They sat down. Alexei took a pencil and a notebook from his pocket, and Akulina learned the alphabet with surprising ease. Alexei could not marvel enough at her quick-wittedness. The next morning she also wanted to try writing; at first the pencil would not obey her, but after a few minutes she began to trace letters quite decently.
“What a wonder!” said Alexei. “Our studies go more quickly than by the Lancaster system.”9
Indeed, at the third lesson Akulina could already read “Natalya, the Boyar’s Daughter”10 syllable by syllable, interrupting her reading with remarks which truly amazed Alexei, and she covered a whole sheet of paper with aphorisms chosen from the same tale.
A week went by and they began to exchange letters. The post office was set up in a hole in an old oak tree. Nastya secretly performed the duties of postman. There Alexei brought letters written in a round hand, and there, on plain blue paper, he found the scribbles of his beloved. Akulina was evidently growing accustomed to a better turn of style, and her mind was noticeably developing and forming.
Meanwhile the recent acquaintance between Ivan Petrovich Berestov and Grigory Ivanovich Muromsky strengthened more and more and soon turned into friendship, owing to this particular circumstance: the thought often occurred to Muromsky that, at Ivan Petrovich’s death, all his property would pass into Alexei Ivanovich’s hands; that Alexei Ivanovich would thus become one of the richest landowners in the province; and that there was no reason why he should not marry Liza. Old Berestov, for his part, though he acknowledged a certain extravagance (or English folly, as he put it) in his neighbor, still did not deny that he had many excellent qualities—for instance, a rare resourcefulness: Grigory Ivanovich was closely related to Count Pronsky, a distinguished and powerful man; the count could be very useful to Alexei, and Muromsky (so thought Ivan Petrovich) would probably be glad of the chance to give his daughter away in a profitable manner. The old men thought so much about all this, each to himself, that they finally talked it over together, embraced, promised to work things out properly, and set about it, each for his own part. Muromsky was faced with a difficulty: persuading his Betsy to get more closely acquainted with Alexei, whom she had not seen since that memorable dinner. It seemed they had not liked each other very much; at least Alexei never came back to Priluchino, and Liza went to her room each time Ivan Petrovich honored them with a visit.
“But,” thought Grigory Ivanovich, “if Alexei came here every day, Betsy would be bound to fall in love with him. That’s in the nature of things. Time puts everything right.”
Ivan Petrovich was less worried about the success of his intentions. That same evening he summoned his son to his study, lit his pipe, and, after a brief silence, said:
“Why is it, Alyosha, that you haven’t mentioned military service for so long now? Or perhaps the hussar uniform no longer tempts you!…”
“No, papa,” Alexei replied respectfully. “I see it is not your wish that I join the hussars; it is my duty to obey you.”
“Very well,” replied Ivan Petrovich, “I see you are an obedient son. That is a comfort to me. Nor do I want to force you; I will not compel you to enter…government service…at once; but meanwhile I intend to get you married.”
“To whom, papa?” asked the amazed Alexei.
“To Lizaveta Grigoryevna Muromsky,” replied Ivan Petrovich. “Quite the bride, isn’t she?”
“I’m not thinking of marrying yet, papa.”
“You’re not thinking, so I’ve thought for you and thought well.”
“Say what you like, Liza Muromsky doesn’t please me at all.”
“She’ll please you later. Habit and love go hand in glove.”
“I don’t feel capable of making her happy.”
“Her happiness is not your worry. What? So this is how you respect the parental will? Very well!”
“As you please, I don’t want to marry and I won’t marry.”
“You’ll marry, or I’ll curse you, and—as God is holy!—I’ll sell the estate and squander the money, and you won’t get half a kopeck! I’ll give you three days to reflect, and meanwhile don’t you dare show your face to me.”
