The Grove City College Concert Choir, directed by Dr. Katherine Mueller, studied and performed Mozart’s Requiem in the Spring of 2024.
On April 25, 1827, the Lady’s Weekly Gazette in Philadelphia featured a short segment about the life of Mozart, who had died only thirty-some years earlier. “Every biographer of Mozart has introduced the anecdote of Mozart having been poisoned, immediately after the composition of the Requiem.” It’s true—most biographies, novelizations, and movie adaptations of the life of the great composer address the many theories surrounding his premature death—and death by poison, administered by a power-hungry student or rival, is certainly the most thrilling hypothesis.
And the mystery doesn’t stop there. In early 1791, Mozart was already acutely aware that he was ill and perhaps dying. So, when an “unknown, gray stranger” appeared at Mozart’s door requesting, (on behalf of a benefactor who wished to remain anonymous), that Mozart write a funeral piece, the composer fell into a nervous preoccupation. Without knowing for whom he was writing, Mozart began to feel that he was composing it for himself—his own “swan song” and his last great work. (At least, this is the Gothic scene painted by his wife Constanze, who may have been ulteriorly motivated to craft a narrative that would sell her late husband’s music to provide for herself and her family.)
This romantic drama surrounding Mozart’s death gives the Requiem a morbid atmosphere for many listeners. The American poet M. Shayne Bell wrote a piece entitled “Listening to Mozart’s Requiem while Crossing the San Rafael” in which he dug into the emotions he experienced with this piece of music: “The Requiem matched / the smell of death / on the leather of my coat / and the fear in the music / lingered / in the sudden / stillness.”
But is that an accurate interpretation of the music? Is Mozart primarily focused on fear?
No, to claim this would be to miss the grand message of hope that is infused into every aspect of this piece. Mozart’s Requiem is not focused on the drama of dying, but rather on the saga of salvation.
In the context of classical music, a requiem is a piece written for a Requiem Mass – a funeral service. The word “requiem” actually comes from Latin, meaning rest. So, beginning with the etymology, this piece challenges our contemporary culture’s presuppositions about death. How many of us, when considering death, view it as rest?
And so the piece begins: Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine – “Grant them eternal rest, O Lord.” But the music itself seems to paint a very restless world. It is dark and minor, slowly building up power as it moves into the first major section, the Kyrie – a cry for mercy. By the second – and longest – section of the piece, the Sequentia, we are probably thoroughly convinced that there is, in fact, no rest to be had for anyone—instead, we are faced with a Dies Irae,a “day of wrath,” and a Great Judge taking his seat to bring a reckoning to this sinful world. The second section closes with perhaps the most famous section of the Requiem, the Lacrymosa – the “Mourning”, in which the choir groans “Mournful that day / When from the dust shall rise / Guilty man to be judged.” Where is the promised rest amidst all this darkness?
Hope finally breaks through in the Offertorium section; although it begins still in a minor key, the energy builds as the words “Lord Jesus Christ, King of glory / deliver the souls of all the faithful” remind us of the only way to escape the hovering judgment. As the music shifts to a soft E flat major key in the Hostias, we are reminded of our responsibility to pursue Christ, sacrificing our own lives to his glory: “We offer unto Thee this sacrifice / of prayer and praise.”
Prayer and praise: that describes all the remaining lines of the piece. The majestic Sanctus is a cry like that of the seraphim described in Revelation – “holy, holy, holy!” The fifth section, the Benedictus, would seem to tie this piece up in a neat bow as the choir joyfully cries out, “Hosanna in the highest!”
But the piece is not done yet. Instead, we are launched straight back into a slow, chanting portion in a D Minor key that again cries to Christ:“Lamb of God / who takes away the sins of the world / grant them eternal rest.” The piece ends with a recapitulation of the tune from the beginning Kyrie, a stark reminder of the judgment and gravity of death. How does this all fit together? Why, after the glorious reminder of our salvation and our hope for life after death, are we pulled right back to stand face-to-face with judgment?
Because mercy has no glory devoid of justice. It is only when we can remember the darkness of our world and our sins that the light of God’s mercy can shine so brightly. Even though the piece ends in a minor key, with a tune that hearkens back to the beginning strains of judgment, the words at the end are different than anything we have heard before – and that difference is substantial. “Grant the dead eternal rest, O Lord / and may perpetual light shine on them / with Thy saints forever / because Thou are merciful.”
Death does not—and should not—lose its darkness. It is the crown of the Fall, the presence that proves most potently that this world is not the way God intended it to be. But with the light of the cross always in mind, we can recall God’s mercy even at the darkest times and remember that death does not mark the end for those who believe. The musical narrative of Mozart’s Requiem eloquently reminds us of these truths as he leads us from darkness into light, and then back into the shadows—but shadows that we know will one day be dispersed, when Christ returns to wipe away death and “deliver the souls of all the faithful.”
