He said that his optimism is grounded in faith in the mystical Russian soul. But he was no more helpful in deWning it than to say that "it begins in blood." We spoke about literature, and soon enough he let me know that, being Jewish, Pasternak, Blok, Osip Mandelstam, and Brodsky could not express Russia for want of Russian souls. He admired their writing all the same, and felt compassion for them. "It is a tragedy to live in Russia," he told me, "and not be Russian in blood."

After I left him, olive-complexioned people were brightening life on Ispitatelej Prospekt by selling watermelons. I remembered that a few days earlier, a watermelon seller from Azerbaijan had been murdered in the city by skinheads. Racist resentment toward the increasing number of immigrants from the Caucasus is acute here, even in educated circles. It occurred to me that aggressive pride in one's race is the ego's last resource in those who've had too many reasons to feel humiliated. But I think Ivanovsky is right to put faith in the latest generation, the youngest among Russian cities.

I don't know many of the young computer programmers, engineers, salesmen, and writers of this city, whom I hope are the prototypes of a new and open-minded middle class, but I've seen them at play. St. Petersburg has a very upbeat nightlife. I'm not thinking about the ever-changing New Russian discos, with their "face control" at the door (which are worth checking out). I have in mind the crowded clubs where people in their twenties come together to hear music, dance, and talk a lot. These places buzz with down-to-earth congeniality. I am thinking in particular of Purga, a cave in a building on the Fontanka, which is crammed every night. At midnight, conversation stops and a TV set plays a recording of Boris Yeltsin's resignation speech. Bells ring and someone comes out in a Santa Claus costume, drinks are on the house, and people dance. Night after night.

Santa is not what the Russians would call nash, "our thing." And you could argue that he has become far too commercial. But on balance, I am encouraged to believe that in St. Petersburg, there will soon be a generation that has no memory of the days when Santa Claus never came to town.