The windows of the house in the small glade were wide open. The
twitter of birds was audible and the fresh, delicious aroma of flowers
entered in. It was here the children gathered, and the miserable farce
of the examination began. Doulebov stood up before an ikon on one side
of the room, assumed a stately air, and exclaimed:
“Children, rise to prayer.”
The children rose. Doulebov thrust a finger forward towards a
dark-eyed boy’s breast and shouted:
“Read, boy!”
The thin, shrill outcry and the movement of the finger towards the
child’s breast were so unexpected by the boy that he trembled and gave
a choking sound. Some one behind him laughed, another gave an amused
chuckle. Doulebova exchanged glances with Kerbakh and shrugged her
shoulders; her face expressed horror.
The boy quickly recovered himself and read the prayer.
“Sit down, children,” ordered Doulebov.
The children resumed their places, while the elders seated themselves
at a table in the order of their rank--the Vice-Governor and Doulebov
in the middle, with the others to their right and left. Doulebova
looked round with an anxious, angry expression. At last she said in a
bass voice, extraordinarily coarse for a woman:
“Shut the windows. The birds are making a noise, and the wind too; it
is impossible to do anything.”
Trirodov looked at her in astonishment. He said quietly to Nadezhda:
“Close the windows. Our guests can’t stand fresh air.”
The windows were shut. The children looked with melancholy tedium at
the depressing window-panes.
Writing exercises were given. A little tale was read aloud from a
reader brought by Shabalov. Doulebov asked the class to compose it in
their own words.
The boys and girls were about to pick up their pens, but Doulebov
stopped them and delivered a long and tedious dissertation on how to
write the given composition. Then he said:
“Now you can write it.”
The children wrote. It was quiet. The writers handed in their papers
to their instructresses. Doulebov and Shabalov looked them over there
and then. They tried to find mistakes, but there were few. Then
dictation was given.
Doulebova looked morosely the whole while and blinked often. Trirodov
tried to enter into conversation with her, but the angry dame answered
so haughtily that it was with great difficulty he refrained from
smiling, and finally he left the malicious woman to herself.
After the written exercises Trirodov asked the uninvited guests to
luncheon.
“It was such a long journey here,” said Doulebov as if he were
explaining why he did not refuse the invitation to eat.
The children scattered a short way into the wood, while the elders
went into a neighbouring house, where the luncheon was ready. The
conversation during luncheon was constrained and captious. The
Doulebovs tried all sorts of pinpricks and coarse insinuations; their
companions followed suit. Every one tried to outdo the other in saying
caustic, spiteful things.
Doulebov looked with simulated horror at Trirodov’s instructresses who
happened to be present, and whispered to Kerbakh:
“Their feet are soiled with earth.”
After luncheon they returned to the school. All resumed their former
places. Then the oral examination began. Doulebov bent over the
roll-call and called out three boys at once. Each of them was
questioned first about the Holy Scriptures, and immediately afterwards
about the Russian language and arithmetic.
The examiners cavilled at everything. Nothing satisfied Doulebov. He
gave questions the answers to which were bound to make evident whether
higher feelings were being instilled in the children--of love for the
Fatherland, of allegiance to the Tsar, and of devotion to the Orthodox
Church. He asked one boy:
“Which country is better, Russia or France?”
The boy thought a while and said:
“I don’t know. It depends upon which place a man is used to--there he
is better off.”
Doulebova laughed viperously. Shabalov said in a preceptorial manner:
“The orthodox _matushka_[33] Russia! Is it possible to compare
any kingdom with ours? Have you heard how our native land is called?
Holy Russia, Mother Russia, the holy Russian soil. And you are an
idiot, blockhead, a little swine. If you don’t like your Fatherland
what are you good for?”
The boy flushed. Tiny tears gleamed in his eyes. Doulebov asked:
“Now tell me what is the very best faith in this world.”
The boy fell into thought. Shabalov asked malignantly:
“Can’t you answer even that?”
The boy said:
“When one believes sincerely, then it is the very best faith for him.”
“What a blockhead!” said Shabalov with conviction.
Trirodov looked at him in astonishment. He said quietly:
“The sincerity of religious mood is surely the best indication of a
saving faith.”
“We’ll discuss that later,” piped out Doulebov sternly. “This is not a
convenient moment.”
“As you like,” said Trirodov with a smile. “It is all the same to me
when you discuss it.”
Doulebov, red with agitation, rose from his chair and, going up to
Trirodov, said to him:
“It is absolutely necessary that I should have a talk with you.”
“At your service,” said Trirodov, not without some astonishment.
“Please continue,” said Doulebov to Shabalov.
Doulebov and Trirodov went into the next room. Their conversation soon
assumed a very sharp character. Doulebov made some savage accusations
and said rather vehemently:
“I have heard improper things about your school, but, indeed, the
reality exceeds all expectations.”
“What is there precisely improper?” asked Trirodov. “In what way has
reality surpassed gossip?”
“I don’t collect gossip,” squealed Doulebov excitedly. “I see with my
own eyes. This is not a school but a pornography!”
His voice had already passed into piggish tones. He struck the table
with his palm. There was the hard sound of the wedding-ring against
the wood. Trirodov said:
“I too have heard that you were a man with self-control. But this is
not the first time to-day that I’ve noticed your violent movements.”
Doulebov made an effort to recover himself. He said more quietly:
“It is a revolting pornography!”
“And what do you call pornography?” asked Trirodov.
“Don’t you know?” said Doulebov with a sarcastic smile.
“Yes, I know,” said Trirodov. “In my conception every written lechery
and disfigurement of beautiful truth to gratify the low instincts of
the man-beast--that is pornography. Your thrice-assured State
school--that is the true example of pornography.”
“They walk about naked here!” squealed Doulebov.
Trirodov retorted:
“They will be healthier and cleaner than those children who leave your
school.”
Doulebov shouted:
“Even your instructresses walk about naked. You’ve taken on depraved
girls as instructresses.”
Trirodov replied calmly:
“That’s a lie!”
The Headmaster said sharply and excitedly:
“Your school--if this awful, impossible establishment can be called a
school--will be closed at once. I will make the application to the
District to-day.”
Trirodov replied sharply:
“That you can do.”
Soon the visitors left in an ugly frame of mind. Doulebova hissed and
waxed indignant the whole way back.
“He’s clearly a dangerous man,” observed Kerbakh.