The Last Waltz

by John Suchet

  Another critic, Johann Nepomuk Vogt, made a direct comparison between father and son. Complaining in the Österreichisches Morgenblatt of being pushed and jostled by the crowd, of nearly suffocating and being deprived of food and drink, he found the energy to write:

  Talent is the monopoly of no single individual. This young man is fully as melodious, as piquant, as effective in his instrumentation as his father … and yet he is no slavish imitator of the elder Strauss’s methods of composition.

  The Wiener Allgemeine Theaterzeitung, after praising the irresistible and popular style of Johann’s own compositions, reported that in playing ‘Lorelei-Rhein-Klänge’, Johann ‘gave expression not only to a son’s admiration for his father, but also to his desire to take his father’s long-standing mastery as his example’.

  Perhaps the most perceptive of the reviews came from Franz Wiest, music critic of Der Wanderer. After commenting that it is seldom that the gifts and talents of a father are passed on to a son, he stated:

  Of Strauss son one really can say: He is a waltz incarnate! … The two waltz pieces he performed for us today distinguished themselves by their brilliant originality of thought, vibrating with that rhythmical flourish and glowing with that Viennese lightheartedness which, with the exception of Strauss father, no living waltz composer can create.

  In a direct comparison between the two Strausses, from which the father emerges the loser, Wiest wrote, ‘Strauss son, at the age of twenty-one [sic], has learned more as a composer and conductor than Strauss father could have gained in twenty-one years in his field …’ However, he stressed this should not be seen as a reproach. Instead Vienna should rejoice in the fact it now had a Strauss father and a Strauss son in its midst.

  Remembering this was the year following the death of Joseph Lanner, Wiest ended his review with a short sentence that has entered musical history, as far-sighted in its way as Beethoven’s teacher comparing him at the age of just sixteen to Mozart: ‘Good Night Lanner! Good Evening Strauss Father! Good Morning Strauss Son!’

  Wiest’s words were prophetic. There were indeed two Strausses now in Vienna. It was a fact that Strauss senior had no choice but to accept. Did it in any way mollify his attitude to his son? If anything, it hardened it. The rivalry he had perhaps feared only subconsciously was now there for anyone with a modicum of musical intelligence to see – which meant, embarrassingly for him, practically the whole of Vienna.

  Life did not change overnight for either father or son. But before the decade was out Vienna would be a new city, very different from the one that had seen that concert at Dommayer’s.

  The undercurrents of fear and suspicion that had been slowly fomenting in Europe since the end of the Napoleonic wars were soon to give way to outright revolution. There was discontent from the bottom up. The working classes resented the wealth and influence of the aristocracy; the aristocracy in turn resented the absolute power of monarchy.

  Technological advances were transforming workers’ lives, and in several European countries an increasingly liberal press was campaigning for better conditions and higher wages.

  Open discontent first seeped out onto the streets in Paris and other French cities, and workers and students in other countries were quick to follow suit. Vienna, in particular, was about to catch fire and Metternich would feel the full force of popular fury.

  Given the power and speed with which revolutionary fervour swept Europe, it is perhaps surprising that it produced few lasting effects. The uprisings were ultimately nothing more sophisticated than an attempt at mob rule; long on enthusiasm and very short indeed on organisation.

  Vienna though was something of an exception. True, the revolution was brutally put down, but not before Metternich and his wife fled the city under cover of darkness. Before the year was out there would be a new emperor on the Habsburg throne, a much younger man than before and one who was more likely to respond to the discontent.

  This was a monumental change at the time, albeit less perceptible a few years on. What was entirely new, though, was an attitude, an empowerment. The working classes, who had never been heard before, now had a voice, even if it was somewhat muted.

  It was the beginning of a new era – in music as well as in so much else. Vienna had a new emperor, and a new Waltz King.

  20 An exact list of the pieces played is not known, though the compositions I mention by Johann Strauss most certainly were. No newspaper carried the full programme, and no programmes have survived.

  It began with a relatively insignificant incident. It was an act of violence, resulting in unnecessary deaths, but it could have been contained. As had happened before and would happen again, this was the spark that lit a tinderbox of anger and discontent.

  At one o’clock on Monday, 13 March 1848, a small detachment of soldiers fired a volley of shots into a motley crowd of students, workers and general malcontents who had forced their way past heavy gates into the courtyard outside the Lower Austrian Landhaus. Their orders had been to fire warning shots above the heads of the demonstrators, but they panicked and fired directly into the crowd.

  At least five fell dead and many more were wounded. What could have remained a little local trouble rapidly escalated. Angry demonstrators broke into the city armoury. Outside the city gates, which had been closed, government buildings were smashed, machinery destroyed, and factories set on fire.

  By the end of the day several dozen people had been killed. It was enough to precipitate a series of events that would change Vienna and Austria for ever. The demands of the demonstrators were the culmination of more than thirty years of repression. In themselves they were not particularly extreme: freedom of the press, public accounting of government expenditure, an end to constantly rising food prices, more representation for the middle classes in government.

  But they were, in effect, a declaration of war against the rule of law, and the chancellor who had single-handedly and ruthlessly imposed it for the past several decades: Klemens von Metternich.

  Beyond their domestic demands, there was something else on the malcontents’ agenda: an end to Austrian rule in northern Italy. Unlikely though it might seem, this demand would have a direct impact on the lives of the city’s most famous musical dynasty, dividing the Strauss family down the middle, older generation against younger, in a way from which it would never recover.

  As part of the Austrian empire’s expansionist policy, its army was in occupation of northern Italy. With Vienna in disarray the order soon went south to the commander of the Austrian army not to engage the Italian nationalist forces but to maintain a ceasefire. The commander ignored the order and engaged the Italians at Custozza, where he scored a decisive victory on 24 and 25 July.

  Milan and Lombardy were preserved for the empire, to the joy of the old guard in Vienna. But while the governing class and the military celebrated, the revolutionaries vented their disgust. What right did Austria have to occupy any territory beyond its borders? Their anger increased when the Austrian army went on to further victories, shoring up Austrian rule across northern Italy.

  Such was the joy, though, in the mansions and stately homes of the Establishment that the decision was made to honour the Austrian commander and his army with a ‘Grand Impressive Victory Festival’ to be held on the Wasserglacis, the wide expanse of green outside the city wall.

  Johann Strauss senior was commissioned to compose a new piece in honour of the Austrian commander, which he gladly accepted. What better way to establish his pre-eminent position above all fellow composers in Vienna, including his own son?

  The celebrations were planned for 31 August, and so time was short. Strauss took two Viennese folk songs, reworked them, and composed a new piece in the form of a march. Legend has it that it took him just two hours to compose the piece, which given how prodigious he was might well be true, or at least not too much of an exaggeration.

  Strauss named the piece, naturally, for the man in whose honour he had written it. That was
the eighty-two-year-old commander-in-chief of the Austrian army, Field-Marshal Johann Josef Wenzel, Count Radetzky von Radetz.

  Strauss could not have known it at the time, but that swiftly written little piece would ensure his immortality. The instantly catchy tune, the bouncing rhythm; it is practically impossible not to tap one’s fingers, or stamp one’s feet, in time to the music. In fact it is traditional – not just in Vienna, but across the globe – to clap in time to the music. It is, of course, the world-famous ‘Radetzky March’.

  The two Johann Strausses, father and son, were divided emotionally and professionally. The son resented the father for walking out and shamelessly starting a second family. Now each was running his own orchestra, competing for dates in the same venues. To make matters worse, when workers and students took to the streets of Vienna in the revolution of 1848, father and son took opposing sides. Strauss senior, now in middle age, instinctively supported the old regime, the established order. His ‘Radetzky March’ commission cemented this.

  Johann, his son, saw things very differently, on several occasions actually helping to man the barricades. Like most young men of his age he wanted change, and change was what was happening. Within days of the fatal shootings on 13 March, the unthinkable happened.

  Chancellor Metternich, who had until this point been able to rely on the total support of the Habsburg monarchy, now found that support haemorrhaging away. The ineffectual emperor, beset with ill health, allowed others around him to wield power, and they needed a scapegoat. They found it in the man who had governed so ruthlessly for decades but now found that events were slipping from his control. The chancellor must resign, they declared. And not just resign, but flee the city and the country. The Metternich era was over.21

  Johann made no secret of his sympathies for the revolutionaries, among whom he had many friends. In May he became kapellmeister of the National Guard, which sided with the students, and composed a string of numbers with titles such as ‘Revolutions-Marsch’ (‘Revolution March’), ‘Barrikaden-Lieder’ (‘Songs of the Barricades’), which he retitled ‘Freiheits-Lieder’ (‘Songs of Freedom’), and ‘Burschen-Lieder’ (‘Students’ Songs’).

  Both Johann and Josef spent at least some time helping man the barricades, and Johann found himself briefly under arrest in December for playing ‘La Marseillaise’ in public, a clear sign of support for fellow revolutionaries in Paris. In his defence he stated that there was no political or nationalistic motive behind any piece he chose to play; in fact he had done his best to avoid controversy. Somewhat disingenuously he blamed the demands of the audience, who he feared might riot if he did not satisfy their demands. The case against him was dropped.

  On 2 December 1848, in case anyone doubted that change was truly happening, the feeble emperor abdicated, and his nephew Franz Josef became Emperor of Austria. The old guard resented the change, pointing to the fact that Franz Josef was a mere eighteen years of age, trained for the military not government, and would be deposed, or forced to abdicate, within a short while.

  In fact Franz Josef – ‘Franzl’ – would reign for almost sixty-eight years, almost the longest-ruling monarch in European history. He would live into the First World War, and preside over the downfall of the House of Habsburg. In his lifetime he would have to endure more personal tragedy than any man or woman should ever have to know.

  His long life would also, at several points, intersect with that of the musician whose compositions would define his reign, the man who, in a single piece of music around ten minutes long, would provide a greater insight into the character of Franz Josef than many hundreds of pages of biography.

  But that still lay in the future. Now, as the mid-point in the turbulent nineteenth century approached, a truly new era in Vienna was dawning. The Viennese knew it; so did their new emperor. Young Johann Strauss and his brothers were in no doubt. The same could not entirely be said of their father.

  Johann Strauss senior took his orchestra back on tour, and an extensive tour it was. He needed to get out of Vienna. In the wake of the demonstrations and violence the people were restless. The annual new-year carnival, the Fasching, was a lacklustre affair in 1849. The populace wanted more than concerts to appease them. And, whether he liked it or not, Strauss was associated with the old regime, the past that had gone for ever. Was he not, after all, the composer of the ‘Radetzky March’?

  He took his orchestra first to Prague, and was stunned when protesters gathered outside his hotel chanting revolutionary slogans. He had never been the target of political demonstrations before. He was, simply, a musician.

  At the performance the night following his arrival, he made a decision that went against every artistic fibre in his body. He was acting on advice, though he could scarcely believe he was following it. For the sake of public order, he dropped the ‘Radetzky March’ from the programme. And still there were boos interlaced with the cheers.

  “A deep depression settled over Johann Strauss. H is music was being rejected. He was being rejected.”

  After a brief return to Vienna, he left with the orchestra – thirty- two strong – for Germany. There, at least, he could be sure of a warm welcome, if past experience was anything to go by. But nothing was the same: the glory days were over.

  Ulm and Munich in Bavaria, traditional, Catholic areas, close to Austria, were warm towards him, but as he travelled west and north, the hostility grew. Augsburg, Stuttgart, Heidelberg, Heilbronn, Mannheim, Mainz, Koblenz, Bonn, Cologne, Aachen. To some degree or other, it seemed, no matter where he went, he encountered hostility.

  Even though he had dropped the ‘Radetzky March’ from the programme, even distributing cockades in the republican colours of black, red and gold for his men to pin to their Old German hats. But it made no difference. He was a black-and-yellow, whether he liked it or not – the colours of the Habsburg monarchy. The old days of adoring crowds were gone.

  Nowhere was it worse than in Frankfurt. The audience shouted ‘Berlioz! Berlioz!’ and demanded the ‘Rakoczy March’, which Berlioz had written in honour of the leader of the popular uprising a century earlier against Habsburg rule in Hungary. The irony of the similarity in names of the two pieces cannot have been lost on Strauss. In the event he played neither. Nor can he have failed to remember the rapturous reception the same Berlioz had given to his music in Paris ten years earlier.

  A deep depression settled over Johann Strauss I. His music was being rejected. He was being rejected. There were domestic problems at home in Vienna, political issues on tour, and his finances were anything but secure. He wrote to music publishers, booksellers and music agents in advance of arrival to ask them to arrange accommodation, concert venues and publicity. He told them in letters that he could not afford to stay in any particular town without a guaranteed number of performances.

  He was pleased to get out of Germany and head down the Rhine into Belgium, where the reception in Brussels, Antwerp and Ostend was more along the lines he was used to. The farther he travelled from home, the less his association with the old regime mattered.

  “Time has dealt kindly with him, for his broad, honest Teutonic face is still full of intelligence, and his fire and energy have not a jot abated.”

  The Morning Post on Strauss senior’s final tour of England

  There was one destination where he could be sure of a truly warm welcome, where his political affiliations, if anything, would count in his favour. Eleven years earlier he and his orchestra had been lauded and lionised, and he knew he could count on the same again. On the night of 21 April 1849, he and his orchestra crossed the Channel to England.

  He need not have worried about securing enough engagements. London, Reading, Oxford, Cheltenham, with many repeat visits. In a stay of two and a half months the Strauss Orchestra gave a total of forty-six performances, not far short of five concerts a week for ten weeks. A truly gruelling schedule.

  The highlight, as before, was a performance at Buckingham Palace in the pr
esence of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. This was at a state ball before 1,600 guests, and for the occasion Strauss had composed his ‘Alice-Polka’ in honour of the queen’s six-year-old daughter.

  Other new compositions were performed at other venues, and at Exeter Hall in London Strauss shared the stage with a Viennese singer making her first visit to England. She was described in a London newspaper as ‘a handsome woman, with a ripe mezzo-soprano voice, a charming style, and great dramatic feeling’.

  The singer was Jetty Treffz, though that was not her real name, and she will re-enter our story in a most dramatic and unexpected way in thirteen years’ time.

  The reception Strauss received was a throwback to the old days: applause, cheers, encores. He was moving in the very highest circles of the English aristocracy, who took their lead from the queen herself. Such was his popularity with the upper classes that several members of the royal family and the nobility took it on themselves to organise a ‘Farewell Matinée Musicale’ at the end of the tour for Strauss’s benefit ‘as proof of their satisfaction of the admirable manner in which he has conducted the music at their balls and soirées this season’.

  The Duchesses of Gloucester, Cambridge and Mecklenburg- Strelitz personally undertook the sale of tickets. Strauss also paid a visit on the exiled Prince Metternich and his wife, no doubt reminiscing about the old days, and how things would never be the same again in Vienna.

  Political events back home in Vienna seemed not to trouble Strauss’s English hosts. The Morning Post reported with English hauteur: