In late 1945, my father petitioned the American military, who were in control of Upper Austria at the time, to study in Graz, and when he received permission, he moved to Marschallggasse in Graz, and attended the university to study political economy and music. Shortly thereafter, he was able to move his parents from the farm in Unterolzing to a new home in the outskirts of Graz on Krottendorfgasse. They stayed with him until he finished his PhD. He then moved to Vienna and they were sponsored by the German government and moved to a place near the Black Forest in Dietlingen. His incredibly brave grandmother Eva died in Graz. She had driven the cart (with my grandmother, great aunt and uncle and their child) from Backi Brestovac to Unterolzing, taking almost a year to reach her destination, avoiding Russian troops from the east and encountering obstacles with every turn toward the west. Graz, for my father, was a peaceful refuge from years of war and tragedy. He loved his time in Graz, changed his course of study, studied and listened to music, decided to work with the Danube Swabian group with the aim to return to the Vojvodina, and moved to Vienna after finishing his doctorate in 1948.
For us, after the frenetic pace of the last two weeks, and our own challenges and fears and anxieties, we are feeling much calmer and more relaxed, and Graz offers us chance to recover, recharge, wind down, before we end our journey. Graz, with its parks and palaces and churches and statues of the Virgin Mary at every corner, is the perfect place to quiet down, return to our normal selves. Or perhaps, after all we have seen and learned in these past days, we will never quite be the same as we were before.
Again, we followed the footsteps of our father. We started at the Mausoleum, which was built by Emperor Ferdinand II. We learned that Graz had been the residence of the Hapsburgs since 1379, and became an imperial city when Friedrich the II became the Holy Roman Emperor. Until 1619, when the capital was moved to Vienna, it played a significant role in defending the realm against the Turks, as well as the French. In addition, Graz played a role in the Counter Reformation in the 1500’s, after three quarters of its residents became protestant, and the Jesuits were called in to re establish Catholic beliefs. The city is full of churches and statues of religious figures.
The mausoleum introduced us to the Austrian baroque, which was less exuberant than the churches in Vienna. it was curious that the marble was painted on; rather than using marble, which may not have been available, wood was painted to look like marble, which was not altogether convincing at times. Otherwise the baroque was not overdone, and often quite lovely. My father was most interested in music, and attended church to hear the organ or the choir or the musical mass, so he became familiar with all the churches in the city.
We climbed up to the Schlossberg, the fortress at the top of the hill in the centre of town. My father told us that he walked often to the park above Graz, to read, to look over the town, to relax. It was hot and humid and a very long hike up to the top to see the clock tower. The fortress was impregnable, and withstood the onslaught of Turks and the French, who attacked in massive numbers unsuccessfully. The skies opened up while up at the top, and we found ourselves in an open air theatre constructed out of the ruined cellars of the old castle, where we found protection from the rain. Perhaps my father came to watch performances at this venue. He describes Graz as a place where he listened to music as much as he possibly could. He went to the opera, and we visited the opera house. He listened to music in the gardens, in the theatre; we tried to find all the places he had described as destinations to listen to music. We grew up with him listening to classical music nonstop, and this was his great interest in Graz as well. When studying at the university, he was able to attend classes at the music school, which we visited as well. It was a great disappointment to him to give up his violin studies. He had taken lessons all through high school in Sombor, and expected the violin to be part of his life forever.
Since the university had been the focus of his life in Graz, we wanted to find exactly where he attended classes, and at first believed it had been at the oldest university in Graz, which had been started by the Jesuits in the 1500s. We had a special tour of the old university, which has not been a university for over a hundred years. It is now used to host events. It was a library and archive for many years, but was not a good venue to store papers and books, and eventually the contents of the library and archives were moved to a climatically controlled location, and the old Jesuit university was restored and managed by a private company. It turned out that my father had in fact attended the newer old university a little outside of the Altstadt, so that was our next destination. 50, 000 students attend university in Graz, and the Franz Wilhelm it is one of the oldest universities in the country.
The university was empty of students and faculty, but we were able to walk the halls and imagine my father studying political economy. When he finished his Phd, he returned to study philosophy for a short time before moving to Vienna, so we visited the philosophy department as well. The building is beautiful, with a renaissance courtyard, lovely halls and wooden doors and wrought iron finishes. The main ‘aula’ is stunning, and that is where my father received his diploma. We were unable to see much of the music school, and had to imagine his experience there.
To find the Marschallgasse, where he first lived when he moved to Graz, we had to cross the river Mur, and pass the awful modern ‘Kinsthalle’ which from afar looks like a blue breast with lots of nipples, quite the eyesore in an otherwise consistent style of architecture. Graz was not bombed extensively, so the medieval part remains intact, as do the baroque churches and renaissance palaces, and the result is coherent and not overly renovated, and easy on the eye.
My father insisted that we visit the arsenal museum, the most extensive collection of armaments from medieval times. That seems entirely out of character for my father, who has never expressed interest in military activities. We have the visit on our agenda for tomorrow. Today was about immersing ourselves in the relaxed tempo of this beautiful city. We lingered in parks, sat on benches, stopped for a coffee near the Freiheitsplatz, ate dinner over hours at the Glockenspielplatz eating Styrian specialties and drinking dry white wine. It was Karen’s birthday, and as a surprise, a cherry strudel came with a firecracker sizzling and the whole restaurant sang Happy Birthday for her.
We are very different people than we were three weeks ago when we started this journey. We have learned so much about the history of my father’s people, and of the many ethnic groups that made their way into and out of the Vojvodina over the centuries. We have struggled through the despair and the tragedy of so many, and tried to understand and empathize with the travails of those who have come before us. We have faced our fears and come to a more complete knowledge of our past. We are relieved to be here in Graz, where my father was able to move forward from his past, and where we have relaxed and started to absorb all that we have seen and learned in our travels.
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