IF you could not get to the store, Muir and Mirrielees would mail you a catalogue, or swatches of cloth; they delivered anywhere within the Russian Empire, for free on orders over twenty-five rubles, and as in the best English establishments customers were reassured with money-back guarantees. In 1899, footfall was already ten thousand a day, and they posted out some sixty thousand catalogues yearly. By 1914, the store had forty-three departments and a restaurant, and employed over a thousand people. Russians held it in great affection: playwright Anton Chekhov, who bought his hats and writing paper there, named twin puppies on his farm Muir and Mirrielees.

Following the unhappy revolution of 1917, the company’s assets were confiscated and Frederick and Lucy Cazalet, who now managed the store, fled to England.* Nevertheless Muir and Mirrielees survives to this day in Roman Klein’s historic building on Theatre Square, though renamed with drab Communist pragmatism TsUM, which stands for Central Department Store.