Alright, I'll admit it. That might be a bit of an exaggeration. What you're about to read may not be the greatest mysteries in the history of music, but they are all remarkable in their own right. You’ll not only find out who commissioned Mozart for his final work, a Requiem, or what the "Enigma Variations" are, but also how Tchaikovsky composed a farewell letter and why Mahler was afraid to write his 9th Symphony.
No. 1 Mozarts Requiem
Wolfgang Amadé Mozart, as he called himself, is surrounded by many myths. His rivalry with Antonio Salieri, in particular, has found its way into pop culture.
For example, their relationship is even used as a quick joke in the comedy series "Brooklyn 99" (Click here to see a compilation of the bit, although the comment about Salieri is quite close to the end, about 3:20). But above all, the film "Amadeus" addresses their complicated rivalry, even if it is not historically accurate. In the film, Salieri, dressed in a black cloak and mask as a symbol of death, delivers a commission to the composer's door; Mozart is to write a Requiem. Translated, this metaphor means: "Your final hour is near, and I will see to it. Prepare yourself."
In reality, too, Mozart received an anonymous commission for a Requiem shortly before his untimely death. However, he died before he could complete the piece known as "Lacrimosa." He himself believed that he had been poisoned by Salieri, which further fueled these suspicions. According to the narrative, the 6-year-older Italian felt threatened by the Viennese genius in his position as the Imperial Court Composer of Vienna. Thus, the tale arose that Mozart was poisoned by his jealous rival, Salieri.
However, there are also reasons to doubt this story. For one, it is historically documented that their relationship was more collegial and friendly. Salieri often preferred to have Mozart's works performed instead of his own. It is also said that Salieri was enthusiastic about Mozart's "The Magic Flute". Mozart wrote to his wife Constanze: "He [Salieri] listened and watched with full attention, and from the symphony to the final chorus, there was not a piece that did not elicit a 'bravo' or 'bello' from him [...]".
In 2015, a composition was even found that suggests the two collaborated. The anonymous commission for the Requiem can also be traced back today.
Count Franz von Walsegg, an amateur composer, wanted to present Mozart's composition at the memorial service for his deceased wife as his own work. The Mozarts received half of the payment in advance. After the musician's death, his wife Constanze feared that she would not receive the second half of the fee. This concern was justified, as Mozart had left behind a considerable amount of debt. Therefore, she hired Franz Xaver Süssmayr, a student of Mozart's, to complete her husband's composition. There are theories that he, in turn, received help from other composers. Whoever completed "Lacrimosa," the Requiem in D minor (K.626) is one of Mozart's most haunting pieces, and it continues to be used in dramatic film scenes to this day, such as in *The Lion King*, *X-Men 2*, or *The Big Lebowski*.
As Beethoven is said to have once remarked:
"If Mozart didn't write the music, then the man who wrote it was a Mozart."
No. 2 The „Enigma Variations“
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Today, one would probably call Edward Elgar a nerd. The British composer loved puzzles and codes more than anything. Not only did he write encrypted letters to a friend, but he also expressed this passion in his music. Thanks to the hidden code in one of his orchestral works, the "Variations on an Original Theme", better known as the "Enigma Variations", became his most mysterious piece. So, what is special about this piece?
First of all, all 14 variations are inspired by the personalities of his acquaintances and friends.
For example, he dedicated the first variation to his wife, Caroline Alice Elgar. He said that the melody he composed was the one he used to hum whenever he came home. The 11th variation is a tribute to Dr. George Robertson Sinclair, whom Elgar once saw tumble into a river with his bulldog. Elgar even encrypted the names of the compositions; they are the initials of the person each variation was inspired by. Thus, the first variation is called "CAL", the eleventh "GRS". The fourteenth and final variation represents Elgar himself.
But that’s far from all. What makes this composition truly interesting is the hidden theme that is said to lie behind it. According to Elgar, alongside the actual, audible theme of the work, there is another, larger theme that remains hidden and unheard. The audible theme is supposed to be the "counterpoint" to the inaudible one—at least, that's what Elgar claimed. Additionally, he set out six conditions regarding the hidden theme, the so-called Enigma.
The Enigma...
- ...is the counterpoint to the audible theme.
- ...is never directly played, so it cannot be heard.
- ...is a famous melody.
- ...is partially present in all the variations.
- ...can be played over all variations and the audible theme.
- ...consists of 19 measures.
There are various theories about which well-known melody Elgar might have hidden in his "Enigma Variations" Guesses range from "God Save the Queen" (after all, Elgar was British) to Mozart’s "Prague Symphony" and even Beethoven’s "Pathétique".
The latter theory, in particular, has found support from the Dutch lexicographer Hans Westgeest, who claims to have discovered evidence for it.
This clue is found in the 9th variation, dedicated to August Jaeger. Jaeger had encouraged Elgar when he was about to give up his career as a musician, reminding him of Beethoven, who, despite his worries, continued to write ever more beautiful music. In response, Elgar hinted at the theme of the second movement of Beethoven’s "Pathétique Sonata". He later confided to his close friend Dora Penny, to whom he dedicated Variation No. 10, that the opening bars of the 9th variation contain a reference to the hidden theme.
"Can't you hear it at the beginning? Just a hint, not a quote."
According to Westgeest, the actual, audible theme consists of only 9 notes. These notes are said to be derived from the rhythmic pattern of Edward Elgar’s name (short-short-long-long) and its inversion (long-long-short-short). The ninth note is final.
From this results a counter-melody that resembles the second movement of Beethoven’s Pathétique. The opening notes of this piece align with the audible theme. For example, if the first note played in Beethoven’s sonata is a G, this note can also be heard a beat later in Elgar’s actual theme. When both themes are played simultaneously, the second note is an F in the sonata, followed by an F a measure later in Elgar’s theme, and so on.
Since Jaeger had advised the composer to “do it like Beethoven,” this could be a reference to that advice. Musically, the audible theme imitates the Enigma theme. The work, which in a way saved Elgar’s musical career, thus takes on a special place as “the solution to the riddle,” just as it served as a solution to Elgar’s sorrow. A brilliant tribute—if the theory holds true.
No. 3 Tschaikowskys farewell letter
"Swan Lake," "Sleeping Beauty," "The Nutcracker": Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky set a milestone for ballet—and became a Russian icon in the process. He passed away just nine days after conducting the premiere of his 6th Symphony, "Pathétique" (yes, the same name as mentioned earlier). There was no indication of his impending death; his brother described his behavior as completely normal—cheerful and content among friends, nervous in the company of strangers. Nevertheless, in 1979, Alexandra Orlova put forth the theory that he knew of his imminent death and expressed his feelings in the fourth movement of his last symphony.
Indeed, the final part of this composition sounds unusual—symphonies typically end triumphantly, euphorically, and spectacularly. This is exactly how the end of the 3rd movement sounds. For this reason, during the first few performances, the audience prematurely applauded at the end of this movement until it became widely known among classical music enthusiasts that there was an unconventional fourth movement. The end of this movement, in turn, sounds depressive, melancholic, as if Tchaikovsky were reflecting on his life in a bittersweet manner. When, during his lifetime, he was asked by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, a fellow composer best known for his "Flight of the Bumblebee," about the reason for this, Tchaikovsky allegedly replied simply:
It'll remain a mystery to everyone. Let them guess."
To give you some context: It is well known that Tchaikovsky was very fond of men. Unfortunately, in the still very conservative Russia, this caused a lot of gossip. Therefore, he hastily married Antonina Ivanovna Milyukova. However, the marriage lasted less than a year. Even before he sought to discreetly and quickly harm himself in April 1878, they were living separately. Without an "alibi," the rumors about Tchaikovsky grew louder.
According to Orlova's theory, Tchaikovsky was allegedly forced to poison himself to avoid a sensational trial like Oscar Wilde's; one must consider that Tchaikovsky was an important figure in the Russian public eye. Officially, he had drunk untreated tap water and subsequently fell ill with cholera. What is suspicious, however, is that according to hygiene regulations, guests at the funeral should have had to settle for a closed coffin. At Tchaikovsky's burial, however, friends and family were given the opportunity to bid farewell to the deceased in an open coffin and, according to Russian tradition, kiss him on the lips one last time.
Additionally, a staff member of the British National Poison Unit found similar symptoms of arsenic poisoning.
But there are also arguments that stand against the theory, which I do not want to keep to myself. The friends who kissed Tchaikovsky were said to have been drunk, the coffin was closed the same evening, and the symptoms of arsenic poisoning resemble those of a cholera infection. So, it is also a matter of belief whether Tchaikovsky poured out his heart musically in the Pathetique Symphony before taking his own life, or whether one of the most famous and at the time controversial Russian composers left us by mere chance. Tchaikovsky himself said of his work that he had "put his whole soul into this symphony."
No. 4 Sibelius's Missing Symphony
Jean Sibelius said this in the summer of 1933 to a journalist about his 8th Symphony, announcing that he would soon complete it. After all, the Finnish composer of international renown had already been working on his last major work for a good six years. According to his own accounts, he had composed the first two movements as early as 1928. He told his wife Aino about his wonderful "symphony in progress." He also expressed to his sister: "I am writing a new work that will be sent to America. It still needs time, but it will be good."
“This will be the reckoning of my entire existence – eighty-six years. It will probably be my last. Eight symphonies and a hundred songs. It has to be enough.”
However, he never completed the eighth symphony before his death. Although he lived for another twenty-seven years, until he succumbed to a brain hemorrhage following a stroke on September 20, 1957, it apparently wasn’t enough time to finish his Eighth. Apart from this symphony, his artistic output came to an end around 1930. In August of that year, he promised Sergei Koussevitzky, the music director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the premiere of his Eighth Symphony in the spring of 1931. However, when 1931 arrived and the buds began to sprout, he canceled the event. A year later, Koussevitzky planned a concert featuring all of Sibelius’s symphonies – including the Eighth. When Sibelius heard about this, he immediately vetoed it: “I am very disturbed about this. Please do not announce the concert.”
While Sibelius continued to placate the music director, sleepless nights and self-doubt plagued him. His miserable mood culminated in the destruction of some of his works. The extent of this purging remains unknown to this day. Together with his wife, he burned many manuscripts and compositions, which initially disappointed Aino. However, after the ideas were left to the flames, Sibelius’s attitude noticeably changed. He became calmer and more optimistic again. His daughter assessed the situation as follows: “He wanted it [the 8th Symphony] to be better than the previous ones. It ultimately became a burden for him, even though he had already written a lot. In the end, I wasn’t sure if he accepted what he wrote.”
Sibelius himself also recognized his pettiness:
“I have finished my 8th Symphony several times. But I am still not satisfied with it.”
In the 1990s, all of his works, manuscripts, and notebooks were finally cataloged. Experts came across some fragments that may be attributed to the 8th Symphony. Although they only amount to 3 minutes of playing time when compressed, these historical remnants were recorded by the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra in 2011 (video above) – if indeed they belonged to the eighth symphony.
There is a catch to this story: the Sibelius biographer Andrew Barrett believes that the composer was paralyzed by growing self-doubt and perfectionism and ceased to compose altogether. In such speculations, Sibelius's statement that the symphony was in his head is often referenced – something that could not be verified and serves as a perfect alibi for the 15 years of (self?) deception. The historian Mark McKenna aptly described the situation: “To admit that he had completely stopped composing would mean admitting the unthinkable: that he was no longer a composer.
No. 5 Curse of the 9th
As just read, Sibelius struggled with his 8th Symphony, while many of his colleagues feared composing their 9th Symphony. Although Mozart and Haydn wrote significantly more, 41 and 107, to be exact, after Beethoven completed his 9th Symphony and then passed away, a sort of curse seemed to have been unleashed. Several well-known composers died while working on their Ninth: Franz Schubert in the midst of his 10th, Anton Bruckner before he finished his 9th, and Antonín Dvořák, Spohr, Glazunov. The list continues with Kurt Atterberg, David Maslanka, Vincent Persichetti, Alfred Schnittke, Roger Sessions, Ralph Vaughan Williams, and Elie Siegmeister.
A pattern slowly began to emerge, which the affected composers also recognized. For example, Gustav Mahler was afraid to present his Ninth and never referred to it as such. He was the one who largely popularized the theory of the “Curse of the 9.” He titled his composition “Das Lied von der Erde” (The Song of the Earth) and published it as a song cycle. Structurally, it was still a symphony – his Ninth. When Mahler subsequently felt well, he was relieved and began composing his 10th Symphony. However, the “curse” caught up with him as well.
Philip Glass was smarter about it and wrote his 10th Symphony before the premiere of his Ninth.
Arnold Schönberg commented on this:
Today, this theory receives less attention, as some composers have “survived the curse.” Psychologists also point out that the fear of the “curse” can subconsciously lead to one's own demise. If I were a composer, however, I would also get the colloquial “butterflies” when it comes to my ninth symphony.
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