He was dressed in a dark-green gold-embroidered tail suit and was holding his three-cornered hat under his arm. He moved forward and joined us and for a moment I did not recognize the man behind the finery, for I had previously only met him in the simplest of plain clothes. It was Czernin, the new minister for foreign affairs.

He asked me where he was to sit and then shook hands with Esterházy.

From the way he stood and moved, and from the knowing smile upon his face, I at once understood everything that was passing through his mind. It was as if he had said to Esterházy out loud for everyone to hear: ‘See? I’ve made it! Now it’s your turn. It’ll come soon, you’ll see!’ In that one little moment I felt it so clearly that it was as if he’d spoken, and I was at once seized by the same anticipatory anxiety that so many others had felt as soon as Czernin’s nomination to office had been announced. Once again I was filled with dread, fearing what so many others feared, namely that the gossip about Franz Ferdinand’s prophecy was now brought to fulfilment. I tried to chase the thought away, telling myself that it would be madness at this critical time during the war to think of dispensing with Tisza, who alone among contemporary Hungarian statesmen had the greatness of soul and strength of character to carry the burden of the nation’s survival. After the war perhaps … but now? No! It was impossible!

More people were flooding in, the men in splendid uniforms and the women in their elaborate best, and the seats in the tiered stands were beginning to fill up. Those few artists we had managed to fit inside the church – Alajos Strobl, Oszkár Glatz and the others – hurried to their allotted places high up under the windows on the right. The court ladies, those in waiting on the queen, arrived in a group and, dressed as they were in traditional Hungarian court apparel, it was as if a bevy of old family portraits had suddenly come alive. They wore fantastic diamond tiaras and diadems on their heads and their pearl and jewel-embroidered capes glittered like a cascade of rippling light. It was the last parade of Hungary’s thousand-year-old history, a pageant that was never to be repeated and which will now never be seen again.

As we stood at the great doors telling everyone where to find their places I was suddenly accosted in French by a tall, broad-shouldered man in the uniform of a Hungarian general. It was the king of Bulgaria … and he was very cross indeed.

He would like to see the crown before he went to his place, he said shortly.

I led him to the Loretto chapel.

He inspected everything carefully, for he was a great connoisseur of all things artistic and a man of exceptional taste. In his total absorption in studying the Crown Jewels, for a few moments he forgot his anger. Then, turning back to me, he spoke passionately of how he had been insulted. He had been seated in the gallery of the oratorium, next to the little six-year-old crown prince; hidden away where no one could see him: he, the only foreign monarch who had the courtesy to come to Hungary for the coronation. He was very angry, repeating several times that he had been hidden away with a little child; where no one could see the presence of a foreign monarch, a traditional and long-time friend of Hungary who had come in these times of trouble to make a public gesture of alliance and solidarity. ‘And this is all the thanks I get! This is how they treat me!’ he said furiously.

It was extremely painful for me to listen to King Ferdinand’s outburst, especially as only a year before he had received me in the palace at Sofia and had treated me with exceptional kindness and courtesy. I tried to explain that I had not been responsible for the seating arrangements and that, in any case, the little archduke Otto, as hereditary crown prince, was the highest ranking in Hungary after the king…

‘That’s all nonsense!’ interrupted King Ferdinand. ‘I know it’s not your fault! But I know, too, whose fault it is. It’s that camarilla at court … especially Montenuovo, who’s always been my enemy. He would stop at nothing to humiliate me … he, and those others … they’re my enemies, all right. Always have been. Always.’

Still trying to soothe him, I escorted King Ferdinand to his place in the oratorium gallery. There, however, although he was still fuming with rage, I had to take my leave. After more angry words he at last finished his tirade by saying: ‘If I’d known it, I wouldn’t have come!’ Then, quite suddenly, he looked at me with a friendly smile and in a most charming way started to praise my ancient Hungarian dress as if to make it quite clear that whatever else he thought he didn’t blame me.

I returned to the steps by the great doors and reached them in time to greet the little crown prince.

He was a lovely child; still at that time with golden-blond hair and rosy cheeks. Since then I have heard that his hair has turned dark, and that he greatly resembles his mother.

He was dressed in a resplendent brocade mantle, lined with ermine and decorated with egret feathers, his whole outfit having been designed by Benczúr, and in tiny shoes he tripped along hurriedly so as to keep up with General Count Wallis, whose finger he clutched in a tight little fist.

He was adorable as he moved swiftly through the crowd.

Now the officiating clergy all lined up outside the church to receive the royal couple, while in the Loretto chapel the Keepers of the Regalia and the standard bearers ensured that everyone with a part to play in the ceremony had been provided with the badge or clenodium they had to carry. Everyone was there except for Iván Skerlecz, the Ban2 of Croatia, who was nowhere to be seen. Later he made the excuse that they would not let him in through the police cordon outside, but this sounded unconvincing in view of the fact that he made his appearance in the church during the coronation ceremony. His absence at the start however, caused a momentary delay in setting out the order of the procession and someone else – I forget who – had rapidly to be given the robe that the Ban should have carried for the royal carriage was even then drawing up outside the church.

I was unable to see the arrival of the king and queen, as I then had to hurry to reach my own place from where I could control the lighting.