Trirodov found it painful and difficult to talk with Shabalov.
Shabalov said in a slow, creaking voice:
“Giorgiy Sergeyevitch, you will have to send your wards to town for examination.”
“Why is it necessary?” asked Trirodov.
Shabalov laughed his creaking “he-he” laugh and said:
“Well, it’s necessary. We’ll give them certificates.”
“What’s the use of your certificates to them?” asked Trirodov. “They need knowledge and not certificates. Your certificates won’t feed their hunger.”
“The certificates are necessary for military service,” explained Shabalov.
“They will remain pupils here,” said Trirodov, “until they are ready for practical work or for scientific and artistic occupations. Then some of them will go to technical schools, others to universities. Why, then, should they have certificates for a course in a Primary School?”
Shabalov repeated dully and stubbornly:
“Things are not done that way. Your school is counted among the Primary Schools. Those who have completed the course should receive certificates. How else can it be?—judge for yourself! And if you wish to go beyond the primary course, then you’ll have to procure for yourself a private gymnasia or a professional school, or, if you like, a commercial one. But what you want is impossible. And, of course, you’d have to engage real teachers in place of your cheap barefoots.”
“My barefoots,” retorted Trirodov, “have the same diplomas and learning as the real teachers, to use your expression. It is strange that you do not know or realize that fact. And they receive such ample pay from me that I should hesitate to call them cheap. Generally speaking, it seems to me that in its relation to private schools the so-called educational council would do well to limit itself to an external police surveillance of a purely negative character. They should merely see whether we commit anything of a criminal nature. But what business have you with the direction of schools? You have so few schools of your own, and yet they are so poor that you have quite a time to attend to them.”
Shabalov, somewhat subdued, replied:
“Still, the examination will have to be held. Surely you understand that? And the Headmaster of the National Schools is anxious to be present at the examination. We have our instructions from the Ministry, and it is impossible to discuss the matter. Our business is to execute orders.”
“Come here yourselves if it is absolutely necessary to hold an examination,” said Trirodov coldly.
“Very well,” said Shabalov upon reflection. “I will report your wish to the Headmaster of the National Schools. I don’t know how he will look upon the matter, but I will make my report.”
Then he reflected again briefly. He rubbed his back, covered by its blue official frock, against the back of his chair—the greasy, faded cloth against the handsome dark-green leather—and said:
“If the Headmaster agrees to it, we will appoint the day and send you the notification, that you may expect us.”
In the course of a few days Shabalov sent the announcement that the examination in Trirodov’s school was appointed to be held on May 30, at ten o’clock in the morning, on the premises.
This meddling on the part of the educational police annoyed Trirodov, but he had to submit to it.
XXX
Kirsha was acquainted with many boys in town. Some of them were pupils of the gymnasia, some of the town school. Kirsha was also acquainted with some of the students who attended the girls’ gymnasia. He told his father a great deal about the affairs and ways of these institutions. His information contained much that was singular and unexpected.
The personality of the Headmaster of the National Schools, Doulebov, particularly interested Trirodov of late. The schools under his guidance included the school established by Trirodov, though Doulebov contributed nothing to the school. He conducted himself with complete indifference to the aspersions cast at Priest Zakrasin and did not defend him before the Diocesan Bishop. He and his subordinate, the Inspector, showered official papers upon Trirodov and demanded various reports in the established form, so that Trirodov had to prevail upon a small official of the Exchequer to come evenings and copy out all this absurd nonsense. But neither Doulebov nor Shabalov looked in even once into Trirodov’s school. When Trirodov happened to be in the Headmaster’s office the conversation usually turned on documents concerning the instructresses and various petty formalities.
The calumnies of Ostrov and of his friends in the Black Hundred disturbed Doulebov. To avoid unpleasantness Doulebov decided to take advantage of the first opportunity to close Trirodov’s school.
The Headmaster of the National Schools, Actual State Councillor, Grigory Vladimirovitch Doulebov, had his eye on a higher position in the educational department. That was why he tried to gain favour by showing a meticulous attentiveness to his duties. His perseverance was astonishing. He never gave an impression of haste. His reception of subordinates and petitioners, announced on a placard on his door to take place on Thursdays between one and three, actually began at eleven in the morning, and continued until late in the evening. Doulebov spoke with each visitor slowly and showed his interest in the slightest detail.
But Doulebov, of course, knew very well that however great was his attentiveness to his duties, that in itself would not take him very far. It was indispensable to cultivate the proper personages. Doulebov had no influential aunts and grandmothers, and he
