e form of a cross on
the Imperial forehead. Thus all is ready for the most important part of
the solemn ceremony. Standing erect, the Emperor doffs his small
diadem and puts on with his own hands the great diamond crown, offered
respectfully by the Metropolitan; then he reseats himself on his
throne, holding in his right hand the Sceptre and in his left the Orb
of Dominion. After sitting thus in state for a few minutes, he stands up
and proceeds to crown his august spouse, kneeling before him. First he
touches her forehead with his own crown, and then he places on her
head a smaller one, which is immediately attached to her hair by four
ladies-in-waiting, dressed in the old Muscovite Court-costume. At the
same time her Majesty is invested with a mantle of heavy gold brocade,
similar to those of the Emperor and Empress Dowager, lined and bordered
with ermine.

Thus crowned and robed their Majesties sit in state, while a
proto-deacon reads, in a loud stentorian voice, the long list of
sonorous hereditary titles belonging of right to the Imperator and
Autocrat of all the Russias, and the choir chants a prayer invoking long
life and happiness--"Many years! Many years! Many years!"--on the high
and mighty possessor of the titles aforesaid. And now begins the Mass,
celebrated with a pomp and magnificence that can be witnessed only
once or twice in a generation. Sixty gorgeously robed ecclesiastical
dignitaries of the highest orders fulfil their various functions with
due solemnity and unction; but the magnificence of the vestments and the
pomp of the ceremonial are soon forgotten in the exquisite solemnising
music, as the deep double-bass tones of the adult singers in the
background--carefully selected for the occasion in all parts of the
Empire--peal forth as from a great organ, and blend marvellously with
the clear, soft, gentle notes of the red-robed chorister boys in front
of the Iconostase. Listening with intense emotion, I involuntarily
recall to mind Fra Angelico's pictures of angelic choirs, and cannot
help thinking that the pious old Florentine, whose soul was attuned to
all that was sacred and beautiful, must have heard in imagination such
music as this. So strong is the impression that the subsequent details
of the long ceremony, including the anointing with the holy chrism, fail
to engrave themselves on my memory. One incident, however, remains; and
if it had happened in an earlier and more superstitious age it wo