude. There is no doubt that Count Walsegg
accepted the score as having been completed and written by Mozart at
least as far as the Sanctus.[11] Whether this was expressly stated, or
merely taken for granted by him, does not appear, and the fact that
the composition had been ordered by him with a view to a deception of
another kind is a curious coincidence, but does not make the case any
the better.
Under these circumstances it was to the interest of the widow to
maintain that the Requiem had been completed by Mozart. This explains
the assertion of Rochlitz[12] (who according to his own account had
questioned Mozart's widow at Leipzig in 1796 concerning the whole
story of the Requiem) that Mozart had completed the Requiem before his
death.[13] But a secret known to so many could hardly be long kept.
The widow had retained a copy of the work, and a performance of it
took place soon after in Jahn's Hall at Vienna, the hall being densely
crowded. It was pretty well known to the performers what portions were
by Mozart and what by Süssmayr,[14] and the knowledge was not slow to
spread. It reached Munich[15] and Prague, where at the first performance
of the Requiem no secret was made of the fact that the Sanctus was
composed by Süssmayr.[16] The widow sold manuscript copies of the
Requiem to various noblemen,[17] and allowed others to make copies of
it;[18] Hiller copied the
{PUBLICATION.}
(367)
score note for note with his own hand, and wrote on the title-page
"Opus,summum viri summi," expressing no doubt whatever as to the
whole work being that of Mozart.[19] Not content with the profits thus
accruing from the Requiem, the widow turned her attention towards
its publication. The idea occurred to her that a public appeal to the
Unknown might induce him to forego his claim on the composition.[20] The
appeal, however, was not made, for the publishers, Breitkopf and Hàrtel,
not conceiving themselves to be bound by the agreement made with Mozart,
resolved on bringing out the work from the several transcripts of it
which had fallen into their hands. Desirous, however, that the work
should be produced with all possible correctness, they applied to the
widow for her copy, with which, having no power to stop the publication,
she saw no objection to furnishing them. To their question (prompted
by the reports current as to the authorship of the work) whether
the Requiem was wholly and solely composed by Mozart, she answered
explicitly as follows (March 27, 1799):--
As to the Requiem, it is true that I possess the celebrated one, written
shortly before his death. I know of no Requiem but this, and declare all
others to be spurious.[21] How far it is his own composition--it is
so to near the end--I will inform you when you receive it from me. The
circumstances were as follows: Seeing his end approaching, he spoke with
Herr Süssmayr, the present Imperial Kapellmeister, and requested him, if
he should die without completing it, to repeat the first fugue in
{THE REQUIEM.}
(368)
the last part, as is customary; and told him also how he should develop
the conclusion, of which the principal subjects were here and there
already carried out in some of the parts. And this Herr Süssmayr
actually did.
On being pressed for further information she referred the publishers to
Süssmayr himself, who answered in the letter already mentioned (February
8, 1800). He nowhere asserts having received a decided commission from
Mozart, nor does he mention the concluding fugue, so that it is plain
that the widow turned her not very clear recollection of the transaction
as far as possible in favour of the integrity of the Requiem. Count
Walsegg, who had already given himself out as the composer of the
Requiem, must have felt considerable annoyance at its wide dissemination
as Mozart's work; but as yet he had made no sign. When however, in
1799, Breitkopf and Hàrtel announced the publication of the Requiem
from the manuscript in the possession of Mozart's widow, he thought it
time to put forward his claim. He sent his own copy of the score to his
advocate, Dr. Sortschan, at Vienna, and through him demanded explanation
and compensation from the widow. Stadler and Nissen negotiated with the
advocate in her name. Stadler pointed out which parts had Mozart and
which Süssmayr for their author, and the advocate wrote down all that
he said for the information of the Count, to whom he returned his
score.[23] As to compensation, the widow wrote to Hàrtel (January 30,
1800) that the Count had demanded the restitution of fifty ducats, but
that he would perhaps be satisfied with receiving a number of copies of
the work. Nissen at length induced the Count "with much difficulty
and after many threats" to accept as payment transcripts of several
unpublished compositions by Mozart,[24] and even to allow the widow to
revise the printed score by a comparison of it with his own.[25]
{SÜSSMAYR'S SHARE IN THE WORK.}
(369)
As the result of this unsatisfactory transaction to all concerned in it,
we may conclude that the Requiem and Kyrie are the work of Mozart as we
have them, that the movements from the Dies iræ to the first eight bars
of the Lacrimosa, also the Domine Jesu and Hostias, were finished by
Mozart in the voice part and the bass, and that the principal points of
the instrumentation were also indicated by him, leaving only the details
to be elaborated. This, however, is not by any means so easy and purely
mechanical an undertaking as has been supposed, and Mozart's verbal
suggestions must not be underrated. As regards the last three numbers,
Süssmayr's statement that they had been "composed (verfertigt) entirely
afresh" by him offers no decided testimony on the point. Stadler's
account[26] ("the widow told me that after Mozart's death a few scraps
of paper with music on them had been found on his writing-desk, and
had been handed over to Herr Süssmayr; what they contained, or what use
Süssmayr made of them, I do not know") admits the possibility, but
only the possibility, that these scraps were sketches for the last
movements.[27] The repeatedly expressed doubt as to whether "these
flowers really grew in Süssmayr's garden" can only be supported upon
internal evidence.
The serious spirit in which Mozart undertook the composition of his
Requiem, the intensity of his absorption in it, and the artistic labour
which he bestowed upon it, are best evidenced by the work itself.[28]
It is remarkable that towards the close of his life, when increasing
illness disposed his mind to serious reflection, his musical labours
should have been calculated to turn his thoughts upon death and the
grave. On the one hand his views as a Freemason, which were both earnest
and sincere, found their expression in the "Zauberflote"; and, on the
other, his religious convictions
{THE REQUIEM.}
(370)
asserted for the last time in the Requiem the sway over his mind
and conscience which they had never lost.[29] The two sets of mental
activities thus roused found their common centre in Mozart's mind, and
impelled him to the production of his most powerful and most important
works. The similarity of thought and tendency displayed in the Requiem
and the "Zauberflöte" is observable even in the combinations of external
means in corresponding parts of the two works. The combination of
basset-horns, bassoons, and trombones, and here and there of trumpets
and drums, with the stringed instruments, which gave so singular
an expression of earnest solemnity to the tone-colouring of the
"Zauberflöte," is made use of again in the Requiem.
But the tone-blending of the latter work is nevertheless limited,
the clearer wind instruments--flutes, oboes, clarinets and the
softer horns--being left out altogether, and the frequent orchestral
characterisation depending altogether upon the varied combinations of
the instruments named above.
The view upheld in the opera that serious ideas must be expressed in
corresponding severity of form is even more decided in the Requiem,
in so far as Mozart must have regarded as natural and inevitable the
identification of certain fixed forms with the musical expression of
religious emotion in an act of worship. The praiseworthy feeling which
leads an artist, who believes himself to be offering his work for the
service of the Most High, to bestow his best thoughts and his best
workmanship upon it, cannot fail also to have influenced him. The
pleasure which, after his study of Handel's oratorios and the strong
impression made on him by Bach's motetts, Mozart took in the severely
contrapuntal style of composition is evinced both in the "Zauberflöte"
and in the two organ pieces composed in December, 1790, and March, 1791.
But the main inducement to this form was doubtless the facility with
which it expressed a serious, controlled and concentrated frame of mind,
allowing at the same
{KYRIE--INTROITUS.}
(371)
time much freedom of characteristic and individual expression. The chief
significance of the Requiem rests herein, that it proves these forms,
with their fixed laws and strongly marked features, to have more than a
merely abstract or historical value; it proves them to be in fact, when
artistically conceived and scientifically handled, capable of giving
appropriate expression to the deepest emotion in which the human heart
finds vent.[30]
In considering the Requiem, a distinction must be made between the
different parts of this kind of Mass and the different degrees of
importance which they receive in relation to the act of worship with
which they are associated.
The Kyrie is preceded by the Introitus, beginning with a prayer for the
departed. The bassoons and basset-horns, in successive imitation, give
utterance to the soft, sustained melody of the prayer, supported by a
simple accompaniment on the stringed instruments; it is interrupted by
four clashing trumpet chords announcing the approach of judgment, and
not again recurring until the day of doom is there. Thereupon the voices
immediately enter, falling in from the bass upwards; but a syncopated
figure for the violins gives the petition for repose an expression
of painful unrest, called forth by the contemplation of death and the
coming judgment; soon, however, the clouds are pierced by the divine
light which is finally to disperse them, and the movement comes to a
peaceful end after an outburst of confidence and strength rendered by
the orchestra. After a short transition passage come the words of the
psalm, "Lord, we will magnify Thee upon Zion, and pay our vows unto
the Most High." In order to emphasise these as the words of Scripture,
Mozart has set them to an old chorale melody and given them to a soprano
voice, which utters them in clear, pure tones, like consolation from
above. The chorale, as has been already remarked (Vol. I., p. 200), is
the two-part _tropus_ of the ninth church mode to the psalm "In exitu
Israel de Ægypto," and had previously been made use of by Mozart as a
Cantus firmus
{THE REQUIEM.}
(372)
in his "Betulia Liberata"; but what a difference between the work of the
youth and that of the matured master![31] While the soprano chorus takes
up the same melody firmly and forcibly with the words "Thou that hearest
prayer, unto Thee shall all flesh come!" the other voices fall in in
animated movement, and an energetic figure for the violins increases the
force of the expression. Then the petition for eternal rest is renewed
with a stronger expression of confidence, but still with the ground-tone
of painful agitation, rendered, by the union with the first motif of a
second, more animated and more forcible. This second subject has already
been hinted at in the transition passage to the psalm texts, from which
also the passage accompanying the texts is taken, and here first fully
asserts itself, the psychological development thus coinciding with the
musical climax. The climax reaches its highest point in the petition for
eternal light, which the divided voices utter alternately and repeat in
concert with tender, pleading supplication.
The ejaculations "Kyrie eleison!" and "Christe eleison!" are bound
together as the two themes of a double fugue (the first strong and firm,
the second agitated and impulsive), which are carried out together in
inextricable entanglement--their expression heightened by the chromatic
construction towards the close, until in constantly increasing climax
they come to a pause on a harshly dissonant chord, and then, as it were,
collect themselves and unite in quiet composure. This fugue[32] has
given rise to the extremes of criticism, laudatory and the reverse;[33]
G. Weber could not bear to believe that Mozart
{KYRIE.}
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could have written such "Gurgeleien" as the chromatic passages of
the Christe eleison,[34] and others have looked in vain for the pious
humility of expression proper to such a solemn appeal to the mercy of
the Redeemer.[35] Whether the treatment of the keys adopted in this
movement is in accordance with the requirements of a strict fugue, must
be decided by the masters of the school; it is undeniable that on it
depends the character and effect of the movement, and that the essential
laws of counterpoint are here apprehended and turned to account with
deep insight into their true nature.[36]
The execution of the chromatic passages is difficult certainly; but,
apart from the fact that both older and contemporary masters, who
wrote for trained choirs--Bach, for instance, or Handel, or Haydn--made
similar demands on the skill of their performers, they are perfectly
possible if taken in the right time, and the effect produced by them is
probably that which Mozart intended. The conception of the movement is
clearly expressed, and requires neither explanation nor apology.[37]
The exclamation, "Lord, have mercy upon us!" is capable of very varied
expression; in the mouth of one in the agony of death, burdened with sin
and about to appear before the Judge of all men, it becomes an agonising
appeal for mercy. This state of mind has already been expressed, and
rises at the close of the Requiem into such an intensity of longing
after eternal light, that the anguished yet not despairing cry of the
Kyrie is perfectly naturally led up to. The two feelings are expressed
in the two themes of the fugue, although, in accordance with the
character of the
{THE REQUIEM.}
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Mass, even the confidence is penetrated with a feeling of grief. In such
a mood the element of agitation naturally rises higher and higher, until
at length the anguish of suspense finds vent in the heartrending cry for
mercy which leads to composure and resignation. The two movements of the
Requiem and the Kyrie are thus formed into a whole of perfect harmonic
unity, and lead the way to the Dies iræ.
In view of this unmistakable unity of conception and construction it
appears strange that decided traces of Handel's influence should appear
in the principal subjects. Stadler remarks that Mozart has borrowed
the motif of the Requiem from the first motif of Handel's "Dirge on
the death of Queen Caroline"--"as some loose sheets among his retrains
show"--and has worked it out after his own manner.[38] This can only
allude to the preliminary sketches of this portion of the Requiem such
as Mozart was accustomed to make for contrapuntal work before writing
the score (Vol. II., p. 433), and of such there must have been a great
number during the composition of his Requiem. Stadler's conjecture that
they were vestiges of Mozart's youthful studies is unfounded; he was
not acquainted with Handel's works in his youth, nor until they were
introduced to him by Van Swieten (Vol. II., p. 386), under whose
direction he rearranged Handel's oratorios between 1788-1790 (p. 218).
Before this, the anthem in question cannot have been known to him. In
this beautiful work, composed in December, 1737,[39] Handel has taken
the Chorale, "Herr Jesu Christ, du wahres Gut," or, "Wenn mein Stündlein
vorhanden ist',[40] as Cantus firmus to the first chorus, and has made
further use of the same theme in the fugued concluding chorus. It is
very unlikely that Mozart deliberately chose out the subject in order
to work it out in a different way to Handel; it was more probably so
stamped on his memory as to have suggested itself naturally as suited to
the words before him, and to have then
{HANDEL'S INFLUENCE.}
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been quite independently worked out by him. Stadler also points out that
Mozart has taken the motif to the Kyrie from one of Handel's oratorios.
The chorus "Halleluja! we will rejoice in Thy salvation." from Handel's
"Joseph," contains both the themes of Mozart's Kyrie, but in the major
key; again, the principal subject of the Kyrie eleison has been carried
out as a fugue in the minor in the well-known and beautiful chorus of
the Messiah, "By His stripes." A comparison of this fugue with that of
the Requiem, shows that the adaptation has not merely consisted in the
change from a major to a minor key, and that the actual motif, a very
favourable one for treatment in counterpoint--[See Page Image]
and one constantly occurring in the fugal movements of every age, here
serves only as a nucleus from which the master proceeds to develop his
own independent creation. The essential principle in the construction
of a double fugue is the combination of two themes, each bearing a
necessary relation to the other. In the chorus in "Joseph" are two
motifs exactly answering to each other; and it can scarcely be doubted
that Mozart was struck with the combination and adopted it, although,
as the examples adduced will show, his working-out of the motifs
is essentially his own. Handel only really worked out the second
motif--one, by the way, which often recurs in others of his works--and
this in very free treatment; the first only occasionally emerges from
the passages which play around it, like a huge rock almost overwhelmed
by the billows. Mozart has undertaken such a fugal elaboration of both
motifs as presupposes a radically different treatment impossible
without a new intellectual conception of the task before him. Still more
essential does this reconception appear when it is remembered that the
supplication of a sinner for mercy was to take the place of a joyful
offering of praise and thanksgiving. The transposition to a minor key
involves at the outset so complete a reconstruction of the harmonic
treatment as to point to a new creation
{THE REQUIEM.}
(376)
rather than an adaptation. We here stand in the presence of one of
the mysteries of music; how it is that one and the same musical idea,
embodied in one definite form, should be capable by means of artistic
arrangement of expressing different and even totally opposite emotions.
It is true, doubtless, that invention is the characteristic gift of
genius, but absolute novelty is not to be considered as altogether
indispensable to invention. In music, as in every other art, the
creation of an individual becomes common property for his successors,
whose task it is so to develop and carry it on as in their turn to
create and construct an original and undying work. Richly endowed
natures, in the consciousness of their power of producing what is
perfectly original from?any given point, often undisguisedly follow the
impulse given by a predecessor to their imagination. A striking proof
of this is given by Haydn, who has written a double fugue as the last
movement of his Quartet in F minor, which might appear a deliberate
attempt at rivalry, but which has in reality every claim to
independence. To what extent Handel himself has employed, retouched,
and re-elaborated melodies, not only of previous occurrence in his own
works, but borrowed from other musicians, has lately been pointed out
by Chrysander; and one of the most striking examples of such musical
plagiarism is Gluck's expressive air from "Iphigenie in Tauris," "Je
t'implore, et je tremble," which was unmistakably suggested by the
beautiful Gigue in Seb. Bach's Clavier Studies (I., part I.).[41]
Neither of these two great masters could be suspected of borrowing ideas
for lack of invention.[42]
A curious part of the Requiem, of special prominence in the musical
construction of the Mass, is the old Latin hymn,
{DIES IRÆ.}
(377)
Dies iræ, which is generally not quite accurately described as a
Sequence.[43] It had grown into a custom in the service of the Mass that
at the Alleluja of the Gradual in High Mass, which was repeated by the
congregation, and then again by the choir, the last syllable "ja"
should be extended into a jubilus, upon which long-drawn-out florid
progressions (_sequentæ_) were sung, of different forms for different
festivals. Gradually these became so elaborate as to offer great
difficulties in execution and to require special practice, and the
idea arose of providing these merely vocalised melodies (_neumæ_, or
divisions) with words which were called _prosæ_, because they were
confined to no particular metre or rhythm, but followed the melody, a
syllable to every note. The greatest development of these _prosæ_, which
were now called _sequentiæ_, was made in the ninth century by Notker the
Stammerer for his scholars and successors in the musical school of
St. Gall.[44] If he did not actually invent them, he gave them their
essential form. Proceeding from the old alleluja jubilation, he founded
upon it a fixed form, consisting partly in regularly recurring cadences,
partly in the twofold repetition of each melodic progression, with
the frequent employment of a kind of refrain. This gave to the words a
certain amount of regularity, still however far from any strictness of
rhythm or metre. These Sequences introduced a fresh element of animated
movement into the rigid uniformity of the ritual, and, coming in the
place of the responses, gave the congregation an effective share in the
service. They had therefore a reciprocal effect on the national poetry,
and were developed side by side with it. In process of time rhyme, at
first only occasionally appearing, became general. The two lines set to
the corresponding melodic choral progressions were connected by rhyme,
as well as the lines of the refrain. Then they were united into
{THE REQUIEM.}
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verses, and gradually the number of syllables in each line was made
equal. The Sequences, which allowed of very great variety of form, were
extremely popular in Germany, France, and England--less so in Italy; and
so many were written, often set to well-known melodies, that they seemed
to imperil the strictly conventional character of the Mass. The Church
therefore forbade the use of all but three--"Victimæ Paschali," "Veni,
sancte Spiritus," and "Lauda Sion salvatorem"--which alone are included
in the revised Breviary after the Council of Trent in 1568.
There can be no Sequence properly so-called in a Requiem, because there
is no Alleluja to which it can serve as the supplement; but, following
the analogy of the Sequence, a hymn on the last judgment was added to
the Tractus, which follows the Gradual, as a preparation for the reading
of the Gospel. The date of the introduction of this hymn is uncertain,
but it is mentioned as an integral portion of the Requiem by Barthol.
Albizzi in 1385, and was acknowledged and retained as such, together
with the three Sequences named above. The author of the hymn is not
certainly identified, but it was most probably the Franciscan Thomas, of
Celano, who was living in 1255.[45]
The importance of the Dies iræ from a musical point of view is
determined by the fact that it takes the place of the Gloria and
the Credo, which are not sung in the Requiem. Instead of the joyful
confidence of these movements, the reflections of sinful man in the
presence of judgment here find their expression, and this obviously
determines the tone of the whole. The euphonious force and beauty of the
hymn, which have not been attained in any of the numerous translations
made of it, distinguish it as made for music,[46] the subject being
also very favourable to composition. With graphic force the terrors of
judgment are painted with all ecclesiastical severity, and with constant
reference to the actual words of Scripture, while the mercy and
{DIES IRÆ.}
(379)
loving-kindness of the Redeemer are dwelt on with equal emphasis. The
fear of damnation is tempered by the hope of salvation, and from the
waitings of remorse rises the prayer of the trusting believer. Intense
and varied emotions are thrown into relief by strong contrast. Brief
but pregnant suggestions give occasion for powerful musical
characterisation, favoured also by the isolated position of the hymn in
the service. Just as the preacher addresses his solemn warning to the
congregation with more of individual emphasis than the priest who offers
the sacrifice of the Mass, so the composer who depicts the terrors of
the last judgment, so as to bring them home to the imagination of his
hearers, has freer individual scope than if he were merely following the
different acts of worship. In the Dies iræ, therefore, we have a freer
style, a more vivid expression than elsewhere. Nor is it so bound by the
usages of tradition as the other parts of the Mass, although a division
of the hymn into particular sections is indicated by the arrangement of
the subject, and necessitated by the conditions of musical construction.
The hymn begins by representing the destruction of the world, which is
to precede the coming of the Lord, and the expression must therefore be
forcible and animated even to excess. Here, then, for the first time
the chorus enters as a compact mass, only dividing once, when the
basses exclaim: "Quantus tremor est futurus!" the only attempt at
tone-painting, while the other voices wail: "Dies iræ! dies illa!" until
they all unite to express the fearful majesty in which the Judge shall
appear. The effect of this chorus in contrast to what has gone before
rests in great measure on the high position of the voices; their shrill,
clear tone, heightened by the string accompaniment of semiquavers or
syncopated notes, is expressive of strong agitation. Without having
recourse to any new devices--trombones are omitted here that the shrill
effect may not be impaired--an altered tone-colouring transports the
hearer to an altogether new region of ideas. The harmonising adds to
the effect by the occurrence of harsh, rugged chords--especially by the
transition from E major to C minor at the repetition of the "Quantus
{THE REQUIEM.}
(380)
tremor" and the return to A major; not to mention other striking
features, such as the imitative passage for the tenor at the first
"Quantus tremor," which expresses amazement in the most vivid manner.
After bringing before the mind of the hearers the tumult and horror of
the destruction of the world, the judgment begins--the trumpets call all
created beings before the throne of the Judge. A tenor trumpet makes the
announcement in a simple passage, which is taken up by a bass voice,
and the two unite with a solemn and dignified effect.[47] Then one after
another a tenor, alto, and soprano voice describe the judgment and its
unmitigated severity, and at last combine in trembling supplication at
the words, "Cum vix iustus sit securus." Mozart has here, apparently,
intentionally refrained from emphasising the terrors of judgment,
wishing to heighten the contrast of the destruction of the world with
the appearance of the Judge, and its effect on the conscience as well as
the senses of mankind; he aimed at expressing this effect by means of
a soul-elevating calm; but he has fallen short of his endeavours. The
movement is in itself expressive, dignified, and full of euphonious
beauty, especially towards the close, but it fails to rouse in us a
sense of the grandeur and elevation which belong to the subject.[48]
The idea that no created being is justified before God recalls the
conception of the Judge throned in His awful glory, which is expressed
with terrible force in the chorus that follows. The plan of it shows
clearly the influence of the words on the musical conception. The
thrice-repeated exclamation "Rex!" and then "Rex tremendæ majestatis,"
makes, even when spoken, a strong impression, but when sung by the whole
strength of the chorus in simple, powerful chords, supported by the wind
instruments, the effect is almost overpowering, and is heightened by the
strongly
{DIES IRÆ.}
(381)
punctuated passage for the strings, sinking, as it were; into terrified
silence at each recurrence of the exclamation. The idea of the mercy of
the Redeemer is at first subordinate to this impression: while sopranos
and altos in strict imitation repeat the "Rex tremendae majestatis," and
the stringed instruments elaborate their figure in two-part imitation,
the tenors and basses announce "Qui salvandos salvas gratis" with a
characteristic motif, also in strict imitation; and this is repeated,
with alternations of the upper and lower parts, until they all four
unite in the whole sentence, forming a movement of concisest strength
and severity. The declaration of mercy calls forth the prayer, beginning
with the single appeal, "Salva me!" repeated to the gradually dying
passage for the stringed instruments, and finally concentrating all its
strength and intensity of emotion in the prayer:[49] "Salva me, Fons
pietatis!"[50]
And now the idea gains ground of the merciful Saviour and His work in
reconciling mankind with God; Him we beseech to intercede for souls
conscious of their sinfulness. The verses which are devoted to this
division of the subject are given to a quartet of solo voices, as
appropriate to the gentler and more individual tone of the emotions
depicted. The quartet in question is one of the longest and most
elaborate movements of the Requiem, and in its plan and arrangement, in
the wealth and importance of its different motifs, in the delicacy of
its detail, and the spirit which breathes from it throughout, it is
perhaps the finest of them all; nor is it too much to say that no more
beautiful and noble piece of music of the kind has ever been written.
Mozart himself recognised the fact, telling his wife, after writing down
the Recorders, that if he were to die before finishing the Requiem it
was of the greatest importance that
{THE REQUIEM.}
(382)
this movement should have been completed.[51] The chief part of the
movement, after its introduction by the ritornello, is formed by a motif
given by two voices in imitation at the beginning, the middle, and
again towards the close, the fervent expression of which is tinged with
severity by means of suspensions of the second. It is supported by a
figured bass, the first bar of which--[See Page Image]
contains the germ from which most of the motifs of the accompaniment
and the interludes are developed, and finally winds up the ritornello in
two-part canonic imitation on the violins, with a figure for the
violas in counter-movement to an organ point on the bass. This two-part
movement having been executed first by the alto and bass, then by the
soprano and tenor, the four unite in free movement to bring the whole
to an expressive close with the supplicating appeal, "Ne me perdas illa
die!" In the first episode the parts are at first divided into short
responding phrases, held together by the figured bass, and coming to a
close together, whereupon the first movement, abbreviated, is repeated.
Then there occurs a new motif of essentially harmonic character, the
effect of which depends upon the thrice-heightened climax of the chords,
intensified by the contrast of the high and low voices. Then the parts
divide again and lead the way for the last entry of the first movement,
which is repeated with a short parenthesis inserted; the final close is
brought about in a very interesting and satisfying manner by the fine
successive or parallel motion of the different parts. But we despair of
reproducing in words anything but a mere skeleton of the beauty of this
wonderful quartet--a beauty whose peculiar charm consists in the union
of loveliest grace with chaste severity and earnest depth of thought.
This charm it owes to the simplicity and truth of feeling which led the
master to seek and to find the best expression
{DIES IRÆ.}
(383)
for what was in his mind; and never in any art, be it what it may, has
the comforting feeling of pious trust in the mercy of God, arising from
the consciousness of human weakness, been more truly and beautifully
expressed than in this Recordare.
The verse which follows contrasts the torments of the damned with the
hopes of believers, and could not therefore be suitably rendered with
the same composure of tone. It had become customary to emphasise the
contrast very strongly, depicting the torments of hell as graphically as
the joys of Paradise. In this movement, therefore, the men's voices are
opposed to the women's, and describe the torments in short, imitative
phrases, emphasised when repeated by rapid changes from major to minor
and sharp suspensions and rendered still more forcible by a frequent
pregnant rhythmical figure borne by the stringed instruments in unison.
The women's voices, supported only by a quiet violin passage, express
a low and fervent appeal for redemption, intensified upon repetition by
some suspensions.[52] All the emotions and reflections represented so
far have tended to turn the thoughts inwards, with such feelings of
remorse and repentance as alone can lead to the trust in divine mercy,
and it is with the feeling of deep self-abasement that the supremest
point of the hymn is approached. The voices unite soft and low in a
succession of harmonies such as no mortal ear had ever heard:--[See Page
Image]
{THE REQUIEM.}
(384)
Involuntarily we bow before the declaration of a mystery which no mouth
may utter; irresistibly impelled by the stream of harmony, we feel our
spirits loosed from the bondage which has held them, and born again to
life and light; we feel a breath of the immortality which had already
touched the brow of the master as he wrote. To the contrite and broken
spirit the Day of Wrath becomes a day of mourning, and so the "Lacrimosa
dies illa" begins with a gentle plaint hushed by the terrifying
representation of the rising of the dead from their graves, which is
grandly expressed in a powerful crescendo, brought about by the rising
climax of the melody and the onward motion of the harmonies. With the
anguished cry of "Homo reus!" the pen dropped from the hand of the
master; the emotion which shook his whole being was too strong for
expression: "Huic ergo parce Deus, pie Jesu Domine!"
How far Süssmayr's continuation has fulfilled Mozart's intentions cannot
of course be absolutely decided; he has rightly taken up and carried out
the suggestion of the first few bars, and his conclusion has an imposing
solemnity. It is worthy of note that henceforward the trombones are much
more frequently employed than heretofore. When we compare the scanty and
peculiar use made of them in the Requiem and the Tuba mirum, with their
characteristic occurrence in the "Zauberflote," it appears doubtful
whether Mozart himself would so often have introduced them as supports
to the voices; although this was no doubt the custom in contemporary
church music.
The Offertorium belongs again to the service, and requires on that
account another and a more conventional character in the music than the
Dies iræ. It falls into two sections, of which the first (Domine Jesu
Christe) prefers the petition that the soul of the departed may not go
down into hell, but
{OFFERTORIUM.}
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may be carried into light by the Archangel Michael. The earnest and
affecting character of the music is tinged with a certain amount of
harshness and unrest, arising from the constant recurrence of the
mention of hell and its torments, which distinguishes the movement from
the otherwise similar one of the Requiem. The vivid contrasts of the
words are accentuated by the music, and the result is a succession of
short phrases, combining into larger groups, which correspond with each
other. The words "ne absorbeat eas Tartarus" are worked out into a short
fugue, which has an unusually harsh effect owing to the characteristic
sevenths of the theme and the powerful semiquaver passage carried out by
the stringed instruments in unison. The gentle melody, supported by the
solo voices in canonic imitation, "sed sanctus signifer Michael," has,
on the contrary, a soothing effect, and is the only ray of light which
is allowed to shine through the surrounding gloom. The whole movement
closes with the words "Quam (lucem sanctam) olim Abrahæ promisisti"
in an elaborate fugue, the effect of which is heightened by the
accompaniment which carries out a motif of its own in close imitation.
G. Weber found fault with this fugue, with its aimless elaboration of
a subordinate idea and superfluous repetition of the same unimportant
words;[53] and Seyfried defended it on the ground that a fugue was
considered indispensable at this point,[54] and indeed was not unsuited
to it. The idea is, in truth, not a subordinate one, it is the ground
of the confidence with which the prayer is offered, and so becomes
the basis of the whole movement. The fugue is the form best fitted for
short, pithy sentences, and the one in question has the same singular
mixture of trust in the divine mercy and tortured anxiety at the thought
of death which was expressed in the first movement of the Requiem,
although it there assumed a milder form. Separate passages are of great,
though somewhat rugged beauty, as befitted the movement; more especially
the closing passage, "de profundo lacu, in obscurum, et semini eius."
{THE REQUIEM.}
(386)
The second part (Hostias et preces) has a much more composed character,
as becomes the offering by the spirit of its sacrifice to the Almighty.
The idea, therefore, of still lingering disquiet is left to be expressed
by the syncopated passage for the violins, the voices going together
almost throughout the movement, and declaiming the words with strikingly
appropriate expression. The very simplicity of this movement reveals the
hand of the master, and gives it an individuality especially noticeable
at the words "tu suscipe pro animabus illis, quarum hodie memoriam
facimus." Thus far a reference to Mozart's own manuscript suffices
to determine how much was left to Süssmayr's carrying out. Although
sufficient indications were given even of the more elaborate and
independent instrumental parts to serve as a guide to a well-educated
musician, yet the example adduced above shows how much freedom in
matters of detail was left for the further elaboration; and, not to
mention various oversights, it is probable that had Mozart completed
the composition many delicate touches would have been added to the
accompanying parts which cannot now be even conjectured. Very few
indications are given for the wind instruments, and even if Mozart gave
verbal instructions concerning them, much must still remain in doubt. It
must be allowed, however, that Süssmayr's share in the work has been on
the whole successfully performed; it is quite in keeping with the
rest, and he has plainly refrained from making any alterations or
surreptitious interpolations. With the last three movements we enter
the domain of conjecture, if we are to reject the positive testimony of
Süssmayr, supported by Mozart's widow, as to the share of the former in
the work. Rochlitz, reviewing Süssmayr's letter on the subject, remarks
that "the works already known to be by Herr Süssmayr subject his
claim to an important share in this great composition to considerable
doubt";[55] and he expressed his suspicions more decidedly at a later
time.[56] G. Weber, who failed to recognise Mozart in many
{SÜSSMAYR'S SHARE IN THE WORK.}
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