April 22nd (10th).—Until this morning there was no sign of the breaking up of the Neva. The weather for some days had been beautiful, the nights lovely, and nowhere can the entrancing splendour of moonlight and starlight be seen to greater advantage than in this city of gold and silver spires. How poor Whistler would have revelled in it! One night, in addition to the usual glories of the darkness, there was a perfect lunar rainbow bent by the fairies over the Isaac’s Cathedral. But of spring no faintest message. All at once my servant came running in with the news that the river was moving. I hurried out to the embankment, and found all the world and his wife there, watching the welcome wonder. It seemed as if no one could stay at home and miss the great sight of the year. For many days the ice of the solid river had been quite black, but now it had turned white again, and was slowly, almost imperceptibly, drifting seaward. Gradually yawning clefts showed themselves and the huge mass was split into great blocks. Then the rush of the river began in earnest; deserted hayboats, looking picturesquely gloomy against the dazzling ice and sky, came floating down the stream, to be dashed into a thousand splinters against the permanent bridges. A few unhappy dogs which had been unwarily disporting themselves upon the river while it was yet unbroken were unable to make their escape, and were carried away to the Baltic on the iceblocks, howling piteously. It was impossible to leave the crowded quay while the sight lasted, and at night the effect was even more fascinating; the moonlit steeples and towers, reflected a myriad-fold on the facets of the ice, made the strange beauty of a scene which, even upon the Russians, does not pall. The following morning at a little before ten o’clock the thunder peals from the guns of the fortress announced that the ceremony of crossing the water had begun. Every year, as soon as the river is free of the danger of the larger masses of what are miniature icebergs, the Commandant of the Fortress is rowed over in state to the Winter Palace to carry to the Emperor a goblet of Neva water. His Majesty in return fills the cup with gold pieces—a perquisite of the Commandant. These cunning officers used to take care to procure the largest vessel that could be found, until at last the abuse was stopped and a fixed measure adopted for the ceremony.