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Friday, July 19, 2024

Moved to Tears

by Frances Wilson, Interlude

tearsMusic has the power to tug at the heartstrings, and evoking emotion is the main purpose of music – whether it’s joy or sadness, excitement or meditation. A certain melody or line of a song, a falling phrase, the delayed gratification of a resolved harmony – all these factors make music interesting, exciting, calming, pleasurable and moving.

Tears and chills – or “tingles” – on hearing music are a physiological response which activates the parasympathetic nervous system, as well as the reward-related brain regions of the brain. Studies have shown that around 25% of the population experience this reaction to music. But it’s much more than a pure physiological response. Classical music in particular steers a mysterious path through our senses, triggering unexpected and powerful emotional responses, which sometimes result in tears – and not just tears of sadness.

Tears flow spontaneously in response to a release of tension, perhaps at the end of a particularly engrossing performance. Certain pieces of music can remind us of past events, experiences and people, triggering memories and associated emotions. At other times, we may feel tearfully awestruck in the face of the greatness or sheer beauty of the music.

This last response has a name – Stendhal Syndrome – and while the syndrome is more commonly associated with art, it can be applied equally to the powerful emotional reaction which music provokes.

A psychosomatic disorder, Stendhal Syndrome, or hyperkulturemia, causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, sweating, disorientation, fainting, tears and confusion when someone is looking at artwork (or hearing a piece of music) with which he or she connects emotionally on a profound level. The phenomenon, also called ‘Florence Syndrome’, is named after the French author Marie-Henri Beyle , who wrote under the pen-name of ‘Stendhal’. While visiting the Basilica of Santa Croce in Florence, he became overcome with emotion and noted his reactions:

“I was in a sort of ecstasy, from the idea of being in Florence, close to the great men whose tombs I had seen. Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty … I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations … Everything spoke so vividly to my soul.”

While there is some debate as to whether the syndrome actually exists, there is no doubt that music (and art and literature) can have a very profound effect on our emotional responses.

Certain pieces are well-known tear-jerkers, including:

Mahler: Adagio from Symphony No. 9 in D

Schubert: Winterreise


Personal tragedy portrayed in hauntingly beautiful music.

Elgar: Cello Concerto

Wistful soaring melodies and a sense of hope and anguish, particularly in the final movement, this is Elgar’s tragic masterpiece. 

Allegri: Miserere

Ethereal chords combined with plainchant, the exquisite simplicity and beauty of this music is guaranteed to set the tears flowing. 

Rachmaninoff: Slow movement, Piano Concerto No. 2

Put simply, this is sublimely beautiful music.

Archduke Rudolph of Austria: The Sickly Muse

What does the muse of music look like? In the imagination of countless painters, that essentially abstract concept was depicted by a graceful yet stern and beautiful female figure holding or playing a musical instrument. Reality, however, can be a somewhat sobering experience, and on occasion, the musical muse turned out to be a portly, epileptic and sickly bloke. Such was the case with Rudolph, Archduke of Austria. He was a noble Habsburg by birth, a Cardinal-Archbishop by career and a patron of music by heart. He was brought to Vienna in 1792 when his eldest brother, Archduke Franz, became Emperor. As a child, Rudolph showed an exceptional talent for music and, at 15, was performing as a pianist. He met Ludwig van Beethoven in the winter of 1803/4 and began piano and theory lessons, followed shortly by lessons in composition. Beethoven dedicated 11 of his greatest compositions to Rudolph, including the famous “Archduke” Trio.

Archduke Rudolf

Archduke Rudolf

Under Beethoven’s guidance, Rudolph improved steadily as a pianist, and he premiered the violin sonata Op. 96 of his teacher. A critical observer wrote, “the performance as a whole was good, but we must mention that the piano part was played far better, more in accordance with the spirit of the piece, and with more feeling than that of the violin.”

Archduke Rudolph also has the unique distinction of being Beethoven’s only composition student. In two decades of study, Rudolph produced a sizable and well-crafted body of music for piano, chamber ensemble, and voice. Never venturing beyond traditional forms, genres and the harmonic language of the period, Rudolph nevertheless had a strong lyrical voice. A good many of the Archduke’s autographed manuscripts, currently held at the Gesellschaft der Musikfreunde in Vienna, show corrections, suggestions, and emendations in Beethoven’s hand. 

Sketches for Beethoven's Archduke Trio

Sketches for Beethoven’s Archduke Trio

In 1809, Beethoven was offered a proper job. King Jerome of Westphalia, brother of Napoleon Bonaparte, offered Beethoven the position of Kapellmeister at the court in Kassel. That appointment, with very few obligations attached, was worth about 3,400 florins annually and promised for life. Beethoven had no intention of leaving Vienna, and he now used the Kassel figures to obtain a matching offer from Vienna.

Archduke Rudolph persuaded Prince Lobkowitz and Prince Kinsky to contribute annually for a guaranteed salary of 4,000 florins, and Beethoven remained resident in Vienna for the rest of his life. One way of thanking the Archduke for any financial commitments or other favours was to dedicate music specifically to him. And that was also the case with Baron Heinrich Eduard Josef von Lannoy. A member of one of the oldest families in Belgium, Baron Heinrich spent most of his life in Austria, and he dedicated his clarinet trio to his friend the Archduke Rudolph. 

Baron Heinrich Eduard Josef von Lannoy

Baron Heinrich Eduard Josef von Lannoy

In early 1825, Schubert began to write piano sonatas for the first time, which he intended to publish. He composed six sonatas in the four-movement format pioneered by Beethoven and started to look for a publisher. In the end, Schubert selected three sonatas and originally planned to issue them as a group dedicated to Hummel. However, he eventually changed his mind, and a different Viennese publisher issued each work separately. And the dedication to Hummel—at least in the case of D. 845—was dropped in favour of Archduke Rudolph. The Archduke took a bit of time before accepting the composition, but in the end gave his seal of approval. By that time, Archduke Rudolph had abandoned a career in the army for a much less strenuous one in the church. He died at the early age of 43 and ordered that his heart should be entombed in the cathedral at Olmötz and his body buried in the Imperial vault at St. Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna.

Mozart’s Seven Saddest Pieces of Music

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is known for his light, elegant, joyful music. His preternaturally cheerful mood makes the times when he did write dark music stand out all the more.

Today, we’re looking at seven of Mozart’s saddest pieces of music, ranking them in a totally subjective list, from least sad to most sad.

So join us as we listen to various symphonies, sonatas, and more, and learn a bit about the stories behind each piece.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in 1789

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in 1789


By 1788, a mature Mozart had begun keeping meticulously detailed records of his output. Based on his records, we know that he finished this symphony after a matter of weeks on 25 July 1788.

Although the Fortieth has a reputation for being a tragic symphony, its origins weren’t particularly dramatic: indeed, it was probably written for a concert series at a casino.

Various historians have claimed that Mozart never got to hear the work performed, but later scholarship has disproven this legend. How? Because he rewrote the woodwind parts, suggesting that he’d heard them played…or, at the very least, was revising and anticipating an imminent performance.

Although this symphony could be thought of as sad, better words to describe it might be worried, agitated, or turbulent. Mozart’s most overtly sorrowful compositions appear later on this list, which is why this one doesn’t rank higher. 

Mozart turned seventeen years old in 1773. Amazingly, he had already written twenty-four symphonies, and that October, he wrote his twenty-fifth. (By the way, legend has it that he wrote it within two days of finishing his previous symphony!)

Mozart’s 25th Symphony draws from the Sturm und Drang (“storm and stress”) movement, which was popular in European music at the time. Music in the Sturm und Drang style valued extreme emotions and subjectivity, traits that pushed back against Enlightenment Era priorities like rationalism and detached objectivity.

Mozart embodied the values of the Sturm und Drang style by writing in a minor key and employing rhythmic syncopations.

Like his other G-minor symphony above, the emotional tone here is more furious than sad. 

In the summer of 1778, when Mozart was twenty-two, he and his beloved mother, Anna Maria, were living in Paris. His father, who usually oversaw his prodigy son’s travel and career, was unable to leave Salzburg, so he sent his wife off to accompany Wolfgang instead while he micromanaged what he could via letter.

Wolfgang obeyed orders, taking on a few students, composing, and networking. In June, his mother wrote letters home complaining of tiredness and a sore throat. We don’t know for sure, but it seems likely she didn’t want to pay to see a doctor, as her husband was always complaining about money.

Anna Maria Mozart

Anna Maria Mozart

Unfortunately, whether or not she realized it, her life was in danger, and her health deteriorated quickly. On June 30th, last rites were administered, and on July 3rd, she died. It is still uncertain what she died of, although it’s widely believed to be typhoid fever.

Panicked, Mozart prepared his father by lying to him in a letter, claiming that she was only sick, not dead. When he finally admitted the truth, his father blamed him for what had happened.

It’s not known for sure when Mozart wrote this violin sonata in 1778, but many listeners believe that it was inspired by his feelings surrounding his mother’s sudden shocking death and his father’s hurtful reaction. It is melancholy with tinges of dramatic bitterness. 

We don’t know exactly when Mozart wrote his twelfth piano sonata. He could have written it during visits to Munich or Vienna, or, most intriguingly, during a visit to his hometown of Salzburg, during which he introduced his new wife Constanze to his father…no doubt a nerve-wracking and emotional trip!

Regardless of the sonata’s origins, its second movement is deeply emotional. The opening theme is not particularly sad (it’s more wistful than anything), but as it develops, it grows more and more quietly despairing, traversing between sunlight and shadow in a deeply affecting way. 

Mozart wrote his twenty-third piano concerto two months before the premiere of The Marriage of Figaro, and opera was clearly on his mind. You can hear it in the tragic aria-like melody that he gives to the solo piano.

Interestingly, this is the only piece of music that Mozart ever wrote in F-sharp minor.

It’s interesting to remember when hearing modern performances that Mozart likely improvised details while playing the solo piano part and that this tradition of improvisation has been largely discarded. 

Mozart was twenty-six years old when he wrote his Fantasia in D-minor for solo piano. It’s a short piece: just a hundred measures, split into a few parts and hovering around six minutes. Its unexpected, unpredictable form helps contribute to the feeling of listlessness and sadness.

We don’t know why Mozart wrote this work. We do know that he didn’t actually finish it himself, as it was unfinished upon his death in 1791.

The final ten measures were likely composed by German composer August Eberhard Müller, although others like Mitsuko Uchida have stepped forward with their own endings. 

Mozart’s Requiem contains his saddest music, both for the content of the music and for the tragic story behind its composition.

In 1791, a wealthy count named Franz von Walsegg commissioned Mozart to write a Requiem in honour of his recently deceased wife. (The count also was an amateur musician who, alarmingly, wanted a work to pass off as his own.)

Tragically, Mozart died before the Requiem could be finished. He was only thirty-five years old, and to this day, we don’t know exactly what killed him.

His widow was left with two children to raise. Mozart hadn’t left enough money for her to live on, and she knew that to secure her family’s economic security, she would have to hire a composer to finish the Requiem so that she could collect the commission fee.

Franz Xaver Süssmayr, a composer and Mozart student, took on the monumental task of finishing this masterpiece. We do not know exactly what Süssmayr contributed to the Requiem, but he later claimed he wrote the Sanctus, Benedictus, and Agnus Dei, which appear toward the end.

The saddest movement of the Requiem is likely the Lacrymosa (“Weeping”), which combines sorrow and splendour in equal measure. 

Between the tragic subject matter and the knowledge that it turned out to be his farewell to music, it’s our pick for the saddest music that Mozart ever wrote.

Which work do you think is Mozart’s saddest? Would you re-order our list? Let us know in the comments!