. . . in every respect a monumental work
However you view Verdi's 1874 Messa da Requiem, it is in every respect a monumental work. Most importantly, the music itself is of such extraordinary emotional breadth and grandeur as to merit the title irrespective of other considerations. But the circumstances of its composition also embody memorials to two of Italy's most influential artistic figures: composer, Gioacchino Rossini and author/poet, Alessandro Manzoni. A third but very significant dimension of this work is the extent to which Verdi saw it as representing everything that was good in Italian music, with its spontaneous melody and bel canto tradition. He feared that this heritage was being eroded by, on the one hand, neglect, and on the other, the rising tide of modernism and reform that emanated from northern Europe.

For Verdi, a patriot, the very embodiment of Italian musical excellence was Gioacchino Rossini, whose death in November 1868 produced an immediate response. At Verdi's suggestion a commemorative performance was planned for the first anniversary of Rossini's death. It was to take the form of a Requiem Mass to which thirteen of Italy's most famous composers would each contribute a movement. Though the work was finished, it was, alas, never performed; petty rivalry and lack of cooperation between the musicians involved saw to that. Despite this setback, Verdi's contribution to the Messa-Rossini, its final Libera me, was to become the seed from which the mighty Messa da Requiem was to grow.

Between 1869 and 1871, Verdi turned to other work, notably Aida, commissioned by the Khedive of Egypt. However, it was clear from his response in 1871 to the encouragement of Alberto Mazzucato, composer and conservatory professor, who decribed the Rossini Libera me as "the most beautiful, the greatest and the most colossally poetic piece that anyone could imagine." that he had already begun to envisage the Messa da Requiem.

Your words almost kindled in me the desire. . . to write an entire Mass all the more since with a little greater expansion I would find that the 'Requiem' and the 'Dies irae' movements would be already finished, for they are reprised in the 'Libera,' already composed.

No serious attempt was made to bring this dream to fruition, however, until at least April 1873. By this time, thoroughly disillusioned with the reformist trend, and in the wake of the controversy that surrounded Aida (in which he found himself pilloried by Italian critics for Wagnerismo and over-complexity, the very things he despised so much) it seemed that he would never write opera again. Possibly at his own request, he was sent the score of his Libera me by his publishers, and shortly afterwards he began work.

The exact timetable of events is not absolutely clear, but, about a month after receiving the score, came the news of Alessandro Manzoni's death, an event that deeply affected Verdi. In an Italy struggling for unity and independence, Manzoni held iconic status as the people's poet; his loss was deeply mourned by the nation and Verdi was no exception. With customary fervidness, he embarked on the Requiem's completion with a will, informing his publishers that it should honour Manzoni and that it would be first heard in public one year after Manzoni's death. This was indeed the case: the work received its first performance on 22 May 1874 in the Church of San Marco in Milan. The response was tumultuous and it has been a staple of the choral repertory ever since.

Despite its 'modern' orchestration, Messa da Requiem remains faithful to its origins and provides a model par excellence of Italian lyricism rooted in vocal tradition. Referring to the question 'which is Verdi's supreme masterpiece?' Julian Budden rephrases the question as, 'which work shows his genius at its most concentrated?' He replies unequivocally:

. . . the answer must surely be the Requiem. Into it he poured all the purely musical resources that he had developed in the course of twenty six operas, and which he could here exploit to the full . . .

If the Messa da Requiem is more than it seems, and mourns more than the passing of two influential and patriotic Italians artists, if indeed it represents the death knell of the Italian operatic heritage, what better way could it have been achieved than by leaving posterity with such a near-perfect exemplar?

Requiem aeternam - Ted decet - Kyrie
The intimate opening antiphon Requiem aeternam begins barely audibly with a descending cello figure and faltering choral entries sotto voce convey a sense of awe and trepidation, while the accompanying string figures introduce important thematic material and simultaneously convey a mixture of sadness and longing. A hint of greater confidence imbues the words of the psalmist which intervene briefly in the imitative a cappella counterpoint of Te decet hymnus before the Requiem aeternam returns. The Kyrie eleison heralds an entirely different mood, its pleading more vehement and assured as the soloists enter in turn, and the mood of intimacy is replaced by music of a much larger scale.

Dies Irae
The terrifying Dies Irae explodes onto the scene with dramatic orchestral hammer-blows and frenetic chromatic choral outbursts, depicting the Day of Judgement. Panic gives way to the ominous hushed warning of impending judgement with Quantus tremor est futurus and the wondrous trumpet soundscape of the poem is graphically depicted in a tremendous brass and choral crescendo Tuba mirum spargens sonum. A sudden silence followed by the perfunctory accompaniment of lower strings and the dull thud of a drum give just the right sinister effect to the bass soloist's hesitant Mors stupebit. Reminders of the Last Day and the Final Trumpet are never far away in the orchestral accompaniment of the soprano soloist's Liber scriptus despite its overt grandeur, and the choir's repeated murmurings of Dies irae, dies illa eventually erupt into a restatement of the original fearsome ritornello. A less austere, even consoling atmosphere pervades the lovely trio Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?, but this quickly evaporates when Rex tremendae majestatis appears in a show of choral and orchestral strength. As if to retrieve the message of consolation, however, the soloists make their pleas of salva me, fons pietatis. At the outset, they are frequently overwhelmed by the powerful interjections of the chorus, but their perseverance is finally rewarded and they have the last word as the choir joins with the soloists and make their pleas together. This greater confidence is evident in the gently swaying duet for soprano and mezzo Recordare reinforced by lush orchestration of strings woodwind and horns. The dotted rhythm of the upper woodwind is the only remaining hint of the Salva me of the previous movement. The tortured demeanour of the tenor solo Ingemisco readily gives way to a more assured melodic style at the words Qui Mariam absolvisti and the pastoral interplay between soloist and oboe of Inter oves locum praesta has an almost relaxed feel about it. Not so the powerful Confutatis maledictis in which the bass soloist repeatedly adopts first a judgmental posture in forceful angular music and then identifies himself with the judged in a softer more pleading fashion. His final note is interrupted by a further sudden outburst of the Dies Irae ritornello which eventually dies away into the introduction to the Lacrymosa. The final section is a simple but sombre melody in the minor mode, but treated with progressively greater complexity as soloists choir and orchestra add to the texture. It reaches a climax with a high B flat for the soprano but, confounding our expectations, the soloists introduce a new hymn-like melody in a major key sung dolcissimo, which adds a new optimistic dimension, altering our perceptions of the first tune when it returns as the basis of a final extended coda.

Offertorio - Domine Jesu Christe
The next movement, the Offertory-Quartet Domine Jesu - again particularly redolent of Verdi's French style, a suave but broad, highly inflected and nuanced style that he had been absorbing and making his own in the 1860s - may readily be perceived as a five-part arch structure, ABCBA. Its outer sections are concerned with elaborating and decorating the gently rocking melody first heard in the cellos as an underpinning for the opening lines of text. The more vigorous second and fourth sections, Quam olim Abrahae, provide something resembling a dramatic stretta complement to the opening. The glowing centerpiece of the arch is the still, nearly motionless and smoothly undular Hostias, introduced by the tenor with a melody that recalls portions of his earlier Ingemisco in the Dies irae.

Sanctus
A blazing fanfare of trumpets and voices ushers in the buoyant dance-like counterpoint of the Sanctus. Its double fugue for double chorus, described elsewhere as a dance of the Sons of the Morning, sets the entire text of Sanctus and Benedictus in an unstoppable expression of joy. Only at the final Pleni sunt coeli does the spritely counterpoint briefly gives way to a delicious swaying melody, accompanied by the moto perpetuo of the orchestra, but it quickly resumes its energetic course to the close in an extravagant blaze of brass at the final Hosanna in excelsis.

Agnus Dei
The lovely melody, the only theme of the Agnus Dei, is first sung unaccompanied in the major by soprano and mezzo, an octave apart, with arresting effect. It is then passed back and forth in a number of variations between the choir and soloists, each time accompanied in a new way by the orchestra. Poignant changes between major and minor forms of the tune seem to convey a feeling of uncertainty until it is finally resolved in the major.

Lux Aeterna
The shifting harmony of the mezzo-soprano's long opening phrase in Lux aeterna, accompanied by tremolo shimmers in the subdivided violins conveys a peace tinged with insecurity. With the entry of the bass, at Requiem aeternam the music becomes typically funereal - with its slow pace, minor key, dotted rhythm and ominous dark orchestration. This bass-led Requiem aeternam music appears twice, each time evoking first repetition, then a florid, more hopeful response et lux perpetua luceat eis from the mezzo and tenor soloists. The second of these continuations is expanded at length, more operatically, than the first achieving a beautiful resolution, at peace, in the key of B flat.

Libera me
The final Libera me, a reworking of the 1869 original planned for the Messa-Rossini, serves as both a dramatic conclusion to and an effective summary of the entire Requiem. The soprano's chromatic presentation of tremens factus sum ego et timeo, for instance, recalls moments of the earlier Quam olim Abrahae from the second movement. Portions of the spectacular Dies irae ritomello and the initial, comforting Requiem aetemam follow (the latter now symbolically transposed up a semitone and expanded beautifully, with the soprano soloist - in the role, one supposes, of good angel- leading the chorus throughout this ascent. And the concluding fugue, Libera me, Domine clearly alludes to the theme and textures of the earlier imitative Sanctus. Its opening notes are essentially those of the Sanctus played upside down and given a differing continuation. After several impressive moments the fugue winds down to the moving, declamatory, low C supplication by the soprano, Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna, in die illa tremenda, accompanied morendo by the chorus.