Born on October 9 or 10, 1813, near Busseto, Italy; Died on January 27, 1901, in Milan, Italy.
Messa da requiem
Requiem and Kyrie
Sequence (Dies Irae)
Offertorio (Domine Jesu)
Sanctus
Agnus Dei
Lux aeterna
Libera me
Composed: 1873-74; “Libera Me” was composed in 1869
Estimated length: 90 minutes
By the end of 1871, in the wake of the spectacular success of his opera Aida, set in ancient Egypt, Giuseppe Verdi felt ready to step back from the stage. Nearing 60, he had achieved wealth, fame, and the status of Italy’s most celebrated composer. He spoke openly of retirement, longing for the peace and seclusion of his country estate. But two years later, the death of novelist, poet, and patriot Alessandro Manzoni stirred something deep within him—a need to respond through music, and perhaps to confront his own sense of mortality.
Manzoni had been a hero to Verdi ever since his youth, when he devoured the writer’s groundbreaking historical novel I promessi sposi (The Betrothed). First published in 1827, it became a touchstone of modern Italian literature. As Italy fought to become a unified nation, Manzoni was revered as a symbol of national identity—of Italian culture and ideals—much as Verdi’s own music had been. For the composer, Manzoni was nothing less than a secular saint.
To honor Manzoni’s memory, Verdi turned to the Roman Catholic Mass for the dead—the Requiem—and worked quickly so it could be performed on the first anniversary of the writer’s passing. The premiere took place in May 1874 at Milan’s Church of San Marco, where Manzoni’s funeral had been held, with Verdi himself conducting.
Verdi first conceived the idea of a commemorative Requiem in 1868, after the death of his older contemporary Gioachino Rossini. At that time, he proposed a collaborative memorial Mass with separate movements by leading Italian composers. That project fell apart, but Verdi salvaged his own contribution—the final “Libera me”—and reshaped it to close the new Requiem.
Although Verdi rejected many of the church’s traditions, he felt moved to respond to the ritual of the Mass with music of soul-stirring depth. The result is unlike anything else in his career. With his distinctive dramatic voice, Verdi breathed new life into the traditional forms of sacred music.
Some early listeners were unsettled by this intensity. Without even attending the premiere, conductor Hans von Bülow dismissed the piece as “an opera in church guise”—a comment he later retracted as he came to realize the value of this music.
While Verdi’s operatic instincts are unmistakable, the Requiem ventures far beyond the theater. Here, the soloists are not characters in a plot but archetypes of human experience. The chorus becomes the collective voice of a community, while the orchestra creates a vivid soundscape, setting the stage for moments of terror and wonder, but also transcendence. Throughout the score, Verdi weaves in echoes of his earlier operas, giving the Requiem the sense of a summation—a final testament that gathers the threads of his dramatic life into a single, profound statement.
The choral opening of the “Introit” (the Latin for “entrance”) signals this different world at once with a plea for eternal rest and perpetual light for the departed. Its hushed, almost imperceptible sound grows out of silence, with melodies slowly emerging and taking shape. In the “Kyrie,” the four soloists enter, adding warmth and individuality to the texture as they join the chorus to invoke mercy.
At the heart of the Requiem is the monumental “Dies Irae” (Latin for “Day of Wrath”), which sets a long, rhyming medieval Latin poem depicting the Last Judgment, when souls are called to account before God. Dating back to at least the 13th century, it became one of the most readily recognizable texts in the Catholic liturgy.
Traditionally, the “Dies Irae” is known as a “sequence”—a special type of chant inserted between the readings of the Mass. It has long been a central part of the Mass for the Dead, beginning as plainchant and inspiring countless later settings by composers across the centuries, though not every Requiem includes it—as some composers chose different texts or structures for their settings.
In Verdi’s treatment, the “Dies Irae” sequence lasts nearly 40 minutes—almost half the length of the Requiem itself. The terrifying opening, punctuated by thunderous strokes of the bass drum, has become the work’s sonic signature. But this storm is only one part of a wide emotional spectrum. Throughout the sequence, the musical mood shifts constantly: moments of fear give way to passages of tender hope, then back to overwhelming despair. Perspectives also change, as the singers alternate between witnesses, mourners, and voices of judgment.
Verdi’s gift for contrast drives the piece forward. After the first explosion of the “Dies Irae,” a battery of trumpets positioned offstage announces the “Tuba mirum.” Their fanfares generate a sense of awe and spatial drama. The solo bass follows with a stark meditation on mortality, his line faltering on the word mors (“death”).
Verdi moves through a remarkable variety of textures and colors: solo arias, duets, trios, quartets, and passages of unaccompanied singing such as the ethereal “Pie Jesu.” The orchestra paints these moments with striking detail: the mournful bassoon in “Quid sum miser,” the cello’s lullaby in “Recordare.” The storm of the opening returns at several key points—like a Fate motif—shadowing the end of the sequence and hinting at the ambiguity of the Requiem’s final pages.
The “Offertorio”—the section where the bread and wine are presented before the Eucharistic prayer—unfolds with radiant lyricism, culminating in the “Hostias,” a prayer of offering on behalf of the departed. Here, Verdi blends elements of church tradition, such as simple, chant-like melodies and intricate counterpoint, with the emotional richness of his operatic voice.
The “Sanctus” bursts in with exuberance as a double chorus drives forward with a joyful fugue, each line cascading into the next in a dazzling display of energy. The haunting “Agnus Dei” poses a stark contrast and is built from the simplest material: a chant-like melody sung by soprano and mezzo in octaves, answered by the chorus in changing textures. The second-to-last movement, “Lux aeterna,” evokes the pace of a funeral march as well as a vision of transcendence, pointing toward the Requiem’s climactic finale.
The dramatic return of the solo soprano at the start of the “Libera me”—after her absence from the “Lux aeterna”—signals the final stage of this journey. Verdi divides the finale into contrasting sections. The soprano’s opening phrases tremble with fear before a brief eruption recalls the “Dies Irae,” and then the music subsides into a quiet prayer. The opening music of the Requiem returns, now reimagined for soprano and unaccompanied chorus.
In the final moments, Verdi gathers all the musical threads one last time, building to a powerful climax. But instead of delivering a clear, triumphant ending, the music slowly fades, the voices narrowing to a single repeated note. The closing chord feels both final and uncertain, leaving listeners suspended between terror and hope.
WHAT TO LISTEN FOR
The Requiem’s journey begins in a hushed whisper, its opening measures unfolding like a distant breath before erupting into the terrifying “Dies irae.”Along with his irresistible lyricism, Verdi’s ear for color and telling detail is striking: listen for the plaintive bassoon in “Quid sum miser,” the tender cello in “Recordare,” the unaccompanied voices of the “Pie Jesu.”
Contrast shapes the arc of the later movements as well: the exuberant double chorus of the “Sanctus,” the stark simplicity of the chant-like “Agnus Dei,” and, in the final “Libera me,” the soprano’s desperate cries followed by a hushed, questioning close. As the music dissolves back into silence, we are left to sit with the powerful emotions and unanswered questions Verdi has stirred.
In addition to solo soprano, mezzo-soprano, tenor, and bass and double chorus, scored for 3 flutes (3rd doubling piccolo), 2 oboes, 2 clarinets, 4 bassoons, 4 horns, 8 trumpets (including offstage), 3 trombones, tuba, timpani, bass drum and strings.
− Thomas May is the Nashville Symphony's program annotator.
Featured on Verdi's Requiem with the Nashville Symphony & Chorus — November 6 to 8, 2025.
Nashville Symphony
José Luis Gomez, conductor
Tucker Biddlecombe, chorus director
Katie Van Kooten, soprano
Kelley O’Connor, mezzo-soprano
Rodrick Dixon, tenor
Chris Humbert, bass
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