done their work,
a succession of fainting fits followed, and it was evident that the
marvellous powers which he had controlled in the past were no longer
under his command. With fast-fleeting strength came the oppressive
thought, haunting him from day to day, that he would not live to
complete the work. 'It is for myself that I am writing this Requiem,'
he said one day to Constanze, whilst his eyes filled with tears.
Vainly she endeavoured to comfort him; he declared that he felt his
end approaching, and, indeed, death--the 'best and truest
friend'--was very near him now, far nearer than they who gathered
about his bed, and sought to cheer him with the news that his freedom
from anxiety was at last to be assured by the combined action of the
nobility in securing to him an annuity--far nearer than they, or other
well-wishers, whose tardy recognition of his claims had come too late,
imagined. He who had 'always hovered between hope and anxiety' was now
hovering between life and death, soon to be released from all earthly
travail.

On the evening of December 4 they brought the score of the Requiem to
him at his request, and, propped up by pillows, he began to sing one
of the passages, in company with three of his friends. They had not
proceeded far, however, before Mozart laid the manuscript aside, and,
bursting into tears, declared that it would never be finished. A few
hours later, at one o'clock in the morning of December 5, 1791, he
passed away in sleep.

The body was removed from the house on the following day,[15] and
taken to St. Stephen's Church, where it received benediction. The
hearse, with the few mourners, then proceeded to St. Mark's
Churchyard, but before the burial-place was reached a terrific storm
of snow and rain burst overhead, and with one accord the followers
turned back, and left the hearse to proceed alone. And thus the master
of whom it was prophesied that he would cause all others to be
forgotten--he whose triumphs had caused him to be acclaimed by
thousands as 'grande Mozart'--was left to be buried by the hands of
strangers in a pauper's grave, without even a stone to mark the spot
where he was laid.

And to this day no one knows exactly which is the resting-place of
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] This manuscript book is preserved in the Mozart Museum at
Salzburg, and beneath several of the pieces may be seen the notes made
by the father at the time. For example, 'Wolfgang le