It all started because
I had nothing interest to post on Facebook this morning, and thought a Fun-Fact Friday might help pass the time. So I go to Google and I type
in “October 26”, hoping something interesting happened today on which I can
pontificate to the internet.
And what do I find,
but that today is Austrian National Day.
“Yay!” Thinks I, because I love Austria. Vienna was like a new friend you feel
you’ve known for ages the first time you speak with them. Which isn’t surprising, considering I
spent most of my childhood convinced that I was a descendant of the Hapsburg
Monarchy and would one day be whisked away to claim by birthright. But, regardless, it’s a stunning city
with a mind-boggling history and a people whose collective hobby is apparently
Sitting Outside Cafes. And thus,
Austrian National Day seemed an excellent reason to go home and have that
bottle of Grüner Veltliner that’s been waiting for me. “But what is Austrian National Day?” I
then asked.
And then things got
interesting. And historical.
At the conclusion of
the Second World War, Austria was occupied by the four Allied Powers (the
Soviet Union, United States, Great Britain and France), and divided, like
Germany, into four zones. It was a
miserable time in Austrian history, what with most of its industry having been
destroyed and having to foot the bill for the roughly quarter-million foreign
Allied troops (the majority of whom were Soviet, and who were very interested
in socializing the Austrian economy).
Starvation level rations were in effect until after the Marshall Plan
was enacted, and Occupied Forces were still controlling the country a decade
after the end of the war.
In 1955, the Austrian
State Treaty was signed on May 15, 1955. The last Occupying soldier left
Austria on October 25, and the next day, the first day of the Second Republic
of Austria, was declared its first national holiday with the passing of its
guarantee of permanent neutrality. After a generation of losses and darkness, of being treated
as the enemy and the victim by the western world, Austria had a nation, and it
had a new sense of national pride.
According to the
website of the Austrian Foreign Ministry:
The Federal Government celebrates this day every year with a
series of events in Vienna:
The Federal President and the Federal Minister for Defense
attend a Mass on the Heldenplatz
The Federal President followed by the Federal Government lay
wreaths at the tomb of the unknown soldier in the Crypt of the outer Burgtor
A festive meeting of the Council of Ministers is held
The government attends a Concert for Austria at the Vienna
Staatsoper and finally the new recruits of the Austrian Armed Service are sworn
in.
The citizens are offered the possibility to visit the
federal museums for free.
Various institutions also traditionally open their doors for
the day (ie. the Federal Chancellery).
Around the country so called "marches for fitness"
are organized to raise awareness among the population about the benefits of
exercise and fitness.
Around the world the Austrian Embassies celebrate the
National Day with receptions for the Austrian citizens.
And can you guess the
part that caught my eye—and what I spent the next hour clandestinely
researching?
The Tomb of the
Unknown Soldier lies beside the Äußeres Burgtor (outer castle gates) of the
Hufburg Palace in Vienna. The wall
itself was originally built to defend the city from the Turks during the siege
of 1660, and was destroyed by Napoleon’s forces in 1809. In honor of the 11th anniversary of the
Battle of Leipzig, soldiers of the Austrian Army rebuilt the wall to
commemorate the heroic actions of their comrades in defeating Napoleon. Though my German isn’t good enough to
find this out for a fact, I can only assume that it was because of its symbol
as a soldier’s place of commemoration that this wall was chosen to shelter the
Unknown Soldier nearly a century later. 
The first memorial of
the Great War was placed on this wall in 1916, following a suggestion by the
wife of an Imperial Chancellor named Flora Berl, who wanted to commemorate the
soldiers of the Habsburg Monarchy with permanent laurel leaves, with funds
raised by public subscription. In
creating this memorial, it was specified that these laurels should not be a
wreath, which is traditionally laid on a grave, but “victors laurels”, and that
they should be cast “from an allow that is not suitable for lethal projectiles”. They were hung on the Äußeres Burgtor
in 1916, with the inscription: "LAURUM MILITIBUS LAURO DIGNIS MDCCCCXVI
(bay laurel worthy of the soldiers 1916)". At that point in the war, there was a chance that those
laurels might indeed be for victors.
But Austria lost one million men in September against the Russian
Empire. By the end of the year,
German officials would be complaining that they were “shackled to a corpse” by
having to fight alongside the rapidly deteriorating Austrian Army. The 700-year-old Empire collapsed two
weeks before the Armistice.
(Britain’s Unknown Warrior was
memorialized in 1920, the United States’ Unknown Soldier was awarded the Medal
of Honor in 1921, and Germany commemorated the Neue Wache in 1931). When they did do it, though, I think
their intent was really beautiful.
The outer gate was
converted into a memorial place by Rudolf Wondracek. He built two staircases on either side of the wall, leading
to a “roofless hall of honor” on the top.
When asked why he refused to change the structure of the wall, even so
much as adding a roof, Wondracek replied “The heroes of the war have fallen in
the open air, they are to be honored under the open sky.” Inside the gates is a crypt for the
Fallen of the First World War, which houses a red marble effigy of a soldier
crafted by one Wilhelm Frass. At
the soldier’s head is a small altar, and he is flanked by ten books with the
names of the Austrian subjects who fell in the war. The pages of the book are turned daily, so that every name
is visible, and gets his place in the sun.
And here is where it
gets even more interesting. Because this will be the first year that the traditional ceremony was not observed at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. And the reason why is fascinating, and haunting.
So this Wilhelm Frass
who designed the memorial deserves a little more attention. He was an infantry officer during the
War, returned to Vienna where he served as the President of the Austrian Art
Association from 1934-1938. His
work received the Austrian State Prize in 1936, and from 1938 to 1945, he
worked for the Department of Culture as sculpture consultant and as a supplier
of busts. Wilhelm Frass
joined the Nazi Party sometime around 1933.
Though he was ‘reintegrated’
after 1945, rumored swirled for a long time that Frass has left some kind of Nazi
tribute within the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, based on a “treasonous” letter
he wrote to a fellow artist.
Jewish and Pacifist organizations in Austria were vocal about the
persistence of ceremonies that were held there, citing the fact that the statue
was being used by Nazi supporters to commemorate the fall of the Third Reich as
much as it was used to commemorate the dead whose names were on display. But it wasn’t until July of this year
that those rumors were investigated.
And they were confirmed.
When Austrian Defense
Minister Norbert Darabos ordered the red marble statue carved by Wilhelm Frass
lifted, a metal capsule was found implanted in the base. Inside the capsule were two letters.
The first was written
by Frass and dated April 8, 1935.
News reports I could find only quoted the letter in parts, but
apparently Frass was writing in support of “the eternal strength of the German
people”, and offers his hope, “May the Lord, after the horrors, after all the
humiliation, end the unspeakable and sad killing between brothers and lead our
noble people united under the banner of the black sun! So, comrades, you will not fall in
vain.”
(The black sun is a
direct reference to the swastika)
It’s easy to be
disgusted in reading this. It’s
easy, in hindsight to feel horror at the thought that a man who was charged
with commemorating so many agonizing deaths and such an international trauma,
could turn to the darkest force in modern memory for comfort. But I see something indefinably tragic
as well. A misplaced hope. The sheer despair of a man who had seen
the depths of hell and thought he had found a way to save himself and his fellow
soldiers. I don’t condone Frass’
actions in anyway, but I can’t bring myself to despise him for that alone,
either.
There was another
letter found in the capsule. It
was signed by Alfons Riedel, who was one of Frass’ assistants in constructing
the memorial. Riedel was born in
1901, meaning that he saw the Great War from the sidelines, too young to serve
until the war was nearly over. But
his letter shows a wisdom that surpassed his years—and a real hope amidst all
the fear and desolation.
As an employee of the dead warriors the experience of the
Great War, with all its heroism and horror, has made a lasting impression on me
as a teenager in the back country, and made me cherish the full knowledge of
the fight of the German people for right to live and desire only that which was
the desire of generations and unfortunately remains this:
"I hope that future generations will
no longer place our nation in a position where they need to erect monuments to
fallen soldiers who fall in violent clashes between nations."
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