satisfied.

Mozart came back to Vienna in September; and after the completion of the
"Magic Flute," and its first performance, Nov. 30, 1791, he devoted
himself assiduously to the "Requiem," though it served only to increase
his gloom. One day he remarked to his wife: "I well know that I am
writing this requiem for myself. My own feelings tell me that I shall not
last long. No doubt some one has given me poison; I cannot get rid of the
thought." It is now known that this suspicion was only the result of his
morbid thoughts; but when it was publicly uttered, most unjust
accusations were made against his rival, Salieri, embittering the old
composer's life until its close. As the work progressed, his gloom
increased. "The day before his death," Nohl says, "he desired the score
to be brought to him in bed, and he sang his part, taking the alto voice.
Benedict Shack took the soprano, his brother-in-law, Hofer, the tenor,
and Gerl the bass. They had got through the various parts to the first
bars of the 'Lacrymosa,' when Mozart suddenly burst into tears and laid
aside the score." His sister-in-law has left an account of his last
moments. She writes:

"As I approached his bed, he called to me: 'It is well you are here;
you must stay to-night and see me die.' I tried as far as I was able to
banish this impression; but he replied: 'The taste of death is already
on my tongue, I taste death; and who will be near to support my
Constance if you go away?' Suessmayer [his favorite pupil] was standing
by the bedside, and on the counterpane lay the 'Requiem,' concerning
which Mozart was still speaking and giving directions. He now called
his wife and made her promise to keep his death secret for a time from
every one but Albrechtsberger, that he might thus have an advantage
over other candidates for the vacant office of capellmeister to St.
Stephen's. His desire in this respect was gratified, for
Albrechtsberger received the appointment. As he looked over the pages
of the 'Requiem' for the last time, he said, with tears in his eyes:
'Did I not tell you I was writing this for myself?'"

Mozart's widow, after his death, fearing that she might have to refund
the money advanced for the work, induced Suessmayer, who was thoroughly
familiar with Mozart's ideas, to complete it. He did so, and the copy was
delivered to Count von Walsegg, who did not hesitate to publish it as his
own. Suessmayer, however, had kept a