Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia. Alexander Mikhailovich
failed in my efforts: the Russian triumphed over the Caucasian.
Three metropolitans and several scores of bishops met the sovereigns at the portal of the cathedral and escorted them to the two thrones mounted on special platforms. A large loge on the right was reserved for the members of the imperial family and the European royalty. The dignitaries of the court, the generals aides-de-camp, the ministers of the crown, and the foreign ambassadors found places in the loge on the left.
I listened impatiently to a lengthy divine service conducted by His Grace Isidor of St. Petersburg, the eldest metropolitan of Russia, anxiously awaiting the Great Climax.
At the end of what seemed to me several hours, the highest priest of the empire took the Crown of Russia, that lay on a red velvet cushion, and passed it to the Czar. Alexander III put it on his head with his own hands, and then taking another crown, the Crown of the Czarina, turned towards the Empress kneeling in front of him and placed it on her head, thus symbolizing the difference between the divine source of his power and the human origin of her prerogatives. The Empress stood up, and they both faced our loge, a supreme combination of stern majesty and graceful beauty.
Now the Emperor moved toward the center gate of the “Ikonostas” (a partition inlaid with ikons and separating the altar from the rest of the cathedral), ready for the holy communion. The Czar of Russia being recognized as the head of the Russian Church, he took the chalice from the hands of the metropolitan. The Empress was given the holy communion after him, and the ceremony of the coronation came to its conclusion.
Our procession returned to the palace in the same order as before, with the imperial salute booming, the bells of the churches ringing, and the population showing still greater enthusiasm at the sight of the crowns on the heads of the sovereigns. On reaching the “Krasonie Kriltzo” the Czar and the Czarina made once more their three traditional bows, after which they proceeded to the oldest part of the palace, where in a room known as “Granovitai Palata” they were to eat their meal by themselves, seated on an elevated platform and being served by the eldest dignitary of the court.
The remaining three days of celebrations left a memory of happy exhaustion. True to its traditional hospitality, the city of Moscow staged its festivities on a gigantic scale. We danced at the ball given by the Moscow nobility; we mixed among eight thousand guests invited to attend the ball offered by the imperial court in the Kremlin. We ate municipal lunches, state dinners and officers’ mess suppers. We drove through the streets resounding with music and singing. We watched the distribution of presents to 500,000 workers and peasants gathered in the Khodynka Field. We paid honor to the talents of the cook of the metropolitan of Moscow renowned for the excellency of his all-fish meals. We received delegations, we sat through the two daily performances of the imperial ballet, we took the foreign princes and princesses to their trains, both the guests and the hosts nearly asleep on their feet.
On May 18 the Emperor left for a short rest in his Moscow summer residence “Neskuchnoe,” situated on the shore of the Moscow River and surrounded by endless acres of centennial park. Lying in the tall dewy grass and listening to the nightingales singing right over our heads, we four—Nicky, Georgie, Sergei, and myself—discussed from all sides that new and fascinating feeling of security which came over us during the week of the coronation.
“Just think, what a great country Russia will have become by the time we will have to escort Nicky to the Cathedral of the Assumption!” said Sergei half-dreamingly.
Nicky smiled his usual, tender, shy, slightly sad smile.
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