I arrived on Sunday. The bells of St. Isaac’s and the Kazan Cathedral and a score of lesser churches (but not lesser bells) clanged and boomed through the crackling frosty air. Myriad little sledges drawn by little horses scurried through the streets, and on the Morskaia that afternoon aristocracy drove--as madly, as carelessly, and as undisturbed as it drove that memorable Sunday just one year before when in the Winter Palace Square, just close by, Father Gapon’s procession of unarmed working-men were fired upon by the troops of the emperor--their “Little Father!”--as though they were an enemy upon a battle-ground. Impending doom may have dimmed, but it did not darken, the brightness of the city. Whatever of foreboding may have possessed the hearts and minds of the people, there was an outward show of gaiety that was a revelation to me--until I remembered the ball at which French officers danced on the eve of Waterloo; and the festivities of Port Arthur which continued even after the little yellow men had begun to pelt the fatal hand-grenades straight to the heart of Russia’s military prestige. That night, in company with an American friend, I dined at Palkine’s restaurant on the Nevskii Prospekt. A Rumanian orchestra in native dress was playing a wild, gipsy air when we entered, but as we sat down the music, in a great burst of ecstatic sound, ceased. My companion remarked: “We are already recognized as Americans--now watch.” Almost instantly the swarthy players began the familiar strains of “The Star Spangled Banner,” and followed it with the stirring tune of “Dixie.” At the close we acknowledged the attention of the orchestra and the leader made us a proper bow. American airs are always popular in Russia, and Americans were being especially courted at that moment. Talk of an “impending bankruptcy” was in the air. Negotiations were then under way for floating a new loan in Europe, but these had not progressed far enough for any one to be sanguine. Indeed, the revolutionists and the liberals were still hopeful that the government would find a new loan in Europe impossible, consequently, in official circles the possibilities of finding money in America were being considered. There were not above twoscore Americans all told in St. Petersburg at that time (1906), counting the diplomatic corps, correspondents, and business men, so it was an easy matter to treat all with rare courtesy. “Why do they not play the Russian national hymn?” I asked of my friend before we left the table.