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A Nervous Splendor: Vienna 1888-1889 by…

A Nervous Splendor: Vienna 1888-1889 (1979)

by Frederic Morton

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This book dives into the years 1888-1889 in Vienna, describing the lives of famous and not yet famous residents. Strongly recommended for people interested getting a feel for old Vienna or for people interested in musical history. ( )
  M_Clark | Mar 12, 2016 |
A shot rings out in Austria in 1888, it's echoes are still heard and the questions about young male suicide are still being asked and unanswered by society and science. ( )
  wyvernfriend | Oct 1, 2014 |
A portrait of Hapsburg Vienna about a generation before its dissolution. The monarchy is a class-driven machine producing much punctilio but apparently little in the way of strategic planning. The growth of nationalism among its polyglot population is viewed by Emperor Franz Joseph with trepidation, but ultimately the official attitude is wait and see. We as readers know these nationalist pressures will tear the Empire apart in 1914 when, in Sarajevo, Serb Gavrilo Princep blows a hole in Archduke Franz Ferdinand's neck. But in 1888 the monarchy seems either oblivious or in denial, perhaps a little of both. Only Crown Prince Rudolph and those of his immediate circle possess insight into the unsustainable imperial trajectory.

The Crown Prince is a fascinating paradox. He's well educated and liberal, a noble who's at heart a republican. His fondest wish is to see his kind expunged from state affairs. He knows the government is in desperate need of reform. Yet despite his lofty rank, his legions of admirers, he possesses no real power to effect change. The emperor employs his intelligence apparatus to spy on him. Agents follow him about and monitor his telegrams. The burden of protocol is overwhelming, but Rudolph seems to bear up well until the visit of Kaiser Wilhelm II of Germany. The occasion is Emperor Franz Joseph's fifty-sixth birthday. Rudolph, who prefers the company of the so-called commoners to the moribund aristocracy, despises Wilhelm for his empty pan-German rhetoric. Yet he must toast him, must follow him about like a puppy, so the Kaiser won't grandstand at this or that reception about the virtues of the Greater Reich. He's stuck in this empty diplomatic role, smiling and toasting a man he despises. He's good at it. His manners are Old World. Understandably, he grows depressed.

There can be no question of Rudolph taking a mistress from among the nobility. His marriage to a cipher was a function of politics, not love. The noble ladies set their sights on him but he is emphatically not interested. Things look bleak indeed. Then he sees Mary Vetsera at one of the few social events where commoners and nobles can intermingle. At the new Court Theater they observe each other with opera glasses. Mary is 18 and Rudolph is 30. He's heard of her, of course. Mary's mother is a skillful social climber who's handed her gifts on to her daughter. Mary's a "lady of fashion" whose every new ensemble makes the society pages. Their liaisons are complex, arranged by a Vetsera family friend. There is much scuttling about labyrinthine corridors, much zigzagging about town to shake persistent tails.

Soon they are both dead from a suicide pact. Mary's corpse is spirited away by family members and buried without ceremony. Rudolph is given a funeral the likes of which are perhaps no longer seen in our day. His death rocks the empire. Of his final messages for others, he leaves not one word, not a syllable, addressed to his father.

The book is a portrait of a vanished era as much as it is a tale of star-crossed lovers. Along with Rudolph and Mary's story we're given a look at the cultural life of Vienna. The artist bios are beautifully compressed. We peek into the young lives of Arthur Schnitzler, Hugo Wolf, and Sigmund Freud--all in their twenties--as well as older established artists like Aaron Bruckner and Johannes Brahms. Vienna is a vast overwrought Baroque wedding cake. Morton brilliantly transforms the boulevard of braggadocio, the new Ringstrasse, into a fitting central metaphor for the posturing and decorum of a vast, fragmenting empire oblivious of the ticking clock. Wonderfully vivid and highly recommended. ( )
1 vote William345 | Jun 11, 2014 |
Having little personal knowledge regarding the history of Austria, my first thought after finishing the book was “those poor, poor Austrians.” Their impending doom just oozed from the pages of "A Nervous Splendor."

"A Nervous Splendor" follows the lives of Brahms, Bruckner, Freud, Wolf, Klimt, Herzl, Mahler and the royal Austrian family. The book features portraits of those mentioned and illustrations of significant locations. It also includes excerpts from written correspondence and diary entries. Covering just ten months of Austrian history, this segment of time gives the reader a pretty clear picture of what made Austria great, and by the end of the book, it’s obvious where the country is headed.

Frederic Morton cleverly juxtaposed the drama and splendor of the arts: theater, opera, and the opulent nightly costume balls of the carnival season to the rotting decay of the archaic, inaccessible, staunchly militant government. Even the Crown Prince Rudolf could not penetrate the hierarchy to communicate effectively with his father King Franz Joseph.

It was pathetic to read about the general public - either poor starving laborers, or the small population of successful working class people. They knew their station in society and unlike other more progressive nations during that time (Great Britain and the United States), no matter how much wealth individuals accumulated, there was no middle-class. To quote Morton (Pg. 68) “Austrian nobility was ancient, exclusive, rigorously pedigreed. It treated the mushrooming burgherdom (bourgeois) like a fungus.”

With a sense of unavoidable doom bordering on hysteria, the working man had to pin his hopes on Prince Rudolf - the common man’s Prince. He was a weak, unreliable, mentally unstable, drug addict and possibly an alcoholic... but nevertheless he was their savior. Upon Rudolf’s suicidal death, the famed music critic Eduard Hanslick spoke for the Austrian people, “I have lived through revolutions, the loss of lands, murderous devastations by flood and fire - nothing of all this is comparable to the horror of January 30th” (the day Prince Rudolf died). (Pg. 267)

Morton goes so far as to imply that Crown Prince Rudolf’s suicide may have influenced the course of history. Surely it cast a black cloud over the city of Vienna and it was an omen of bad things to come. But it is hard to imagine that even if Prince Rudolf would had lived, he could have made a substantial contribution to the empire. As the story closes, Austria is suffering from rising prices, increasing anti-semitism, diminishing control over outlying territories, and overall discontent. The final page of the book is April 20th, 1889 - the birth date of Adolf Hitler.

If you are a history buff already familiar with the historical events of Austria during 1888 - 1889, you may think the story is superfluous. But the fresh observation of Austrian society and the cultural norms in that time period combined with Morton’s personal compilation of events and how those events affected Austria’s populace is both original and thoroughly captivating. ( )
2 vote LadyLo | Mar 19, 2013 |
This book, published in 1980, describes the events occurring in Vienna from the summer of 1888 to April 20, 1889 (the day before Easter and the day Hitler was born in an Austrian town (not Vienna)).. The story covers the doings during that time of Theodor Herzl (a playwright, not yet a Zionist), Brahms, STrauss, Bruckner, Freud, Mahler, et al. and of course Franz Joseph and his son Rudolf. The Mayerling murder-suicide on Jan 30, 1889, occupies much of the time from that date to the end of the book. The book is well-done for its type--not history, except incidentally--and one feels one is authentically shown what Vienna was like to the people described. This is he third book by Morton I've read and I found it worth reading. ( )
1 vote Schmerguls | May 26, 2012 |
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to M. C. M.
to Felicia and Lester Coleman, for so much
and to my parents, my two dearest Viennese
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On Friday, July 6, 1888, the price of sugar went up from forty to forty-two kreuzers a kilo in Imperial Vienna.
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