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Updated: June 8, 2025
She was afraid of writing, but she told her messenger, a spare little peasant who could walk sixty versts in a day, to say to Ivan that he was not to fret too much; that please God, all would yet go right, and his father's wrath would turn to kindness that she, too, would have preferred a different daughter-in-law; but that evidently God had willed it as it was, and that she sent her paternal benediction to Malania Sergievna.
He lived alone with his wife, Malania Pavlovna; she was ten years younger than he. They had two daughters; but their daughters had been long married, and rarely visited Suhodol; they were not on the best of terms with their parents, and Alexey Sergeitch hardly ever mentioned their names. I see, even now, the old-fashioned house, a typical manor-house of the steppes.
Not a day passed without Glafira reminding her of her former position, and praising her for not forgetting herself. Malania Sergievna would willingly have acquiesced in these remindings and praisings, however bitter they might be but her child had been taken away from her. This drove her to despair. Glafira undertook the task. The child passed entirely into her keeping.
'Only I didn't wear a cap, but a hat a la bergere de Trianon; and though I was powdered, yet my hair shone through it, positively shone through it like gold! Malania Pavlovna was foolish to the point of 'holy innocence, as it is called; she chattered quite at random, as though she were hardly aware herself of what dropped from her lips and mostly about Orlov.
How will it be next time? And Alexey Sergeitch spoke excellent Russian, a little old-fashioned, but choice and pure as spring water, continually interspersing his remarks with favourite expressions: ''Pon my honour, please God, howsoever that may be, sir, and young sir.... But enough of him. Let us talk a little about Alexey Sergeitch's wife, Malania Pavlovna.
No sooner had the crowd disappeared from view behind the garden fence, and the voices had become still; no sooner had the barefooted Malania, their servant, run in with her eyes starting out of her head, calling out in a voice more suited to the proclamation of glad tidings the news that Peter Nikolaevich had been murdered and thrown into the ravine, than Natalia Ivanovna felt that behind her first sensation of horror, there was another sensation; a feeling of joy at her deliverance from the tyrant, who through all the nineteen years of their married life had made her work without a moment's rest.
Malania Pavlovna was passionately fond of sweet things and a special old woman who looked after nothing but the jam, and so was called the jam-maid, would bring her, ten times a day, a china dish with rose-leaves crystallised in sugar, or barberries in honey, or sherbet of bananas.
Malania Pavlovna adored her husband, and had been all her life an exemplarily faithful wife; but there had been a romance even in her life a young cousin, an hussar, killed, as she supposed, in a duel on her account; but, according to more trustworthy reports, killed by a blow on the head from a billiard-cue in a tavern brawl.
Her name was Malania. She's dead now. She was a wise woman. What do you think she used to do? They'd bring her a baby, and she'd keep it and feed it; and she'd feed it until she had enough of them to take to the Foundlings'. When she had three or four, she'd take them all at once. She had such a clever arrangement, a sort of big cradle a double one she could put them in one way or the other.
George ribbon, because he was a brave hero, a knight of St. George: he burned the Turks. For all that, Malania Pavlovna was a very kind-hearted woman; she was easily pleased. 'She's not one to snarl, nor to sneer, the maids used to say of her.
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