The educational police also conferred its presence on Trirodov’s school in the person of the Inspector of the National Schools.

The local Inspector of the National Schools, Leonty Andreyevitch Shabalov, had served all his life in remote, wooded places, and was for that reason quite an uncivilized being. Tall, robust, shaggy, unharmonious, he resembled even in external appearance a bear of Vologda or Olonetz. His face was overgrown with a thick beard. His thick hair crept down his low forehead towards his eyebrows. His back was broad and somewhat stooped, like a huge trough.

Shabalov frequently said to the instructors and instructresses in his district in a hoarse drawl:

“Batenka29 (or “golubushka"30 if it happened to be an instructress), brilliant instructors are not necessary. I don’t like clever men and women, I’m no respecter of modern ladies and dandies. The chief thing, batenka, in life and in service, is not to put on airs. In my opinion, batenka, if you perform your State obligations and conduct yourself peacefully you will find yourself well off. The educational programme has been worked out by people not more stupid than you and me, so that you and I needn’t spend our time philosophizing about programmes. That’s what I think, batenka!”

But, notwithstanding all his respect for educational programmes, Shabalov knew the educational business badly. It would be truer to say that he did not know it at all. He was hardly interested in it. He was not even very literate. He received his inspector’s position as a reward for his piety, patriotism, and correct mode of thinking, rather than for his labours in the interest of public instruction. He had served in his youth as a class assistant in the gymnasia. There, by a steady attendance at the gymnasia chapel and the reading of the apostles in a stentorian voice, he turned upon himself the attention of an old bigot of a general’s wife. She procured him the inspector’s position.

There was no way in which he could help the young and little-experienced instructors. When he visited the schools he limited himself to a superficial examination and gave the pupils several stupid questions, mostly on matters of piety, of “love towards the Fatherland and national pride."31

Above all, Shabalov loved to collect rumours and gossip. He did this with great ability and zeal. Every one knew this weakness of his. Consequently there were many eager to gossip and to inform against some one. There were even a number of informers among the instructors and instructresses who wished to gain favour and promotion. Once it was reported to Shabalov that teachers of both sexes in some of the neighbouring schools had gathered one holiday eve in one of the schools and sang songs there. He immediately sent them all a notification composed as follows:

On another occasion he wrote to the same instructor:

Shabalov was particularly displeased with the participation of certain instructors and instructresses in the local pedagogical circle. This circle was initiated in the town of Skorodozh some three years before by the gymnasia instructor Bodeyev and the town school instructor Voronok. The circle discussed various questions of upbringing, instruction, and school affairs generally which interested in those years many teachers and parents. Some of the members read their reports here. It was particularly provoking to Shabalov that these reports occasionally recounted certain episodes in school life and eccentricities of the educational authorities. Shabalov wanted to discharge the audacious ones. The District School Council did not agree with him. Then followed a long and unpleasant discussion, out of which Shabalov did not issue as conqueror.

Trirodov found it painful and difficult to talk with Shabalov.

Shabalov said in a slow, creaking voice:

“Giorgiy Sergeyevitch, you will have to send your wards to town for examination.”

“Why is it necessary?” asked Trirodov.

Shabalov laughed his creaking “he-he” laugh and said:

“Well, it’s necessary. We’ll give them certificates.”

“What’s the use of your certificates to them?” asked Trirodov. “They need knowledge and not certificates. Your certificates won’t feed their hunger.”

“The certificates are necessary for military service,” explained Shabalov.

“They will remain pupils here,” said Trirodov, “until they are ready for practical work or for scientific and artistic occupations. Then some of them will go to technical schools, others to universities. Why, then, should they have certificates for a course in a Primary School?”

Shabalov repeated dully and stubbornly:

“Things are not done that way. Your school is counted among the Primary Schools. Those who have completed the course should receive certificates. How else can it be?—judge for yourself! And if you wish to go beyond the primary course, then you’ll have to procure for yourself a private gymnasia or a professional school, or, if you like, a commercial one. But what you want is impossible. And, of course, you’d have to engage real teachers in place of your cheap barefoots.”

“My barefoots,” retorted Trirodov, “have the same diplomas and learning as the real teachers, to use your expression. It is strange that you do not know or realize that fact. And they receive such ample pay from me that I should hesitate to call them cheap. Generally speaking, it seems to me that in its relation to private schools the so-called educational council would do well to limit itself to an external police surveillance of a purely negative character. They should merely see whether we commit anything of a criminal nature. But what business have you with the direction of schools? You have so few schools of your own, and yet they are so poor that you have quite a time to attend to them.”

Shabalov, somewhat subdued, replied:

“Still, the examination will have to be held. Surely you understand that? And the Headmaster of the National Schools is anxious to be present at the examination. We have our instructions from the Ministry, and it is impossible to discuss the matter. Our business is to execute orders.”

“Come here yourselves if it is absolutely necessary to hold an examination,” said Trirodov coldly.

“Very well,” said Shabalov upon reflection. “I will report your wish to the Headmaster of the National Schools. I don’t know how he will look upon the matter, but I will make my report.”

Then he reflected again briefly. He rubbed his back, covered by its blue official frock, against the back of his chair—the greasy, faded cloth against the handsome dark-green leather—and said:

“If the Headmaster agrees to it, we will appoint the day and send you the notification, that you may expect us.”

In the course of a few days Shabalov sent the announcement that the examination in Trirodov’s school was appointed to be held on May 30, at ten o’clock in the morning, on the premises.

This meddling on the part of the educational police annoyed Trirodov, but he had to submit to it.