A night at the opera ball
It's the premier event in Vienna's social calendar

Author: By Alan Behr, Globe Correspondent

Date: SUNDAY, January 31, 1999

Page: M20

Section: Travel

VIENNA -- We waltzed in the aisle to music in our heads while the movie ran on Lufthansa Flight 409. And we danced in our hotel room the night we arrived in Vienna, as an accordionist on the street four stories below played the waltz from Der Rosenkavalier.

In Vienna, every trade and interest group holds a winter ball. Later that February would come the Postal Ball, the Austrian Psychotherapy Ball, the Ball of the Czechs and Slovaks, the Retirees Ball, the Vienna Carpenters Ball, the Magicians Ball. My wife, Julie, and I would start at the top: the Opera Ball -- the premier event in the year's social calendar.

The next afternoon, therefore, we arrived at the Elmayer Dance School for our refresher lesson. We had taken 10 hours of private instruction in New York: waltz, fox trot, rumba -- and Viennese waltz, which, with its rapid turns and complex footwork, is the admission test for an Austrian dance floor. In the absence of instruction, the best training for the Viennese waltz is to dress in evening clothes and pole vault with your legs crossed.

``Slow, slow, quick, quick!'' called out Virag Weber, our young, Hungarian-born instructor, correcting our fox trot. ``Locker!'' (``Loose!'') That was to me: I was as stiff and red as frozen sirloin. Weber hovered at our side, issuing commands in German, which I translated for Julie, adjusting our posture and hold. She would stop us, demonstrate with finesse, then direct us to proceed.

Dance instruction in New York had been a chatty, social business. Here, it was close-order drill. We got through both fox trot and cha-cha, never made it to the waltz, but learned more in that one disciplined hour than in triple the time back home.

Unlike the Germans, who have had to face down their history and break with it, Austrians, like the British, are nostalgic for their imperial past. As Brits grow wistful for their power and position during the long reign of Queen Victoria (from 1837 to 1901), Austrians recall their greatness during the roughly contemporaneous rule of Kaiser Franz-Josef (1848 to 1916).

He reigned when the Strausses composed their waltzes and polkas and when Austria-Hungary stretched from Krakow halfway down the eastern shore of the Adriatic. Vienna, its beautiful capital, now sits incongruously at the head of a small republic, a grand carbuncle out of proportion in sophistication to the nation it serves.

We returned to our room early on the day of the ball, but I had trouble fastening the white cotton pique necktie, which, unlike its black-silk counterpart, required either manhandling or Jeeves. Julie, looking breathtaking in the black one-shoulder gown I'd bought her, waited patiently.

The ball was a mere two blocks away, and we joined a great mass in furs and tailcoats, making the final passage from the front of the decorous Hotel Sacher to the blocklike State Opera building.

As happens at these things, we'd no sooner checked our coats than we ran into someone I knew, an Austrian beauty who, with her husband, was trying to find the box where her parents sat. We only wanted to watch the opening ceremonies, for which we had arrived early -- but not nearly early enough. Spectators were already standing 12 deep.

What you are supposed to see are 186 debutantes, all gowned in white, dance with their escorts on a wooden floor cleverly erected over the orchestra-level seats. One group of the young adults emerges from backstage, there are brief ballet and singing performances by students and professionals, then the rest of the ``Committee'' (as the debs and escorts are known) takes to the floor, and they all dance a polka and a waltz. What we got to see were people's shoulder blades and calves and Sarah Ferguson, the duchess of York, as she watched from the box of the building contractor who had paid her a reported $40,000 to be his guest that night. The music stopped, a miked voice called, ``Alles Walzer!'' (``Everyone waltz!'') and onto the dance floor poured the onlookers.

It is said that, in war, battle plans are thrown out when the first shot is fired. Eleven hours of instruction were overwhelmed by dancers jostling hip to backside, by anxiety and exuberance. A black-shoed foot mistook my little toe for a floorboard, and I spent the next two hours with a slight but painful limp. We found our friends again; they had missed the ceremonies as well.

The ball was being broadcast live throughout the country. Under the television lights, the gilding of the hall dazzled. It looked like a TV show all right, but one whose director had gone missing.

On performance nights, the State Opera can accommodate an audience of 2,357. A total of 5,500 guests came to the ball, and there were at least 1,000 staff members on hand, as well as numerous police officers. The plain-clothes detachment wore tailcoats and ball gowns.

The boxes ringing the dance floor were filled with opulently dressed people watching with courtly detachment. Whether from insight, experience or a sense of place, they, like Noel Coward's Nina from Argentina, ``resolutely wouldn't dance.''

Within minutes follwowing the opening, each table at the casino improvised on the broad Schwindfoyer was thickly lined with black, hunched backs. Julie fought to get a drink at a bar and lost.

A disco was set up somewhere. In lobbies and byways, several music groups played and refreshments were disbursed. Seven dollars bought a small bottle of mineral water, $17 paid for a glass of the cheaper champagne, which flowed like $7 water. People began husbanding their drinking glasses, to fill them openly from restroom sinks.

There were officers in white uniforms, a cadet in blue with his embroidered cap fastened to his arm, and metals and sashes of all possible descriptions. Except for the military and cross-dressers, men were in tails. Intriguingly, the mode for women was breast flesh -- the more seen, the better.

Every fifth person was taking photographs. Women in satin gowns polkaed with Nikons swinging from their necks. Fergie left early, allowing the obstreperous press photographers to start behaving themselves. Some nice people from the Hotel Imperial invited us to their box, where a waitress served champagne.

The ball had started at 10 p.m.; by about 2 a.m., with the floor less crowded and my injury numbed by the Imperial's champagne, it was possible for us to dance. An orchestra at the rear of the stage played the ``classical'' dance music, alternating with a pop band set up at the far end of the auditorium. The latter was on when we shared the floor with the opera singer Samuel Ramey; in three days, he would star on the stage behind us in the premiere of the State Opera's new production of Boito's ``Mefistofele.'' He was now crooning ``My Way'' into the ear of his partner.

Thomas Schafer-Elmayer, a courtly, gracious man who had left the high-purity-metals business to take over his family's dance studio (the scene of our lesson), appeared at 3 a.m. beside the orchestra. Microphone in hand, he called the steps for the evening's second quadrille. Julie and I had never attempted a quadrille, but we had a riotous time improvising to Elmayer's instructions, which I raggedly translated to Julie and which we executed with the other pair in our foursome: Ule, who came from the Austrian province of Carinthia and wore a sumptuous gray dress, and Lorenz, a bespectacled dentist from the Italian part of the Tyrol. Both took our sloppiness with grace.

By 4 a.m., the ball was in its final hour and the dance floor was open enough for us to execute true Viennese waltz turns. Let the record show we were brilliant. A second pop singer gave his version of ``My Way.''

Two women in lovely gowns now felt comfortable enough to begin dancing with each other. A man took to holding his partner with one hand, a half-empty champagne bottle with the other. The drag queen dancing nearby was starting to show stubble.

Julie, whose profession is fashion, said that a robust percentage of the dresses we had seen were fairly inexpensive (Fergie's included) and that much of the jewelry was costume. Costume: The word stuck in my mind. We had expected elegance and refinement and had found a rambunctious atmosphere such as I remember from the Mardi Gras of my New Orleans adolescence. We were, simply, at a costume ball where everyone had arrived dressed as a great-grandparent. Austrians will do their best to keep up appearances, even if it's sometimes make-believe.

We left at 4:30 and, forsaking the customary after-hours bowl of soup offered by nearby restaurants, returned to our hotel.

The next morning we checked into the Sacher as trucks hauled away the dance floor from the stage entrance across the street. I got the Imperial to let me into the Royal Suite, to see how Fergie had stayed. Very nicely, you should know.

The following night found us back at the opera house for Donizetti's L'Elisir D'Amore. Everyone was comfortably dressed in his own clothes, from tailcoats to jeans. Gilt that had glistened under the television lights now quietly shimmered. There was no rush, no head twisting, just an Italian score that, though light, is never frivolous.

We returned to the Sacher for a late dinner in the intimate Rote Bar (Red Bar). In keeping with the quiet refinement of the hotel, the red decor was tasteful, the service was understated; from a corner piano came a Chopin nocturne. As the menus arrived, the pianist shifted to the Rosenkavalier waltz. I joined him for a short conference, returned to my table, and as I took Julie's hand, the opening bars of ``My Way'' filled the room. Vienna, our impetuous friend, was herself again.

We flew Lufthansa, and it is not because Herr Behr is German that we consider the airline superior. Every one of our several connections was on time, despite our itinerary's requirement for multiple gates at large airports. Phone 800-645-3880.

Staying there: On the evening of the ball, we stayed close by at the Astoria, a Belle Epoque hotel in which we took a large room in a turret facing the pedestrian Karntnerstrasse. Telephone 515-770; fax: 515-7782. (The international access code for Vienna: 43-1.) Double room: about $220.

The three premier hotels of Vienna, each within a short walk to the opera house, are the Sacher, the Imperial, and the Bristol. The latter two are part of the Luxury Collection of ITT Sheraton and require a three-day minimum stay during the ball. All three are members of the Leading Hotels of the World. Telephone 800-223-6800.

We fulfilled a long-held wish when we moved to the Sacher hours after the ball ended. The buffet breakfast gets our vote as the best in Europe: When you wake up to smoked salmon, champagne, and sachertorte, the day takes on a new complexion. For the Opera Ball, there is a two-day minimum stay. Our double room at the Sacher: about $350. Fergie's Royal Suite at the Imperial: $3,500.

Dining on ball night: A pre-ball meal at the Sacher is a social and gastronomic tradition; it is served from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. Soup and snacks are available at the ball. For a white-tie breakfast to cap the event, book far in advance for 5:30 a.m. at Korso, the highly regarded restaurant of the Bristol. Telephone 515-16-546.

Ball tickets: They cost about $250 apiece and are surprisingly easy to come by, a few having been available the day of the event. If you don't have a box (which holds eight to 10 people and costs about $1,500), pay the $14 to $60 for a spectator's ticket in the balcony or gallery; you'll at least be able to see the opening ceremonies. You can order tickets by fax and pay by credit card. Opernball-Buro, Goethegasse 1, tel: 514-44-2606; fax: 514-44-2624.

Dance lessons: A one-hour private lesson costs $50 at Tanzschule Willy Elmayer-Vestenbrugg, Braunerstrasse 13; telephone 512-7197. Unless you look like Fred or Ginger on the floor, it couldn't hurt.

Formal wear for men: White tie is required. If you rent in Vienna, reserve months in advance and expect to spend about $300. Try Lambert Hofer, Simmeringer Hauptstrasse 28. Telephone 740-900; fax: 740-9066.

Formal wear for women: Always correct is a floor-length dress that is comfortable while dancing. Julie chose a black silk gown by Donald Deal. The cost: about $2,200. A woman can, however, spend $300 for a gown and not feel underdressed at the Opera Ball.

A tip: If you have time, head to the Dorotheum, the state-run auction house, for furs and jewelry to finish your outfit in Viennese style. Julie tried for that sapphire and diamond ring -- and hopes whoever topped her bid is enjoying it. Dorotheergasse 17, telephone 515-60-0.

-- ALAN BEHR AND JULIE HACKETT