In a letter to his newly-married sister Alexandra, written in March, 1861, he speaks of an incident which may be regarded as the first step towards his musical career. His father, on his own initiative, had actually proposed that he should devote himself entirely to music.
“At supper they were talking of my musical talent,” writes Peter Ilich, “and father declared it was not yet too late for me to become an artist. If it were only true! But the matter stands thus: that my talent, supposing I really have any, would hardly develop now. They have made me an official, although a poor one; I try as hard as I can to improve and to fulfil my duties more conscientiously, and at the same time I am to be studying thorough-bass!”
Another incident, as ordinary as the one just related, marks the change in Tchaikovsky’s relations with his family, and throws a clearer light upon this revolution in his spiritual life.
After the marriage of our sister Alexandra, the twins, Anatol and myself, then about ten years old, were often very lonely. From three o’clock in the afternoon—when we returned from school—until bedtime, we were left to our own resources. One long and wearisome evening, as we sat on the drawing-room window-sill kicking our heels, Peter came in and found us. From our earliest infancy he inspired us, not so much with love as with respect and adoration. A word from him was like a sacred treasure. He, on the contrary, took no notice of us; we had no existence for him.
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.