‘Don’t look down on the old fellow, but
come round,’ pursued Mr. Ratsch. ‘But
now...’ (he pulled a fat silver watch out of
his pocket and put it up to one of his goggle eyes)’I’d
better be toddling on, I suppose. I’ve
another chick expecting me.... Devil knows what
I’m teaching him,... mythology, by God!
And he lives a long way off, the rascal, at the Red
Gate! No matter; I’ll toddle off on foot.
Thanks to your brother’s cutting his lesson,
I shall be the fifteen kopecks for sledge hire to
the good! Ha-ha! A very good day to you,
gentlemen, till we meet again!... Eh?...
We must have a little duet!’ Mr. Ratsch bawled
from the passage putting on his goloshes noisily,
and for the last time we heard his metallic laugh.
‘What a strange man!’ I said, turning
to Fustov, who had already set to work at his turning-lathe.
’Can he be a foreigner? He speaks Russian
so fluently.’
’He is a foreigner; only he’s been thirty
years in Russia. As long ago as 1802, some prince
or other brought him from abroad... in the capacity
of secretary... more likely, valet, one would suppose.
He does speak Russian fluently, certainly.’
‘With such go, such far-fetched turns and phrases,’
I put in.
’Well, yes. Only very unnaturally too.
They’re all like that, these Russianised Germans.’
‘But he’s a Czech, isn’t he?’
‘I don’t know; may be. He talks German
with his wife.’
’And why does he call himself a veteran of the
year twelve? Was he in the militia, or what?’
’In the militia! indeed! At the time of
the fire he remained in Moscow and lost all his property....
That was all he did.’
‘But what did he stay in Moscow for?’
Fustov still went on with his turning.
’The Lord knows. I have heard that he was
a spy on our side; but that must be nonsense.
But it’s a fact that he received compensation
from the treasury for his losses.’
’He wears some sort of uniform.... I suppose
he’s in government service then?’
’Yes. Professor in the cadet’s corps.
He has the rank of a petty councillor.’
‘What’s his wife like?’
‘A German settled here, daughter of a sausagemaker...
or butcher....’
‘And do you often go to see him?’
‘Yes.’
‘What, is it pleasant there?’
‘Rather pleasant.’
‘Has he any children?’
‘Yes. Three by the German, and a son and
daughter by his first wife.’
‘And how old is the eldest daughter?’
‘About five-and-twenty,’
I fancied Fustov bent lower over his lathe, and the
wheel turned more rapidly, and hummed under the even
strokes of his feet.
‘Is she good-looking?’
’That’s a matter of taste. She has
a remarkable face, and she’s altogether... a
remarkable person.’
‘Aha!’ thought I. Fustov continued his
work with special earnestness, and to my next question
he only responded by a grunt.
