Thousands of waves wash round us without cease, Often delighted, sometimes pleased, we’re whirled From joy to grief, and so from hour to hour Our restless feelings waver, change and sway. Our senses know a strange, tumultuous power, And in the turmoil find no place to stay. GoetheIF I TRY TO FIND some useful phrase to sum up the time of my childhood and youth before the First World War, I hope I can put it most succinctly by calling it the Golden Age of Security. Everything in our Austrian Monarchy, then almost a thousand years old, seemed built to last, and the state itself was the ultimate guarantor of durability. The rights it gave its citizens were affirmed by our parliament, a freely elected assembly representing the people, and every duty was precisely defined. Our currency, the Austrian crown, circulated in the form of shiny gold coins, thus vouching for its own immutability. Everyone knew how much he owned and what his income was, what was allowed and what was not.
