Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia. Alexander Mikhailovich
as he was—protected them against the onslaught of the state; having obtained freedom in 1861 they lost the privilege of enlisting the assistance of their master and became an easy prey to the garrulous agitators who were promising the advent of a golden stateless era. Naturally enough, the appearance of the rural magistrate was met at first by hostile whispers and suspicious glances. The consensus of opinion had it that the state was sending “spies.” The task of the new officials proved to be extremely hard; it called for tact and diplomacy. The confidence of the peasants had to be gained inch by inch.
Alexander III took a vivid interest in the progress made by his “ambassadors to Their Majesties the Villagers,” intending to follow up the trial period of their activities with another reform, which was to help the peasants increase their meager land-holdings. It was unfortunate that his premature death interfered with the realization of his favorite idea of creating a strong class of prosperous peasants, although the rural magistrates did render an important service to the state, their unpopularity among the revolutionaries testifying to the fact of their usefulness. Talking to the delegation of the peasants at his coronation in Moscow on May 15, 1883, the Czar asked them to express their frank opinion of the institute of the rural magistrates. Old and young alike—there were some ten thousand villagers from different parts of Russia—voiced their unanimous approval of the friendly “chinovnicks” (government officials) and hoped to see them invested with additional judicial authority.
5
No outline of the reign of Alexander III could faithfully depict that new proud “imperial spirit” which characterized Russia in the eighties without describing the coronation of 1883. The foreigners who spent the unforgettable week of May 10-17 in Moscow carried away an impression of having seen history itself in the making. It was as though the new Russia with all its incredible possibilities had suddenly revealed its face in the ancient capital of the first Romanoffs.
As early as the end of April the influx of hundreds of thousands of visitors from the provinces and from abroad nearly tripled the population of the city. Special trains were coming in every hour of the day bringing the crowned heads of Europe, the members of the various royal families and representatives of the foreign Governments. The minister of the imperial court, appointed at the head of the reception committee, went without food and sleep rushing from station to station, overseeing the last minute preparations and satisfying the requirements of a complicated etiquette. The sovereigns of Europe expected to be met by their equals, which meant that we, the grand dukes, would have to place our entire time at the disposal of the visitors. I drew the Archduke Albrecht of Austria and his remarkably beautiful wife Maria-Theresa. We became friends at once, although it was tire-some for me to be their guide and to provide them with endless explanations dealing with the churches, the museums, the historical buildings, and the saints of the Kremlin. I must have acquitted myself rather well of this unenviable task because at the end of the celebrations they expressed a desire to visit St. Petersburg and asked the Czar for the pleasure of my escort.
An official state entry to Moscow headed the long program of celebrations. At half past nine in the morning on May 12, the Russian grand dukes and the foreign princes arrived on horseback at the Troitzky Palace to escort the Emperor to the Kremlin. At ten o’clock sharp Alexander III came out of the inner apartments, mounted his horse and gave the signal for departure. He rode in front of us, all by himself, a squadron of the Horse Guards forming vanguard and announcing his approach to the troops and to the civilian population lining the streets of our march. A long file of golden carriages followed our cavalcade, Empress Marie, her eight-year-old daughter Xenia, and Queen Olga of Greece occupying the first one, the others being reserved for the Russian grand duchesses, princesses of royal blood and elder ladies-in-waiting.
Stupendous shouts of “hurrah” accompanied us all the way to the Iverskaya Chapel where the Emperor dismounted and together with the Empress went inside for a short moment of worshiping at the shrine of the miraculous ikon of the Virgin. We entered the Kremlin through the “Spasskya Vorota” (the Gates of the Saviour) and rode straight to the Cathedral of the Archangels. A Te Deum officiated at by the metropolitan of Moscow and sung by the choir of the singers of the imperial opera concluded the official program of the day. The afternoon of May 12, and the whole of May 13 and 14 were occupied by an exchange of visits between the imperial family and European royalty and by all kinds of entertainment in their honor.
May 15 began with an imperial salute of one hundred and one guns. Once more we assembled in the great hall of the palace at half past nine in the morning. This time we presented a colorful group, every one of the grand dukes and foreign princes wearing the uniform of his own regiment. I remember the Duke Alfred of Edinburgh, the younger son of Queen Victoria, strikingly imposing in his regalia of admiral of the British Navy. The Russian grand dukes for this occasion put on their diamond-studded chains of the Order of St. Andrew, which were worn around the neck and which supported a mammoth diamond double-headed eagle. The grand duchesses, the princesses of England, Germany, Austria, Denmark and Greece, and the ladies of the court displayed the biggest accumulation of glittering jewelry ever seen by me or anyone else, before or after May 15, 1883.
An uninterrupted, almost mystic silence filled the few minutes we had to wait for the sovereigns. We felt overawed by the deep religious significance of the approaching ceremony, and recognized that all words would have sounded false on the day the autocratic rights of the Russian Czar were to be bestowed upon him by an Act of God. No doubt, many a flamboyant republican would sneer at this last sentence of mine, but then the numerous scenes of the so-called “popular acclaim” witnessed by me in France and in the United States make me question the sincerity of democracy and the value of its opinions.
The Emperor and the Empress appeared as the clock struck ten. Accustomed to the simplicity of his pleasant life in Gatchino, the Czar showed his plain annoyance at the pompousness of the surroundings. “I know I have to do it,” said the expression of his face, “but I want it to be distinctly understood that the sooner it is over the better I will feel.”
The Empress, on the contrary, thoroughly enjoyed the proceedings. She liked meeting relatives. She loved to preside at solemn ceremonies. So miniature in comparison with the Czar, she had a radiant smile for everyone in the great hall. Covered with crown jewels and looking like some Oriental deity, she made her rounds, moving with small steps, the four court pages carrying her long, gold-and-ermine train. After the traditional “baise-main” (kissing of her hand by all parties present)—the Emperor standing in the center of the floor and watching this scene from under his heavy brows—the grand marshal of the court reported that everything was in readiness. The Emperor offered his arm to the Empress, and the procession started on its way out, through the halls filled with court dignitaries, ambassadors, ministers, and generals aides-de-camp.
According to the ceremonial, the imperial couple came out on the “Krasnoie Kriltzo” (“Red Porch”—“red” meaning “festive” in ancient Russian) and made the three traditional bows to the multitude of people packed in the large courts of the Kremlin. Deafening shouts of “hurrah” greeted the appearance of the sovereigns. It was the most touching moment of the coronation, bringing back to our minds the memories of the ancient Czars of Russia: beginning with Ivan III (fifteenth century) all masters of Russia expressed their close union with their subjects by making three bows from the steps of the “Krasnoie Kriltzo.”
We now reached the stairs of an especially built wooden pathway covered with a red carpet which led into the Ouspensky (the Cathedral of the Assumption). From the place where I stood I could see the regalia of czardom, carried at the head of the procession by the highest officials of the state: the standard, the sword, the scepter, the globe, the shield, and the beautiful imperial crown.
Eight generals aides-de-camp were holding a red-and-gold canopy over the Emperor; eight chamberlains were holding a similar canopy over the Empress. The two field marshals of Russia—my father and my uncle Nicholas—walked immediately behind the Emperor, while the other members of the family and the foreign princes and princesses followed the Empress.
The Grenadier-Guards of the palace, wearing the uniforms of 1812 and lined along the pathway, presented arms. The greatest bell of the Kremlin rang out once. The next