Читать книгу Once A Grand Duke by Alexander Grand Duke of Russia - Alexander Mikhailovich - Страница 30

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 moment the bells of the sixteen hundred Moscow churches started their joyous ringing, and the opening bars of the National Anthem gave the signal to a chorus of five hundred singers. Looking down at the ocean of waving hands and hatless heads I saw faces wet with tears. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat but 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.