lives and the lives of all pedestrians within
fifty yards of their cars.
For all this, the glory of Moscow’s wonderful buildings and towers glittering in the golden sunlight could not be lost on me. When we reached the entrance to the Kremlin, it seemed for a moment like another world —but only for a moment. The men and women at the famous shrine soon appeared like the rest. Yet somehow, as we went under the arch and saw on one side the famous entrance to a kind of inner city of palaces, and were reminded that for centuries before the revolution no one had gone under the archway entrance without taking off his headgear, it did seem as if we had entered into a world centuries old. This also passed away, for we were informed that now almost everyone goes through with covered head. After all, this archway is only the shell of religion, not religion itself, which always must be a matter of life and action. A little farther on is the stand on which, in the brutal days of the Czars, men and women were publicly flogged and scourged with the knout by the brutal hirelings of the autocracy.
We also passed the famous church or shrine erected by Boris Goudonov, and on down a rather narrow business street to the Moskva river. Crossing to the south side, we drove along the embankment to a mansion formerly
