Alexei knew that once his father got something into his head, in Taras Skotinin’s words, even a nail couldn’t drive it out;11 but Alexei took after his papa, and it was just as hard to out-argue him. He went to his room and began to reflect on the limits of parental power, on Lizaveta Grigoryevna, on his father’s solemn promise to make a beggar of him, and finally on Akulina. For the first time he saw clearly that he was passionately in love with her; the romantic notion of marrying a peasant girl and living by his own labors came to his head, and the more he thought about this decisive step, the more reasonable he found it. For some time their meetings in the grove had broken off on account of rainy weather. He wrote Akulina a letter in the clearest handwriting and the most frantic style, announced to her the ruin that threatened them, and at the same time offered her his hand. He at once took the letter to the post office, the hole in the tree, and lay down to sleep quite pleased with himself.
The next day Alexei, firm in his intention, went to Muromsky early in the morning to have a frank talk with him. He hoped to arouse his magnanimity and win him over to his side.
“Is Grigory Ivanovich at home?” he asked, stopping his horse before the porch of the Priluchino castle.
“No, he’s not,” answered the servant. “Grigory Ivanovich went out early this morning.”
“How annoying!” thought Alexei. “Then is Lizaveta Grigoryevna at home, at least?”
“Yes, sir.”
Alexei jumped off his horse, handed the bridle to the lackey, and went in without being announced.
“All will be decided,” he thought, approaching the drawing room. “I’ll talk it over with the girl herself.”
He went in…and was dumbfounded! Liza…no, Akulina, dear, swarthy Akulina, not in a sarafan, but in a white morning dress, was sitting by the window and reading his letter. She was so taken up with it that she did not hear him come in. Alexei could not hold back an exclamation of joy. Liza gave a start, raised her head, cried out, and was about to run away. He rushed to hold her back.
“Akulina, Akulina!…”
Liza tried to free herself…
“Akulina! My dear friend, Akulina!” he kept saying, kissing her hands. Miss Jackson, a witness to this scene, did not know what to think. Just then the door opened and Grigory Ivanovich came in.
“Aha!” said Muromsky. “It seems the matter’s already quite settled between you…”
My readers will spare me the unnecessary duty of describing the denouement.
End of
*1 Our observation stands.
*2 “Stay, Sbogar, here…”
*3 In English in the original.
*4 “Leave me alone, sir; are you mad?”
The History of the Village of Goryukhino
If God sends me readers, they might be curious to know how it was that I decided to write
I was born of honorable and noble parents in the village of Goryukhino on April 1st in the year 1801, and received my primary education from our sexton. To this estimable man I owe the love of reading and of literary occupations in general that subsequently developed in me. My progress was slow but certain, for at the age of ten I already knew almost all that has remained till now in my memory, which was weak by nature and which, on account of my equally weak health, I was not allowed to burden unnecessarily.
The title of man of letters always seemed most enviable to me. My parents, estimable people, but simple and educated in an old-fashioned way, never read anything, and there were no books in the whole house except for the ABC they bought for me, some almanacs, and the
