I lived like a stay-at-home son (nédoross'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 Vassiliéva,"[6] said he, sharply addressing my mother, "how old is Petróusha?"[7]
"His seventeenth year has just begun," replied my mother. "Petróusha 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, Andréj Petróvitch," said my mother, "to remember me to Prince Banojik; tell him I hope he will do all he can for my Petróusha."