100 years ago today, with World War I raging all around, Austro-Hungarian Emperor Francis Joseph, icon of a fading era, died in his bed at Vienna’s Schönbrunn Palace. Since I’ve lived several years in his former realms, and travelled extensively in them, I’d like to convey, in word and image, my attachment to his legacy.
 
It began in October 1990, when I flew into the Vienna airport and images of the imperial city flashed across the cabin’s projection screen: palaces, gardens, the statue of Johann Strauss. I had no immediate opportunity to go into town as I was quickly whisked off to my assignment teaching English in a Czechoslovakia recently liberated from the Soviet yoke. But I was soon to bounce around ballroom floors to strains of Strauss with delightful Slovak females, and soon managed to dance away New Year’s Eve with a lovely Brazilian in a quaint Viennese inn. Still, it took me years to fully appreciate the connection between the Waltz King and the Habsburg emperor. More chronological coincidence than artistic patronage, but nonetheless the kind of thing you might hear in Julie Andrews’ commentary on a New Year’s broadcast from Vienna.

​I’ll begin my journey through FJ’s wanderings on a less romantic note – and roughly follow the chronology of his life than with my travels. I’ve already mentioned the Schönbrunn, also his birthplace, so I’ll move on to off-the-beaten-path destinations.
 
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The Czech Connection

Franz Joseph began learning this Slavic language at the age of ten; coincidentally Olomouc, in today’s Czech Republic, is where he became emperor. By late November 1848, the revolutions convulsing Europe had spread to Vienna. The imperial family—FJ was the nephew of Emperor Ferdinand—fled the capital to this provincial capital of Northern Moravia, in today’s travel 3-4 hours northeast of Vienna. FJ’s uncle abdicated, while his father renounced the right to the throne in order to give the people a younger, and presumably more reform-minded, sovereign. Thus, at the tender age of 18, Franz Joseph became the ruler of a vast empire.
 
The humble ceremony—there was no grand coronation, given the circumstances—took place in the archbishop’s palace. Legend has it that FJ and his younger brother broke a huge mirror playing ball in the apartments later that evening but received only a mild reprimand. That building had itself been the subject of some humiliation a century before. So the story goes, the archbishop failed to summon the proper retinue of dignitaries to greet Empress Maria Theresa upon her arrival in town. In retribution she had an armory built right in front, which to this day frustrates photographers trying to get a decent angle on the façade.
 
I managed to get a fairly exclusive tour of the interior as a student of Czech during a summer program at František Palacký University in 1999, just a half year after the 150th anniversary of the “coronation.”

The Kingdom of Hungary

By the late 1990s, I’d been several times to Buda’s Castle Hill and visited the Matthias Church where FJ was crowned Apostolic King of Hungary, following the 1867 Ausgleich, or Compromise giving Hungary nearly equal status with Austria. (Thus the hyphenated name Austria-Hungary.) But now for a more obscure sight.

In 1998, I took a month of intensive language training at Debrecen University. I flew into Budapest a few days before the program and took a train to the town of Gödöllő, a half-hour to the east. I had some idea of its historical significance, since my summer reading was Alan Palmer’s Twilight of the Habsburgs: The Life and Times of Emperor Francis Joseph. Thanks to a good budget guide book, I got dirt-cheap lodgings at a campground near where Franz Joseph used to hunt. He was often accompanied on these retreats from Vienna and Budapest by his wife, Empress Elizabeth of the long dark tresses, more affectionately known as “Sissi.” While he was off shooting grouse or boar, she would indulge her passion for horse-back riding. Equestrianism is a favorite sport of the Magyars, who proudly cite it as part of their Asiatic origins—think of Mongols performing daring feats on ponies in the steppes.

They corresponded with each other regularly in the very difficult Magyar tongue, but Sissi acquired the greater taste for all things Hungarian. She was more beloved among the Magyar population than he – and in modern tourist attractions, particularly in Vienna, comes off as the more likeable of the couple. He appears as a stern, greying, mutton-chopped enforcer; she enjoys the role as his lovely consort.

Back in 1998, the chateau where the couple had stayed on their visits to the Hungarian countryside was under renovation after decades of socialist-era neglect. At least the central part of the building had been restored, but there was scaffolding all around. On a return trip in 2011, I was delighted to find the grounds completely renovated; the refurbished interiors featured not only delightful artwork, but also interactive history lessons on computer.

On the original visit, I was struck by a newspaper, dated Sept. 10, 1898, in a waist-level glass case with the headline in Magyar: “Our Queen has been Killed.” She’d been stabbed by an anarchist in Geneva while boarding a steamship. At the news, her husband exclaimed, “Mir bleibt doch gar nichts erspart auf dieser Welt!" (“So I’m to be spared nothing in this world!”), a reference to the execution of his brother Maximilian in an ill-fated attempt to become Emperor of Mexico, and the suicide of his son Rudolf.
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And so I spent the summer learning Hungarian, reading Palmer’s history, watching horseback performances in the Great Hungarian Plain, and, along with convivial fellow students, sated my self with wine, spicy paprikash meals, and Gypsy music in country inns. My return flight on the Hungarian airline, Malév, was that Sept. 10. After liftoff, on the plane’s projection screen came news about the 100th anniversary of her assassination, commemorated, among other events, by a fashion show, appropriate for her glamorous reputation.

Back in (Rump) Austria

In 2000, before another trip to Olomouc for more language instruction, I made the journey to Bad Ischl, a spa town in the Salzkammergut. In this very quaint town surrounded by lush hills and rock formations, I began to understand that the gray and green colors dominating traditional Austrian dress are an imitation of natural surroundings. Franz Joseph also hunted in these hills, and the walls of the Kaiservilla are lined with antlers and mounted animal heads. I also learned that FJ used to take a private path down to the house of his confidante, the actress Katerina Schratt, who became something of a soulmate after his relations with Sissi cooled down, and even more so after her assassination. (There is considerable dispute over whether she was the emperor’s lover.)
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And yet Franz Joseph kept a large portrait of his wife near his desk in Vienna’s Hofburg complex, the nerve center of his empire. Here, the austere old man would work from five AM signing papers and attending to other affairs of state. I can remember lingering there on a self-guided tour later that summer, gazing out the windows at the courtyard below, thinking how Ischl and Gödöllő provided only momentary escapes from this gilded cage.

​I admire Francis Joseph as the polyglot ruler of a multiethnic state who spoke fluent German, Italian, Hungarian, Czech and French, and read Latin. But his empire did not live up to its professed supranational ideal, as attested by the inequalities among its subject peoples. He shares blame for the outbreak of the First World War. But he came to power at the age of eighteen in a land already rife with division, so he can be faulted only to a degree for things falling apart on his watch. He was very tolerant toward—and generally well loved by—his Jewish subjects. He pushed for universal male suffrage in Austria-Hungary. And yet, despite some progressive ideas, he presided over a land of heavy censorship and intrusive secret police.
 
Still, even the liberal, pacifist Jewish Austrian Stefan Zweig waxed nostalgic about this empire in The World of Yesterday. He lamented its breakup into nation states, which seemed to have set the stage for World War II. Could Austria-Hungary have evolved into a modern monarchy like the British, Swedish, or Spanish?
 
Who knows? But Franz Joseph, with his 68-year reign, the longest of the Habsburg dynasty, is the prime symbol of Central Europe’s “World of Yesterday.”

As I mentioned earlier, November is a month of remembrance of the departed in the Catholic tradition. The seventeenth marks several occasions: International Students’ Day, the anniversary of the Velvet Revolution which led to the resignation of Czechoslovakia’s Communist-Party-dominated government in 1989, and the Great American Smokeout.

I, shamefully still a smoker after all these years, albeit a light one, have vowed not to smoke today – and hopefully smoke-free days will turn into weeks and months. For me the connection to Havel is key: after all, he was a decades-long chain smoker who finally quit. Well, it took him the loss of half a lung to convince him. But if he could continue his literary and intellectual life—which often seem to go hand in hand with cigarettes—then why can’t I?

The fifth anniversary of his death at seventy-five will be coming up in December. Being tobacco free only prolonged his life so much, as he suffered from several health problems. In the late 1990s, while on vacation in the Austrian Alps, he developed an ailment which required the removal of several inches in intestine. He had developed pneumonia while a political prisoner in the 1980s—and of course smoking exacerbated any lingering effects.

I had long believed that I would be in Prague for Havel’s funeral when the end finally came. But, as it happened, I had just returned to the U.S. from three months in Central Europe, and I’d used up nearly all the ninety days a non-Schengen citizen is allowed in the EU for any six-month period, it was close to the holidays and difficult and terribly expensive to arrange last-minute travel even if I could do so without overstaying.

So I did the next best thing and went to the Czech Embassy in Washington with a bouquet of flowers and signed the condolence book. There were a number of people in D.C.’s diplomatic corps who came to pay their respects; the Indonesian ambassador was in line before me. And all those flowers and signatures were, I assume put on an overnight passenger plane to Prague, where they became part of the next day’s funeral.
 
As for the Velvet Revolution, see my musical tribute from two years ago here
 
For curiosity’s sake, here’s Madeleine Albright’s Czech speech at his funeral.
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShpwLNwfvfQ
 

Back on Oct. 28, I attended a party dressed as Emperor Franz Joseph, whose Austro-Hungarian realms of yore I’ve lived and travelled in extensively. Thanks to those experiences, I’ve come to see Halloween as a prelude to something deeper: the feasts of All Saints and All Souls. In this post, I’m going to try to tie it all in with Austrian history.
 
First of all, Halloween is “All Hallowed Evening” historically, not the main event. Indeed, the entire month of November is a time of remembrance of the departed in the Catholic tradition. North Americans have largely lost this custom, but there has lately been a resurgence of interest, due in large part to greater contact with—and appreciation for—the cultures of Latin America. For at least the last two years, the Google Doodle for November has 2 has related to Dia de los Muertos or “Day of the Dead.”
 
Central European celebrations are moving in their own way; please see my full article on All Souls posted this time last year.
 
This year, November takes on special significance for me, as the 21st will mark the centennial of Franz Joseph’s passing. This follows considerable reading on the First World War and the conditions that led to it, as well as my 2014 trip to Sarajevo for the hundredth anniversary of the assassination of his nephew, Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Unfortunately, I will not be able to travel to Vienna for the centennial of Franz Joseph’s death.
 
I understand that the old emperor is something of a controversial figure, not particularly well remembered by present-day Czechs and Slovaks, whom I’ve lived among for seven years, or by others over whose ancestors he reigned. (My costume was partly in jest, almost of necessity—I had to wear cheesy buttons on my breast, since the “medals” which go with that outfit have somehow gotten misplaced in the years since I last dressed up as FJ.) That said, he was probably regarded by those forbears more positively than most modern narratives would indicate. He was widely esteemed among his Jewish subjects, as  witnessed by Austrian Jewish authors such as Joseph Roth and Stefan Zweig.
 
It’s important to remember that Franz Joseph was one of the longest-reigning monarchs in European history (1848-1916). He is the lonely symbol of a decaying, multi-ethnic empire which gave way to modern nation states in WWI’s aftermath, but he also presided over a land that gave the world several Strausses, Arnold Schoenberg, Sigmund Freud, Gustav Klimt, and countless other artists and intellectuals. Whatever his faults, and whatever the troubles of his monarchy, Franz Joseph’s image is one of the most important you’ll encounter on a trip to Vienna.
 
So look for my centenary post on November 21, which will include pics from various sites associated with his long reign. I’ll also recall the events of November 1989 which helped put Europe back together again.
 
For what it’s worth, the photo of me in costume was taken at the Lemon Tree Gallery in Cape Charles, Virginia, where I’ve had the privilege of playing—in Galloping Gypsy persona!—on several occasions.