PLAYING THE RADETZKY MARCH IN A TENNIS
STADIUM
By Todd Buell
Villach, Austria—I remember sitting in the cafeteria at the Bangor Airport
in mid-September. My mother had driven me there and was sitting across from
me as I finished a greasy hamburger. I told her that I was questioning
whether or not I was making the right decision to return to Austria for a
second year of teaching—another year to put Fulbright on my resume. She
responded bluntly: “You could bail now.”
Reverse psychology—of course I didn’t and boarded the plane and flew from
Bangor to Boston.
However, I still had nearly three hours to kill in Boston; thus, I had another
chance to flee and head to Washington and try to get a job there in its
intense political culture. I made another phone call. This time I spoke with
a dear female friend, who had been my de facto girlfriend throughout the
summer. We had emotionally parted ways three days earlier. I was heading to
Austria, and she to an unknown destination with the Peace Corps. Midway into
the conversation she interrupted me, sensing my indecisiveness: “Todd, you
sound so morose. I've never heard you talk like this before.”
She politely, but firmly, chastised me for my failing to appreciate my
opportunity: she reminded me of the amazing and unique cultural events that
lie before me. Indeed, the following article illustrates her, and my mom’s,
foresight. For without their persuasion, I might never have heard the "Radetzky
March" in a tennis stadium. Perhaps women are both the fairer and wiser sex.
Recently, I attended a Davis Cup tennis match in the lakeside resort town of
Pörtschach. Whenever Austria won a match, the public address system would
facilitate the celebration by piping in the "Radetzky March." For those not
familiar with this song, it is a peppy piece that the Vienna Philharmonic
has immortalized by playing it to conclude its annual New Year’s concert.
Strauss wrote the piece in 1848 to honor Gen. Joseph Radetzky who had
defeated an Italian uprising in that year. The tournament organizer’s choice
of this song illustrates the continued fascination that Austrians have with
fine art, music, and other benevolent remnants of their imperial era.
In the interim between the end of one match and the commencement of another,
I turned to the woman sitting next to me and asked rhetorically, “In what
other country would one hear the "Radetzky March" at a tennis match, or any
sports event?” She agreed that this mixture of sports and haut culture was
very Austrian. As she put it, as a vestige from the imperial age, Austrians
appreciate “was schön ist” (“what is beautiful”).
An outsider can see this love of great art, music, and formal events after
only a brief stay in this country. One example is the Austrian tradition of
balls and dances. The “ball season” runs from mid-January until May. Nearly
every high school and civic organization sponsors one. For the schools, the
occasion seems marginally aristocratic because it combines the marching and
ceremony of graduation with the revelry and formality of the prom.
At my school, the students, dressed in elegant gowns and tuxedos, descended
a stairway to the “Polonaise”—another formal dance piece written by
Strauss—and then they impeccably waltzed Strauss’s Wienerwaldwaltz (Vienna
woods waltz). I should note here that even though my students practiced
their dances and marches for three months prior to the ball, nearly everyone
in Austria possesses some formal dancing skill.
Photo by Todd Buell
These balls all model themselves after the ostentatious Opernball held every
February in Vienna. This übergala is attended by all of Austria’s
politicians, foreign ambassadors, and invited foreign dignitaries and
celebrities. This event was first introduced to Vienna by Emperor Franz
Josef in 1873 and to this day is held in the Vienna State Opera house. (It
is an intriguing irony that even though the event originated in the imperial
era, logistical problems and wars did not allow it to run consecutively
until 1956).
Photo by Todd Buell
One can also sense a palpable longing for the monarchic days on major
national holidays. Austria’s “Independence Day” is on 26 October,
celebrating the day in 1955 when the final Allied troops left the country
and the constitution forming the “Second Republic” was signed. Yet at this
event, just as if it were the Kaiserzeit, the Vienna Philharmonic performs
pieces by Strauss and the television cameras constantly flash images of
Austria’s politicians sitting in the balcony—in the seats once occupied by
the Emperors.
Perhaps Austria promotes its artistic aristocratic history a little too
well. A teaching colleague of mine here recounted a time when she was
working at an Austrian tourism office in Rome and an American approached her
and asked how one obtained tickets to the Kaiserball. He then, in inimitable
American fashion, inquired as to whether the “Kaiser himself would be
there.”
Though the aforementioned American may have been oblivious to the conditions
securing the end of the First World War, some Austrians certainly are not and
are quite openly nostalgic toward their former political system. I have a
British friend who tells me that her landlord and landlady both envy Britain
because of her monarchy.
As an American, it is tempting to condemn such nostalgia as antidemocratic.
However, to judge Austria’s fascination and connection with its past in this
manner would be inaccurate. Rather, respect for vestigial aristocratic
values manifests itself in many socially beneficial ways—the government
supports art, music, and theatre organizations. This support receives its
impetus from the public. It is likely true that more people, on a percentage
basis, watch the aforementioned New Year’s Concert than watch the Rose Bowl
in the United States. Thus in this example there is no incongruence between
high culture and democracy.
Also, Austrian culture rewards higher education and civic activity. When you
earn degrees, you receive a title that stands before your name. Towns and
cities grant a traditional title, Hofrat, to those whose accomplishments
have improved public life. For example, many school principals or
headmasters have Hofrat in their often-impressive (i.e., lengthy) titles.
It would, therefore, be reasonable to argue that Austria’s preservation of
benign imperial traditions cushions the country against materialistic
excess. One’s education matters more than one’s income. One’s family may
also carry more status than one’s income—a case in point being the
prominence still given today to Otto von Habsburg, the eldest son of the
last emperor Charles I (who died in exile in Madeira in 1922 and was
recently beatified by Pope John Paul II. This event, not surprisingly,
received major media coverage here).
Alexis de Tocqueville predicted that America would develop into an
aristocracy of wealth. He believed this was more just than his own
continent’s tradition of birth or family-based aristocracy. In a sense he
was right. One cannot choose one’s family while one can, to a certain
extent, choose one’s profession. (Though should our “new aristocracy”
require that we judge our country’s health only by its GDP? That’s another
article.)
Tocqueville also feared the subjugation of the nicer elements of aristocracy
was schön ist. Les choses belles. I suspect that he might be proud of
today’s Austria. It is a land where nearly every adult may vote yet it is culturally
connected to its past.
It is a country—a republic—where some of its most talented citizens offer it
great service—and volleys and forehands too.
