Across the middle of the English Prospect, near the Baths,
there was quite a deep lake....
I wandered slowly along, enjoying the chill warmth of the soft spring
sun. The winter was nearly over! Thank God for that! What had happened
during my month of illness? Perhaps a great Revolutionary army had been
formed, and a mighty, free, and united Russia was going out to save the
world! Oh, I did hope that it was so! Surely that wonderful white week
was a good omen. No Revolution in history had started so well as this
one....
I found my way at last very slowly to the end of the Quay, and the sight
of the round towers of my favourite church was like the reassuring smile
of an old friend. The sun was dropping low over the Neva. The whole vast
expanse of the river was coloured very faintly pink. Here, too, there
was the film of the water above the ice; the water caught the colour,
but the ice below it was grey and still. Clouds of crimson and orange
and faint gold streamed away in great waves of light from the sun. The
long line of buildings and towers on the farther side was jet-black; the
masts of the ships clustering against the Quay were touched at their
tips with bright gold.
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