Spaniards still make me sad.

I just finished watching a documentary on Spanish anarchist Felipe Emilio Sandoval (active during the Spanish Civil War) for tomorrow's class on rebels.

Now I think I'm going to go cry. (Instead, I have to finish Luna de lobos, which was just getting tear-jerking in its own right. Maybe I can cry and finish the book at the same time.)

The story of Sandoval was sad, the war was sad, and listening to it narrated by a guy with a Spanish accent was sad.

It was so sad, I turned off the volume during the credits . . .

. . . only to better hear No. 3 on the other side of the bedroom wall, practicing Granados for her recital. That always makes me want to cry, even aside from civil wars or accents.

Spaniards. We won't even talk about Bécquer.

What makes Spaniards so sad and sadness-inducing?