Leo Tolstoy Archive
Written: 1862
Source: From RevoltLib.com
Transcription/Markup: Andy Carloff
Online Source: RevoltLib.com; 2021
Let us suppose that, according to the roster, we begin with mechanical reading in the first or the youngest class; in the second, with graded reading; and in the third, with mathematics.
The teacher goes into the room, and finds the children rolling or scuffling on the floor, and crying at the top of their voices: "You're choking me!" "You stop pulling my hair!" or "Let up; that'll do!"
"Piotr Mikhailovitch," cries a voice from under the heap, as the teacher comes in, "make them stop."
"Good-morning, Piotr Mikhailovitch," shout still others, adding their share to the tumult.
The teacher takes the books and distributes them to those who have come to the cupboard. First those on top of the heap on the floor, then those lying underneath, want a book.
The pile gradually diminishes. As soon as the majority have their books, all the rest run to the cupboard, and cry, "Me one! me one!"
"Give me the one I had yesterday!"
"Give me the Koltsof[2] book!"
And so on.
If there happen to be any two scufflers left struggling on the floor, then those who have taken their places with their books shout:
"Why do you make so much noise? we can't hear anything! Hush!"
The impulsive fellows come to order and, all out of breath, get their books, and only for the first moment or two after they sit down does the dying excitement betray itself in an occasional motion of a leg.
The spirit of war takes its flight, and the spirit of learning holds sway in the room. With the same zeal as the lad had shown in pulling Mitka's hair, he now reads his Koltsof book, thus the works of Koltsof are called among us, with teeth almost shut together, with shining eyes, and total oblivion of all around him except his book. To tear him from his reading requires fully as much strength as it required before to get him away from his wrestling.