The cold was extreme, the chill firmly sealed off the main roads, freezing them into a smooth sheet, now relentlessly knocking on the doors and windows of Moscow's common folk. Night had fallen, and the streets became desolate and silent.
A full moon looked down from high above the clouds, its light gentle and lively, illuminating the streets and alleys as brightly as day.
On the street sped a pony, swiftly dragging a sleigh, upon which sat a provincial member of the nobility on his way to a celebration. The sound of hooves echoed far, far away.
On this day of family joy, during the Butter Week celebration, lights appeared in the windows of most Moscow houses, initially dim but then gradually growing, casting out dazzling colors.
Through the windows of the noble club, one could hear the conversation of the nobility gathered around the fireplace with wine glasses in hand.
"Have you heard? There's great news in our Moscow."
