ss and variety of tone, has enlarged the
means of musical expression. This is especially shown in the
characteristic use he makes of the orchestra in its lower ranges. As
Brahms, for depth of thought, was compared with Browning, so
Tchaikowsky may well be likened to such poets as Shelley and
Swinburne, so exquisite is his instinct for tonal beauty and for
delicacy of shading. At times, to be sure, he fairly riots in gorgeous
colors--this being the result of his Slavic blood--but few composers
have been able to achieve such brilliancy without becoming vulgar.

As to the charge of pessimism often made against Tchaikowsky, he was a
thinker, an explorer into the mysteries of human aspiration and
disappointment,[307] and his music seems weighted down with the riddle
of the universe. This introspective dejection, however, is a natural
result of his temperament and his nationality. If to us of a more
hopeful outlook upon life it seems morbid, we should simply remember
that our conditions have been different. A distinction must likewise
be made between the expression of such feelings in art and their
influence in actual life. As a man Tchaikowsky was practical,
conscientious, and did not in the least allow his feelings to
emasculate him. He was a prodigious worker and throughout his career,
in the face of ill health and many adverse circumstances, showed
immense courage. His creed was no ignoble one--"To regret the past, to
hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present; this
is my life." And to a gushing patroness of art who asked him what were
his ideals, his simple reply was "My ideal is to become a good
composer." Certain English critics in their fault-finding have been
particularly boresome, because, forsooth, Tchaikowsky's music does not
show the serenity of Brahms or the solidity or stolidity of their own
composers. To the well-fed and prosperous Briton "God's in his Heaven,
all's right with the world" is hardly an expression of faith, but a
certainty of existence. Not so with the Russian, upon whom the
oppression of centuries has left its stamp. This same note of gloomy
or even morbid introspection is found in some of the great literature
of the world--in the Bible, the Greek Tragedies and in Shakespeare.
Granted that optimism is the only working creed for every-day life,
until the millenium arrives a sincere and artistic expression of the
sorrows of humanity will always strike a note in oppressed souls.