for
their future salvation. And now, as we enter the gate, the stranger,
whatever may be his persuasion or condition, whether a true believer
or a heretic of high or low degree, must join in the general torrent
of veneration so far as to uncover his head as he walks beneath that
sacred portal; for, as I said before, none can pass through the Spass
Vorota without this token of respect for its sacred character. The
greatest of the Czars have done it through a series of centuries. The
conqueror of Kazan, Astrakan, and Siberia has here bared his imperial
head; Romanoff, Peter the Great, even the voluptuous Catharine, have
here done reverence to this holy portal; and all the later sovereigns
of Russia, Alexander I., Nicholas, and Alexander II., ere they
received their kingly crowns, have passed bareheaded through the Spass
Vorota. Need we hesitate, then, profane scoffers as we may be, when
such precedents lie before us? Apart from the fact that I always found
it convenient to do in Rome as the Romans do, and in Moscow to conform
as far as practicable to the customs of the Moscovites, I really have
no prejudice on any subject connected with the religious observances
of other people. In pleasant weather I would walk a mile bareheaded to
oblige any man who conscientiously thought it would do him the least
good; more especially in a case like this, where, if one fails to doff
his shlapa, a soldier stands ready to remind his "brother" or "little
friend," or possibly "little father," that he (the brother, little
friend, or little father) has forgotten his "beaver."

We have now, thanks to Dominico, who has touched us up on all these
points, gotten safely and becomingly through the Holy Gate without
committing the sin of irreverence toward any of the saints, living or
dead. We have passed through a high archway, about twenty paces in
length, roughly paved with stones, and now put on our hat again as we
ascend the sloping way that leads to the grand esplanade in front of
the palaces and churches. This is a broad paved space, walled on the
outer edge, forming a grand promenade overlooking the Moskwa River,
and from which a magnificent view is had of the lower city, that
sweeps over the valley of the south. Standing here, we have a grand
_coup d'oeil_ of the river above and below, its bridges covered with
moving crowds, its barges and wood-boats, and many-colored
bath-houses, glittering in the sun; farther off, a dazzling wilderness