for one of the
men who lit the fires, and he informed me that another man had
forgotten to open the cover capping the pipes, which is on the roof, I
think. Relieved from the alarm of having set Countess Strogonoff's
house on fire, I went to look at my rooms, all upset that I was. Near
the room where I gave my sittings was a large stove with two doors, in
front of which I had put Marshal Soltikoff's picture to dry. I found
this portrait so thoroughly scorched that I was obliged to do it over
again. But what gave me most pain in this night of trouble was my
inability to have removed at once a collection of pictures by various
great masters, sent me by my husband; they, of course, suffered very
much.

By five o'clock in the morning the smoke had only begun to disperse,
and as we had broken the windows the place was no longer tenable. But
what were we to do? where to go? I decided to send to good Mme.
Ducrest de Villeneuve. She rushed over at once, and took me off to her
house, where I remained a fortnight, during which the dear woman
showered attentions upon me which I shall never forget. When I had
concluded to go home, I first went with M. Ducrest de Villeneuve to
examine the premises. Although the windows had not yet been replaced,
the whole house was still so redolent with smoke that it was
impossible to think of living in it then. I was exceedingly put out at
this, when Count Gregory Orloff, with that courtesy which is the
natural heritage of the Russians, offered to lend me a vacant house
belonging to him. I accepted his offer, and immediately went to settle
in my new lodgings. Here, by the way, the rain poured in so hard that
Mme. Soltikoff, coming to see me and wishing to stay a few minutes in
the room where my pictures were exhibited, asked me for an umbrella.
But in spite of this new form of discomfort, I remained in the house
until my departure from Moscow.

The Russian nobles display as much luxury at Moscow as at St.
Petersburg. Moscow possesses a multitude of splendid palaces most
richly furnished. One of the most sumptuous belonged to Prince
Alexander Kurakin, whom I knew in St. Petersburg, where I had twice
painted his portrait. On learning that I was in Moscow, he came to see
me, and invited me to dinner with my friends, the Countess Ducrest de
Villeneuve and her husband. We found an immense palace, ornamented
externally with royal magnificence. Every room through which we passed
was more handsomely fur