the fire spread quickly and enveloped the whole quarter with
extraordinary rapidity. (The fire burnt, however, only at two ends;
at the third spot it was extinguished almost as soon as it began to
burn--of which later.) But the Petersburg and Moscow papers exaggerated
our calamity. Not more than a quarter, roughly speaking, of the
riverside district was burnt down; possibly less indeed. Our fire
brigade, though it was hardly adequate to the size and population of the
town, worked with great promptitude and devotion. But it would not
have been of much avail, even with the zealous co-operation of the
inhabitants, if the wind had not suddenly dropped towards morning. When
an hour after our flight from the ball I made my way to the riverside,
the fire was at its height. A whole street parallel with the river was
in flames. It was as light as day. I won't describe the fire; every one
in Russia knows what it looks like. The bustle and crush was immense in
the lanes adjoining the burning street. The inhabitants, fully expecting
the fire to reach their houses, were hauling out their belongings, but
had not yet left their dwellings, and were waiting meanwhile sitting
on their boxes and feather beds under their windows. Part of the male
population were hard at work ruthlessly chopping down fences and even
whole huts which were near the fire and on the windward side. None
were crying except the children, who had been waked out of their sleep,
though the women who had dragged out their chattels were lamenting
in sing-song voices. Those who had not finished their task were still
silent, busily carrying out their goods. Sparks and embers were carried
a long way in all directions. People put them out as best they could.
Some helped to put the fire out while others stood about, admiring it. A
great fire at night always has a thrilling and exhilarating effect.
This is what explains the attraction of fireworks. But in that case the
artistic regularity with which the fire is presented and the complete
lack of danger give an impression of lightness and playfulness like the
effect of a glass of champagne. A real conflagration is a very different
matter. Then the horror and a certain sense of personal danger,
together with the exhilarating effect of a fire at night, produce on the
spectator (though of course not in the householder whose goods are being
burnt) a certain concussion of the brain and, as it were, a challenge to
those destructive