ROBERT HARDMAN: The most poignant moment was when William gave his father a light kiss on the cheek

We may not be able to explain magic, but we know it when we see it. It’s why nothing—not the naysayers, not the strident demands of social media, not even the rain—can negate the raw power of a king crowned before God, his people, and the world.

Invested in unparalleled treasures, serenaded by sublime music, Charles III and his queen yesterday joined a thousand-year-old pantheon of monarchs in a ritual rooted in the Old Testament.

There were plenty of modernizing touches, not least sports stars and writers taking the place of dukes and field marshals.

Old precedence standards and protocols had been set aside, relegating two royal dukes – Sussex and York – to the similarly administered tier three area, while many of the royal cousins ​​who rose to rank were forced to leave their husbands at home. In fact, some of Britain’s largest and oldest families were not invited at all.

In their place were 400 holders of the British Empire Medal. It may be in the foothills of the honors system, but yesterday the BEM trumped a county.

A dozen entirely new pieces of music had been commissioned for an occasion that could, on some level, be described as the Proms meets Trooping the Color meets a royal wedding meets the United Nations.

Britain had never before gathered 100 heads of state (plus prime ministers and other emissaries from a total of 200 countries).

No comparable military parade had been seen since the last coronation in 1953.

But the crux was the sight of a man in a battered chair, dressed first in a collarless shirt, then golden robes, and finally adorned with the crown of crowns, communicating with the Almighty – and with all of us.

For those under the age of 80, this was unfamiliar territory. But you don’t have to separate your arm from your head to be mesmerized by this affirmation of the person and the values ​​that underlie our unwritten constitution.

The first spoken line of the whole procedure came not from a king or bishop, but from a 14-year-old chorister.

Samuel Strachan said, “Your Majesty, as children of the kingdom of God, we welcome you in the name of the King of kings.” To which Charles III replied: ‘I do not come to be served, but to serve.’

That summed up the whole show. The Archbishop of Canterbury reiterated the point in his short sermon: “We are here to crown a king and we crown a king to serve.”

Westminster Abbey was packed more than three hours before the service. With a quarter of the capacity of the previous coronation and a huge international presence – the king had torn up the old convention that prevented fellow heads of state from attending (thus outnumbering the crown prince) – numbers were tight.

The royal ‘box’, in the south transept, was probably the smallest ever used for a coronation. The King’s siblings were all allowed to bring their children, as were his cousins, the Earl of Snowdon and Lady Sarah Chatto.

The same was true of the late Queen’s cousins, the Dukes of Gloucester and Kent, Prince Michael of Kent and Princess Alexandra.

However, none of their children could bring husbands. For example, Lady Helen Taylor, daughter of the Duke of Kent, or the Earl of Ulster, son and heir of the Duke of Gloucester, came solo. The entire Mountbatten clan had a single representative, Countess Mountbatten.

But there was room for two members of the Queen Mother’s extended family, Sir Simon and Lady (Caroline) Bowes Lyon, plus six members of Prince Philip’s family (the heads of the Hohenlohe-Langenburg, Baden and Hesse dynasties, plus wives).

Here too was a full set of Middletons. The Princess of Wales’s parents, Michael and Carole, sat in row seven of the Royal Zone with her sister, Pippa, and brother, James. To their left sat the world leaders. Across the street was the north transept for friends. It included a cultural angle with Dame Judi Dench, Dame Joanna Lumley, Stephen Fry and writers Sir Tom Stoppard, William Shawcross and Simon and Santa Sebag-Montefiore.

Past and current prime ministers were all allowed to bring spouses, but it was a solo ticket for the current cabinet.

In first place, of course, were the Prince and Princess of Wales (he in the robes of the Order of the Garter, she in the lighter blue of the Royal Victorian Order) plus Princess Charlotte, in ivory, and Prince Louis in a dark blue soldier suit.

Prince George helped carry his grandfather’s train.

The procession before the king underlined how different this coronation was from its predecessors. Women, minorities and other religions were prominent, the nobility barely. After the junior heralds (pursuers) in their tabards, came the orders of chivalry and gallantry.

Before the Order of Canada, we saw the historian Professor Margaret MacMillan represented just before the Order of New Zealand by the Richie McCaw, the two-time World Cup winner All Black. Behind him British ex-Olympian Lord Coe representing the Companions of Honour, and fellow Olympian Lady Mary Peters representing the Order of the Garter.

No king in our history has come to the throne at such an age – 74. Perhaps this explains the serenity – even a smile – on the king’s face as he walked through the abbey. Queen Camilla (the words “Queen Consort” did not appear once in the order of service) smiled more nervously, though it was a smile.

All the rehearsals of the past few weeks had paid off. There were a few double takes and side glances, but nothing that constituted a blunder.

You could hear the nerves as Elizabeth II and her father, George VI, took their oaths. Not with this monarch. Given the dramas of leaking pens in the early days of the reign, the only nervous moment came when the king came to sign the parchment. On this occasion, the ink flowed well.

From there to the high drama, the anointing. With the coronation of Elizabeth II, we saw none of that. At least this time there was a glimpse of the king stripping off his shirtsleeves for the most sacred moment of fate.

Not even the other members of the royal family could see what was going on when Guardsmen came forward with a special three-sided anointing shield.

The only witness with good eyesight was Penny Mordaunt, Lord President of the Council and bearer of the Sword of State. She stood at the open end of the screen as the Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, dabbed holy oil (from the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, next to the tomb of Prince Philip’s mother) on the king’s head, hands and chest . Ex-Royal Marine, Miss Mordaunt saw it all and didn’t blink.

The rest of the world had to make do with Handel’s incomparable Zadok The Priest rising higher and higher around the abbey. Throat consuming stuff.

Hurdle completed for the first time, the king moved to the coronation chair to be invested with the regalia. To save time, he didn’t have to put everything on, just touch the ring, the spurs, etc.

And so to the point. The Archbishop gave St. Edward’s Crown one final check – if the square green jewel isn’t in the front, it’s the wrong way around – then placed it firmly on the royal bone. It didn’t seem to land the first time and there was a bit of fumbling before it settled down to the King’s satisfaction.

“God Save the King,” the archbishop proclaimed, launching a 21-gun salute across the country. If the council didn’t respond with the racket from last time, it was just that they were a quarter the size.

Arguably the most poignant part of the service was the moment when the Prince of Wales stepped forward to pay homage as ‘fief of life and limb’. On which he gave his father a light kiss on the left cheek, just as Prince Philip had done to the Queen 70 years ago.

As then, the monarch’s face lit up at this personal intrusion into the rubric.

The coronation of the queen was a simpler affair, preceded by a minimum of anointing. After tweaking a few rogue hairs, she allowed herself a wider smile. Mr Welby, it must be said, is not a born milliner.

This was the cue for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s anthem, Make A Joyful Noise. Written from the words of Psalm 98, it did what it commanded.

Palpably relieved, the pair retired backstage to St Edward’s chapel to take their crowns for Holy Communion, a centerpiece for the Supreme Governor of the CofE. This was never televised in 1953, when viewers only had a picture of the altar cloth.

Finally, they retreated again to restore crowns and robes, in this case the largest of them all: the estate’s robes.

The queen looked almost delighted. The king, now in the imperial state crown (which he will wear again when he next opens parliament), watched with the satisfied, somewhat wistful, deeply proud look of the bride’s father at the end of the wedding service.

A monarch with a greater love of music than perhaps ever since George III, a romantic with a deep respect for tradition, a deep thinker with a strong spiritual side, he must have struggled to contain his emotions at many times during this service. to hold. Yet he held them in check.

Strange and at times baffling, especially to younger viewers, yesterday’s overarching theme was one of epic and very grand humility. Charles III may have set out in a golden chariot, with an orb and scepter in his hand, accompanied by an entire army, and wearing a crown on his head. The real masters were the ones on the outside, cheering him all the way home.