For some mysterious reason, the picturesque nurses, with their pearl-embroidered, diadem-shaped caps, like the kokoshniki of the Empress and Court ladies, their silver-trimmed petticoats and jackets patterned after the ancient Russian “soul-warmers,” and made of pink or blue cashmere, never have any children in their charge in winter.  Indeed, if we were to go by the evidence offered by the Nevsky Prospekt, especially in cold weather, we should assert that there are no children in the city, and that the nurses are used as “sheep-dogs” by ladies long past the dangerous bloom of youth and beauty.

The more fashionable people are driving, however, and that portion of the one hundred and fourteen feet of the Prospekt’s width which is devoted to the roadway is, if possible, even more varied and entertaining in its kaleidoscopic features than the sidewalks.  It is admirably kept at all seasons.  With the exception of the cobblestone roadbed for the tramway in the centre, it is laid with hexagonal wooden blocks, well spiked together and tarred, resting upon tarred beams and planks, and forming a pavement which is both elastic and fairly resistant to the volcanic action of the frost.  The snow is maintained at such a level that, while sledging is perfect, the closed carriages which are used for evening entertainments, calls, and shopping are never incommoded.  Street sweepers, in red cotton blouses and clean white linen aprons, sweep on calmly in the icy chill.  The police, with their bashlyks wrapped round their heads in a manner peculiar to themselves, stand always in the middle of the street and regulate the traffic.

We will hire an izvostchik and join the throng.  The process is simple; it consists in setting ourselves up at auction on the curbstone, among the numerous cabbies waiting for a job, and knocking ourselves down to the lowest bidder.  If our Vanka (Johnny, the generic name for cabby) drives too slowly, obviously with the object of loitering away our money, a policeman will give him a hint to whip up, or we may effect the desired result by threatening to speak to the next guardian of the peace.  If Vanka attempts to intrude upon the privileges of the private carriages, for whom is reserved the space next the tramway track and the row of high, silvered posts which bear aloft the electric lights, a sharp “Beregis!” (Look out for yourself!) will be heard from the first fashionable coachman who is impeded in his swift career, and he will be called to order promptly by the police.  Ladies may not, unfortunately, drive in the smartest of the public carriages, but must content themselves with something more modest and more shabby.  But Vanka is usually good-natured, patient, and quite unconscious of his shabbiness, at least in the light of a grievance or as affecting his dignity.  It was one of these shabby, but democratic and self-possessed fellows who furnished us with a fine illustration of the peasant qualities.  We encountered one of the Emperor’s cousins on his way to his regimental barracks; the Grand Duke mistook us for acquaintances, and saluted.  Our izvostchik returned the greeting.