Now in Vienna there’s ten pretty women
There’s a shoulder where Death comes to cry
There’s a lobby with nine hundred windows
There’s a tree where the doves go to die
There’s a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the Gallery of Frost
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaw… ( Leonard Cohen, Take This Waltz )
The last waltz in Vienna. Danced to the music of Strauss, in that gay city of crystal and cake, it soon turned into a dance of death- its cadences marked by Hitler, Freud, and the guns of the First World War.
…The music and laughter have gone, the crystal sphere lies in a thousand pieces, and that vanished and forgotten city has no more substance now than the royal capital of some improbably fairyland. It survives only in the imagination: a mocking symbol of “die gut alte Zeit” , the old impossible time when splendor was not an embarrassment and elegance was more than a word.
…Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallways where love’s never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand…
Vienna in the twilight of the hapsburg empire was that enchanted city, and one of the lovely capital of the “ancien regime” . By the jubilee year of 1898, which marked Franz Josef’s half century on the throne, it was firmly established as a charming and outrageous anachronism- a city of facade and waltzes and blue rivers. It was one of the last romantic outposts in a civilization moving with speed into the harshness of the twentieth century. The air of illusion that hovered over Vienna at the turn of the century was perhaps inevitable. The city itself was too beautiful to be entirely true. …
The persistent inability to take anything very seriously has long been a characteristic of all classes of Viennese society. As early as 1843 an Austrian writer could say: “The people of Vienna seem to any serious observer to be reveling in an everlasting state of intoxication. Eat, drink and be merry are the three cardinal virtues and pleasures of the Viennese. It is always Sunday, always Carnival time for them. There is music everywhere. The innumerable inns are full of roisterers day and night. Everywhere there are droves of fops and fashionable dolls.”
…This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and Death
Dragging its tail in the sea
There’s a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There’s a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They’ve been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
T
Take this waltz it’s been dying for years…
The “fin-de-siecle” carnival spilled over into the twentieth century. Great emphasis was put on social precedence, and elaborate masques were stage continually. The surface of life was enchanting; the days and the nights sparkled with handsome uniforms and military bands and operas and court balls.
There was the magnificent Vienna State Opera. The building itself had been completed in 1869, and Mozart’s “Don Giovanni” had been chosen for the gala opening. Diamond gleamed and silks rustled in the long loggia with its statues of the nine Muses, in the vestibule with its gold leaf and ivory gesso, and on the soaring Grand Staircase with its crimson carpet. Under Gustav Mahler, who directed the opera until 1907, one glorious performance followed another: Betthoven’s “Fidelio”, Charpentier’s “Louise” , Puccini’s “la Boheme” and “Madame Butterfly”. There were less demanding entertainments as well, such as the charming and frivolous society comedies by Arthur Schnitzler, such as “Anatol” .
…There’s an attic where children are playing
Where I’ve got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of Hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I’ll see what you’ve chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lilies of snow
Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its “I’ll never forget you, you know!” …
The great good times and little indulgences never seemed to end. In those amusing days of imperial Vienna, under the light of the crystal chandeliers and with the sound of violins the old song was a compelling one: “Vienna, Vienna, you alone/ Shall always remain/ The city of my dreams.” At the turn of the century few people in Vienna sensed that the night was coming at last and that the whole gorgeous fabric would soon dissolve, leaving hardly a trace behind.
Oddly, the city was at its brightest in this autumn of decay.There was Holy Thursday, which began at five in the morning when twenty-four imperial carriages with liveried servants and a mounted escort drove out of the courtyard of the Hofburg. The coachmen wore huge three-cornered hats with silver braid, and yellow and black coats with white fur. The carriages took an unaccustomed turn toward the poorest quarter of Vienna. There twelve old man and twelve old women waited to be taken back to the palace for the medieval ceremony of foot washing and a banquet they would be too frightened to eat.
…And I’ll dance with you in Vienna
I’ll be wearing a river’s disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you’ll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist
Oh my love, Oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It’s yours now. It’s all that there is
The emperor and the archdukes and the princesses would kneel and pass a wet towel over the bare feet of these old people. Then the emperor would wash his hands in a golden basin held by two pages, as a signal that the ceremony was over. After the banquet he would hang a sack containing thirty pieces of silver around the necks of each of the old men and women. Finally, they would be taken back to their hovels, carrying baskets of food and bottles of wine and flowers from the imperial conservatories- having seen fairyland once before the end of their weary lives.
These ceremonies were played to old familiar music that no longer had any meaning. The twentieth century was beginning, and Europe was entering a new dispensation. Under the Hapsburg’s however, the “ancien regime” was preserved in a way that was apparent in no other country, with the possible exception of Russia. The Few stood in opposition to the Many, using taste and elegance and an over-refinement of manner as weapons to hold back the future.
The bread and circuses of reaction, nevertheless, were splendid enough, and many an intelligent Viennese was fooled by them. Even the writer Hermann Bahr, who led the rebellios Young Vienna movement of the 1890’s that included Hugo von Hofmannsthal and Arthur Schnitzler, admitted that he had failed to recognize the truth. “I mistook the dying afterglow,” he said, “for the first flush of dawn.”
It was an easy mistake to have made, for the afterglow was appealing and enormously bright. As long as you saw only the Hungarian Life Guard and the ladies of fashion, and listened to the clatter of horses’ hoofs in the spring rain, and heard the waltzes and the polkas and the gypsy violins. As long as you did not know that homeless men were sleeping in the sewers. As long as you were not familiar with the Archduchess Marie Valerie’s favorite charity, the Vienna Association for Warming Rooms and Welfare. In 1901 the association provided 368,000 men, 228,000 women, and 583,000 children – all citizens of the enchanted city- with a place to warm themselves at night and a piece of bread and a serving of soup.
Near the fashionable shopping streets of Graben and Kohlmarket and the tall baroque palaces of the Inner City were slums and tenements as dark and monstrous as any that could have been seen in the worst days of Liverpool and London and paris and St. Petersburg. The air was full of the odor of mildew and paprika and the fumes of squalid goulash kitchens. The incongruities of imperial Vienna were apparent to many, but mostly to the poor. A young Adolf Hitler spent several miserable years there before the First World War, remembering later that hunger had been his only companion and that the Ringstrasse had seemed “like a fairy tale out of The Arabian Nights.”
In 1907 Hitler left Linz and came to Vienna to present a portfolio of drawings for admission to the Academy of Fine Arts. He was turned down, and so began a shadow existence in the city’s slums, where at first he lived in a tiny room on the second floor of a dingy house near the Westbahnhof. By 1908 he had gone to a home for men on the Meldemannstrasse, where each man had an iron bed, four meters of floor space, and twelve meters of “breathing space” . At this period Hitler could have been seen dressed in a ragged coat, with dirty gray trousers and disintegrating shoes and sunken cheeks, one of that army of defeated men who lived in the sewers and parks and flophouses of imperial Vienna. “Even now I shudder,” he wrote in “Mein Kampf” , “when I think of those pitiful dens, the shelters and lodging houses, those sinister pictures of dirt and repugnant filth, and worse still.”
a