Alexyei Sergyeitch was a Russian man in every respect; he loved Russian viands, he loved Russian songs, but the accordion, "a factory invention," he detested; he loved to watch the maidens in their choral songs, the women in their dances. In his youth, it was said, he had sung rollickingly and danced with agility. He loved to steam himself in the bath,--and steamed himself so energetically that Irinarkh, who served him as bath-attendant, thrashed him with a birch-besom soaked in beer, rubbed him down with shredded linden bark,[40] then with a bit of woollen cloth, rolled a soap bladder over his master's shoulders,--this faithfully-devoted Irinarkh was accustomed to say every time, as he climbed down from the shelf as red as "a new brass statue": "Well, for this time I, the servant of God, Irinarkh Tolobyeeff, am still whole.... What will happen next time?" And Alexyei Sergyeitch spoke splendid Russian, somewhat old-fashioned, but piquant and pure as spring water, constantly interspersing his speech with his pet words: "honour bright," "God have mercy," "at any rate," "sir," and "little sir."... Enough concerning him, however. Let us talk about Alexyei Sergyeitch's spouse, Malanya Pavlovna. Malanya Pavlovna was a native of Moscow, and had been accounted the greatest beauty in town, _la Venus de Moscou_.--When I knew her she was already a gaunt old woman, with delicate but insignificant features, little curved hare-like teeth in a tiny little mouth, with a multitude of tight little curls on her forehead, and dyed eyebrows. She constantly wore a pyramidal cap with rose-coloured ribbons, a high ruff around her neck, a short white gown and prunella shoes with red heels; and over her gown she wore a jacket of blue satin, with the sleeve depending from the right shoulder. She had worn precisely such a toilet on St. Peter's day, 1789! On that day, being still a maiden, she had gone with her relatives to the Khodynskoe Field,[41] to see the famous prize-fight arranged by the Orloffs. "And Count Alexyei Grigorievitch ..." (oh, how many times did I hear that tale!), ... "having descried me, approached, made a low obeisance, holding his hat in both hands, and spake thus: 'My stunning beauty, why dost thou allow that sleeve to hang from thy shoulder? Is it that thou wishest to have a match at fisticuffs with me?... With pleasure; only I tell thee beforehand that thou hast vanquished me--I surrender!--and I am thy captive!'--and every one stared at us and marvelled." And so she had worn that style of toilet ever since. "Only, I wore no cap then, but a hat _a la bergere de Trianon_; and although I was powdered, yet my hair gleamed through it like gold!"