Both mother and father, however, shared a consuming ambition to help their children advance in the world and enjoy the better things of life which circumstances had denied to their parents. Their father never wearied of trying to impart to them his own love of music and art, and there is perhaps more truth than cliche in the nice perception of Chekhov's maturity concerning himself and his brothers: "We get our talent from our father and our soul from our mother."
With the passing of years it was not Pavel Yegorovich's success in business but his assumed dignity and sense of social responsibility that won for him the respected position he yearned for in Taganrog. lie was finally designated as a merchant in the second guild, held an honorary position connected with the police, and at one time accepted membership in a town trade deputation. An indefatigable reader of newspapers, which he carefully collected, filed, and bound, he studiously prepared himself to discuss all manner of political and civic affairs with his associates. Dressed in a high silk hat and wearing an immaculately starchcd white linen shirt, he never failed to attend the town official ceremonies and celebrations. Though he began to be regarded as a man of substance, his actual material position was far from that. And now, with the expanding needs of his large family, and with living costs rising, he was faced with the serious problem of educating his children — which
he dimly recognized as an essential status-forming necessity.
«3»
"Well, here I am," Alexander recalls his father arguing with his mother. "I work in my store from morn to night and, according to my reckoning, the losses mount every year. Is that the way things go with Valyano or Skarmang? A fellow sits warmly and quietly in his office there, writes and clicks away at the abacus, and without straining himself receives a thousand roubles a year in cash. We must send the children to the Greek school."
"But wouldn't it be better to send them to the Taganrog school?" his wife gently inquires.
"The Lord take it —the Taganrog school! What good is it? There's Yefremov's son; he's finished the fifth year and learned Latin, and what does he get out of it? He sits on his father's neck or goes about the town doing nothing. . . ."
Pavel Yegorovich had been listening to the Greek hangers-on in his grocery store, and especially to Vuchina, teacher of the parish school of the local Greek church, who had a personal monetary interest in urging that the Chekhov boys attend his school. The picture was an enticing one. A bright young Russian with a good knowledge of Modem Greek could qualify for an excellent job in the office of one of the Greek export-import firms. And if he were smart enough, there was no telling where he might go from there. Pavel Yegorovich had no experience with foreign languages and was naive in the matter of educational programs. But his imagination willingly nurtured a vision of his sons earning a salary of a thousand roubles or more through the simple expediency of learning Modem Greek. Only the tuition of twenty-five roubles a year stood in the way. A customer's unexpected payment of a large grocery bill solved this problem. The father's mind was made up. Against the advice of his wife and certain family friends, he selected Antosha and Nikolai to enter the Greek parish school.
Actually, this educational institution was a kind of prison camp for the tough youngsters of Greek sailors, craftsmen, and petty grain brokers who wished to keep their children off the streets and away from the docks, where they raided discharged cargo in search of nuts, grapes, and oranges. The school building consisted of a single room accommodating about seventy boys ranging in ages from six to twenty. Five rows of dirty, variously carved and initialed benches symbolically represented the school's five classes. A sixth bench in front was for beginners. Modern Greek, syntax, some history, and a bit of arithmetic were the only subjects offered. Vuchina, amiable and sadistic by turns, taught all five classes, although he sometimes had the aid of a part-time assistant.
Alexander relates that terror gripped Antosha when he and his brother entered the school for the first time and the tall, bearded teacher directed them to the preparatory bench. Antosha was only seven and Nikolai two years older. When Vuchina disappeared for a moment in his little office at the back of the room, a big boy leaned over, grabbed Antosha by the hair, and pushed his nose painfully into the bench. The teacher reappeared and handed the brothers two little Greek alphabet books, ordering them to obtain twenty-five kopecks for each from their father. He pronounced a few letters from the alphabet, told them to learn the rest, and sauntered back to his office, on the way banging together the heads of two boys he had caught whispering.
The Chekhov brothers were bewildered at hearing Greek all around them and having their questions answered in this language. When they were unable to run through the alphabet the next day, Vuchina scolded and then paid no more attention to them. He instructed each of the five classes in turn, mostly through oral recitation of set pieces which the pupils learned by heart. Punishment was frequent and for the slightest infraction — blows of a ruler on the hand or head, kneeling on rock salt for lengthy periods, or being locked up in the schoolroom till evening without dinner.
From nine in the morning to three in the afternoon Antosha and Nikolai sat with folded hands at their beginners' bench. Apart from occasional shoves and kicks by the older boys, no one took any notice of them. After several weeks the part-time assistant was assigned to help them with Greek, but before any tangible progress was made, he had to leave for his other job. No doubt the brothers, detesting the teachers, the language, and the alien surroundings, quietly sabotaged the meager instruction accorded them. Though they did not dare to complain to their father, they poured their hearts out to their mother about the impossibility of learning Greek. Yet when Pavel Yegorovich visited the school to check up on the progress of his sons, Vuchina genially assured him that the youngsters were doing remarkably well. The elated father contentedly began to reckon how long it would be before Nikolai would be a clerk in the Valyano firm and Antosha in the office of Skarmang. Not until the Christmas vacation did he learn the sad truth. Before some Greek guests he proudly ordered the boys to display their knowledge of the language. Neither could read more than a word or two.
"You've gone to school for an entire half year and have still not begun to read!" exploded Pavel Yegorovich.
"No one in school shows us how to do it," the brothers answered simultaneously.
Since he had already paid the full tuition, and perhaps because he still had hopes, Pavel Yegorovich insisted that the brothers finish out the year. At the conclusion of it, when he ascertained that his sons had made little further progress in solving the mysteries of Greek, he decided to follow his wife's counsel and enter Antosha in the preparatory class of the Taganrog School for Boys.