Despite the difficulties of recent years, I felt unexpectedly strong. My mind buzzed with ideas, and optimism – long absent – began to return. So it was with genuine delight that my dear friend Emanuel Schikaneder[i] arrived with a libretto written for his theatrical troupe, a group of performers whose musical abilities ranged from surprisingly accomplished to best appreciated from behind the scenery.
Schikaneder wanted a Singspiel. I wanted an opera. We compromised and created something cheerfully defiant of classification – an operatic creature with its own peculiar habits, which we called The Magic Flute[ii].
It contained everything: enchanted instruments, dancing animals, and Masonic symbolism layered thickly enough to trouble even the most seasoned lodge member. Schikaneder assured me the plot made sense. I chose to trust him.
Each character received a distinct musical voice. Papageno and Papagena chirped in simple, folklike melodies, as if building a nest from sound. Tamino and Pamina sang with clarity and tenderness. And the Queen of the Night – she received fireworks: a brilliant, merciless italianate coloratura[iii] written especially for my sister-in-law Josepha. If one must torment a relative, it is best done in style.
The premiere was a resounding triumph. Families attended. Children laughed. Those who rarely set foot in an opera house found themselves humming Pa-pa-pa on their way home. For the first time in years, Vienna seemed to glow again. Financially, matters improved as well. I began paying my debts, cautiously, one hopeful installment at a time.
Then, one evening, there was a knock at the door.
A stranger dressed in gray stood outside – polite, reserved, and unwilling to explain himself. He asked me to compose a Requiem in D minor[iv] for an anonymous patron. He paid in advance. I agreed. As I began writing the opening measures, I felt an unfamiliar unease, as if the music stared back at me, questioning me in ways I was unprepared to answer.
As my health declined and the days shortened, I worked obsessively. I poured fear, longing, faith, and doubt into the score. The Confutatis[v] burned. The Lacrimosa[vi] wept. The music gave me chills. Slowly, my strength faded, and blank pages began to appear where notes should have been.
By late autumn, fever overtook me. The doctor called it hitziges Frieselfieber[vii], a term impressive in sound and useless in practice. Doctors, I had learned, enjoyed dramatic language almost as much as ineffective remedies.
From my bed, I dictated what I could to my family and friends, suspecting the work might be intended for my own funeral. They wept. I joked when possible. Music had carried me through my life, and I hoped it might carry me a little further still.
In the end, calm arrived. A quiet certainty settled over me, as though the music that had lived inside me for so long had finally reached its resolution.
[i] Emanuel Schikaneder (1751–1812) was an Austrian theatre director, actor, librettist, and impresario of the late Enlightenment.
[ii] The Magic Flute (German: Die Zauberflöte, K. 620), is an opera in two acts. The work premiered on 30 September 1791 at Schikaneder’s theatre, the Freihaus Theater in Vienna. It was an outstanding success from its first performances and remains a staple of the opera repertory.
[iii] Italianate coloratura refers to a specific type of ornate, elaborate singing in Italian opera, especially within the 19th-century bel canto tradition. It is characterized by fast, virtuosic passages, trills, and leaps, which are not just for show but can be used to express a character’s psychological state
[iv] The Requiem in D minor (K. 626), is a Requiem Mass composed in Vienna in late 1791. It was left unfinished and completed only after Mozart’s death. Count Franz von Walsegg had commissioned the piece for a service to commemorate the first anniversary of the death of his wife Anna. Walsegg probably intended to pass the Requiem off as his own composition.
[v] Confutatis refers to a powerful movement from Mozart’s unfinished Requiem (K. 626), a choral piece from the “Dies Irae” section, meaning “When the accursed have been confounded” in Latin, describing the damned being cast into flames and the plea for the blessed to be called to heaven
[vi] Lacrimosa (Latin for “weeping” or “tearful”) is a deeply moving, melancholic movement from the Requiem.
[vii] English: severe miliary fever