ed and yellow and blue; all one can say is, ''Tis a rainbow
or a diamond!'--But it soon bursts, and no trace of it remains. And
that's what those men were like."

"Well, and how about Potyomkin?" I asked one day.

Alexyei Sergyeitch assumed a pompous mien. "Potyomkin, Grigory
Alexandritch, was a statesman, a theologian, a nursling of Katherine's,
her offspring, one must say.... But enough of that, my little sir!"

Alexyei Sergyeitch was a very devout man and went to church regularly,
although it was beyond his strength. There was no superstition
perceptible in him; he ridiculed signs, the evil eye, and other
"twaddle," yet he did not like it when a hare ran across his path, and
it was not quite agreeable for him to meet a priest.[34] He was very
respectful to ecclesiastical persons, nevertheless, and asked their
blessing, and even kissed their hand every time, but he talked with them
reluctantly.--"They emit a very strong odour," he explained; "but I,
sinful man that I am, have grown effeminate beyond measure;--their hair
is so long[35] and oily, and they comb it out in all directions,
thinking thereby to show me respect, and they clear their throats loudly
in the middle of conversation, either out of timidity or because they
wish to please me in that way also. Well, but they remind me of my hour
of death. But be that as it may, I want to live a while longer. Only,
little sir, don't repeat these remarks of mine; respect the
ecclesiastical profession--only fools do not respect it; and I am to
blame for talking nonsense in my old age."

Alexyei Sergyeitch had received a scanty education,[36] like all nobles
of that epoch; but he had completed it, to a certain degree, by reading.
He read only Russian books of the end of the last century; he considered
the newer writers unleavened and weak in style. During his reading he
placed beside him, on a round, one-legged little table, a silver jug
filled with a special effervescent kvas flavoured with mint, whose
pleasant odour disseminated itself through all the rooms. He placed
large, round spectacles on the tip of his nose; but in his later years
he did not so much read as stare thoughtfully over the rims of the
spectacles, elevating his brows, mowing with his lips and sighing. Once
I caught him weeping, with a book on his knees, which greatly surprised
me, I admit.

He recalled the following wretched doggerel:

O all-conquering race of man!
Rest is unknown to thee