No More Learning

Was it so long ago that we--"

At last my father threw the _Almanack_ away from him on the sofa, and
remained deep in a brown study, which never betokened anything good.

"Avdotia Vassilieva,"[6] said he, sharply addressing my mother, "how
old is Petrousha? "[7]

"His seventeenth year has just begun," replied my mother. "Petrousha was
born the same year our Aunt Anastasia Garasimofna[8] lost an eye, and
that--"

"All right," resumed my father; "it is time he should serve. 'Tis time
he should cease running in and out of the maids' rooms and climbing into
the dovecote. "

The thought of a coming separation made such an impression on my mother
that she dropped her spoon into her saucepan, and her eyes filled with
tears. As for me, it is difficult to express the joy which took
possession of me. The idea of service was mingled in my mind with the
liberty and pleasures offered by the town of Petersburg. I already saw
myself officer of the Guard, which was, in my opinion, the height of
human happiness.

My father neither liked to change his plans, nor to defer the execution
of them. The day of my departure was at once fixed. The evening before
my father told me that he was going to give me a letter for my future
superior officer, and bid me bring him pen and paper.

"Don't forget, Andrej Petrovitch," said my mother, "to remember me to
Prince Banojik; tell him I hope he will do all he can for my Petrousha. "

"What nonsense! " cried my father, frowning.
"Why do you wish me to write
to Prince Banojik? "

"But you have just told us you are good enough to write to Petrousha's
superior officer. "

"Well, what of that? "

"But Prince Banojik is Petrousha's superior officer. You know very well
he is on the roll of the Semenofsky regiment. "

"On the roll! What is it to me whether he be on the roll or no?
Petrousha shall not go to Petersburg! What would he learn there? To
spend money and commit follies. No, he shall serve with the army, he
shall smell powder, he shall become a soldier and not an idler of the
Guard, he shall wear out the straps of his knapsack. Where is his
commission? Give it to me. "

My mother went to find my commission, which she kept in a box with my
christening clothes, and gave it to my father with, a trembling hand. My
father read it with attention, laid it before him on the table, and
began his letter.

Curiosity pricked me.