The mere fact that he was in the house, and that we could see him, sufficed to distract our dullness and cheer us up; but great indeed was our astonishment when, instead of passing us by unobserved as usual, he stopped to say: “Are you dull, boys? Would you like to spend the evening with me?” To this day I cannot forget that memorable evening; memorable indeed for us, since it was the beginning of a new existence. The wisest and most experienced of teachers, the dearest and tenderest of mothers, could not have replaced Peter Ilich in our life from that hour; for he was all this, and our friend and comrade besides. All we thought and felt we could tell him without any fear lest it would fail to interest him. His influence upon us was unbounded. We, on our side, became the first care and aim of his life. We three formed, as it were, a family within the family. A year later Peter wrote to his sister:-- “My attachment to these little folk grows from day to day. I am very proud of this feeling, perhaps the best which my heart has known. When I am unhappy I have only to think of them, and my life seems better worth living. I try as far as possible to give them a mother’s love and care....” II In spite of the important conversation at the supper-table, in spite of the spiritual regeneration of Peter Ilich and the change in his relations towards his family, his life remained externally the same. He kept his official berth, and continued to go into society, frequenting dances and theatres. Of all the pleasures he pursued, of all the desires he cherished, only one remained unfulfilled--a tour abroad. But now even this wish was to be satisfied. An old friend of his father’s had to go abroad on business. As he was no linguist, it was necessary to take a companion who would act as interpreter, and he proposed that Peter Ilich should accompany him in this capacity. Accordingly in June, 1861, the former writes to his sister:-- “As you probably have heard already, I am to go abroad. You can imagine my delight.... This journey seems to me at times an alluring, unrealisable dream. I shall not believe in it until I am actually on the steamer. I--in Paris! In Switzerland! It seems ridiculous to think of it!” In July Tchaikovsky started with his friend, but not by steamer. Their first halting-place was Berlin. In those days every Russian considered it his duty to run down this city. To this duty--or rather custom--Peter Ilich contributed his due. After he had visited Kroll’s, and a dancing saloon, and seen Offenbach’s _Orphée aux Enfers_, he writes with youthful _naïveté_: “Now we know our Berlin thoroughly, and have had enough of it!”