My Viennese Whirl
I went to a ball in Vienna. Yes, it’s really true. Do you watch Strictly and long to join in? Oh what it would be to waltz graciously in a gilded ballroom, beneath shimmering chandeliers, in a dream of taffeta, silk net and swan’s-down. And not a little frisson, to be honest, of lithe limbs entwined.
But where in our own dear country would you go for such an experience? Blackpool, surely, is charming, but perhaps not… No, there’s nothing for it. You must head to Vienna, where these things really happen.
Vienna, if you don’t know it, is an imperial city. Its centre is a kind of vast park, circumscribed by the famous Ring, where massive palaces, museums, libraries and the opera house – all extraordinarily elaborate and never-ending – are arranged to reflect the 19th-century glory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
I’m sure the Hapsburg emperors said to their architects: ‘We want everything.’ Because that’s what they got: every kind of window, pillar, pediment and winged statue, stretching as far as the eye can see.
Balls in Vienna began at the famous Congress of 1815, the first G8- type summit of the modern era. Ever since, the city has been the ball capital of the world. The waltz goes back further, first seen there in the late 18th century and considered scandalous, since it required (or allowed) couples to clasp one another in previously unheard-of ways.
That’s Vienna for you – at once grand, strict, nostalgic, rich and astonishingly revolutionary.
Within the city’s imperial buildings are ballrooms – swathes of parquet, mirror and gilt. Inconceivable grandeur, without limit. You have more than 450 balls to choose from. The main season is from New Year’s Eve to the beginning of Lent, known as Fasching or carnival time, but there are some fabulous summer balls as well. The grandest of the winter selection is the Opera Ball, whose star guest this year was Hilary Swank.
My big opportunity was the Coffeehouse Owners’ Ball, held last month. Rigged out in black tie (nothing else will do, and for ladies it must be a long dress, but not in white). I ascended the grand entrance staircase of the Hofburg Palace at 9pm.
What gowns, furs and hair! All ladies in our party had acquired splendid piled coiffures that afternoon. Hairdressers had had to be imported from outside the city to attend to the 6,000 guests expected. That morning, before the hairdressing, there had been another kind of vital preparation for both sexes. We were assembled at a schoolyard by the Hofburg to receive instruction from Professor Thomas Schäfer-Elmayer. This silvery, glinting gentleman, it turned out, is a judge on the Austrian equivalent of Strictly. He guided us through the 60-odd steps of the quadrille, the forthcoming importance of which had yet to dawn on us. Later, in the great ballroom of the Hofburg Palace (rather like being inside an iced biscuit), Professor Schäfer-Elmayer was far, far away on the dais, compèring the event.
The opening ceremony was a dream of old-world fantasy with the entrance of massed gloved debutantes (as they are known) in white – which is why white is verboten for any other lady – and their youthful male partners. They had all been trained by Professor Schäfer-Elmayer, mainly in standing stockstill, with gloved hands clasped at shoulder height for sustained periods while a dramatic soprano performed Lehár, the Vienna State Ballet waltzed and the Ball Committee (magnificent Viennese matrons – more gowns, more hair) swept in and assumed the platform. A strange crouching, screeching rock group provided the only alarming modern element. Then, ceremony finished, the floor was open to all.
As if ink had been poured in, the glistening white of the debutantes was overwhelmed. Whatever the music, beautifully played by the orchestra, the Viennese only seem to waltz or polka, even to the blues.
I decided to explore through miles and miles of imperial rooms, where you could take a table at further cost and have soup or a hefty sausage in a long bread roll. All ages had come to the ball. In some narrower corridors, a one-way system was in operation and one tiered pink ballgown got stuck but not torn, although if it had, a mending service was available.
Finally, at midnight, the professor was again in evidence. With no prompting from him, 2,000 people on the floor had already formed two opposite lines. This was our big moment. We joined the throng and the music began. It was the quadrille, as practised that morning.
The stately professor called out the moves, but in German and French. You are supposed to cross diagonally, somehow pass through the opposite couple as if they were water, relinquish the lady, then reclaim her and end up where you started. We had little idea, in fact none at all. But nor did anyone else, at least not nearby. What larks, though. How happy we were.
Here and there in the ballroom, in patches, they knew what they were doing: a magnificent sight.
Thomas Blaikie’s trip was hosted by the Vienna Tourist Board and easyJet. For information about Vienna: www.vienna.info – easyJet flies to Vienna from London Gatwick. Prices from £36.49 per person (one way, including taxes, based on two people on the same booking): www.easyjet.com
But where in our own dear country would you go for such an experience? Blackpool, surely, is charming, but perhaps not… No, there’s nothing for it. You must head to Vienna, where these things really happen.
Vienna, if you don’t know it, is an imperial city. Its centre is a kind of vast park, circumscribed by the famous Ring, where massive palaces, museums, libraries and the opera house – all extraordinarily elaborate and never-ending – are arranged to reflect the 19th-century glory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
I’m sure the Hapsburg emperors said to their architects: ‘We want everything.’ Because that’s what they got: every kind of window, pillar, pediment and winged statue, stretching as far as the eye can see.
Balls in Vienna began at the famous Congress of 1815, the first G8- type summit of the modern era. Ever since, the city has been the ball capital of the world. The waltz goes back further, first seen there in the late 18th century and considered scandalous, since it required (or allowed) couples to clasp one another in previously unheard-of ways.
That’s Vienna for you – at once grand, strict, nostalgic, rich and astonishingly revolutionary.
Within the city’s imperial buildings are ballrooms – swathes of parquet, mirror and gilt. Inconceivable grandeur, without limit. You have more than 450 balls to choose from. The main season is from New Year’s Eve to the beginning of Lent, known as Fasching or carnival time, but there are some fabulous summer balls as well. The grandest of the winter selection is the Opera Ball, whose star guest this year was Hilary Swank.
My big opportunity was the Coffeehouse Owners’ Ball, held last month. Rigged out in black tie (nothing else will do, and for ladies it must be a long dress, but not in white). I ascended the grand entrance staircase of the Hofburg Palace at 9pm.
What gowns, furs and hair! All ladies in our party had acquired splendid piled coiffures that afternoon. Hairdressers had had to be imported from outside the city to attend to the 6,000 guests expected. That morning, before the hairdressing, there had been another kind of vital preparation for both sexes. We were assembled at a schoolyard by the Hofburg to receive instruction from Professor Thomas Schäfer-Elmayer. This silvery, glinting gentleman, it turned out, is a judge on the Austrian equivalent of Strictly. He guided us through the 60-odd steps of the quadrille, the forthcoming importance of which had yet to dawn on us. Later, in the great ballroom of the Hofburg Palace (rather like being inside an iced biscuit), Professor Schäfer-Elmayer was far, far away on the dais, compèring the event.
The opening ceremony was a dream of old-world fantasy with the entrance of massed gloved debutantes (as they are known) in white – which is why white is verboten for any other lady – and their youthful male partners. They had all been trained by Professor Schäfer-Elmayer, mainly in standing stockstill, with gloved hands clasped at shoulder height for sustained periods while a dramatic soprano performed Lehár, the Vienna State Ballet waltzed and the Ball Committee (magnificent Viennese matrons – more gowns, more hair) swept in and assumed the platform. A strange crouching, screeching rock group provided the only alarming modern element. Then, ceremony finished, the floor was open to all.
As if ink had been poured in, the glistening white of the debutantes was overwhelmed. Whatever the music, beautifully played by the orchestra, the Viennese only seem to waltz or polka, even to the blues.
I decided to explore through miles and miles of imperial rooms, where you could take a table at further cost and have soup or a hefty sausage in a long bread roll. All ages had come to the ball. In some narrower corridors, a one-way system was in operation and one tiered pink ballgown got stuck but not torn, although if it had, a mending service was available.
Finally, at midnight, the professor was again in evidence. With no prompting from him, 2,000 people on the floor had already formed two opposite lines. This was our big moment. We joined the throng and the music began. It was the quadrille, as practised that morning.
The stately professor called out the moves, but in German and French. You are supposed to cross diagonally, somehow pass through the opposite couple as if they were water, relinquish the lady, then reclaim her and end up where you started. We had little idea, in fact none at all. But nor did anyone else, at least not nearby. What larks, though. How happy we were.
Here and there in the ballroom, in patches, they knew what they were doing: a magnificent sight.
Thomas Blaikie’s trip was hosted by the Vienna Tourist Board and easyJet. For information about Vienna: www.vienna.info – easyJet flies to Vienna from London Gatwick. Prices from £36.49 per person (one way, including taxes, based on two people on the same booking): www.easyjet.com