A Requiem for our Time
by Jeannette Sorrell
One of the blessings of being involved in the arts is that masterpieces from the past have a way of becoming relevant – sometimes painfully – in our own time.
In 1791, Mozart was composing his masterful Requiem against the backdrop of worldwide unrest and revolution – with struggles for democracy unfolding around him in France, Haiti, and the fledgling United States. The 35-year-old Mozart laid bare his soul in a work that remained unfinished. But that sense of incompleteness – the door left open, the words left hanging in the air – allows the work to be woven even more closely into the fabric of our own time.
I. Mozart’s Requiem: The Collision of Mysticism and Daily Life
And now I must go, just as it has become possible for me to live quietly. Now I must leave my art just as I had freed myself from the slavery of fashion, and won the privilege of following my own feelings and composing freely whatever my heart prompted! I must leave my poor children in the moment when I should have been able better to care for their welfare…. Did I not tell you that I was composing this “Requiem” for myself?
– Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, uttered on his deathbed (reported by Constanze Mozart)

Armand Mathey-Doret after Mihály Munkácsy (1844–1900)
I am fascinated by how the ordinary, banal events of daily life sometimes run on a parallel course with the mystical journey evolving in the souls of individuals. And, as if guided from above, the two courses eventually intersect. At such moments, something extraordinary is created. Mozart’s Requiem seems to be one of these creations.
On the path of the ordinary and banal events of daily life, we have the Count Franz von Walsegg, an eccentric but harmless country landowner, who liked to host musicales in his home, performing pieces he had secretly commissioned from respected composers. The twist: he liked to pass these pieces off as his own compositions. In the summer of 1791, the Count sent his representative to Mozart. The anonymous messenger appeared on Mozart’s doorstep, presented a commission for a Mass for the Dead, delivered half the fee, and warned that it would be a waste of time to attempt to learn the name of his employer.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
by Barbara Krafft (1764-1825)
I was initiated from earliest childhood in the mystical sanctuary of our religion… with all the vague but urgent feelings, one waits with a heart full of devotion for the divine service without really knowing what to expect; one rises lightened and uplifted without knowing what one has received; and one kneels under the touching strains of the Agnus Dei at the moment of the sacrament, with the music speaking in gentle joy from our hearts. True, this is lost in the hurly-burly of life. But in my case, when you take up the words you have heard a thousand times, for the purpose of setting them to music, everything comes back and you feel your soul moved again.
– Reported by Rochlitz in 1789
The two paths moved towards intersection in November 1791, when Mozart’s schedule lightened up after a highly successful run of The Magic Flute, which he conducted from the keyboard each night. Mozart sat down to begin the Requiem, and within a few weeks came thoughts of death – he believed he had been poisoned. Then came the illness that was to be his last. On 20 November he took to his bed and never left it again. The remaining sixteen days of his life were spent feverishly trying to finish the Requiem – his Requiem.
Mozart completed the Introit and sketched the other movements up through Hostias. Under his supervision, his students Freistadtler and Sussmayr wrote out the string doublings and the trumpet and timpani parts for the Kyrie. A third student, Eybler, orchestrated the Dies Irae, Tuba Mirum, Rex Tremendae, Recordare, and Confutatis, possibly under Mozart’s supervision. He wrote his contributions directly into the autograph manuscript. On 5 December Mozart composed the first eight bars of the Lacrimosa. And then he breathed his last. He was 36.

We have part of it, that is. A Requiem would normally have three more movements: the Sanctus, Benedictus and Agnus Dei. After Mozart’s death, his impoverished widow Constanze desperately tried to get the trio of students to finish the piece so that she could collect the commission. She gave the assignment first to Eybler (it is tempting to suggest that he was abler than the others), who felt that he could not continue past measure eight of the Lacrimosa. He returned the score to her.
Constanza then turned to Sussmayr, who was known not to be Mozart’s best student by any means – but he seems to have had more chutzpah than Eybler. He composed a completion for the Lacrimosa, as well as a Sanctus and Benedictus. We do not perform these, since I find them to be a detraction from Mozart’s work. In addition to the banality of the Sanctus, Sussmayr’s work suffers from some basic harmonic errors such as Neapolitan chords incorrectly resolved, hidden fifths, and other disturbing flaws.
Sussmayr cobbled together an Agnus Dei based on Mozart’s material. He claimed that Mozart instructed him to repeat the Kyrie fugue music at the end of the Agnus Dei. If this is true (which it might not be) it must have been a solution of desperation for Mozart – the only way to leave behind a performable Requiem. Having both finished and tarnished one of the greatest compositions in Western history, Sussmayr boldly forged Mozart’s signature on the manuscript, and off it went to the Count.
Since Mozart did leave us eight poignant bars of the Lacrimosa, several scholar-composers have taken up the challenge of completing that movement, following in Sussmayr’s steps but with the benefit of more hindsight. In the past, and on our CD album of the Requiem, we performed a lovely completion by René Schiffer, our principal cellist, whose compositions in various historical styles have won much praise in Europe and North America. This week, however, I am choosing to perform the Lacrimosa just as Mozart left it for us – unfinished and hanging in the air after just eight exquisite bars.

We in Apollo’s Fire are honored to be revisiting this piece for the third time, having performed it at our debut concert in 1992 (in a barn) and at our Tenth Anniversary Concert in 2002 (at Severance Hall). I am also overjoyed that seven of our longtime musicians who played in one or both of those concerts are still with us on stage this week – violinists Emi Tanabe and Marlisa del Cid Woody, violist Elizabeth Holzman Hagen, cellist René Schiffer, bassists Sue Yelanjian and Tracy Rowell, and flautist Kathie Stewart.
II. Weaving a Tapestry for our Time
How do you complete a concert program that consists mainly of a 38-minute incomplete masterpiece? As I pondered how to honor the legacy of Mozart’s unfinished Requiem, I thought about who Mozart was as a human being.
We know a lot from his letters. He was a humanist and an idealist; a member of the Masons, who in the 18th century represented the views of the Enlightenment. He was also a bold, controversial, and outspoken figure who cared very little for titles and hierarchy. He wrote an opera on a play that had been banned because it was disrespectful to the aristocracy. He knew he would surely get in trouble for this, but he did it anyway. Society in his time demanded that artists (who were considered servants) be utterly meek and subservient to their aristocratic bosses. Mozart failed at that in a rather spectacular way – and it cost him his career and his ability to earn a living.

I think he would not be meek. He never was.
In the present moment, as the world teeters on a precipice in many ways, I am hoping to honor Mozart’s legacy by creating a more inclusive context for his unfinished masterpiece. So, I am interweaving this European music with movements from sacred-inspired works by three of America’s leading Black composers – along with two traditional pieces from the wonderful repertoire of African American spirituals (a genre which I consider to be among America’s finest cultural contributions).
As we strive to honor the humanity within us all, I am thrilled to perform selections from Eric Gould’s powerful new composition, 1791: Requiem for the Ancestors, commissioned by Apollo’s Fire; from Damien Geter’s brilliant and acclaimed work, An African American Requiem (2019); and to share with our audience some of the work by internationally acclaimed composer Jessie Montgomery, as we perform two of her Five Freedom Songs (2020).
A Requiem Tapestry is intended to bring together neighbors from different walks of life in a spiritual journey. When our great bass-baritone Kevin Deas so powerfully evokes the presence of a Black preacher as he comes forward to sing Mozart’s Tuba Mirum, I know that the meaning of Mozart’s text will touch us all: “The trumpet will send its wondrous sound throughout earth’s sepulchres and gather all of us before the throne of God.” – All of us. We’re all in this journey together.
© Jeannette Sorrell, 2025 | Cleveland, Ohio
					





						
						
						
						
						










