After luncheon they went into the assembly room. Some of them began to
smoke. Instructor Mouralov’s wife took advantage of an opportune
moment to speak to Doulebova. She cautiously stole up to her when she
saw her standing aside and told her that Poterin took bribes. Separate
phrases and words were distinguished from the rest of the
conversation.
“Have you noticed, Zinaida Grigorievna?”
“What’s that?”
“Our inspector is parading in gloves.”
“Yes?”
“Gloves! Yellow ones!”
“What of that?”
“Out of bribes.”
Zinaida Grigorievna was overjoyed, and grew animated. For a long time
the whispers of the malicious women were audible, and between their
whispers their hissing, snake-like laughter.
Then the women, together with Shabalov and Voronok, went off to finish
the examination. Doulebov and the Vice-Governor went in to look at the
library. Poterin accompanied them. Everything was in order. The thick
volumes of Katkov[32] quietly slumbered; the dust had been wiped from
them on the eve of the Vice-Governor’s visit.
Poterin made use of an opportunity to make insinuations against the
instructors. He reported that Voronok did not go to church, and that
he collected schoolboys at his own house in order to read something or
other to them.
“I shall have to have a talk with him,” said Doulebov. “Ask him into
your study and I will talk to him. In the meantime, show Ardalyon
Borisovitch the laboratory.”
Doulebov and Voronok spoke for a long time in Poterin’s study.
“I don’t question your convictions,” said the Headmaster, “but I must
make it clear to you that it is impossible to introduce politics into
schools. Children cannot discuss such questions; it does them harm.”
“Agents’ reports are not always to be believed,” said Voronok
restrainedly.
Doulebov flushed slightly and said in an annoyed manner.
“We don’t maintain agents, but we have many acquaintances. We have
lived here a long time. It is impossible not to hear what is told us.”
The honorary overseer, Zherbenev, invited all who attended the
examination to his house to dinner. Only Voronok refused the
invitation. But Zherbenev invited others to the dinner--the general’s
widow, Glafira Pavlovna, and Kerbakh among them. It was a long and
lavish dinner. The guests drank much during and after the meal. Every
one got tipsy. Doulebov alone remained sober. The liqueurs only made
him look slightly ruddier--he was very fond of them.
The members of the Black Hundred took advantage of the occasion to say
something malicious about Trirodov to Doulebov and the Vice-Governor.
The Trirodov school began to be discussed rather vulgarly.
“He’s taken up photography; quite keen on it.”
“He calls in children, makes them take everything off, and photographs
them.”
“Yes, and he’s got naked children running about in the woods.”
“Children? The instructresses too!”
“They may not be exactly naked, but they are always running about
barefoot.”
“Just like peasant women,” said Zherbenev.
“Yes,” said the Vice-Governor. “It is very immoral for women to go
about barefoot. It must be stopped.”
“They are poor people,” said some one.
“It is pornography!” said the Vice-Governor savagely.
And every one suddenly believed him. The Vice-Governor said morosely:
“He’s lodged a complaint against us for whipping his instructress. But
he is lying; he’s whipped her himself. We have no need of whipping
girls--but he does it because he’s a corrupt man.”
Some one made the observation that Trirodov was friends with dangerous
sects, at which Kerbakh remarked:
“He now has horses and carriages, but I know a man who knew him when
he had only his shirt. It is rather suspicious as to where he got his
money.”
Glafira Pavlovna looked at Shabalov and whispered to Doulebov:
“I know he is a patriot, but he has terrible manners.”
Doulebov said:
“I know he is very stupid and undeveloped, but zealous. If directed
properly he can be very useful.”
* * * * *
Next morning the Headmaster of the National Schools, accompanied by
the Vice-Governor and Shabalov, started in their carriages from the
Headmaster’s offices and drove off to Trirodov’s school in the
Prosianiya Meadows. They had not yet fully recovered from the previous
day’s carouse. They carried on their indecent, half-tipsy
conversations in the midst of nature’s loveliness. They looked like a
lot of picnickers.
Zinaida Grigorievna and Kerbakh, who were in one carriage, were
engaged in a malicious conversation. They tore their acquaintances to
shreds. She began with Poterin’s gloves. Then she related about the
suicide of another inspector’s mistress; she drowned herself because
she was about to have a child. Then she told about a third inspector
who got drunk in a bath-house and got into a tussle there with the
mayor of the town.
Shabalov was riding in a trap with Zherbenev.
“It would be good to have a tasty snack,” he said.
“We are sure to get something there,” replied Zherbenev confidently.
The visitors were all confident that they were being awaited. Zinaida
Grigorievna said:
“The most interesting part of it will be hidden of course.”
“Yes, but we’ll investigate.”
It was a fresh, early morning. The road went through the wood. They
had now driven for a long time. It seemed as if the same meadows and
woods, copses, streams, and bridges repeated themselves again and
again. They began to ask the drivers:
“Are you sure you’re going the right way?”
“Perhaps you’ve lost your way.”
“I think it’s in that direction.”
The two towers of Trirodov’s house soon became visible. They appeared
to the right, and yet it was impossible to find the way to them. For a
long time they blundered. The roads spread and branched out at this
point. At last the driver of the first carriage stopped his horses,
and behind it the other carriages came to a standstill.
“I’ll have to ask some one,” said the driver. “There’s some sort of a
boy coming this way.”
A ten-year-old, barefoot boy could be seen coming down the road from
the wood. Shabalov shouted savagely at him:
“Stop!”
The boy glanced at the carriages and calmly walked on. Shabalov cried
more furiously this time:
“Stop, you young brat! Off with your cap! Don’t you see that gentlemen
are coming--why don’t you bow to them?”
The boy paused. He looked in astonishment at the variety of carriages
and did not take his cap off. Doulebova decided:
“He’s simply an idiot!”
“Well, we shall make him talk,” said Kerbakh.
He left his carriage and, going up to the boy, asked him:
“Do you know where Trirodov’s school is?”
The boy silently pointed to one of the roads with his hand. Then he
ran off quickly, and disappeared somewhere among the bushes.
At last the road went along a fence. Everything all around seemed
deserted and quiet. Evidently no one awaited the visitors or had
arranged to meet them.
Finally they reached the gates of the enclosure. They looked around.
It was very quiet. No one was visible anywhere. Shabalov jumped out of
his trap and began to look for the bell. Madame Doulebova said in
great irritation:
“What do you think of that?”
They tried to open the small gate by themselves but were unable.
Shabalov cried out:
“Open the gate! You devils, demons, sinners!”
Madame Doulebova tried to soothe Shabalov, who justified himself:
“Forgive me, Zinaida Grigorievna. It is most annoying. If I had come
myself I shouldn’t have minded waiting, though even then it would have
been discourteous--being, after all, an official. And here the higher
authorities have announced their coming, and these people pay
absolutely no attention to it.”
At last the small gate opened, suddenly and noiselessly. A boy,
sunburnt and barefoot, in a white shirt and short white breeches,
stood on the threshold. The angry Doulebov said in his thin, shrill
voice:
“Is this Trirodov’s school?”
“Yes,” said the boy.
The visitors entered and found themselves in a small glade. Three
barefoot girls slowly came to meet them. These were instructresses.
Nadezhda Vestchezerova looked with her large dark eyes at Madame
Doulebova, who whispered to the Vice-Governor:
“Have a look at her. This girl had a scandal in her life, but he’s
taken her on.”
Doulebova knew every one in town, and she knew especially well those
who have had an unpleasant experience of some sort.
Presently Trirodov appeared in a white summer suit. He looked with an
ironic smile at the gaily dressed party of visitors.
The visitors were met with courtesy; but the Headmaster was displeased
because no honour was shown them and no special preparations were
evident. The instructresses were dressed as simply as always. Doulebov
was especially displeased because both the instructresses and their
pupils walked about barefoot. The naïveté of the children irritated
the visitors. The children looked at the party indifferently. Some of
them nodded a greeting, others did not.
“Take off your cap!” shouted Shabalov.
The boy pulled his cap off and reached it out to Shabalov with the
remark:
“Here!”
Shabalov growled savagely:
“Idiot!”
Then he turned away. The boy looked at him in astonishment.
Doulebov, and even more his wife, were terribly annoyed because they
had not put on more clothes for their visitors, not even shoes. The
Vice-Governor looked dully and savagely. Everything displeased him at
once. Doulebov asked with a frown:
“Surely they are not always like that?”
“Always, Vladimir Grigorievitch,” replied Trirodov. “They have got
used to it.”
“But it is indecent!” said Madame Doulebova.
“It is the one thing that is decent,” retorted Trirodov.