“But think well,” she added. “Will there be no obstacle on your parents’ side?”
I fell to thinking. Of my mother’s fondness I had no doubt, but, knowing my father’s character and way of thinking, I sensed that my love would not move him very much and that he would regard it as a young man’s caprice. I confessed it frankly to Marya Ivanovna and resolved, nevertheless, to write to my father as eloquently as I could, asking for their parental blessing. I showed the letter to Marya Ivanovna, who found it so persuasive and moving that she had no doubts of its success and yielded to the feelings of her tender heart with all the trustfulness of youth and love.
I made peace with Shvabrin in the first days of my recovery. Ivan Kuzmich, reprimanding me for the duel, said:
“Ah, Pyotr Andreich, I ought to put you under arrest, but you’ve already been punished as it is. And I’ve got Alexei Ivanych sitting in the granary under guard, and Vasilisa Egorovna has locked up his sword. Let him think it over and repent.”
I felt too happy to go storing up hostile feelings in my heart. I began to intercede for Shvabrin, and the kind commandant, with his wife’s approval, decided to release him. Shvabrin came to me; he expressed profound regret for what had happened between us, admitted that he was roundly to blame, and begged me to forget the past. Not being rancorous by nature, I sincerely forgave him both for our quarrel and for the wound I had received from him. In his slander I saw the vexation of hurt pride and rejected love, and I magnanimously excused my unlucky rival.
I soon recovered and was able to move back to my own quarters. I waited impatiently for the reply to my letter, not daring to hope and trying to stifle my sad presentiments. I had not yet talked with Vasilisa Egorovna and her husband; but my proposal would be no surprise to them. Neither I nor Marya Ivanovna tried to conceal our feelings from them, and we were certain beforehand of their consent.
Finally one morning Savelyich came into my room holding a letter in his hand. I seized it, trembling. The address was written in my father’s hand. That prepared me for something important, for my mother usually wrote me letters, and he would add a few lines at the end. I did not open the envelope for some time and kept rereading the solemn inscription: “To my son Pyotr Andreevich Grinyov, Belogorsk Fortress, Orenburg Province.” I tried to guess from the handwriting the state of mind in which the letter had been written; finally I ventured to unseal it, and saw from the first lines that the whole thing had gone to the devil. The contents of the letter were as follows:
My son Pyotr,
The letter, in which you ask for our parental blessing and consent to your marriage with Miss Marya Ivanovna Mironov, we received on the 15th of this month, and not only do I have no intention of giving you my blessing or my consent, but I am also going to get after you and teach you a proper lesson for your mischief, little boy that you are, despite your officer’s rank: for you have proven that you are still unworthy to bear the sword, which was bestowed on you to defend your fatherland and not for duels with such madcaps as yourself. I shall write at once to Andrei Karlovich, asking him to transfer you from the Belogorsk fortress to somewhere further away, where you will be cured of your folly. Your mother, having learned of your duel and of your wound, fell ill with grief and now lies in bed. What will become of you? I pray to God that you mend your ways, though I dare not hope for His great mercy.
Your father, A. G.
The reading of this letter aroused various feelings in me. The cruel expressions, on which my father did not stint, insulted me deeply. The disdain with which he referred to Marya Ivanovna seemed to me as unseemly as it was unjust. The thought of my being transferred from the Belogorsk fortress horrified me, but what upset me most of all was the news of my mother’s illness. I was indignant with Savelyich, having no doubt that my duel became known to my parents through him. Pacing up and down my narrow room, I stopped before him and said, glaring at him menacingly:
“I see you don’t find it enough that, thanks to you, I was wounded and for a whole month was on the brink of the grave: you also want to kill my mother.”
Savelyich was thunderstruck.
“Mercy, sir,” he said, all but weeping, “what’s this you’re pleased to be saying? I’m the cause of your being wounded! God knows, I was running to shield you with my breast from Alexei Ivanych’s sword! My cursed old age prevented me. And what have I done to your mother?”
“What have you done?” I replied. “Who asked you to inform on me? Have you been attached to me as a spy?”
“Me? Inform on you?” Savelyich replied in tears. “Lord God in heaven! Kindly read what the master writes to me: you’ll see how I informed on you.” Here he took a letter from his pocket, and I read the following:
