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By scheduling Andropov's state funeral for this Tuesday, the Politburo was in effect setting a deadline for itself. Diplomatically, it would be awkward if no new party leader was on hand to receive foreign dignitaries who will file through the Kremlin's Hall of St. George after the ceremony to express their official condolences. Andropov had used that role to make his debut before the foreign community, conveying the idea that his nation could weather a change of leadership without crisis. His successor would surely want to do the same.
As the hours passed without word of a decision, the streets near the House of Trade Unions, where Andropov's body was lying in state, were patrolled by men in uniform and by civilian volunteers with red armbands. Yet the area that was sealed off to traffic was far smaller than after Brezhnev's death. Outside the perimeter, crowds of shoppers, swathed in thick coats, boots, scarves and fur hats, thronged the sidewalks, seemingly oblivious to what was going on a few blocks away. Said a Soviet soldier: "Just as they found Andropov, they will find someone else."
Last Saturday a motorcade of black limousines carrying Politburo members arrived at the green-and-white neoclassical House of Trade Unions, which was decorated with an enormous portrait of Andropov. In a columned hall inside, Andropov's body lay in an open coffin banked with carnations, red roses and tulips. Chernenko, acting as the first among equals, led the delegation. Tikhonov came next, followed by a trio of senior Politburo members walking three abreast: Defense Minister Ustinov, in his familiar uniform with rows of ribbons, Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko and Moscow Party Boss Victor Grishin. Behind them came Gorbachev and Romanov, walking side by side as if to dispel rumors of their rivalry for Andropov's job.
The silver-haired Chernenko, who was once thought to be Brezhnev's hand-picked heir, paused for a moment before the coffin of the man who had defeated him in the leadership race last time. Andropov's face was bony and drawn, his nose almost beaklike. His long ordeal seemed reflected on the faces of his wife, his son Igor and his daughter Irina, who sat near the flower-bedecked bier. While an orchestra played Tchaikovsky's "Pathetique" Symphony in the background, Chernenko went up to Andropov's widow, kissed her and touched her gently on the shoulder. When Ustinov embraced the late Soviet leader's son, Igor broke into sobs. As he covered his face with his hand, other Politburo members reached over to touch his arm. A Westerner who joined thousands of mourners later in the day summed up the mood as he walked from the hall between honor guards standing stiffly at attention: "An austere life, an austere death."