Above: Burg Aggstein, Wachau Valley, Austria
Memories of Austria-Hungary
Into deepest, darkest Central Europe and the question: Where does 'History' go?
Years ago while living in Vienna I spent much time at this strange residence to the left, summoned by its owner with whom I enjoyed wonderful hours discussing Oswald Spengler, democracy, monarchy, world wars and the "Persistence of Memory". Writing about this family first for the Herald Tribune and then the Wall Street Journal Europe in which I sought to investigate where the old Austro-Hungarian families 'disappeared' to, I was offered a position by this head of family to work in a quasi-diplomatic capacity for their famous art collection. This started me down the path of Old Masters.
Resplendently broke after the Second World War, the family turned to this elder son, then a young man studying banking and Austrian School economics at St. Gallen, to take the reins of devastated family finances, once one of the great fortunes of Europe. Foresight prevailed: the blows of Destiny had already taught them over the course of centuries the importance of, among other long-term values, a magnificent art collection. Theirs had just survived a Hollywood-drama level underground transfer first away from Nazis then later away from Soviets through the salt mines of Austria in order to reach the rather hard to reach 13th century pile seen here. One day in the 1960s this son, much to the protest of many, dragged a certain specimen among these paintings out from the dark burg cellar thinking that perhaps Mr. Paul Mellon of Washington DC might like it for the rapidly growing National Gallery of Art in that city. The painting was 'Ginevra de Benci', soon to become the first and only Leonardo painting in the US. Within weeks the small portrait was traveling first class with a row all to itself and accompanied by a trusty Vanderbilt to escort the vulnerable Ginevra. The work became one of the first big-ticket Old Masters sales of the 20th century. A while later, the ancient family name was restored from the punishments of (relative) impoverishment, of war, of the collapse of monarchy post WWI and its ongoing repercussions. This son, now a grandfather, would go on to build what is considered the greatest private collection of Old Masters on the European continent.
But beyond the matter of sales and prices, this story is one of the meaning of Time; of thinking in terms of generations and centuries and not the next instant, the next moment, the next satisfaction or the next complaint. The eradication of the long-view of life, of a sense of responsibility to ancestors, to name; to deep roots that create the healthiest growth, and to 'History' (capital-H) itself, is, on so many levels, truly one of the ugliest things that has happened to human society in modern times. Ultimately, it is only a reversal of this mentality that could possibly restore what "the West" is really about.
Years ago while living in Vienna I spent much time at this strange residence to the left, summoned by its owner with whom I enjoyed wonderful hours discussing Oswald Spengler, democracy, monarchy, world wars and the "Persistence of Memory". Writing about this family first for the Herald Tribune and then the Wall Street Journal Europe in which I sought to investigate where the old Austro-Hungarian families 'disappeared' to, I was offered a position by this head of family to work in a quasi-diplomatic capacity for their famous art collection. This started me down the path of Old Masters.
Resplendently broke after the Second World War, the family turned to this elder son, then a young man studying banking and Austrian School economics at St. Gallen, to take the reins of devastated family finances, once one of the great fortunes of Europe. Foresight prevailed: the blows of Destiny had already taught them over the course of centuries the importance of, among other long-term values, a magnificent art collection. Theirs had just survived a Hollywood-drama level underground transfer first away from Nazis then later away from Soviets through the salt mines of Austria in order to reach the rather hard to reach 13th century pile seen here. One day in the 1960s this son, much to the protest of many, dragged a certain specimen among these paintings out from the dark burg cellar thinking that perhaps Mr. Paul Mellon of Washington DC might like it for the rapidly growing National Gallery of Art in that city. The painting was 'Ginevra de Benci', soon to become the first and only Leonardo painting in the US. Within weeks the small portrait was traveling first class with a row all to itself and accompanied by a trusty Vanderbilt to escort the vulnerable Ginevra. The work became one of the first big-ticket Old Masters sales of the 20th century. A while later, the ancient family name was restored from the punishments of (relative) impoverishment, of war, of the collapse of monarchy post WWI and its ongoing repercussions. This son, now a grandfather, would go on to build what is considered the greatest private collection of Old Masters on the European continent.
But beyond the matter of sales and prices, this story is one of the meaning of Time; of thinking in terms of generations and centuries and not the next instant, the next moment, the next satisfaction or the next complaint. The eradication of the long-view of life, of a sense of responsibility to ancestors, to name; to deep roots that create the healthiest growth, and to 'History' (capital-H) itself, is, on so many levels, truly one of the ugliest things that has happened to human society in modern times. Ultimately, it is only a reversal of this mentality that could possibly restore what "the West" is really about.
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The Elegance of Vienna
The spirit of K und K as I lived it in Vienna for just over a decade was embodied in the elegant store of the Viennese tailor featured to the right, whose emphasis was always on products of quality and not "brands". Here, I commissioned men's tweeds into dresses, bought silk foulards, inspected rolls of loden and marveled at the heavy, beautiful boiserie details of the store and the unabashed imperial Wappen---the double-headed eagle--adorning more than one angle of the store. A rich, dark, calming atmosphere, I will never forget my first intrepid forays into this store located on the Albertinaplatz just around the corner from the Sacher, across from the Staatsoper and from the Albertina museum, home to some of the greatest art, and one of the best restaurants, of the city. The sartorial culture of Vienna was a local luxury and not necessarily an expensive one: the shop specializing in hand-made heavy cotton monogrammed pyjamas, the store dedicated to loden--reams and reams and floor after floor of that dark, forest green wonder-material that made its wearer so intelligently elegant; the hand-made women's blouses shops, in addition to Lanz and van Eyck; the traditional collarless blazers from Habsburg, from Kettner or Johannes Springer made of silk and velvet and fine wool. It was the personal expression of a city feeling made up of unusual rare book stores, austere Northern Renaissance and Baroque art dealers, and the Augustineersaal of the Nationalbibliotek where I wrote my books. I wore a ladies fedora in Vienna, I wore gloves all of the time. I lived on the same street as was located the Dorotheum and Palais Lobkowicz; St Stephens Cathedral two minutes by foot; Cafe Griensteidl for breakfast, my food shopping at a chandeliered grocery store. My friends from storybook families with fairytale and nightmare lives across centuries of idylls and tempests. What a place. 
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The Habsburg Manifesto: How Modern Democracy Ruined My Life and How I Got Revenge. This is the title of a four act play that I wrote on the meaning of Time; of the lack of difference between past and future and on the influence of History most upon those who wish to destroy it. Represented by the late New York agent Jack Scovil, an old school agent who put quality and merit before trend and Correctness, the script got as far as a reading by a household name director of the '70s school; since then it is again in the possession of my caring hands awaiting production. Inspired by the real life events of the fall of the Austro-Hungarian empire and the rise of America on the center stage of world power, it tells the story of a wealthy historic family of Grosse Pointe Farms about to lose their home just as they have lost their legacy---until a mysterious stranger shows up to explain to the family members the exact nature of both their legacy and loss and changes their lives forever. |