No More Learning

As for me, I was absorbed in a deeply interesting occupation. A map had
been procured for me from Moscow, which hung against the wall without
ever being used, and which had been tempting me for a long time from the
size and strength of its paper. I had at last resolved to make a kite of
it, and, taking advantage of Beaupre's slumbers, I had set to work.

My father came in just at the very moment when I was tying a tail to the
Cape of Good Hope.

At the sight of my geographical studies he boxed my ears sharply, sprang
forward to Beaupre's bed, and, awaking him without any consideration, he
began to assail him with reproaches. In his trouble and confusion
Beaupre vainly strove to rise; the poor "_outchitel_" was dead drunk.
My father pulled him up by the collar of his coat, kicked him out of the
room, and dismissed him the same day, to the inexpressible joy of
Saveliitch.

Thus was my education finished.

I lived like a stay-at-home son (_nedoross'l_),[4] amusing myself by
scaring the pigeons on the roofs, and playing leapfrog with the lads of
the courtyard,[5] till I was past the age of sixteen. But at this age my
life underwent a great change.

One autumn day, my mother was making honey jam in her parlour, while,
licking my lips, I was watching the operations, and occasionally tasting
the boiling liquid. My father, seated by the window, had just opened the
_Court Almanack_, which he received every year. He was very fond of
this book; he never read it except with great attention, and it had the
power of upsetting his temper very much. My mother, who knew all his
whims and habits by heart, generally tried to keep the unlucky book
hidden, so that sometimes whole months passed without the _Court
Almanack_ falling beneath his eye. On the other hand, when he did chance
to find it, he never left it for hours together.
He was now reading it,
frequently shrugging his shoulders, and muttering, half aloud--

"General! He was sergeant in my company. Knight of the Orders of Russia!
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.