remembering Vienna..

I have been to Austria, both in Salzburg and in Vienna. Austria is a country whose best times have seemed to pass it by and now exists as a generally tranquil corner of Europe. In the 18th and 19th century, Austria and the Hapsburg was a major political power in Europe and Vienna was the place for culture. It was also the center of culture for the German speaking peoples. As you all may know the heart and soul of Vienna revolve around music and elegant classical society and on these terms the glory of Vienna is largely undiminished. Austria still is the best in regards to music, if you ask me and nowhere is this better seen than in Salzburg and Vienna - the birthplace and cultural Mecca of Mozart and home of the world leading Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. By the way, Austria is an overwhelmingly catholic country.

I remember Vienna not for the grandeur of this magnificent city but for another momentary experience. At some point in our sightseeing we visited a museum where I saw the automobile in which the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife had been riding when a Serbian nationalist threw a bomb at them. The archduke's uniform and the white plume in his ceremonial helmet were stained with his blood. I knew from my history book that the assassination of the archduke had been the immediate cause of the World War, and now I saw before my eyes what had led to the deaths of a million men. It stunned me. Even as a teenager, I was an intense pacifist, sure that nothing was worse than war, and the sight of the archduke's uniform crystallized my hatred of bloodshed. I left the museum unable to speak.

I traveled to Berlin from Vienna with my mates. The plane landed in Prague in order to permit the passengers to have lunch. I remember nothing about what we ate, but I remember the name of the proprietor (or possibly the name of the restaurant). It was Vlk. A name without a vowel fascinated me and was one more revelation of the mysteries of foreign languages. When the plane landed in Berlin the pilot said something in German that I did not totally understand but he seemed to be apologizing.

After this little trip during my first year of university, I never went to Vienna during my 7 years of stay in Europe, still haunted by the bloodstains. A few years ago I finally summoned up the courage to visit Vienna. I searched for the museum, not knowing its name, hoping to exorcise the painful memory. On the morning of my last day in the city, quite by chance, I learned there was a Museum of the Army. I went in and, without asking the way, walked directly to the bombed car and the blood-stained uniform. The exorcism worked. I still hate war but my uneasiness about Vienna has disappeared.