The Phoenix Land by Miklós Bánffy Read Free Book Online Page A

king had arrived. In front of me the Chamberlain – it was my father – moved forward on the lowest step before the throne, staff of office in hand. Across from him, on the other side of the throne, the apostolic cross rose high on its long black shaft – the royal procession must be near at hand. I peered round, but the throne in front of me was still unoccupied . A few moments went by. Then the white figure of a woman appeared briefly in front of me, clad in lace and satin and wearing a crown of diamonds 3 . For a moment she was motionless; then she sank to her knees in a graceful movement that was both womanly and regal. It was a moment that touched the heart to see the queenly movement of this radiant woman as, her coronation mantel streaming out behind her, she bent over the purpleprayer stool that had been embroidered with silver lilies and crosses. A long veil of white lace trailed diagonally from her head…
    There was another peal from the organ, this time accompanied by strings and the voices of the choir.
    The coronation ceremony began.
    First there was the mass, the thousand-year-old Latin text interspersed with music and song, and sometimes merely by soft chromatic scales and melodies from the organ.
    The king went up to the altar. Then he returned. Once again he moved up to the altar, but this time his shoulders had been draped in St Stephen’s robe. Now the crown was placed on his head.
    At that very moment a shaft of light shone through the window above the altar, a pale wintry ray, but sunlight nonetheless , transforming the scene into a magic shining picture. Facing me, seated under the high windows, were all the chief dignitaries of the Catholic Church, and the combination of the sunlight from the outside and the electric glow from the chandeliers banished all shadows, metamorphosing the multiplicity of ritual hieratic garments, the brocades of the all-white piuviales; the white, gold-embroidered mitres, the infulaes, all into one translucent crystalline, unreal, angelic fog. It was an unforgettable sight, even though it lasted but for one brief moment only, the moment when the crown was placed on the young king’s head.
    When Tisza stepped up to the altar, his tall slim figure standing high and straight, dressed in dark velvet; when he raised his right arm and waved his black hat three times in the air calling out with his manly deep voice: ‘Long live the king!’ the sun had already disappeared from the window above, never to be seen again.
    The ceremony lasted for a long time, but for how long I could not possibly have said. In the resplendent, unreal, fairyland environment no one noticed the passage of time. There was music and song; incense rose in clouds and dissolved among the high vaulting of the church. The organ rumbled and sang and from outside could sometimes be heard the distant sound of a saluting cannon. Inside the church the constantly moving but silentgroups of clergy moved solemnly in ritual observance, bishops sparkling in their formal robes stood hieratic and immobile as the ancient ritual moved to its inevitable conclusion, and one felt oneself living in a constantly changing but changeless, timeless dream. And when it ended, so it was like awakening from an enchanted sleep.
    ***
    The king and queen retired to the sacristy, and the great congregation started to leave the church and take up their places in the square outside.
    As the crowd inside began to disappear the ladies of the court and the ladies-in-waiting started to descend slowly from their places in the gallery on the left of the church. Now I could see them better. They came down, one by one or in pairs, down the steps from the gallery and into the centre aisle, all in dresses of gold and white and silver, studded with jewels and glittering like figures from ancient times suddenly come alive again, creating reality from imagination. Great family jewels, diamonds, pearls, emeralds and rubies adorned their heads in