Most famous, kind of despaired spiritual testament, indeed more: a suffered confession imbued with biographism and drunk with exasperated pathos (from where the epithet with which he entered de jure in history), the Sixth Symphony by Tchaikovsky saw the light in that inauspicious 1893 which marked the unaccidental death of the Russian musician, at the end of a life tormented by a forcefully repressed homosexuality. He conducted it himself in his Saint Petersburg on the 28^th October, nine days before stepping in (more or less) willingly to his end. If the gloomy Adagio of the opening having a leaden atmosphere already foretells the climate of the whole score, this is how the Allegro moves from a slender bud to take off then with that harrowing and lyrical theme which would have by itself guaranteed immortal fame to the author. Vigorous pen strokes, like blustering waves, thicken upon each other with an entwining and tragic emphasis in the wide development, projected by a piercing crash, down below up to the effective pleading during which the persuasive theme resounds for a long time, peaking in a kind of restrained choral. Among the melodic shores of the second part, nearly a tender Valse caressante in the unusual and lame meter of 5/4, one admires the nostalgia affectively participating in a rather set past, a true distillation of bygone times. Then, in the sturdy Scherzo consisting of erupting dazzles and the solemn gait of a march mindful of certain steps of the Nutcracker, an energetic sprightliness prevails, having an apparent solar matrix, optimistic and joyful, like a self-imposed serenity at full force. Yet all this involves an illusory optimism: this is revealed by the wailing Adagio positioned to seal the whole symphonic set-up, intended to reach an aggravated emotional climax, before collapsing, closing itself solipsistically on itself in the deaf mists of the final measures. An extreme, heartrending appeal to humanity, which could have only followed an absolute silence: of artist and soul alike.