, dressed from head to foot in grey,' who
refused to divulge his name, but stated that his business was to
commission Mozart to compose a Requiem for a personage whose identity
must likewise remain concealed.[14] After a brief colloquy the terms
were arranged, and the mysterious stranger rose to take his leave. As
he did so he looked fixedly at Mozart, and said warningly: 'Make no
effort to discover the identity either of myself or your patron; it
will be in vain.'

Though somewhat disconcerted by the stranger's mysterious injunction,
Mozart felt all his love for Church music reawakened by the new
commission, and he set to work upon the Requiem without delay. His
labours on this composition, as well as on the magic opera, however,
were interrupted by a pressing request from the Estates of Bohemia
that he would compose an opera for the coronation of Leopold II. at
Prague. As the ceremony was fixed for September 6 no time was to be
lost, and, banishing every other thought from his mind, Mozart
prepared to set out at once for Prague. The travelling carriage was at
the door, and he was about to step into it when the mysterious
stranger suddenly appeared, and inquired after the Requiem. Startled
by the suddenness of the man's appearance, and at a loss to explain
his remissness, Mozart could only promise to fulfil the commission on
his return, and, hastily entering his carriage, he drove away.

The strain involved by his arduous labours at Prague was increased by
the indifference with which his opera, 'La Clemenza di Tito,' was
received, and Mozart returned to Vienna with spirits depressed, and
mind and body exhausted by overwork. Nevertheless, he braced himself
anew, and on September 30 the new opera, 'Die Zauberfloete' (the Magic
Flute) was produced. Though somewhat coldly received at first, the
work increased in popularity at each subsequent representation, until
its success was everything that could be desired. A friend who had a
place in the orchestra on the first performance relates that he was so
enchanted with the overture that he crept up to the chair in which
Mozart sat conducting, and, seizing the composer's hand, pressed it to
his lips. Mozart glanced kindly at him, and, extending his right hand,
gently stroked his cheek.

The Requiem was still far from finished, and to this work Mozart now
turned his attention. But it was too late; the strain and excitement
which he had undergone during the past few months had