We walked underground and emerged near the empty late winter garden. Amazingly, there was still a crowd of people milling around the storybook figures of the emptied pond; young boys playing hackey-sack and their older tipsy male counterparts. Best not attempt to figure out what they're asking you as an American tourist, their Russian is not understandable anyway. But the melting April snow made the black iron paint positively glimmer. A wee bit of magic.