THE CORONATION OF NICHOLAS II.
About a twelvemonth after her marriage the Empress gave birth to her
first child, a daughter. The disappointment of the public was intense.
Then the Court came to St. Petersburg for the winter months, and a few
balls were given at the Winter Palace. Somehow these entertainments
lacked the enjoyment which had formerly attended them. A certain
stiffness prevailed, and the young Sovereigns did not succeed in winning
popularity among the best Society of the capital. Their unpopularity
unfortunately was only increased, as I shall show, during the Coronation
festivities which took place in the following month of May.
People who had been present at the Court festivities of Alexander III.
and his Consort, and remembered the gaiety which had then prevailed,
notwithstanding the political anxieties that overshadowed the period,
could not help remarking upon the contrast of those past days with the
solemnity and stiffness of the ceremonies that accompanied the occasion
of the Coronation of Nicholas II. When he entered Moscow in state, the
golden carriages, the pomp, the escort of chamberlains in gold uniforms,
and soldiers in their gala attire, were the same as at the Coronation of
his father. Yet there was no spontaneity in the greetings of the crowd,
no enthusiasm save that which is inseparable from such an affair.
Indeed, the only time that the hurrahs of the crowd seemed to come from
its heart was when the carriage containing the Dowager Empress appeared,
whilst a dead silence greeted her daughter-in-law. Poor Marie Feodorovna
herself was crying throughout her long journey from the Petrovsky
Palace, on the outskirts of Moscow, to the Kremlin; but her very tears
commanded the sympathy of the public--indeed, of everybody who
remembered that other day when she had been one of the two principal
personages in a like pageant.
The Coronation ceremony went off very well, save that when the Emperor
and Empress left the Cathedral of the Assumption to go round the other
churches of the Kremlin, Nicholas II., on entering the Church of the
Archangels, where the old Tsars of Moscow are buried, tottered and
nearly fell under the weight of his heavy mantle, and still heavier
crown. The sceptre dropped from his hand, and he had to be led aside and
given water to drink in order to be revived. Superstitious people
quickly saw in this faintness a presage of evil for the future. That
dropping of the sceptre which he should have held with the same firmness
that his father had grasped it, was interpreted as a sign of weakness,
not only of a physical but also of a moral character. Thus, instead of
confidence prevailing, apprehension as to the future of Russia under his
rule was already a frequent subject of public conversation.
The first days that followed upon the Coronation went off very well,
with nothing to mar the programme approved of beforehand.
Balls were given, entertainments went on with their usual routine, and
foreign princes and princesses, who had arrived from far and near to
witness the ceremony of the Coronation, were entertained and taken about
to see all the various sights of Moscow. The nobility of Russia gave
one big ball, at which the whole Court was present, and a gala
performance at the Opera was also the occasion of a gay scene. But there
was no enthusiasm, no animation, and fatigue was perhaps the most
prevalent feeling during the three weeks, which heartily bored
everybody, and of which everybody wished to see the end. Truly the only
ball that could be called a success was the one given by the Grand Duke
Sergius and his consort.
At that time the Grand Duke was Governor-General of Moscow. Personally,
he had not succeeded in making himself liked by its inhabitants, who
regretted still the rule of old Prince Dolgorouky; but the Grand Duchess
had won for herself the affection of everybody who had come into contact
with her. In St. Petersburg she had seemed dull and quiet, but when
thrown upon her own resources and obliged, so to say, to play the part
of Vicereine, she did it to perfection, and during these Coronation
festivities she showed herself the most charming of hostesses. The Grand
Duke, too, was amiable in the extreme with his guests, and at this
particular ball he reminded one, by the grace of his manner, of his
father, the late Tsar Alexander II., whom also he resembled, physically,
more than his other brothers. I remember him well on that particular
evening, when representatives from the whole world crowded in his rooms.
He had a pleasant word for each one, showed himself an attentive host,
and had none of that proud reserve with which he had been credited
whilst living in St. Petersburg.
The first unpleasant event which marred the Coronation festivities was
the death of the Archduke Charles Louis, the brother of the Emperor of
Austria. A ball was to have been given at the Austrian Embassy, for
which immense preparations had been made by the Ambassador, Prince
Liechtenstein, who had brought over to decorate the walls of the house
which he had hired for the time of the festivities all the old and
precious tapestries which were preserved as heirlooms in his family. Of
course this ball had to be countermanded.
Before recounting the crowning disaster, I should explain that it is
usual when a Russian Emperor is crowned to give a kind of popular feast
to the peasants and the poorer classes in Moscow and other parts of
Russia, whence peasant deputations are generally sent to be present at
the ceremony. This feast takes place on an open space called the
Khodinka Field, about two miles from the town. It is attended by several
hundreds of thousands of people, and constitutes a unique sight. A
pavilion is erected, from which the Sovereign looks on, and kiosks are
all round it for other spectators. Tables are spread on the lawns with
provisions for the people to eat, and various entertainments in the
shape of theatres in the open air, and things of the same kind, are
provided for their amusement. Presents also, in the shape of mugs for
men and handkerchiefs for the women, are distributed, together with
medals in commemoration of the day. Naturally, therefore, great crowds
gather on this field. Before daybreak all the roads leading to the
Khodinka are crowded with men, women, and children, all eager to be the
first on the spot. Generally troops are there to keep order, together
with strong detachments of police and every possible care is taken to
prevent any panic among such an agglomeration of people, gathered in one
spot, and all desirous of seeing their Tsar. Thus it can, readily be
imagined that even when political complications do not happen to inspire
the fear of a bomb or of some attempt to disturb the feast, those
concerned with the organisation of it would be glad when it was over.
On the June morning fixed for this popular rejoicing, crowds, as usual,
tried from the early hours, and even during the night, to force an
entrance to the field. Mounted policemen, who had received orders not to
allow access to the lawns until the arrival of the Prefect of
Police--who was to inspect all the arrangements before giving the signal
for admission, tried to repulse the mass of humanity that struggled to
enter. The police were insufficient to restrain this crowd, but
considerable enough to create a panic by forcing back upon the crowds
hastening to the festivity the multitude which had already arrived.
Women began to shout and children to scream, which added to the panic.
Soon a terrible confusion took place which it became impossible to
dissipate, the more so that by an unforgivable piece of stupidity deep
ditches had been dug in order to prevent access to the field except
through the official gates, which were guarded by policemen. The crowds,
who did not know of the existence of these trenches, fell into them, and
soon they were filled with struggling, dead, or dying human creatures,
whose screams for help filled with horror those who listened; but the
cries were soon stilled by the silence of death.
This awful scene did not last long. In one short hour innumerable bodies
lay upon the grass, and the authorities of Moscow gathered upon the
scene of the catastrophe. It was impossible to count the victims, and
all that apparently could be done was to remove them hurriedly, no
matter where or by what means. The feast had to take place,
notwithstanding the bloody scene that had preceded it. It had to take
place by Imperial order, because Nicholas II., when asked by a special
messenger sent to acquaint him with what had occurred, replied that he
did not see why the feast should be countermanded, or put off, because a
few people had been crushed by accident.
Nevertheless, in justice, the actual truth underlying this extraordinary
speech should be told. He was not advised of the extent of the
catastrophe at the moment when he was asked to make a decision. The
system surrounding a Russian Sovereign had prevented those who were
responsible for the misfortune from acknowledging its magnitude. They
attempted to make light of it, maintained that there had merely been an
accident such as seems inseparable from occasions of the kind, hoping,
doubtless, that it would be possible to conceal the number of dead and
wounded. After all, such was the idea, they were all of the poorer
class, and they would not be missed.
Consequently the trenches that had swallowed so many human lives were
hastily covered with branches and earth, so as to hide their sinister
contents. Carts were called, and in these bodies were thrown hurriedly,
anyhow, and sent off with their ghastly burden to the different
hospitals and churchyards. People driving afterwards to the feast met
these carts and were horror-struck to see arms and legs hanging out of
them from beneath cloths that had been thrown over the bodies to cover
them. It was these late-comers who first spread in Moscow the news of
the catastrophe.
But, in spite of the hurry to take them away, the number of the victims
was so considerable that it was found impossible to dispose of them all
at once. The Emperor was expected at any moment, and he could not be
allowed to see all these bodies scattered everywhere about. Soldiers
were requisitioned, and they hastily--will such fatal stupidity be
believed?--thrust the corpses under the very pavilion in which the
Sovereign was to alight and from the balcony of which he was to witness
the feast. Thus by a terrible blunder, of which he knew nothing, but for
which he was ever after bitterly reproached, Nicholas II. actually stood
for more than five hours over the dead bodies of his subjects, killed
in their endeavour to welcome him.
The details of this ghastly morning’s work became known during the
course of the same afternoon, and a feeling of intense and deep emotion
shook the whole of Society--that frivolous Court Society that was
gathered together in ancient Moscow to eat, drink, and be merry, without
one thought as to death that was hovering near. A ball was to take place
that very night at the French Embassy, and Count de Montebello, who at
that time occupied the post of Ambassador at the Russian Court, wondered
whether he should countermand it or not. But, in order to make quite
sure as to the course which he had to pursue, he sent a special
messenger to the Head Master of the Ceremonies, Count Pahlen, and asked
him what he had to do. The Count took the Emperor’s orders, and Nicholas
II. said again that he saw no reason why the ball should be postponed,
and that he would attend it.
What a ball it was! I do not remember in the whole course of my long
life, ever having been at such a lugubrious entertainment. The
catastrophe of the morning was the general subject of conversation, and
the most harrowing details were given concerning it. The only people who
appeared unmoved were the Emperor and Empress, who both, knowing nothing
of the truth, seemed quite unconcerned; so that when one of the foreign
princes present ventured to condole with Nicholas II. on this untoward
event, he quietly replied, “Yes, it is very sad; but such accidents
happen often, whenever there is a great congregation of people.”
Nicholas II., indeed, remained at the house of the Ambassador until the
end of the ball, taking part in all the dances, a thing he seldom did,
and appearing in an excellent temper. He did not seem--how could
he?--to realise the gravity of what had taken place, nor the enormity
of the hecatomb with which the solemnity of his Coronation had been made
memorable.
Marie Feodorovna had not waited one moment before hurrying to the
bedside of the poor creatures who had nearly paid with their lives for
their desire to be present at this festivity. Whilst her son and
daughter-in-law, unaware of the extent of the tragedy, were dancing and
smiling on the Count de Montebello and his wife, she was consoling the
wounded and attending to their wants. Once again she acted the part of
an angel of mercy, and once again she brought sunshine and hope to
desolate hearts and bereaved homes. The incident only served further to
estrange the people from the Emperor and Empress.
The details of the disaster of Khodinka were only made public little by
little. At first frantic efforts had been made to hide its magnitude,
but the secret could not be kept so well that it did not reach the ears
of the nation. An inquest was at last ordered. It revealed such
carelessness, such utter disregard of the most elementary precautions on
the part of the authorities, that it was believed at one time the Grand
Duke Sergius himself would have to leave his post of Governor-General of
the town of Moscow. He managed, however, to clear himself. But the head
of the police of the second capital of the Empire had to retire into
private life, and minor officials were punished more or less severely.
After which one tried to forget the sad episode, which was never more
mentioned in Court circles.
Yet the country did not forget. The shadow of blood thrown over the
reign of Nicholas II. by the catastrophe of Khodinka has never ceased to
darken it. It has seemed to foreshadow all the other calamities that
this reign was to see, and to give it that colour of misfortune which
will cling to it in history.