I was my father’s favourite son. When I was about seven years old, or more, I was turned over, in the village of Kharín where my father lived, to the sexton Philip, named Brudásty, for instruction. The sexton was of low stature, broad in his shoulders; a large round beard covered his chest, his head of thick hair came down to his shoulders, and gave the appearance of having no neck. There studied with him at the same time two of my cousins, Eliséy and Borís. Our teacher Brudásty lived alone with his wife in a very small hut; I used to come to Brudásty for my lessons early in the morning, and I never dared to open his door, until I had said aloud my prayer, and he answered “Amen.” I remember to the present day the instruction I received from Brudásty, probably for the reason that he often whipped me with a switch. I cannot in all faithfulness say that I was then guilty of indolence or stubbornness; on the contrary I studied very well for my years, and my teacher gave me lessons of moderate length and not above my strength, so that I readily memorised them. But we were not allowed to leave Brudásty for a moment, except for dinner; we had to sit uninterruptedly on the bench, and during the long summer days I suffered greatly from this continuous sitting, and grew so faint that my memory left me, and when it came to reciting my lesson in the evening, I had forgotten all I knew, and could not read half of it, for which the final resolve was that I was to be whipped for my stupidity. I grew to believe that punishment was an indispensable accompaniment of study. Brudásty’s wife kept on inciting us, during the absence of her husband, that we should yell louder, even if it was not our lesson. We felt some relief in our tedious sitting when Brudásty was away in the field working. Whenever Brudásty returned I recited my lessons correctly and without breaking down, just as I did in the morning when my thoughts were not yet tired out. From this I conclude that compulsory study is useless to the child, because the mental powers weaken from bodily labour and become languid. This truth becomes apparent when we compel a child to play beyond its pleasure: both the game and toys become wearisome to the child from mere ennui, and it will rarely play with them, if not altogether hate them.... Such is the fruit of senseless and worthless teachers, like Brudásty: from mere weary sitting, I got into the habit of inventing all kinds of accidents and diseases, which, in reality, I never had.