Even so, just before Christmas, news arrived, reaching even as far as me, which dampened everyone’s spirits: it was the dismissal of Burian as minister of foreign affairs and his replacement by Czernin. After more than two years of war morale was not high, and the nomination of Czernin raised a spectre that most people hoped had been laid by the outbreak of hostilities. Those anxious rumours that had circulated in the years before the war, those sad indications of a doubtful future for the independence of Hungary suddenly seemed once more a dire possibility. It was as if the ghost of FF (Franz Ferdinand) had risen from its uneasy grave and become the rallying point for all those spirits who hate everything that was Hungarian and who had striven for some form of Slav Imperium. Czernin was the prophet of this movement and one of its first spokesmen. He had written a popular book on the subject and had been an intimate friend and confidential adviser of the dead heir, who himself is said to have declared that he would bring up his successor to follow his policies so that Hungarians would have him to reckon with for the next two hundred years. This saying was so well known that as soon as Czernin’s appointment was announced it was heard once more on everyone’s lips. It seemed as if there was truth in the old rumours after all. The effect was slightly modified when the Empress Zita, as queen of Hungary, at once asked to be accepted as president of the ‘Pro-Transylvania’ charitable organization as soon as she arrived in Budapest – but the damage had been done, and in many people’s hearts the seeds of suspicion and doubt had once again taken root.

***

The coronation rehearsal had been timed for 28 December, the day after the royal couple had arrived in the capital.

The new king received me most kindly, saying that he remembered me well. As he spoke his face was suffused with a warm-hearted smile which did not leave his lips even when he was silent.

His manner was simple and sympathetic.

The rehearsal, behind closed doors, went smoothly.

In an hour it was over, and I was left alone. As I stood there, a 4,000-watt arc light hanging above the altar exploded in the heat. It had been hidden in the tent-like draperies above and it had burned brightly through the rehearsal. Tiny fragments of glass fell and covered the altar with needle-sharp little crystal daggers.

Something had to be done at once to ensure there was no repetition of the accident during the coronation itself. It was essential that the scene at the altar should be strongly lit – and it was obvious that we could not hope for a bright sunny day at the end of December. Therefore, following the chief-electrician’s advice, a sheet of heavy glass an inch thick was rapidly polished and hoisted into position among the draperies overhead. This effectively protected the space below where the arc lights were hidden.

This decision nearly had a fatal effect on the following day.

This, however, was not the only last-minute change that had to be made. Late in the afternoon, when we had placed the holy crown in the nearby Loretto chapel, I received a message from the king’s Master of the Horse who wanted to see me as quickly as possible.

I went to his office in the palace and he explained that it was the ‘wish’ of his Majesty that the giant coat of arms and supporting angels that had been mounted high above the main entrance to the palace and which were an essential part of the decorations of the adjacent St George’s Square, should be taken down in case the king’s horse should take fright at them and bolt! I murmured something to the effect that there was nothing to fear for these decorations were fixed some fifteen or twenty metres above the ground, well above the stonework of the great monumental palace gateway, and in any case could only be seen from afar. The Master of the Horse, himself an accomplished rider, merely shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and repeated what he had already said. It was all quite clear, and I promised that by morning there would be no decorations above the gateway.

However, this was not all. It seemed the king wished to mount his horse in front of the church without having to put his foot in the stirrup and swing himself into the saddle. It was therefore suggested that, during the night, I should have a sort of footstool made, with steps upon which the monarch would climb and whence he could slip into the saddle unaided.

This order was more difficult to put into effect. Had we been living in Vienna, with a choice of all the perfectly trained horses of the Marstall – the Royal Stables – at our disposal, we might no doubt have lighted upon an animal that could be relied upon to remain absolutely still beside such an unfamiliar mounting block. But we were in Budapest, capital of a nation of horsemen, a multitude of whom on the following day were expecting to see their newly crowned monarch leap into the saddle, his crown upon his head, on the steps of the church in which he had just been anointed. To place a little footstool where all could see it, a footstool whose only function must obviously be to help the king mount his horse, would have seemed to most of my country men inexpressibly ludicrous and would lead to odious comparisons and the sort of ribaldry undesirable on such an occasion. Some other solution had to be found, so after talking the matter over with the master mason, we decided to build a low wall on each side of the canopy, which had been placed above the church door. Behind this a small flight of steps would be concealed. The wall was unusual, and otherwise quite without function, but the people in the square would think it had been placed there merely to enclose the church.

This little wall was quickly run up in a rather makeshift manner. Luckily there was no frost that night, and so by morning the cement had hardened and all was ready.

I arrived home very late. That night I slept little, as I wanted to be in the church early so as to be able to supervise any last touches that might be necessary.

It was just before four o’clock when I drove away from my house.

There was no sign of life in the inky darkness that enveloped the city. The only sound was that of the fiacre horses’ hooves on the cobblestones.