Dead Souls
from his lips, but rather the injunction, “I want to see intelligence,
and nothing else. The boy who devotes his attention to becoming clever
will never play the fool, for under such circumstances, folly disappears
of itself.” And so folly did, for the boy who failed to strive in the
desired direction incurred the contempt of all his comrades, and even
dunces and fools of senior standing did not dare to raise a finger when
saluted by their juniors with opprobrious epithets. Yet “This is too
much,” certain folk would say to Alexander. “The result will be that
your students will turn out prigs.” “But no,” he would reply. “Not at
all. You see, I make it my principle to keep the incapables for a single
term only, since that is enough for them; but to the clever ones I allot
a double course of instruction.” And, true enough, any lad of brains was
retained for this finishing course. Yet he did not repress all boyish
playfulness, since he declared it to be as necessary as a rash to a
doctor, inasmuch as it enabled him to diagnose what lay hidden within.
Consequently, how the boys loved him! Never was there such an attachment
between master and pupils. And even later, during the foolish years,
when foolish things attract, the measure of affection which Alexander
Petrovitch retained was extraordinary. In fact, to the day of his death,
every former pupil would celebrate the birthday of his late master by
raising his glass in gratitude to the mentor dead and buried--then close
his eyelids upon the tears which would come trickling through them.
Even the slightest word of encouragement from Alexander Petrovitch could
throw a lad into a transport of tremulous joy, and arouse in him an
honourable emulation of his fellows. Boys of small capacity he did
not long retain in his establishment; whereas those who possessed
exceptional talent he put through an extra course of schooling. This
senior class--a class composed of specially-selected pupils--was a very
different affair from what usually obtains in other colleges. Only when
a boy had attained its ranks did Alexander demand of him what other
masters indiscreetly require of mere infants--namely the superior
frame of mind which, while never indulging in mockery, can itself bear
ridicule, and disregard the fool, and keep its temper, and repress
itself, and eschew revenge, and calmly, proudly retain its tranquillity
of soul. In short, whatever avails to form a boy into a man of assured
character, that did Alexander Petrovitch employ during the pupil’s
youth, as well as constantly put him to the test. How well he understood
the art of life!
Of assistant tutors he kept but few, since most of the necessary
instruction he imparted in person, and, without pedantic terminology
and inflated diction and views, could so transmit to his listeners the
inmost spirit of a lesson that even the youngest present absorbed its
essential elements. Also, of studies he selected none but those which
may help a boy to become a good citizen; and therefore most of the
lectures which he delivered consisted of discourses on what may be
awaiting a youth, as well as of such demarcations of life’s field that
the pupil, though seated, as yet, only at the desk, could beforehand
bear his part in that field both in thought and spirit. Nor did the
master CONCEAL anything. That is to say, without mincing words, he
invariably set before his hearers the sorrows and the difficulties which
may confront a man, the trials and the temptations which may beset
him. And this he did in terms as though, in every possible calling and
capacity, he himself had experienced the same. Consequently, either the
vigorous development of self-respect or the constant stimulus of the
master’s eye (which seemed to say to the pupil, “Forward!”--that word
which has become so familiar to the contemporary Russian, that word
which has worked such wonders upon his sensitive temperament); one or
the other, I repeat, would from the first cause the pupil to tackle
difficulties, and only difficulties, and to hunger for prowess only
where the path was arduous, and obstacles were many, and it was
necessary to display the utmost strength of mind. Indeed, few completed
the course of which I have spoken without issuing therefrom reliable,
seasoned fighters who could keep their heads in the most embarrassing
of official positions, and at times when older and wiser men, distracted
with the annoyances of life, had either abandoned everything or, grown
slack and indifferent, had surrendered to the bribe-takers and the
rascals. In short, no ex-pupil of Alexander Petrovitch ever wavered from
the right road, but, familiar with life and with men, armed with the
weapons of prudence, exerted a powerful influence upon wrongdoers.
For a long time past the ardent young Tientietnikov’s excitable heart
had also beat at the thought that one day he might attain the senior
class described. And, indeed, what better teacher could he have had
befall him than its preceptor? Yet just at the moment when he had been
transferred thereto, just at the moment when he had reached the coveted
position, did his instructor come suddenly by his death! This was
indeed a blow for the boy--indeed a terrible initial loss! In his eyes
everything connected with the school seemed to undergo a change--the
chief reason being the fact that to the place of the deceased headmaster
there succeeded a certain Thedor Ivanovitch, who at once began to
insist upon certain external rules, and to demand of the boys what ought
rightly to have been demanded only of adults. That is to say, since
the lads’ frank and open demeanour savoured to him only of lack
of discipline, he announced (as though in deliberate spite of his
predecessor) that he cared nothing for progress and intellect, but that
heed was to be paid only to good behaviour. Yet, curiously enough, good
behaviour was just what he never obtained, for every kind of secret
prank became the rule; and while, by day, there reigned restraint
and conspiracy, by night there began to take place chambering and
wantonness.
Also, certain changes in the curriculum of studies came about, for there
were engaged new teachers who held new views and opinions, and confused
their hearers with a multitude of new terms and phrases, and displayed
in their exposition of things both logical sequence and a zest
for modern discovery and much warmth of individual bias. Yet their
instruction, alas! contained no LIFE--in the mouths of those teachers a
dead language savoured merely of carrion. Thus everything connected with
the school underwent a radical alteration, and respect for authority
and the authorities waned, and tutors and ushers came to be dubbed “Old
Thedor,” “Crusty,” and the like. And sundry other things began to take
place--things which necessitated many a penalty and expulsion; until,
within a couple of years, no one who had known the school in former days
would now have recognised it.
Nevertheless Tientietnikov, a youth of retiring disposition, experienced
no leanings towards the nocturnal orgies of his companions, orgies
during which the latter used to flirt with damsels before the very
windows of the headmaster’s rooms, nor yet towards their mockery of
all that was sacred, simply because fate had cast in their way an
injudicious priest. No, despite its dreaminess, his soul ever remembered
its celestial origin, and could not be diverted from the path of virtue.
Yet still he hung his head, for, while his ambition had come to life,
it could find no sort of outlet. Truly ‘twere well if it had NOT come
to life, for throughout the time that he was listening to professors
who gesticulated on their chairs he could not help remembering the
old preceptor who, invariably cool and calm, had yet known how to make
himself understood. To what subjects, to what lectures, did the boy not
have to listen!--to lectures on medicine, and on philosophy, and on law,
and on a version of general history so enlarged that even three years
failed to enable the professor to do more than finish the introduction
thereto, and also the account of the development of some self-governing
towns in Germany. None of the stuff remained fixed in Tientietnikov’s
brain save as shapeless clots; for though his native intellect could not
tell him how instruction ought to be imparted, it at least told him that
THIS was not the way. And frequently, at such moments he would recall
Alexander Petrovitch, and give way to such grief that scarcely did he
know what he was doing.
But youth is fortunate in the fact that always before it there lies a
future; and in proportion as the time for his leaving school drew nigh,
Tientietnikov’s heart began to beat higher and higher, and he said to
himself: “This is not life, but only a preparation for life. True life
is to be found in the Public Service. There at least will there be scope
for activity.” So, bestowing not a glance upon that beautiful corner of
the world which never failed to strike the guest or chance visitor with
amazement, and reverencing not a whit the dust of his ancestors, he
followed the example of most ambitious men of his class by repairing to
St. Petersburg (whither, as we know, the more spirited youth of Russia
from every quarter gravitates--there to enter the Public Service, to
shine, to obtain promotion, and, in a word, to scale the topmost peaks
of that pale, cold, deceptive elevation which is known as society). But
the real starting-point of Tientietnikov’s ambition was the moment when
his uncle (one State Councillor Onifri Ivanovitch) instilled into him
the maxim that the only means to success in the Service lay in good
handwriting, and that, without that accomplishment, no one could ever
hope to become a Minister or Statesman. Thus, with great difficulty,
and also with the help of his uncle’s influence, young Tientietnikov at
length succeeded in being posted to a Department. On the day that he
was conducted into a splendid, shining hall--a hall fitted with inlaid
floors and lacquered desks as fine as though this were actually the
place where the great ones of the Empire met for discussion of the
fortunes of the State; on the day that he saw legions of handsome
gentlemen of the quill-driving profession making loud scratchings with
pens, and cocking their heads to one side; lastly on the day that he
saw himself also allotted a desk, and requested to copy a document which
appeared purposely to be one of the pettiest possible order (as a matter
of fact it related to a sum of three roubles, and had taken half a
year to produce)--well, at that moment a curious, an unwonted sensation
seized upon the inexperienced youth, for the gentlemen around him
appeared so exactly like a lot of college students. And, the further to
complete the resemblance, some of them were engaged in reading trashy
translated novels, which they kept hurriedly thrusting between the
sheets of their apportioned work whenever the Director appeared, as
though to convey the impression that it was to that work alone that they
were applying themselves. In short, the scene seemed to Tientietnikov
strange, and his former pursuits more important than his present, and
his preparation for the Service preferable to the Service itself. Yes,
suddenly he felt a longing for his old school; and as suddenly, and with
all the vividness of life, there appeared before his vision the figure
of Alexander Petrovitch. He almost burst into tears as he beheld his old
master, and the room seemed to swim before his eyes, and the tchinovniks
and the desks to become a blur, and his sight to grow dim. Then he
thought to himself with an effort: “No, no! I WILL apply myself to
my work, however petty it be at first.” And hardening his heart and