Author's Notes

A flag flutters majestically high above the Ring­strasse: a state visit is imminent. The red carpet has been rolled out. On either side of the modern revolving door is a wooden sentry box. The two guards are still adjusting their uniforms. ‘Do that button up!’ ‘Thank you! Mind your bootlace!’ ‘OK, now everything’s just right.’ ‘Present arms!’ as the sound of sirens can already be heard in the distance. The ‘White Mice’, as the Viennese refer to their motorcycle policemen, are providing an escort for a convoy of black limousines. Coming from the direction of Schwarzenbergplatz, they cruise round the Ring and turn into the side road. One after another, they stop in front of the Imperial. The doors are flung open, bodyguards leap out to secure a passage where for the inexperienced eye there is nothing to be secured, communicating via almost invisible radio headsets, and looking extremely serious about the whole matter.
Wherever state visitors are accommodated, you normally find the formal etiquette of world politics. Not so at the Imperial in Vienna. The hotel is more than just a home from home for the leading statesman and women of the world. Add to them the names of great personalities from the world of fine arts, and the picture becomes more complete. Toss in a generous portion of inimitable Viennese charm, and the formality of one’s first impression disappears once and for all.
The general manager of the hotel bows deeply, welcoming his esteemed visitor who is escorted to the Royal Suite on the first floor. On his way up the stairs, the visitor pauses for a moment. It is unusual to find so much splendour in a hotel. High above him, at the end of the staircase, stands a man. His Majesty, Emperor Franz Joseph, complete with hat, sword and gloves, gazing down curiously from his gilded frame at the new arrival. A magnificent figure. It is easy to believe that he had the strength to rule over an empire of 52 million people. Beneath them, two Graces flank the statue of the Danube nymph. Everything is chiselled in stuccolustro. Even Kings commented that never before had they been accommodated ‘so royally’ in a hotel.
Outside on the Ring there is no longer any sign of all the fuss and bother. The black limousines have pulled away. The flags above the Austrian Republic’s grandest boulevard continue to flutter in the wind. The magnificent buildings round about symbolise the old Austro-Hungarian monarchy and the New Republic. Slowly, one is lost in the magic of an imperial age. One’s thoughts go back to an age when an Emperor lived in this city, ruling over one of the world’s mightiest empires. An empire that must certainly have been the most European of all the European empires, rooted as it was in every corner of the continent, uniting all the nations of Europe. This is a concept that has always been held in high esteem here in Vienna.

Andreas Augustin

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