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394 the approaching coronation of Leopold II. at Prague. Mozart was on the point of stepping into the travelling carriage when the mysterious messenger suddenly stood before him, and asked what had become of the requiem. Touched and distressed by the question, Mozart assured the man that he would do his best on his return; and so saying departed with his pupil Süssmayer. He worked hard at the opera during the journey, Süssmayer filling in the recitativo secco. The coronation took place on Sept. 6, and 'La Clemenza di Tito' (621) was performed the same evening in the National theatre, in presence of their Majesties and a select audience, who were too much absorbed by the occurrences of the day to pay great attention to the opera. Indeed, the Empress is said to have made very disparaging remarks on the 'porcheria' of German music. Mozart, who was not well when he came to Prague, suffered severely from the strain, but he spent a few pleasant hours with his friends, and parted from them with tears.

Disappointed and suffering he reached home in the middle of September, and at once set to work with energy at Schikaneder's opera. The overture and introductory march to the 2nd act were finished Sept. 28, and two days later, on the 30th, the 'Zauberflöte' (620) was given for the first time. Mozart conducted at the piano, Süssmayer turned over for him, and Henneberg, who had conducted the rehearsals, played the bells. It was coldly received at the outset, and at the end of the first act Mozart, looking pale and agitated, went on the stage to Schikaneder, who endeavoured to comfort him. The audience recovered from their coldness so far as to call for Mozart at the close, but he was with difficulty persuaded to appear before the curtain. The interest in the opera increased with each representation, and soon the 'Zauberflöte' was as great a 'draw' as Schikaneder could desire.

Mozart now hoped to be able to devote his whole time to the Requiem, but his late exertions and excitement had proved too much for him, sorely tried as he was in other respects. Fainting fits came on, and he fell into a state of deep depression. His wife tried in vain to raise his spirits. During a drive in the Prater, he suddenly began to talk of death, and said with tears in his eyes that he was writing the Requiem for himself. 'I feel certain,' he continued, 'that I shall not be here long; some one has poisoned me, I am convinced. I cannot shake off the idea.' By the advice of his physicians, his terrified wife took the score away from him, and he rallied sufficiently to compose on Nov. 15 a cantata (623) for his Lodge to words by Schikaneder. He even conducted the performance himself; but the improvement was of short duration, and he took to his bed. Now, when it was too late, favourable prospects opened before him. He was informed that some of the nobility of Hungary had clubbed together to guarantee him a yearly sum, and at the same time a subscription was got up in Amsterdam, for which he was to furnish compositions to become the property of the subscribers. When the hour for the theatre arrived, he would follow in imagination the performance of the 'Zauberflöte,' and the Requiem continued to occupy his mind. On Dec. 4 he had the score brought to him in bed, and tried a passage, singing the alto himself, while his brother-in-law Hofer took the tenor, and Schack and Gerl from the theatre the soprano and bass. When they got to the first few bars of the Lacrimosa, it suddenly came home to him that he should never finish it, and he burst out crying, and put away the score. In the evening Süssmayer came in, and he gave him some directions about the Requiem, with which his thoughts seemed constantly occupied, for even while dozing he puffed out his cheeks as if trying to imitate the drums. Towards midnight he suddenly sat up with his eyes fixed; then he turned his head on one side, and appeared to fall asleep. By one o'clock in the morning of Dec. 5, 1791, his spirit had fled. He died of malignant typhus fever. At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 6th his body was removed from the house of mourning to St. Stephen's; the service was held in the open air, as was the custom with the poorest class of funeral, and van Swieten, Sussmayer, Salieri, Roser, and Orsler, stood round the bier. They followed as far as the city gates, and then turned back, as a violent storm was raging, and the hearse went its way unaccompanied to the churchyard of St. Marx. Thus, without a note of music, forsaken by all he held dear, the remains of this prince of harmony were committed to the earth, not even in a grave of his own, but in the common paupers' grave (Allgemeine Grube). The Lodge to which he belonged held in his honour a ceremonial worthy of the deceased; the 'Wiener Zeitung' announced 'the irreparable loss' in a few eloquent lines, and afterwards inserted the following epitaph:—