The grand-chamberlain had been a favourite with Paul and managed to preserve the favour of his son Alexander. The footing on which he lived baffles description: he literally kept open house, the stir and bustle of which never ceased; one could have called it a caravanserai of princes. The plants, the flowers, the constant song of birds, conveyed the impression, even in mid-winter, of a spring day in Italy. He was as generous as he was lavish, and his prodigality often reduced him to sore straits. The following is one instance among many. Emperor Alexander had given him the star of the Order of St. Andrew, magnificently set in diamonds. Being pressed for money, he had raised a considerable sum upon it; and when the empress’s fête-day came round, he felt in a terrible predicament, for he was unable to redeem his pledge and he could not appear without it in full dress at the palace. The only ‘plaque’ like it was that of the emperor himself. At an utter loss to get out of the difficulty, he got hold of the emperor’s valet, and by dint of promises, cajoling and the like, prevailed upon the servant to lend him his master’s decoration. The man got frightened, however, at the possible consequences of what he had done and informed the sovereign. Alexander did not breathe a single word, but as a punishment did not take his eyes off the ‘plaque’ during the whole of the evening, examining it minutely through his glasses whenever his chamberlain drew near. M. Narischkine accompanied Empress Elisabeth on her journey from St. Petersburg to Vienna. When Alexander entrusted him with the mission, fifty thousand roubles in paper were handed to his chamberlain, together with directions for the route to be followed. A few days later, the emperor took Narischkine aside. ‘You had the parcel I sent you, cousin mine?’ asked the emperor. ‘Yes, sire, I received and read the first volume of the Itinerary.’ ‘Already? And you are waiting for the second?’ ‘A second edition, sire, rather than a second volume.’ ‘I see what you mean. A second edition, revised and augmented.’ The second edition was handed to him a couple of hours afterwards. His brother, the ‘grand veneur’ (say, ‘Master of the Buck Hounds’), was the husband of that magnificent Marie Antonia, _née_ Princesse Czerwertinska, one of the loveliest women in Europe, who for such a long period held captive the heart of the handsome autocrat. Though not endowed with as much wit as his elder, the younger Narischkine was by no means devoid of it. He proved it by the philosophic manner with which he bore his conjugal misfortunes. Often, in his replies to the emperor, he put them in a naïve and diverting light. It was not the grovelling acquiescence of a man who glories in his dishonour, but the resignation to an evil which he could neither prevent nor mend. One day Alexander was asking him for news of his children. ‘Of mine, sire, or of those of the Crown?’ was the counter-query.