”VIENNA CAFES” AND CAFÉ BRATUŽ

written by KARLO NANUT

Coffee shops have always played an important role in Gorizia, since the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Even today, when all shops are closing, bar management is perhaps the only profitable business left. In Austrian times, Gorizia had a large number of “Viennese coffee shops”. Some of them were preserved even later. The Viennese coffee shop was not just a place for coffee, but a symbol of slowness, socializing and cultural tradition, and in 2011 it was even declared a cultural heritage by UNESCO. A legend says that after the siege of Vienna in 1683, Polish-Habsburg soldiers found bags of strange grains, which they initially thought were camel food. These were given to Jerzy Kulczycki, who invented a recipe with the addition of milk and sugar and, according to legend, opened the first Viennese coffee shop. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, Vienna’s coffee houses developed into intellectual centers: writers, artists, philosophers and politicians regularly visited them. The characteristics of these traditional coffee houses are also represented by white marble tables, Thonet-type chairs, crystal chandeliers, newspaper boxes, pianos and a pleasant atmosphere that gives a feeling of homeliness. Few people still remember the coffee house, which retained its Viennese charm until 1967 and was opened in Gorizia in 1922 by Rudi Bratuž. He was the cousin of the choirmaster and composer Lojze Bratuž, who was executed by the fascists by giving him engine oil mixed with broken glass to drink. Together with his wife Marija, Rudi first rented premises on Mameli Street, then moved to a larger space in the building next door. Over time, they expanded the coffee house. They also had a billiard room, and later tables for quarto players. Bratuž’s café soon became famous far and wide. Like many Gorizia Slovenes, Rudi experienced the cruelty of the fascist regime. He was beaten several times and then interned in a small town in the province of Macerata. After a certain time, he was released, but remained under the supervision of police agents. In the years before and during World War II, he often had to remain silent and endure humiliation when the fascists or Chetniks did whatever they wanted in his bar. He himself later recounted how the fascists would put out cigarette butts right into cups of coffee, and the unfortunate guest who ordered coffee had to drink the “contaminated” beverage. After the war, and especially in the years immediately following the end of World War II, his café became a lively gathering place. It was the only place where Slovenian Gorizians, the so-called “whites” and “reds,” found themselves at the same table. But its reputation did not only extend to the locals; it was also frequented by numerous Trieste residents and refugees who temporarily lived in Gorizia before leaving for America or other parts of the world. Among the guests were quite a few elderly gentlemen of Italian nationality, descendants of old Gorizian bourgeois families who did not approve of national separation. Dalmatian and Istrian refugees sat next to them, who maintained sincere and friendly relations with the locals. This special mix of people also attracted spies from all over the world who were gathering information for the American, British or Yugoslav army. In February 1947, the introduction of the so-called “French Line” severed the city’s ties with its hinterland. It was then that the Bratuž café became a meeting place for smugglers who smuggled many things across the border, most often American cigarettes coming from Yugoslavia. Among the famous guests was, for example, the Dalmatian refugee Enzo Bettiza, the son of a factory owner from the Split area, who later became one of the most prominent Italian journalists. When the authorities introduced passes, former visitors from the Yugoslav area also returned to the Bratuž café, attracted by an atmosphere that was unlike any other in the city. In the Bratuž café, people didn’t just sip coffee and leaf through newspapers; ideas, friendships and even sports passions were born there. One day, the regular guests founded the “Chess Club of the Bratuž Café”. Thus began tense duels with opponents from other city cafés. Among the masters of the game were Vilko Cotič, Elo Merkuža and Josip Bitežnik, men of steady hands and sharp minds. When the café closed its doors, the chess enthusiasm did not fade. Danilo Nanut, a loyal visitor and passionate player, transferred it to the Oton Župančič society in Štanjel, where he gathered children and young people and got them excited about this game. I was among them, a twelve-year-old boy, who learned that day that chess is not just a game, but something more. From then on, I played chess always and everywhere, including with my children. But the café was not only known for chess. It was a crossroads of cultures and nations. Slovenian and Italian cultural figures, journalists, professors, and merchants sat at the same tables. Among them were Max Fabiani, Emil Komel and Lipizer, who met there regularly. Newspapers from all over the world were on the shelves: Primorski dnevnik , Soča , Katoliški Glas , Ljubljana’s Slovenski poročevalec , Il Piccolo , Gazzettino , the Austrian Kurier , the Swiss Weltwoche . Silence reigned during reading time; only the rustling of paper filled the room. If someone spoke too loudly, Rudi walked up to them and, with a serious look and a raised finger, ensured that silence was restored. Rudi was a man of words and actions. He loved to discuss politics. In 1948 and 1952, voters elected him to the municipal council, and in 1951 to the provincial council. After forty-five years of work, he and his wife Marija closed the café on November 19, 1967. They went across the ocean to London, Canada, where their daughter Damjana Bratuž, a music professor, lived. Rudi died in 1981 in Canada, and his daughter Damjana died in May of this year. The memory of Rudi and the Bratuž café, in which the heart of old Gorizia beat, still remains alive, as an encouraging example for today’s difficult times, when we no longer have time for relaxed socializing in a peaceful and culturally rich environment.