Well, that's nonsense, you can draw whatever you want ... If only there was a nose. Well, you say that your uncle has such a nose ... that's all. This is all nonsense, but if you want, I'll show you a trick, just hold on tight.
Vakhnov thrust some oblong object into Tyoma's hand.
- Hold on tight!
- Are you going to do something?
- Well... just hold on... tighter! - And Vakhnov pulled the cord with force.
At the same instant, Tyoma, with a piercing cry, pricked by two protruding needles, struck Vakhnov in the face with all his might.
The teacher got up from his seat and went to Tyoma.
“Just give it out, we’ll finish it under our overcoats today,” Vakhnov whispered.
The teacher, with a kind of sickly, transparent face, with long whiskers, with glassy eyes, came up and stared at Tyoma.
- What's your last name?
- Kartashev.
- Get up!
Dark got up.
“Well, have you come here to the tavern?”
Dark was silent.
- Your drawing?
Tom stuck out his nose.
- What is it?
- This is my uncle's nose, - answered Tyoma.
- Your uncle? the teacher asked mysteriously. - All right, sir, get out of the classroom!
"I won't do it again," Tyoma whispered.
- All right, sir, get out of the classroom. - And the teacher went to his place.
"Go, it's nothing," whispered Vakhnov. - Stay until the end of the lesson and come back. Well done! You will be the first friend!
Tyoma left the classroom and stood in the dark corridor at the very door. A little later, a figure in a uniform tailcoat appeared at the end of the corridor. The figure moved quickly towards Tyoma.
- Why are you here? - leaning towards Tyoma, the gentleman asked somehow vaguely softly.
Tyoma saw before him a black face with a goat's beard, large black eyes with a mass of thin blue veins around them.
- I... Teacher told me to stand here.
- You were naughty?
- N... no.
- What is your last name?
- Kartashev.
- You little scoundrel, however! - said the gentleman, bringing his face very close, in such a voice that it seemed to Tyoma that this gentleman bared his teeth. Darkness trembled with fear. He was seized with the same feeling of horror as in the barn, when he was left face to face with Abrumka.
- Why was Kartashev expelled from the class? he asked, opening the door.
At the appearance of the gentleman, the whole class stood up noisily and stretched out to attention.
“Fighting,” said the teacher. - I gave him a nose model, and he drew this and says that this is his uncle's nose.
The bright class, the mass of people reassured Tyoma. He realized that he had become a victim of Vakhnov, he realized that it was necessary to explain himself, but, to his misfortune, he also remembered his father's instruction on camaraderie. It seemed especially convenient to him right now, in front of the whole class, to declare himself, so to speak, at once, and he spoke in an excited, but confident and convinced voice:
- Of course, I will never betray my comrades, but I can still say that I am not to blame for anything, because they deceived me very badly and said ...
- Shut up!! roared a gentleman in a uniform tailcoat with a good obscenity. Bad boy!
Tyoma, who was not accustomed to gymnasium discipline, another unfortunate thought came into his head.
“Excuse me...” he began in a trembling, bewildered voice, “do you dare to shout at me like that and scold me?
- Out!! roared the gentleman in the tailcoat and, grabbing Tyoma by the hand, dragged him along the corridor.
“Wait a minute…” Tyoma, completely confused, resisted. - I don't want to go with you... Wait...
But the master continued to drag Tyoma. Having dragged him to the duty room, the gentleman turned to the guard who had jumped out and said, choking with rage:
- Take this impudent tomboy home and tell him that he has been expelled from the gymnasium.
The father, who had just managed to return from the city, passed on his gymnasium impressions to his wife.
Mother sat in the dining room and studied with Zina and Natasha. From the open doors of the nursery came the fuss of Seryozha with Anya.
- Are you still scared?
"I'm afraid," the father chuckled. - The eyes were running. Get used to it.
- Poor boy, - it will be difficult for him! - Mother sighed and, looking at her watch, said: - The second lesson ends. Today it will be necessary for him to make a solemn meeting. All his favorite dishes must be ordered for dinner.
- Mom, - Zina intervened, - he loves compote most of all.
- I'll give him my notebook.
- What, mother, - from ivory? Zina asked.
- Yes.
- Mom, I'll give him my box. You know? Dove.
- And I, mother, what will I give? - asked Natasha. - He loves chocolate... I'll give him chocolate.
- All right, sweet girl. Let's put everything on a silver tray and, when he enters the living room, we solemnly offer it to him.
“Well, I’ll also give him a present: a dagger in a velvet frame,” my father said.
- Well, it will be a complete holiday for him ...
The call interrupted further conversations.
- Who could it be? - asked the mother and, entering the bedroom, looked into the street.
At the gate stood Tyoma with some unfamiliar gentleman in a rumpled hat. The mother's heart skipped a beat.
- What happened to you?! she called to Tyoma, who came in with a kind of agitated, upturned face.
Everything was on this face at that moment: shame, confusion, some kind of dull tension, irritation, an offended feeling - in a word, a mother not only had never seen such a face in her son, but could not even imagine that it could be like that. With her motherly heart, she immediately understood that some great grief had happened to Tyoma.
- What's wrong with you, my boy?
This soft, tender question, having showered Tyoma with the familiar warmth and affection of the family, after all these cold, indifferent faces of the gymnasium, shook him to the finest fibers of his existence.
- Mother! - he could only scream and rushed, convulsively, madly sobbing, to his mother ...
After dinner, the Kartashevs, husband and wife, went to explain themselves to the director.
The gentleman in evening dress, who turned out to be the director himself, received them in his living room dryly and reservedly, but politely, with the decency of a well-mannered man.
The fervent ardor of the mother was shattered by the nervous, but restrained and dry tone of the director. He delicately, patiently listened to her views on upbringing, what exactly she was pursuing, he listened, hiding the feeling of some kind of involuntary disregard for the words of his mother, and when she had finished, somehow reluctantly began:
“I have more than four hundred children at my disposal. Every mother, of course, educates her children in the way she thinks best, considers, of course, her own system to be ideal, and resolutely forgets only one thing: about the further, social upbringing of her child, she completely forgets about the leader whose duty it is to unite all this. a scattered mass into something that, speaking of the practical side of the matter, could be mastered. If each child begins to talk from his own point of view about the rights of his boss, hammers into his frivolous, eccentric head the rules of some kind of partnership, the purpose of which is primarily to hide pranks - therefore, at the heart of it is already the desire to free itself from the influence of the leader, - why then these leaders? Let's be consistent - why are you then? It seems to me: once you for some reason recognize the need for public education for your son, once you for some reason refuse his further education and transfer it to us, you are thereby obliged to unquestioningly recognize all our rules, created not for one, but for all. Justice also obliges you to this; we did not interfere in the upbringing of your son until he entered the gymnasium ...
"But he's still my son, isn't he?"
- In everything else, except for the gymnasium. From the moment of his admission, the child must understand and know that all power over him in the sphere of his occupation passes to his new leaders. If this consciousness will sit deep in him, this will enable him to successfully make his career; otherwise, sooner or later it will be necessary to sacrifice it to maintain the order of the existing gymnasium. I ask you to accept this as my final ultimatum as the director of the gymnasium, and as a private person - I can only add that even if I wanted to change something in this, then there would be nothing left for me to do but to resign. I tell you this in order to describe the state of things more clearly. Your son, of course, will not be expelled, and I had to resort to such a drastic measure only in order to stop an impossible, frankly, outrageous scene. His deed cannot be left unpunished either ... for others. I believe in his innocence and in the very near future I will try to remove this ulcer, Vakhnov, whom we are keeping because of his wounded father, who rendered great services to the city during the Sevastopol campaign ... But there is a limit to every patience. The pedagogical council will determine the punishment for your son today, and today I will notify you. Unfortunately, there is nothing more I can do for you.
Kartashev's mother silently, excitedly got up. Everything in her was seething and agitated, but somehow she completely lost the ground under her. She felt her complete impotence and at the same time she felt that she was more and more seized by the desire to do something to offend the invulnerable director. But she was afraid to hurt her son and preferred to leave as soon as possible.
“I just wanted to say,” Kartashev said, standing up behind his wife, “I fully share all your views ... I myself am a military man, and it would be strange not to sympathize with you ... Discipline ... of course ... But I wanted only to tell you about partnership... All the same, it seems to me, its usefulness cannot be denied...
The wife waited impatiently with displeasure for the end of the completely useless conversation begun by her husband.
- I completely deny it in the form in which it is generally understood, - the director replied, - namely, to hide scoundrels who deserve punishment.
- My God, - whispered Kartasheva, - a naughty child is a scoundrel!
And suddenly what she was afraid of, what she still kept in herself, flew out somehow by itself:
“But this scoundrel still deserves to be listened to before being heaped with abuse?”
The director flushed to the root of his hair.
- Madame, if I dare to tell you in my house ... I would say ... I would say that I do not consider myself responsible in my actions to you.
Kartasheva caught herself.
- I beg your pardon for my involuntary vehemence... This is all so new... please excuse... Does your wife have children? - she turned with an unexpected question to the director.
"Yes," he replied, puzzled.
“Tell her,” Kartasheva said in a trembling voice, “that with all my heart I wish her and her children never to experience what my son and I experienced today.
And, barely holding back her tears, she went out onto the stairs and hurried down to the carriage.
Sitting in the carriage, she waited for her husband, who still remained, in order to soften the impression made by his wife on the director with some farewell phrase ... Thoughts randomly, nervously raced through her head. Alien ... Completely alien ... Everything experienced, felt, suffered - does not give any rights. This is an assessment of the one to whom you give your ten-year, painfully intense work directly from hand to hand. Killer indifference... General considerations?! It is as if this general exists abstractly, somewhere for itself, and not for the same individual subjects ... It is as if this general, and not they themselves, will eventually become for them in the ranks of honest, selfless workers of their homeland ... It is definitely impossible without violating this general, do not trample the child's pride in the mud.
“Let’s go,” she said to her husband, sitting up nervously, “we’re going rather from these invulnerable people who think only about their own comforts and are not even able to remember that they themselves were once children.
In the evening the definition was sent pedagogical council. Tyoma had to stay at the gymnasium for an extra hour after school for an extra hour.
The next day, Tyoma, with the proper instructions, was sent to the gymnasium alone.
Climbing the stairs, Tyoma came face to face with the director. At first, he did not notice the director, who, standing upstairs, silently, attentively observed a small figure, diligently striding through two steps. When, having risen, he saw the director, the latter's black eyes looked sternly and coldly at him.
Tyoma frightened, awkwardly pulled off his hat and bowed.
The director barely perceptibly nodded his head and averted his eyes.
VII
WEEKDAYS
A fine November rain drummed monotonously on the windows.
On the big clock in the dining room, seven o'clock in the morning slowly, hoarsely struck.
Zina, who had entered the gymnasium the same year, was wearing a uniform brown dress and a white cape, sitting at the tea table, drinking milk and muttering quietly under her breath, constantly looking into the open book lying in front of her.
When the clock struck, Zina quickly got up and, going up to Tyoma's room, spoke through the door:
- Tyoma, it's already a quarter past seven.
Some indefinite lowing was heard from Tyoma's room.
Zina returned to the book, and again the quiet, even rumble of her voice was heard in the dining room.
Dead silence reigned in Tim's room.
Zina again went to the door and said energetically:
- Darkness, get up!
This time, in a displeased, sleepy voice, Tyoma answered:
- And I'll get up without you!
- Only fifteen minutes left, I won't wait for you for a single minute. I don't want to be late every time because of you.
Dark reluctantly got up.
Putting on his boots, he went to the washstand, splashed water twice in his face, wiped himself off somehow, grabbed a comb, made a careless section on the side of the curve and uneven, scratched his Thick hair; not having finished, he smoothed them impatiently with his hands, and, having dressed, buttoning his frock-coat as he went, he went into the dining-room.
“Mom ordered that you definitely drink a glass of milk,” Zina said.
Tyoma just moved his eyebrows silently.
- I won't drink such a vodka... Drink it yourself! - answered Tyoma, pushing the glass of tea served by Tanya.
- Artemy Nikolaevich, my mother is strong, but they don’t allow it.
Tyoma sat for a few moments, then resolutely jumped up, took the kettle and poured some strong tea into his glass.
Tanya looked at Zina, Zina at Tyoma; and Tyoma, pleased that he had achieved his goal, dipped bread in tea and ate it, not looking at anyone.
- Will you drink milk? Tanya asked.
- Half a cup!
After the milk, Zina got up and, saying resolutely: "I don't wait another minute," she began to hurriedly collect her notebooks and books.
Tom slowly followed suit.
The brother and sister went out to the entrance, where for a long time a closed, as if doused with water, carriage, a wet Bulanka and the same wet, hunched over, one-eyed Yeremey, had been waiting for them for a long time.
Zina first disappeared in the carriage, followed by Tyoma.
Yeremey buttoned up his apron and drove off.
The rain drummed dully on the roof of the carriage. It suddenly seemed to Tyoma that Zina occupied more than half of the seat, and therefore he began to lightly push Zina.
- Darkness, what do you want? - Zina asked as if she did not understand anything.
- Well, yes, you sat down so that it’s cramped for me!
And Tyoma pressed even harder on Zina.
“Tyoma, if you don’t stop now,” Zina said, pushing her legs with all her might, “I’ll go back to dad! ..
Tom silently continued his work. The Force was on his side.
- Eremey, go back! - Zina shouted out of patience.
- Yeremey, go ahead! - shouted at the same time Tyoma.
- Yeremey - back!
- Yeremey - go ahead!
Completely bewildered, Yeremey stopped and, looking through the crack with his only eye at his quarrelsome riders, said:
- Well, by God, I'm going to get off the goat, and go, like you want, because I don’t know who they are listening to!
All was quiet inside the crew. Yeremey went on. He safely reached the women's gymnasium, where Zina got off. Tyoma went on alone.
Fantasy imperceptibly took him away from reality, to a desert island, where he, having fought to his heart's content with savages and all kinds of monsters of the world, finally decided to die.
Tyoma loved to die. Everyone will pity him, cry; and he will cry... And tears are just about ready to splash from Tyoma's eyes... And Yeremey has long been standing at the gates of the gymnasium and looking through the crack with a surprised eye. Tyoma comes to his senses frightened, looks around, in the prevailing silence in the yard he realizes that he was late, and his heart sank sadly. He quickly runs through the yard, up the stairs, quickly takes off his coat and tries to slip down the corridor unnoticed.
But the tall Ivan Ivanovich, waving his long arms, is already coming towards them. He somehow casually catches Tyoma by the shoulder, looks into his face and lazily asks:
- Kartashev?
- Ivan Ivanovich, - do not write down, - Tyoma asks.
- The teacher will write it down anyway, - Ivan Ivanovich answers phlegmatically, who does not have the courage to refuse directly.
- We have a father ... I will ask ...
Ivan Ivanovich hesitantly, reluctantly says:
- Fine...
Tyoma opens a large door and somehow sideways enters his classroom. Stale, warm air pours over him, he hurriedly bows to the priest and hurries anxiously to his place.
At the end of the lesson, a small figure runs after the priest:
- Father, erase my abs *.
______________
* Abs - absent (from lat. absens).
Batiushka walks, waddling from side to side, slowly throws back his silk cassock, takes out a handkerchief, blows his nose and asks Tyoma:
- Why are you late?
Behind Tyoma and the priest, pushing, a whole tail of curious students runs. Everyone is interested in hearing with at least one ear what the matter is.
“Our clock is behind us,” Tyoma replies, lowering his voice so that others do not hear. - I now put them a quarter of an hour ahead.
“You don’t spoil the clock, but it’s better to get up a quarter of an hour earlier yourself,” says the priest and disappears at the door of the teacher’s room.
The tail snorts.
Tyoma suppresses his bewilderment, makes a nonchalant face in front of the students who look at him mockingly, and hurries to the classroom. There he sits down in his place, raises both knees, rests them on the bench and, trying to look indifferently, ponders the meaning of the father's words.
Vakhnov folded the paper and, after wetting it with saliva, runs it around Tyoma's neck and face. Darkness says:
- Well, back off!
But Vakhnov is not far behind.
- Nu, that you for pig! Tim says.
In response, Vakhnov grabs Tyoma by the arm and twists it behind his back. Tyoma's impotent anger boils, he wants to "crack" Vakhnov, and he embarks on a trick.
- Well, leave it, - Tyoma repeats already affectionately.
Vakhnov softens, condescendingly gives Tyoma a click and releases his hand. Tyoma quickly jumps up on the bench and, "cracking" Vakhnov, rushes from him along the benches. Verzila Vakhnov rushes after him. Tyoma jumps to the floor and rushes to the door. Vakhnov overtakes him, crushes him and with all his might strikes his shoulder blades with his palm.
- Well, what kind of pig are you?! - Tom says sadly.
Vakhnov answers with heavy spanks.
- Leave it, - Tyoma pleads plaintively. - Well, why are you torturing me?
Vakhnov hears tears in Tyoma's voice. He feels sorry for Tim.
- Moo-lobe! - says Vakhnov, and again, already from an excess of feelings, he squeezes Tyoma.
A young, bespectacled teacher is walking along the corridor Latin Khlopov. When the teacher enters, everything is already in place. Khlopov carefully examines the class, quickly makes a roll call, then leaves his platform and walks around the class for the whole lesson, not losing sight of anyone for a moment. Passing by a bench where little Gerberg with a curly head and a funny birdlike face sits, the teacher stops, sniffs the air and says:
- Smells like garlic again?
Gerberg blushes as the aroma wafts from his drawer, which contains a mouth-watering piece of stuffed pike he brought for breakfast.
I won't let you into class! What is this nonsense?! Get it out now! - And, after a pause, he says after Gerberg, who takes away his delicacy:
- You can enjoy yourself, when you really like it, at home.
The students snort, look at Gerberg, but on the face of the latter, except for incomprehension: how can one not like such a tasty thing as stuffed pike, nothing else is reflected. Tyoma looks at Gerberg with curiosity, because he is Leiba's son, and Tyoma, who constantly saw Moshka at his father's counter, cannot get used to his figure in a gymnasium frock coat.
- Kornev, incline, - says the teacher.
Kornev gets up, twists his already ugly, swollen face, and begins sourly in a hoarse, low voice.
The teacher listens and winces in annoyance.
- Why are you creaking like an unoiled cart? After all, you probably know how to speak in a different voice during recreation *.
______________
* Change (from lat. recreatio).
Kornev clears his throat and starts on a higher note.
- Ivanov, go on...
Tyoma's neighbor, Ivanov, gets up, looks at the teacher with his sidelong eyes, and continues.
- Wrong! Vakhnov, fix it!
Vakhnov jumps up in a flurry and is silent.
- Kartashev!
Darkness jumps up and corrects.
- Well? Further!
"I don't know," Ivanov replies sullenly.
- Vakhnov!
- I was sick yesterday.
- Sick, - the teacher nods his head. - Kartashev!
Tyoma gets up and sighs: it was not for nothing that he wanted to repeat before the lesson - everything jumped out of his head.
- Well, you don't know, speak directly!
- I studied yesterday.
- Well, so say the same!
Tyoma raises her eyebrows and looks forward intensely.
- Sit down!
The teacher examines Vakhnov, Kartashev and Ivanov point-blank.
Vakhnov smugly moves his eyes from side to side. Ivanov, knitting his eyebrows, looks sullenly into the bench. The tightened, pale Tyoma sadly, inquisitively peers with his frightened blue eyes at the teacher and says:
- I knew yesterday. I was afraid...
The teacher snorts dismissively and turns away.
- Yakovlev, phrases!
The first student, Yakovlev, gets up and confidently and calmly says:
- Asinus excitatur baculo.
- Schwander! Translate.
An abnormally fat, well-fed, clean boy gets up. He makes painful faces and licks his lips.
- I went to lick my lips! What are you going to eat me, or what?!
The students laugh.
Schwander frantically presses thumb on the bench, makes an effort and says:
- Donkey...
- Well?
- Chasing...
Schwander makes another painful grimace and cums:
- Stick.
- Thank God, gave birth.
The second half of the lesson is devoted to the written answer.
The teacher walks and carefully monitors that they do not cheat. His eyes meet Danilov's, in which the astute teacher suddenly noticed something.
- Danilov, give me your book.
“I don’t have a book,” Danilov says, blushing, and awkwardly gets up from his seat, at the same time clutching the Latin grammar with his knees.
The teacher looks in and pulls out the ill-fated book with his own hand.
Danilov looks in embarrassment at the bench.
- Quiet, quiet, but already learned to cheat. Ashamed! Stand without a seat!
Danilov's handsome, round-shouldered figure somehow resolutely goes to the teacher's place and stands facing the class. His embarrassed beautiful eyes look good-naturedly and openly straight into the eyes of the teacher.
The long-awaited, gratifying bell for the student's hearing is heard.
- To the next class...
The teacher asks for grammar, then phrases from Latin to Russian, then he dictates from Russian to Latin, and, having taken another five minutes from recreational, finally leaves.
What upsets students the most is the extra five minutes.
After Khlopov's lesson there is somehow little revival. Most sit in their favorite position - with their knees resting on the bench, and wearily, aimlessly stare.
An old, fat teacher of the Russian language suddenly appears on the teacher's elevation.
- The parrot on the pole had fun! - monotonously, in a singsong voice, he draws and scratches his bald head on the ruler attached to it.
Tyoma and Vakhnov are also having fun, and they don’t care about the parrot, or the teacher, or his system, by virtue of which the teacher considered it necessary first of all to acquaint the children with syntax.
- Gerberg, where is the subject?
- On a pole, - Gerberg jumps up and glares at the teacher with his bird's face.
“Fool,” the teacher says in the same tone, “you yourself are on the pole ... Kartashev! ..
Tyoma, who had just received a click in the very nose, jumped up in a disorderly manner and at the same moment completely disappeared, because Vakhnov, with a deft movement of his foot, pushed him to the floor.
- Kartashev, where did you go? the teacher screams.
Darkness, red, appears and explains that he failed.
- How could you fail when you have a hard floor under you?
- I slipped...
- How could you slip when you were standing?
Instead of answering, Tyoma again rides under the bench. He reappears and looks furtively at Vakhnov with fierce despair. Vakhnov, resting his elbow on the bench, presses his hand to his mouth so as not to burst out laughing, and does not look at Tyoma. Tyoma breaks his heart with an imperceptible kick to Vakhnov in the shoulder, but the teacher saw this and was offended.
- Kartashev unit for behavior.
Bald as a knee, the head of the teacher bends down and looks for the name of Kartashev. Tyoma, while the teacher does not see, once again vents his anger and pulls Vakhnov by the hair.
- Kartashev, where is the subject?
Tyoma instantly abandons Vakhnov and looks for the subject with his eyes.
Yakovlev, having fallen off the front bench, looks at Tyoma. "Hint!" - the eyes of Tyoma pray.
- At the parrot, - Yakovlev whispers, and his nostrils swell from the upcoming pleasure.
- At the parrot, - Tyoma picks up joyfully.
General laughter.
- Fool, you're a parrot. Since then, Kartashev is not Kartashev, but a parrot. Gerberg is not Gerberg, but a pole. Parrot on a pole - Kartashev on Gerberg.
The class is laughing. Yakovlev groans with delight.
The thick, huge figure of the teacher begins to sway slightly. Good-natured little gray eyes squint, and for a while an old "he-he-he" rushes around the classroom.
But suddenly the teacher's face becomes serious again, the class subsides, and the same monotonous voice continues in a singsong voice:
- In the classroom - where is the subject?
Gross silence.
- Fool, - the teacher says good-naturedly, in a singsong voice. - All parrots and poles. Parrots sit on poles.
Meanwhile, Tyoma does not take his eyes off Yakovlev.
- Does he dare to suggest nonsense? - either advises, or protests Tyoma, turning to Vakhnov.
As soon as the bell rings, he rushes to Yakovlev:
- You dare to tell nonsense?!
- And you are free to repeat, - Yakovlev snorts dismissively.
- So here's to you! - Tyoma says and punches him in the face with all his might. - Now tell me!
Yakovlev looks confused for the first moment and then impetuously, without deigning to look at anyone, quickly leaves the classroom. A little later, the broad-shaven face of the inspector appears in the doorway, and behind him, all in tears, Yakovlev.
- Kartashev, come here! - dry and sharply heard in the classroom.
Tyoma rises, walks and looks frightened into the inspector's bulging blue eyes.
- You hit Yakovlev?
- He...
- I ask you: did you hit Yakovlev?
And the voice of the inspector turns into a dry crackle.
- Hit, - Tyoma replies quietly.
- Tomorrow for two hours without lunch.
The inspector leaves. Tyoma, having risen from the merciful punishment, victoriously turns to Yakovlev and says:
- Yabed!
- And what do you think, you will beat in the face, and kiss your hands for it? biting his nails and glaring at Tyoma with his small eyes, Kornev asked venomously calmly.
Has entered new teacher - German language, Boris Borisovich Knop. It was a small, frail figure. Such figurines often come across among porcelain figurines: in checkered trousers and blue, with long narrow sleeves, tailcoat. He walked quietly, with a slow gait, which the disciples called "raskoryak".
In Boris Borisovich there was nothing of a teacher. Meeting him on the street, one could take him for a tailor, a gardener, a petty official, but not for a teacher.
The students did not know anything about any teacher from his home life, but everyone knew about Boris Borisovich. They knew that he had an evil wife, two daughters of old maids, a mother - a blind old woman, a hunchbacked aunt. They knew that Boris Borisovich was poor, that he trembled before his superiors no worse than any of them. They also knew that Boris Borisovich could grease his pen with bacon, pour sand into the inkwell, and, after chewing papers, let paper devils fly into the ceiling.
IN Lately Boris Borisovich began to move noticeably.
Having done the roll call, he with difficulty stepped down from the platform on which his desk stood, and relaxed, in an old man's way, stopping in front of the class, slowly began to take a handkerchief out of the back pocket of his tailcoat.
Having blown his nose, Boris Borisovich raised his head and turned to the students with a complacent speech, in which he suggested that they should not make noise, listen quietly to the lesson and be good, kind children.
“Please,” finished Boris Borisovich, and the request of a tired, sick man sounded in his voice.
But Boris Borisovich immediately caught himself and added more sternly:
- And whoever does not want to sit quietly, I will punish him without pity very severely.
For a few minutes everything went well. The pained appearance of the teacher humbled the students. But Vakhnov, having already adjusted the pen with an experienced hand, gave them a thin, disturbing sound, well known to the teacher.
Boris Borisovich boiled up.
- You are pigs, and you cannot speak like a human being ... You only feel respect for a person when he will choke you like this.
And, trembling with rage, Boris Borisovich raised his fist and showed how he would choke.
- Oh, you German herring! - someone whispered and, having chewed the paper, skillfully stuck it into the side of Boris Borisovich's tailcoat.

looked into Dobrolyubov, savored Buckle's introduction, read Shchapov and memorized
that the primary tribe that inhabited Russia was Kurgan and had a skull
subocephalic.
Relations between Kornev and Kartashev have changed: although the disputes did not stop and
wore the same passionate, burning character, but in a relationship
equality crept in. Kartasheva began to invite Kornev's party to their
evening: Kartashev pulled his company along with him. Even Semyonov reconciled,
attended readings and was convinced that nothing was happening there for which
follow the exclusion of anyone from the gymnasium.
Berendya, too, threw himself into reading with ardor and passion, and gradually
acquired some respect in the circle as a well-read man, with an enormous
memory, like a walking encyclopedia of all kinds of knowledge.
Sometimes, if the company had the patience, they listened to it to the end, and
then some original,
generalized and substantiated idea.
Kornev then thought, bit his nails and looked inquisitively into his eyes,
while tall Berendya, in the pose of a dancer, rising even higher on his toes and
carefully pressing his hands to his chest, he hastily laid out his
considerations.
Only in the eyes of Vervitsky did Berendya retain his former look of a fool and
confusion in practical life. However, this is how he was in the hostel
relations: was on the account of the authorities incapable, had bad marks, according to
Mathematics did not get out of the deuce and only in history had a round five.
History, and especially Russian, he loved to the point of illness. With a great memory
he remembered all the years and re-read a lot of historical Russian books.
Barometer of friendly relations - Dolba condescendingly ruffled Berendya
on the shoulder and said good-naturedly:
- Buckle is not Buckle, but God forbid that our calf and widow ate.
Aglaida Vasilievna finally got her way. Once Kartashev after
long hesitation (he was always afraid that they would not want to come to him) invited to
himself Kornev, Rylsky, Dolba and his former friends - Semenov,
Vervitsky and Berendyu.
Former friends had already gathered and drank evening tea at a large family
table when the bell rang and the new arrivals burst into the anteroom. They
undressed, looked at each other and exchanged words loudly.
Rylsky, before entering, took out a clean little comb, combed it and
without that, his smooth, soft, golden hair, trimmed pince-nez, cheerfully
squinted at Kornev's remark "good", saying "snout", and the first went into
living room. Seeing the company in another room, he confidently headed there.
Kornev came in after him, his face impossibly contorted and with a peculiar
thoughtful, concentrated look.
Behind everyone, swaying, with a hint of some kind of disdain and at the same
time of embarrassment, Dolba walked, rubbing his hands and shivering, as if he had
Cold.
Kartashev went into the living room to meet the guests and shook hands with them in embarrassment.
For a few moments he stood before his guests, and the guests stood before him,
not knowing what to do with myself.
- Subject, lead your guests to the dining room! mother rescued.
Bowing to Aglaida Vasilievna, Rylsky shuffled his head
head, and, bowing politely once more, shook the hand extended to him. Kornev
merged everything in one bow, clenched his hand tightly, bowed his head low, and still
more distorted face. Dolba leaned over and after shaking, raising
head, vigorously shook his hair, and they, having scattered like a fan, again
settled into their places.
“It is very pleasant, very glad, gentlemen, to meet you,” said Aglaida
Vasilievna, affably and attentively looking around at the guests.
Kartashev at that time completely turned into vision and, in his own way,
impressionability, did not notice how he himself bowed when they introduced themselves
his comrades.
- You, rather than bow, imagine it better for your sister, - he advised
good-naturedly Rylsky, who at that time was looking at Kartashev's sister in
hesitatingly waiting to be introduced.
Zinaida Nikolaevna laughed merrily, Rylsky too - and all at once
got some kind of relaxed, free character.
Rylsky sat down near Zinaida Nikolaevna, laughed, joked, helped him
Semenov. Kornev started a serious conversation with Aglaida Vasilievna. Dolba
talked to Kartashev, Vervitsky and Berendya listened in silence.
Zinaida Nikolaevna, already a seventeen-year-old young lady, in the last class
the gymnasium, which was expecting her brother's guests with some disdain, blushed,
started talking, and the mother noted with pleasure in her daughter the ability and
entertain guests, and be able to please without any shocking mannerisms. Everything in her
it was simple to the point of modesty, but somehow naturally graceful: the turn of the head,
embarrassment, the manner of lowering her eyes - everything satisfied the demanding Aglaida
Vasilievna. But Theme left much to be desired: he was embarrassed, scattered,
not knowing what to do with his hands, and hunched unbearably.
Kornev hunched even worse. But Rylsky behaved impeccably. His
bows and manners enchanted everyone. Dolba produced some painful
the impression of a desire to do something, somehow advance. Semyonov had
visible home training. Vervitsky and Berendya were for Aglaida Vasilievna
old familiar bear cubs.
The company moved into the living room. Aglaida Vasilievna, letting everyone through,
mentally determined the place of her son in the society of his comrades.
Zinaida Nikolaevna sat down at the piano, Semyonov began to open his
violin. Rylsky stood near the piano, Kornev and Dolba with a sour physiognomy
walked along the windows and looked around. Kornev regretted that he had come and
loses the evening in an uninteresting environment for him.
Aglaida Vassilyevna left and returned, holding Natasha's hand.
Slender fifteen-year-old Natasha, all inflamed, looked with her
deep big eyes the way they look at fifteen years old at such
a major event, as the first acquaintance with such a large society. She somehow
and trustingly, and uncertainly, and timidly held out her graceful hand to the guests. Her
thick hair was braided in one thick braid at the back.
Her appearance was greeted with general pleasure: she immediately made
impression. Kornev glared at her and energetically set to work on his nails.
Berendi's radiant eyes became even more radiant.
Zina glanced at her sister and the guests, and pleasure ran through her
face. She was also pleased by her sister's spectacular appearance, and, perhaps, by the fact that
Semyonov and Rylsky stayed with her. She felt it right away
female nature. The mother also felt it and, leaving her daughter near Kornev,
took on Dolba.
Dolba spoke with her passionately and confidently about the harassment of police officers in
village. Aglaida Vasilievna never imagined that the officers were
such evil. She has an estate herself ... Where does he come from? Not far from her estate?
That's how! Very nice. In the summer, she hopes...
“Very nice,” said Dolba, laughing and shuffling his feet.
Only he is a bear, a simple village bear, he is afraid to be
boring, uninteresting guest.
Aglaida Vasilievna lowered her eyes for a moment, a slight smile
ran across her face, she looked at her son and talked about how quickly
time passes and how strange it is for her to see her son so big. He is completely
almost big, joke to say, after some two years already in
university. Dolba listened, looked at Aglaida Vasilyevna and thought merrily:
"Cunning woman".
Semyonov settled down, adjusted himself, stretched out his hand, and solid
the sounds of the violin interspersed with the soft melodic playing of Zinaida Nikolaevna.
“Zinaida Nikolaevna plays well,” Rylsky praised.
Zinaida Nikolaevna flushed, and Semyonov nodded his head intently,
continuing to output smooth solid sounds.
- Do you play? - asked Kornev, looking into Natasha's eyes.
“Bad,” Natasha answered timidly, burning with her eyes, as if
apologized to Kornev. Kornev again took up his nails and felt
yourself especially well.
The evening passed unnoticed and lively. Aglaida Vasilievna with great tact
managed to make sure that no one was bored: it was free, but
at the same time, some imperceptible, though pleasant, hand was felt.
With the arrival of the last guest, Darcier, who immediately charmed everyone
with the ease of his elegant manners, quite unexpectedly, the evening
ended with dancing: Darcier, Rylsky and Semenov danced. Even danced
mazurka, and Rylsky walked in such a way that he aroused general delight.
Natasha did not want to dance at first.
- From what? - Kornev ironically convinced her. - You need it...
In about three years you will start to leave, there ... well, as it all happens.
“I don’t like dancing,” Natasha answered, “and I will never leave.”
- That's how ... why is it?
So... I don't like...
But in the end, Natasha went to dance.
Her slender, slender figure moved unsteadily across the hall, hurriedly
looking ahead, while Kornev looked at her and nibbled more concentratedly than usual.
your nails.
“Y-yes…” he drawled absently, when Natasha again sat down beside him.
- What "yes? she asked.
“Nothing,” Kornev answered reluctantly. After a pause, he said: - I'm all here
I wanted to understand what the pleasure is in dancing ... I actually don’t mind
even wilder movements, but ... it's convenient in the air somewhere, in the summer ...
you know, he finds such a mood of a six-month-old calf ... you see,
maybe, like, raising my tail ... It seems that I use expressions that are not accepted in
decent society...
- What's wrong here?
- So much the better in that case ... So I sometimes find myself in such
mood...
“It happens, it happens,” Dolba intervened, “and then we tie him to
rope and beat.
Dolba showed how they beat, and burst into his small laugh. But,
noticing that Kornev did not like something, he was embarrassed and businesslike, and at the same time
time in a familiar voice asked:
- Listen, brother, isn't it time for us to get out?
“It’s still early,” Natasha looked at Kornev with her eyes.
“What do you mean,” answered Kornev, “sit and sit.
- Well, go on a spree, go on a spree...
Kornev no longer regretted the lost evening.
Already when they were about to disperse, Berendya suddenly expressed a desire to play
on the violin, and played so that Kornev whispered to Dolba:
- Well, if now the moon and summer: then everyone would be lost ...
On the way back, everyone was under the spell of the evening spent.
- Why, mother, damn it, - shouted Dolba, - the elder sister:
eyes, eyes. Oh shit...they all have eyes...
“Ah, smart woman,” said Kornev. - Well, grandma...
- Yes, yes ... - Rylsky agreed. - Our kind of heels.
- Such a prison!
And Dolba, squatting down, burst into his petty laughter. He was echoed by cheerful
the young laughter of the rest of the company carried far through the sleepy streets
cities.

They stayed at the Kartashevs' for a long time that evening. In the living room continued
burning lamps under the lampshades, gently shading the atmosphere. Zina, Natasha and Tema
sat, full of the feeling of the evening and the guests who were still felt in
rooms.
Zina praised Rylsky, his manner, his resourcefulness, wit; Natasha
liked Kornev and even his manner of biting his nails. Theme liked everything, and he
eagerly caught any feedback about his comrades.
- In Darcier and Rylsky, the influence of a decent family is more visible than others, -
said Aglaida Vasilievna.
Kartashev listened, and for the first time his
comrades: up to now the standard has been different, and between them all there is always
advanced and reigned Kornev.
“Semyonov has a certain tension,” continued Aglaida Vasilievna.
- Mom, have you noticed how Semyonov walks? Natasha asked quickly, and,
hands slightly apart, socks turned inside out, she went, all absorbed
diligence conscientiously imagine at this moment Semenov.
- And your Kornev bites his nails like that! - And Zina caricature hunched over in
three deaths, depicting Kornev.
Natasha watched Zina attentively, with some anxiety, and suddenly,
laughing merrily, throwing back her braid, she said:
No, it doesn't look like...
She stopped abruptly.
- Here...
She bent a little, stared at one point, and thoughtfully
raised her little fingernail to her lips: Kornev, as if alive, appeared between
talking.
Zina cried out: "Ah! how similar!" Natasha laughed merrily and immediately
took off her mask.
“It is necessary, Tema, to try to behave better,” said Aglaida
Vasilievna, - you are terribly hunched over ... You could be more effective than all your
comrades.
- After all, the Subject, if he kept well, would be very personable ... -
Zina confirmed. - Well, to tell the truth, he is very handsome: eyes, nose,
hair...
The topic hunched over embarrassingly, listened with pleasure and at the same time
winced unpleasantly.
- Well, what are you, Theme, just like a small one, right ... - Zina noticed. - But all
it’s with you, when you start to hunch over, it’s as if it disappears somewhere ... Eyes become
pleading, just about to ask for a penny ...
Zina laughed. Subject got up and walked around the room. He glanced
at himself in the mirror, turned away, went the other way, imperceptibly straightened up
and, going back to the mirror, glanced briefly into it.
- And how cleverly to dance with Rylsky! Zina exclaimed. - you don't feel
at all...
- And with Semyonov I kept getting lost, - said Natasha.
- Semyonov must certainly start from the door. He dances wow...
it is convenient with him ... only he needs to start ... Darcier dances very well.
“You have a very sweet manner,” mother threw to Zina.
“Natasha also dances well,” Zina praised, “just a little
runs...
“I don’t know how at all,” Natasha answered, blushing.
- No, you are very nice, but there is no need to rush ... You somehow always
before you start a gentleman ... Here, Tema, did not want to learn to dance, -
finished Zina, turning to her brother, - and now he would also dance, like
Rylsky.
“And you could dance well,” said Aglaida Vasilievna.
Theme imagined himself dancing like Rylsky: he
even felt his pince-nez on his nose, recovered himself and grinned.
“You looked like Rylsky at that moment,” Zina cried, and
suggested: - Come on, Tema, I'll teach you polka now. Mom, play.
And unexpectedly, to the music of Aglaida Vasilievna, training began
young bear cub.
- One, two, three, one, two, three! Zina counted, raising the tip
dresses and doing polka dots before Theme.
Subject bounced embarrassingly and conscientiously. Natasha sitting on the couch
looked at her brother, and her eyes reflected both his embarrassment and pity for
him, and some kind of reflection, and Zina only occasionally smiled, resolutely
turning her brother by the shoulders, and saying:
- Well, you, teddy bear!
- Oh oh oh! Quarter past one: sleep! sleep! - said Aglaida
Vasilievna, rising from her chair, and carefully lowering the lid of the piano, put out the
candles.

Life went on. The company went to class, somehow prepared their
lessons, gathered at each other's and intensively read, now together, now each
apart.
Kartashev did not lag behind the others. If reading was innate for Kornev
the need for the strength of the desire to comprehend the surrounding life, then for
Kartashev's reading was the only way to get out of that difficult
the position of "ignoramus" in which he felt himself.
Some Yakovlev, the first student, didn’t read anything either, he was an “ignoramus”,
but Yakovlev, firstly, had the ability to hide his ignorance, and
secondly, his passive nature did not push him anywhere. He was standing by
the little window that others had cut through for him, and he was not drawn to anywhere else.
The passionate nature of Kartashev, on the contrary, pushed him in such a way that often actions
it received a completely involuntary character. With such a nature,
the need to act, create or destroy - life is bad
semi-educated people: demi-instruit - double sot *, - the French say, and
Kartashev received enough blows on his share from the root company to
not passionately strive, in turn, to get out of the darkness that surrounded him.
Of course, and reading, on a variety of issues, he was still, maybe more
fog than before, but he already knew that he was in a fog, knew the way, how
get out of this fog little by little. Something has already been illuminated. He is with
gladly shook hands common man, and the consciousness of equality did not oppress him,
as once, but brought pleasure and pride. He didn't want to wear anymore
colored ties, take cologne from mother's toilet to perfume, dream
about patent leather boots. It even gave him special pleasure now -
slovenliness in a suit. He listened with delight when Kornev, counting him
his already, patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner and spoke for him to the reproach of his mother:
______________
* Semi-educated - doubly fool (French).

Where are we with the cloth snout!
Kartashev at that moment would be very glad to have a real cloth
snout, so as not to look like some smart Neruchev, their
estate neighbor.
After the evening described, the company, no matter how fun it was, avoided
under various pretexts to gather in the house of Aglaida Vasilievna. Aglaida
Vasilievna was upset by this, and Kartashev was also upset, but he went where everyone went.
“No, I don’t sympathize with your evenings,” said Aglaida Vasilievna, “
you study poorly, for the family you have become a stranger.
- Why am I a stranger? asked Kartashev.
- Everyone ... Before you were a loving, simple boy, now you are a stranger ...
looking for flaws in sisters.
- Where do I look for them?
- You attack the sisters, laugh at their joys.
- I don’t laugh at all, but if Zina sees her joy in some
dress, then, of course, it’s funny to me.
- And in what does she see joy? She learns lessons, goes first and complete
The right has rejoice at a new dress.
Kartashev listened, and in his heart he felt sorry for Zina. Indeed, let
rejoices in her dress if it pleases her. But there was something behind the dress
another, behind this again its own, and the whole network of conventional propriety again embraced and
braided Kartashev until he rebelled.
“Everything is accepted with you, not accepted,” he said ardently to his sister, “for sure
the world will fall apart from this, and all this is nonsense, nonsense, nonsense ...
not worth it. Korneva does not think about any of this, but God forbid that everyone was like that.
- Ooo! Mother! What he says?! Zina threw up her hands.
- Why is Korneva so good? asked Aglaida Vasilievna. - Studies
Fine?
- What are you studying? I don't know how she learns.
“Yes, he studies poorly,” Zina explained with a heart.
“So much the better,” Kartashev shrugged dismissively.
- Where is the limit of this better? - Aglaida Vasilievna asked, - to be for
inability expelled from the gymnasium?
- This is an extreme: you need to study halfway.
- So, your Korneva is half-hearted, - Zina inserted, - not a fish
neither meat, nor warm nor cold - fi, disgusting!
- Yes, this has nothing to do with either cold or warm.
“He has a lot, my dear,” said Aglaida Vasilievna. - I myself
I imagine this picture: the teacher calls "Kornev!" Korneva comes out.
"Answer!" - "I don't know the lesson." Korneva goes to the place. Her face at the same time
shines. In any case, probably contented, vulgar. No dignity!
Aglaida Vasilievna speaks expressively, and Kartashev is unpleasant and
hard: the mother managed to humiliate Korneva in his eyes.
- She read a lot? - continues the mother.
She doesn't read anything.
And he doesn't even read...
Aglaida Vasilievna sighed.
“In my opinion,” she says sadly, “your Korneva is an empty girl,
which cannot be treated strictly only because there is no one to point out to her
her emptiness.
Kartashev understands what his mother is hinting at, and reluctantly accepts
call:
- She has a mother.
- Stop talking nonsense, Subject, - authoritatively stops the mother.
- Her mother is as illiterate as our Tanya. Today I will dress Tanya for you, and
she will be the same as Kornev's mother. She might be very good.
woman, but this same Tanya, with all her virtues, still has
the shortcomings of her environment, and her influence on her daughter cannot be without trace.
One must be able to distinguish a decent, educated family from another. Not for that
education is given in order to finally mix into porridge everything that is in you
invested by generations.
- What generations? All from Adam.
- No, you deliberately deceive yourself; your notions of honor are thinner,
than Yeremey. It is not available to him, what is clear to you.
Because I am more educated.
- Because you are more educated... Education is one thing, but upbringing is another.
While Kartashev was thinking about these new barriers, Aglaida
Vasilievna continued:
- Subject, you are on a slippery slope, and if your brains do not work on their own,
then no one will help you. You can come out as an empty flower, you can give people abundant
harvest ... Only you yourself can help yourself, and you more than anyone,
sin: you have a family that you will not find another. If you are not in it
If you draw strength for a rational life, then nowhere and no one will give it to you.
- There is something higher than the family: social life.
- Public life, my dear, this is the hall, and the family is those stones from
which this hall is complicated.
Kartashev listened to such conversations of his mother as
the traveler listens to the ringing of his native bell. It rings and wakes the soul, but the traveler goes
his dear.
Kartashev himself was now pleased that it was not going to
company. He loved his mother and sisters, recognized all their virtues, but his soul
rushed to where the cheerfully and carelessly authoritative company for themselves
lived the life she wanted to live. Gymnasium in the morning, lessons in the afternoon, and in the evening
assembly. Not for drunkenness, not for revelry, but for reading. Aglaida Vasilievna
Reluctantly, she let go of her son.
Kartashev has won this right once and for all.
"I can't live feeling inferior to others," he told his mother forcefully.
and expressiveness - and if they make me live a different life, then I will become
scoundrel: I will break my life ...
- Please don't be intimidating, because I'm not one of the shy ones.
Nevertheless, since then, Kartashev, leaving home, only stated:
- Mom, I'm going to Kornev.
And Aglaida Vassilyevna usually only nodded with an unpleasant sensation.
head.

IV

GYMNASIUM

It was more fun at the gymnasium than at home, although the oppression and demands of the gymnasium were
heavier than the demands of the family. But there life was on the people. In everyone's family
the only interest was his, and there the gymnasium bound the interests of everyone. home wrestling
went eye to eye, and there was little interest in it: all innovators, each separately in
their families, felt their powerlessness, in the gymnasium they felt the same
impotence, but here the work went on together, there was full scope for criticism, and no one
the roads were those who were dismantled. Here it was possible without looking back, so as not to hurt
sick feelings of one or another of the company, try on that theoretical
the scale that the company gradually developed for itself.
From the point of view of this scale, the company treated all phenomena
gymnasium life and to all those who represented the authorities
gymnasium.
From this point of view, some deserved attention, others - respect,
the third - hatred and the fourth, finally, did not deserve anything but
neglect. The latter included all those who have in their heads, except
mechanical duties, there was nothing else. They were called
"amphibians". Good amphibian - overseer Ivan Ivanovich, vengeful amphibian
- mathematic teacher; not good and not evil: inspector, teachers of foreign
languages, pensive and dreamy, in colored ties, neatly combed.
They seemed to be aware of their misery themselves, and it was only at their examinations that
the figures were outlined for a moment in more relief, only to then disappear again with
horizon until the next exam. All the same director was loved and respected,
although they considered him a fever, capable of doing many faux pas in the heat of the moment.
But somehow they did not take offense at such moments and willingly forgot him.
sharpness. Four people were at the center of the company's attention: a Latin teacher in
Khlopov, Latin teacher in their class Dmitry
Petrovich Vozdvizhensky, literature teacher Mitrofan Semenovich Kozarsky and
history teacher Leonid Nikolaevich Shatrov.

The young teacher of the Latin language Khlopov, who taught in the lower
classes, did not like everyone in the gymnasium. Haven't had more fun
high school students, how to accidentally push this teacher and throw him
contemptuously "guilty" or give him the appropriate look. And when he
ran hurriedly along the corridor, red-haired, in blue glasses, with a striving
looking ahead, then everyone, standing at the door of their class, tried to look at
him as insolently as possible, and even the quietest, the first student Yakovlev,
flaring his nostrils, he said, not embarrassed whether they heard him or not:
- He is red because he sucked the blood of his victims.
And little victims, crying and overtaking each other, after each lesson
poured out after him into the corridor and in vain begged for mercy.
Satiated with ones and twos, the teacher only drove his
with intoxicated eyes and hurried, without saying a single word, to hide in
teacher's.
It cannot be said that this was an evil person, but his attention
used exclusively by the dumbfounded, and as these victims were under his
they were more and more afraid of guardianship, Khlopov became more and more tender towards them. And those
in turn, they revered him and, in a fit of ecstasy, kissed his hands.
Khlopov did not enjoy sympathy between teachers either, and which of the students
looked into the crack of the teacher's room during recreation, always saw him alone

Kartashev understands what his mother is hinting at, and reluctantly accepts the challenge:

She has a mother.

Stop, Tyoma, talking nonsense, - authoritatively stops the mother. - Her mother is as illiterate as our Tanya. Today I will dress Tanya for you, and she will be the same as Kornev's mother. She may be very good woman, but this same Tanya, for all her virtues, still has the shortcomings of her environment, and her influence on her daughter cannot be without a trace. One must be able to distinguish a decent, educated family from another. Education is not given in order to finally mix into mush everything that has been invested in you by generations.

What generations? All from Adam.

No, you deliberately deceive yourself; your concept of honor is thinner than that of Yeremey. For him, what is clear to you is not available.

Because I am more educated.

Because you are more educated... Education is one thing, but upbringing is another.

While Kartashev was pondering these new barriers, Aglaida Vasilievna continued:

Tyoma, you are on a slippery slope, and if your brains do not work on their own, then no one will help you. You can come out as an empty flower, you can give people a plentiful harvest ... Only you yourself can help yourself, and it’s a sin for you more than anyone else: you have a family that you won’t find another. If in it you do not draw strength for a rational life, then nowhere and no one will give it to you.

There is something higher than the family: social life.

Public life, my dear, is the hall, and the family are the stones of which this hall is composed.

Kartashev listened to such conversations of his mother as a departing traveler listens to the ringing of his native bell. It rings and awakens the soul, but the traveler goes his own way.

Kartashev himself was now pleased that it was not with him that the company was going. He loved his mother and sisters, recognized all their virtues, but his soul yearned for a place where a cheerfully and carelessly authoritative company lived the life it wanted to live. Gymnasium in the morning, lessons in the afternoon, and meetings in the evening. Not for drunkenness, not for revelry, but for reading. Aglaida Vasilievna reluctantly let her son go.

Kartashev has won this right once and for all.

I cannot live feeling inferior to others,” he said to his mother with force and expressiveness, “and if they force me to live a different life, then I will become a scoundrel: I will ruin my life ...

Please don't be intimidating because I'm not the type to be intimidated.

Nevertheless, since then, Kartashev, leaving home, only stated:

Mom, I'm going to Kornev.

And Aglaida Vassilyevna usually only nodded her head with an unpleasant feeling.

IV
Gymnasium

It was more fun at the gymnasium than at home, although the oppression and demands of the gymnasium were harder than those of the family. But there life was on the people. In the family of each, the interest was only his, and there the gymnasium connected the interests of everyone. At home, the struggle went on eye to eye, and there was little interest in it: all the innovators, each separately in their family, felt their powerlessness, in the gymnasium one felt the same powerlessness, but here the work went on together, there was full scope for criticism, and no one was dear to anyone. those who were taken apart. Here it was possible without looking back, so as not to hurt the sick feelings of one or another of the company, to try on the theoretical scale that the company gradually worked out for itself.

From the point of view of this scale, the company related to all the phenomena of gymnasium life and to all those who represented the administration of the gymnasium.

From this point of view, some deserved attention, others - respect, others - hatred, and the fourth, finally, did not deserve anything but neglect. The latter included all those who, in addition to their mechanical duties, had nothing else in their heads. They were called "amphibians". The kind amphibian is the overseer Ivan Ivanovich, the vengeful amphibian is the teacher of mathematics; not good and not evil: inspector, teachers foreign languages, thoughtful and dreamy, in colored ties, neatly combed. They themselves seemed to be aware of their wretchedness, and only at the examinations did their figures become outlined for a moment more clearly, only to disappear again from the horizon until the next examination. Everyone loved and respected the same director, although they considered him a fever, capable of doing many faux pas in the heat of the moment. But somehow they did not take offense at such moments and willingly forgot his harshness. The focus of the company was four: a Latin teacher in the lower grades Khlopov, a Latin teacher in their class Dmitry Petrovich Vozdvizhensky, a literature teacher Mitrofan Semenovich Kozarsky and a history teacher Leonid Nikolaevich Shatrov.

The young teacher of the Latin language Khlopov, who taught in the lower grades, was disliked by everyone in the gymnasium. There was no greater pleasure for high school students than to accidentally push this teacher and throw him a contemptuous “guilty” or give him an appropriate look. And when he ran hurriedly along the corridor, red-faced, in blue glasses, with his gaze fixed forward, then everyone, standing at the door of his class, tried to look at him as insolently as possible, and even the quietest, first student Yakovlev, flaring his nostrils, said, not embarrassed whether they hear it or not:

He is red because he sucked on the blood of his victims.

And the little victims, crying and overtaking each other, after each lesson poured out into the corridor after him and begged in vain for mercy.

Satiated with ones and twos, the teacher only moved his intoxicated eyes and hurried, without saying a single word, to hide in the teacher's room.

It cannot be said that this was an evil person, but only the dumbfounded ones used his attention, and as these victims under his care became more and more frightened, Khlopov became more and more tender towards them. And they, in turn, were in awe of him and, in a fit of ecstasy, kissed his hands. Khlopov did not enjoy sympathy between teachers either, and which of the students looked into the crack of the teacher's room during recreation always saw him running lonely from corner to corner, with a red, excited face, with the air of an offended person.

– There is something higher than the family: social life.

“Public life, my dear, is the hall, and the family are the stones of which this hall is composed.

Kartashev listened to such conversations of his mother as a departing traveler listens to the ringing of his native bell. It rings and awakens the soul, but the traveler goes his own way.

Kartashev himself was now pleased that it was not with him that the company was going. He loved his mother and sisters, recognized all their virtues, but his soul yearned for a place where a cheerfully and carelessly authoritative company lived the life it wanted to live. Gymnasium in the morning, lessons in the afternoon, and meetings in the evening. Not for drunkenness, not for revelry, but for reading. Aglaida Vasilievna reluctantly let her son go.

Kartashev has won this right once and for all.

“I cannot live feeling inferior to others,” he said to his mother with force and expressiveness, “and if they force me to live a different life, then I will become a scoundrel: I will ruin my life ...

“Please don't be intimidating, because I'm not the type to be scared.

Nevertheless, since then, Kartashev, leaving home, only stated:

- Mom, I'm going to Kornev.

And Aglaida Vassilyevna usually only nodded her head with an unpleasant feeling.

IV
GYMNASIUM

It was more fun at the gymnasium than at home, although the oppression and demands of the gymnasium were harder than those of the family. But there life was on the people. In the family of each, the interest was only his, and there the gymnasium connected the interests of everyone. At home, the struggle went on eye to eye, and there was little interest in it: all the innovators, each separately in their family, felt their powerlessness, in the gymnasium one felt the same powerlessness, but here the work went on together, there was full scope for criticism, and no one was dear to anyone. those who were taken apart. Here it was possible without looking back, so as not to hurt the sick feelings of one or another of the company, to try on the theoretical scale that the company gradually worked out for itself.

From the point of view of this scale, the company related to all the phenomena of gymnasium life and to all those who represented the administration of the gymnasium.

From this point of view, some deserved attention, others - respect, others - hatred, and the fourth, finally, did not deserve anything but neglect. The latter included all those who, in addition to their mechanical duties, had nothing else in their heads. They were called "amphibians". The kind amphibian is the overseer Ivan Ivanovich, the vengeful amphibian is the teacher of mathematics; not good and not evil: the inspector, teachers of foreign languages, pensive and dreamy, in colored ties, smoothly combed. They themselves seemed to be aware of their wretchedness, and only at the examinations did their figures become outlined for a moment more clearly, only to disappear again from the horizon until the next examination. Everyone loved and respected the same director, although they considered him a fever, capable of doing many faux pas in the heat of the moment. But somehow they did not take offense at such moments and willingly forgot his harshness. The focus of the company was four: a Latin teacher in the lower grades Khlopov, a Latin teacher in their class Dmitry Petrovich Vozdvizhensky, a literature teacher Mitrofan Semenovich Kozarsky and a history teacher Leonid Nikolaevich Shatrov.

The young teacher of the Latin language Khlopov, who taught in the lower grades, was disliked by everyone in the gymnasium. There was no greater pleasure for high school students than to accidentally push this teacher and throw him a contemptuous “guilty” or give him an appropriate look. And when he ran hurriedly along the corridor, red-faced, in blue glasses, with his gaze fixed forward, then everyone, standing at the door of his class, tried to look at him as insolently as possible, and even the quietest, first student Yakovlev, flaring his nostrils, said, not embarrassed whether they hear it or not:

“He is red because he sucked the blood of his victims.

And the little victims, crying and overtaking each other, after each lesson poured out into the corridor after him and begged in vain for mercy.

The book of selected works of the famous Russian writer N.G. Garin-Mikhailovsky includes the first two stories of the autobiographical tetralogy "Childhood of the Theme" and "Gymnasium students", as well as stories and essays from different years.

Childhood Themes

Gymnasium students

Stories and essays

In the evening

Grandmother Stepanida

wild man

Crossing the Volga near Kazan

Nemaltsev

Valnek-Valnovskiy

Father's confession

Life and death

two moments

Affairs. Pencil sketches

Clotilde

CHILDHOOD THEMES

From the family chronicle

I

UNLUCKY DAY

Little eight-year-old Tyoma stood over a broken flower and pondered with horror the hopelessness of his situation.

Just a few minutes ago, when he woke up, prayed to God, drank tea, and ate with appetite two pieces of bread and butter, in a word - conscientiously fulfilling all the duties that lay on him, went out through the terrace into the garden in the most cheerful, carefree disposition spirit. It was so good in the garden.

He walked along the neatly cleared paths of the garden, breathing in the freshness of the beginning summer morning, and looked around with pleasure.

Suddenly... His heart began to beat strongly with joy and pleasure... Dad's favorite flower, over which he had been fiddling so much, finally blossomed! Just yesterday, dad carefully examined him and said that he would not bloom before a week. And what a luxurious, what a lovely flower it is! No one, of course, has ever seen anything like it. Papa says that when Herr Gottlieb (the head gardener of the botanical garden) sees it, he will salivate. But the greatest happiness in all this, of course, is that no one else, namely he, Tyoma, was the first to see that the flower had blossomed. He will run into the dining room and shout at the top of his lungs:

- Terry blossomed!

II

PUNISHMENT

A short investigation reveals, in the opinion of the father, the complete failure of the son's upbringing system. It may be suitable for girls, but the natures of a boy and a girl are different things. He knows from experience what a boy is and what he needs. System?! Rubbish, rag, scoundrel will be released by this system. The facts are there, the sad facts - he began to steal. What else to expect?! Public disgrace? So first he would strangle him with his own hands. Under the weight of these arguments, the mother yields, and power passes to the father for a while.

The cabinet doors close tightly.

The boy looks around sadly, hopelessly. His legs completely refuse to serve, he tramples to keep from falling. Thoughts whirlwind, with terrifying speed, rush through his head. He strains with all his strength to remember what he wanted to say to his father when he stood in front of the flower. We must hurry. He swallows saliva to moisten his parched throat and wants to speak in a heartfelt, persuasive tone:

- Dear dad, I came up with ... I know that I'm to blame ... I came up with: chop off my hands! ..

Alas! what seemed so good and convincing there, when he stood before the broken flower, is very unconvincing here. Tyoma feels this and adds a new combination that just came to his mind to enhance the impression:

III

FORGIVENESS

At the same time, the mother passes into the nursery, casts a quick glance around it, makes sure that Tyoma is not here, goes on, inquisitively peers at the open door of the small room as she walks, notices in it the small figure of Tyoma lying on the sofa with her face buried, passes into dining room, opens the door to the bedroom and immediately closes it tightly behind him.

Left alone, she also goes to the window, looks and does not see the darkening street. Thoughts swarm through her head.

Let Tyoma lie like that, let him come to his senses, you must completely leave him to yourself now ... He should change his linen ... Oh, my God, my God, what a terrible mistake, how could she allow this! What vile filth! Just like a child is a conscious scoundrel! How not to understand that if he does stupid things, pranks, he does it only because he does not see the bad side of this prank. To point out this bad side to him, not from my own, of course, from the point of view of an adult, from his childish one, not to convince myself, but to convince him, to hurt his pride, again his childish pride, his weak side, to be able to achieve this - that's the task right upbringing.

How long does it take until it all gets back on track, until she manages to pick up again all these thin, elusive threads that bind her to the boy, the threads with which she draws, so to speak, this living fire into the framework of everyday life, draws in, sparing and frames, sparing the power of fire - a fire that, over time, will brightly warm the lives of people who have come into contact with it, for which people will warmly thank her someday. He, the husband, of course, looks from the point of view of his soldier's discipline, he himself was brought up like that, well, he himself is ready to chop off all the knots and hitches of a young tree, without even realizing that he is cutting future branches with them ...

Little Anya's nanny sticks her head tied in Russian.

IV

OLD WELL

Night. Tyoma sleeps nervously and excitedly. The dream is either light or heavy, nightmarish. He shudders every now and then. He dreams that he is lying on the sandbank of the sea, in the place where they are taken to swim, lying on the seashore and waiting for a big cold wave to roll over him. He sees this transparent green wave, as it approaches the shore, sees how its top boils with foam, how it suddenly grows exactly, rises in front of him like a high wall; he waits with bated breath and pleasure for her splashes, her cold touch, waits for the usual pleasure when she picks it up, rushes swiftly to the shore and throws it away together with a mass of fine prickly sand; but instead of the cold, that living cold that Tyoma’s body, inflamed from the beginning fever, so longs for, the wave pours over him with some kind of suffocating heat, leans heavily and suffocates ... The wave ebb again, it is again easy and free for him, he opens his eyes and sits on the bed.

The obscure half-light of the night lamp weakly illuminates four cots and a fifth large one, on which the nanny now sits in one shirt, with her scythe loose, sits and sleepily shakes little Anya.

- Nanny, where is the Bug? Tom asks.

“And-and,” the nanny answers, “some Herod threw a bug into an old well. - And after a pause, he adds: - If only he had killed first, otherwise, alive ... All day, they say, she squealed, heartfelt ...

Tyoma vividly imagines the old abandoned well in the corner of the garden, long ago turned into a dump of all sorts of sewage, imagines its sliding, liquid bottom, which sometimes with Ioska they liked to illuminate by throwing lighted paper into it.

V

HIRE YARD

Days and weeks passed in agonizing uncertainty. Finally healthy body the child took over.

When for the first time Tyoma appeared on the terrace, thinner, grown up, with short-cropped hair, it was already warm autumn outside.

Squinting from the bright sun, he surrendered himself entirely to the cheerful, joyful sensations of a convalescent. Everything caressed, everything amused, everything drew to itself: the sun, and the sky, and the garden that could be seen through the lattice fence.

Nothing has changed since his illness! It was as if he had only been leaving for two hours somewhere in the city.

The same barrel stands in the middle of the yard, still the same gray, withered, with wide wheels barely holding on, with the same dusty wooden axles, obviously smeared even before his illness. The same Yeremey pulls towards her the same Bulanka, still stubborn. The same rooster is anxiously explaining something to his hens under the barrel and is still angry that they do not understand him.

SCHOOL STUDENTS

From the family chronicle

I

THE DEPARTURE OF OLD FRIENDS TO THE MARINE CORPS

Once in the autumn, when it already smelled of frost in the yard, and the sun played merrily in the classrooms and it was warm and cozy, the sixth grade students, taking advantage of the absence of the non-appearing teacher of literature, as usual, broke into groups and, closely clinging to each other, carried on all sorts of conversations.

Livelier than the others, and most attracted to the students, was that group in the center of which sat Kornev, an ugly, with swollen eyes, fair-haired schoolboy, and Rylsky, a small, clean, with a self-confident face, with mocking gray eyes, in a pince-nez on a wide ribbon , which he now and then carelessly pawned behind his ear.

Semyonov, with a simple, inexpressive face, all covered in freckles, in a neatly buttoned and neat uniform, stared fixedly with his stubborn eyes at these movements of Rylsky and experienced the unpleasant feeling of a person in front of whom something is happening that, although not to his liking, but which, willy-nilly, one has to look at and endure.

This unconscious expression was expressed in Semyonov's entire collected figure, in his stubborn inclination of his head, in his manner of speaking in an authoritative and confident voice.

It was about the coming war. Kornev and Rylsky deftly went over Semyonov several times and irritated him even more. The conversation ended. Kornev fell silent and, biting his nails as usual, cast absent-minded glances to the right and left at the comrades around him. He had already glimpsed Semyonov's figure several times, and finally said, addressing him:

II

NEW FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

That ended the question of the body. Danilov and Kasitsky left, and Kartashev parted ways with friends with whom he had lived in perfect harmony for three years.

New time, new birds, new birds, new songs. New relationships, strange and confusing, on some new ground were established between Kartashev, Kornev and others.

It was no longer a friendship similar to the friendship with Ivanov, based on mutual love. It was not like a rapprochement with Kasitsky and Danilov, where the connection was their common love for the sea.

Rapprochement with Kornevoy was the satisfaction of some other need. Personally, Kartashev didn’t like Kornev, but he felt some kind of hostile, irritated, envy feeling towards him, and yet he was drawn to Kornev. There was no more pleasure for him than to clash with him in words and somehow cut him off sharply. But no matter how easy this case seemed at first glance, nevertheless it always turned out somehow that it was not he who interrupted Kornev, but, on the contrary, he received a very unpleasant rebuff from Kornev.

In his company with Danilov and Kasitsky regarding Kornev, they had long resolved the issue that Kornev, although a woman, although he is afraid of the sea, is not stupid and, in essence, a kind fellow.

III

MOTHER AND COMRADES

At home, Kartashev kept silent about both Pisarev and the Kornev family. After dinner, he locked himself in his room and, flopping down on the bed, set to work on Pisarev.

Previously, he had somehow mistaken for Belinsky several times, but he did not arouse any interest in him. Firstly, it was incomprehensible, and secondly - all the criticism of such works, which he had not heard of, and when he asked his mother, she said that these books were already out of use. So nothing came of this reading. With Pisarev, things went quite differently: at every step one came across thoughts already familiar in the speeches of the Root company, and Pisarev assimilated much more easily than Belinsky.

When Kartashev went out to tea, he already felt like a different person, as if they had taken off one dress and put on another.

Taking on Pisarev, he had already decided to become his follower. But when he began to read, then, to his pleasure, he was convinced that in the recesses of his soul he shared his opinions. Everything was so clear, so simple, that all that remained was to remember it better - and the end. Kartashev did not differ in perseverance at all, but Pisarev captured him. Particularly striking passages he even reread twice and repeated them to himself, tearing himself away from the book. He was particularly pleased with this perseverance that suddenly appeared in him.

Sometimes he came across something with which he did not agree, and decided to draw Kornev's attention to it. "Well, why don't you agree? Pisarev himself says that he does not want blind followers.”

IV

GYMNASIUM

It was more fun at the gymnasium than at home, although the oppression and demands of the gymnasium were harder than those of the family. But there life was on the people. In the family of each, the interest was only his, and there the gymnasium connected the interests of everyone. At home, the struggle went on eye to eye, and there was little interest in it: all the innovators, each separately in their family, felt their powerlessness, in the gymnasium one felt the same powerlessness, but here the work went on together, there was full scope for criticism, and no one was dear to anyone. those who were taken apart. Here it was possible without looking back, so as not to hurt the sick feelings of one or another of the company, to try on the theoretical scale that the company gradually worked out for itself.

From the point of view of this scale, the company related to all the phenomena of gymnasium life and to all those who represented the administration of the gymnasium.

From this point of view, some deserved attention, others - respect, others - hatred, and the fourth, finally, did not deserve anything but neglect. The latter included all those who, in addition to their mechanical duties, had nothing else in their heads. They were called "amphibians". The kind amphibian is the overseer Ivan Ivanovich, the vengeful amphibian is the teacher of mathematics; not good and not evil: the inspector, teachers of foreign languages, pensive and dreamy, in colored ties, smoothly combed. They themselves seemed to be aware of their wretchedness, and only at the examinations did their figures become outlined for a moment more clearly, only to disappear again from the horizon until the next examination. Everyone loved and respected the same director, although they considered him a fever, capable of doing many faux pas in the heat of the moment. But somehow they did not take offense at such moments and willingly forgot his harshness. The focus of the company was four: a Latin teacher in the lower grades Khlopov, a Latin teacher in their class Dmitry Petrovich Vozdvizhensky, a literature teacher Mitrofan Semenovich Kozarsky and a history teacher Leonid Nikolaevich Shatrov.

The young teacher of the Latin language Khlopov, who taught in the lower grades, was disliked by everyone in the gymnasium. There was no greater pleasure for high school students than to accidentally push this teacher and throw him a contemptuous “guilty” or give him an appropriate look. And when he ran hurriedly along the corridor, red-faced, in blue glasses, with his gaze fixed forward, then everyone, standing at the door of his class, tried to look at him as insolently as possible, and even the quietest, first student Yakovlev, flaring his nostrils, said, not embarrassed whether they hear it or not:

“He is red because he sucked the blood of his victims.

V

MAGAZINE

When classes were just starting after the vacations, Christmas seemed like such a distant beacon in the monotonous, gray sea of ​​gymnasium life.

But here is Christmas: tomorrow is Christmas Eve and the Christmas tree. The wind drives cold snow through the deserted streets and opens the cold uniform coat of Kartashev, who, alone, not in the usual company, hurries home from the last lesson. How quickly time has flown by. Where are Danilov and Kasitsky now? The sea is probably frozen. For a long time, since his friends left, Kartashev did not see him.

How things have changed since then. A completely different life, a different environment. And Korneva? Is he in love? Yes, madly in love, and what would he not give to be always with her, to have the right to look boldly into her eyes and tell her about his love. No, he will never offend her with his confession, but he knows that he loves, loves and loves her. Maybe she loves him too? Sometimes she looks into her eyes so much that you just want to grab, hug ... It's hot for Kartashev in the middle of a snow blizzard: his coat is half unbuttoned, and, as in a dream, he walks along the familiar streets. He has been following them for a long time. And summer and winter walks. Some joyful thought in the head will contact the house on which his gaze falls, and this house will wake up the memory later. And this thought will be forgotten, and the house somehow attracts everything to itself. It was on this corner that he somehow met her, and she nodded to him and smiled as if suddenly delighted. Why didn't he come to her then? She glanced back once more from a distance, and his heart sank and ached, and rushed towards her, but he was afraid that she would suddenly guess why he was standing, and he quickly walked away with a preoccupied face. Well, what if she had guessed that he loved her? Oh, it would be, of course, such impudence that neither she nor anyone would forgive him. Would everyone know, would they refuse the house, and with what eyes would Kornev look at him? No, don't! And so good: to love in your heart. Kartashev looked around. Yes, here is Christmas, two weeks of no lessons, the soul is empty and the pleasure of the holiday. He always loved Christmas, and his memory connected the Christmas tree, and gifts, and the aroma of oranges, and kutya, and a quiet evening, and a pile of delicacies into one. And there, in the kitchen, caroling. They come from there with their unpretentious delicacies: nuts, horns, wine berries, they are given dresses, things.

This has been the case for as long as he can remember. In the bright lights of the Christmas tree and the fireplace, immediately after dinner, his favorite kutya suddenly comes to mind again, and he runs merrily and returns with a full plate, sits down against the fireplace and eats. Natasha, his admirer, will shout: "Me too." Behind her is Seryozha, Manya, Asya, and everyone is here again with plates of kutya. Zina will not survive either. Everyone is cheerful and funny, and the mother, dressed up, pleased, looks at them affectionately. What will they give him this year? thought Kartashev, calling at the entrance.