and, in the peculiarly measured, guttural tone in which he used to
dictate us our lessons, began the story of his career.

Since he many times in later years repeated the whole to me
again--always in the same order, and with the same expressions and
the same unvarying intonation--I will try to render it literally, and
without omitting the innumerable grammatical errors into which he always
strayed when speaking in Russian. Whether it was really the history of
his life, or whether it was the mere product of his imagination--that
is to say, some narrative which he had conceived during his lonely
residence in our house, and had at last, from endless repetition, come
to believe in himself--or whether he was adorning with imaginary facts
the true record of his career, I have never quite been able to make
out. On the one hand, there was too much depth of feeling and practical
consistency in its recital for it to be wholly incredible, while, on the
other hand, the abundance of poetical beauty which it contained tended
to raise doubts in the mind of the listener.

"Me vere very unhappy from ze time of my birth," he began with a
profound sigh. "Ze noble blot of ze Countess of Zomerblat flows in my
veins. Me vere born six veek after ze vetting. Ze man of my Mutter (I
called him 'Papa') vere farmer to ze Count von Zomerblat. He coult not
forget my Mutter's shame, ant loaft me not. I had a youngster broser
Johann ant two sister, pot me vere strange petween my own family. Ven
Johann mate several silly trick Papa sayt, 'Wit sis chilt Karl I am
never to have one moment tranquil!' and zen he scoltet and ponishet me.
Ven ze sister quarrellet among zemselves Papa sayt, 'Karl vill never
be one opedient poy,' ant still scoltet ant ponishet me. My goot Mamma
alone loaft ant tenteret me. Often she sayt to me, 'Karl, come in my
room,' ant zere she kisset me secretly. 'Poorly, poorly Karl!' she sayt.