I am sitting in the auditorium at the Wiener Staatsoper, watching Johannes, our guide, wait for the orchestra to finish rehearsing before starting our tour in Italian.
“The one in Catanzaro is far better, though,” and “It’s really nothing special,” I hear a small group of Italians commenting smugly behind me. Yet, here we are in one of the most prestigious opera houses in the world.
I was almost falling into the trap of patriotic pride myself, but I held back.
There is no doubt that the auditorium of Vienna’s Opera House is a far cry from the grandeur of La Scala in Milan or Teatro San Carlo in Naples, but what is the point of comparing something with a completely different history?
Johannes pulls out a few photographs from his beige bag to help illustrate what he is sharing with us. Someone behind me continues: “Is this a joke? Is he pulling our leg?”, only to end up laughing at his jokes and applauding at the end of the tour. Perhaps they were expecting a 3D projection or a QR code to scan. Yet it works: everyone is fully engaged, no need to play with our imagination or search the web, and many learn while having fun.
I am not particularly fond of group tours and was expecting a more extensive visit (this one lasts 40 minutes, costs €18 per person, and is available in multiple languages), but it is a wonderful opportunity to experience the theatre while its main seasonal programme is on a summer hiatus in August.
Compared to the main foyer, the grand staircase, and the upper rooms - boasting a rich 157-year history - the section of the auditorium where we are standing was completely bombed during the Second World War and later rebuilt, striving to honour the original period designs.
And since even the Austrians didn't hold back at the time of its initial construction in 1868, the design of this majestic theatre was harshly panned by critics, local Viennese citizens, and even Emperor Franz Joseph I himself, who, disappointed, likened it to a railway station.
I wouldn't have wanted to be in poor architect Eduard van der Nüll’s shoes for all the money in the world.
Under such overwhelming pressure, he sank into a severe depression and took his own life. He was followed barely six weeks later by his partner and co-architect, August Sicard von Sicardsburg. Officially, he died of tuberculosis, but many attributed his passing to heartbreak over losing his dear friend.
The tragedy struck the Emperor so deeply that, until the very last day of his reign on 21 November 1916, he was said to have commented on every official event with the iconic, guarded phrase: "Es war sehr schön, es hat mich sehr gefreut" (“It was very nice, it gave me great pleasure”). Even Emperors have a heart. From where I am sitting,
I can’t fully appreciate the sheer scale of the auditorium, standing an impressive 57 metres high (Tom Cruise filmed a memorable action scene for Mission: Impossible right here), built entirely of wood like the soundboard of a musical instrument.
To prove it, Johannes firmly stamps his foot on the floorboards, producing a sharp sound.
The acoustics are flawless!
The gas lamps of the past and the prevalence of highly flammable materials have historically posed a threat to the city’s theatres. On 8 December 1881, the devastating fire at the Ringtheater, which claimed over 300 lives, led to the permanent installation of firefighters within Vienna’s theatres and mandated a fixed fire watch (Brandwache), which remains active here to this day.
Ringtheater_Ruine_1881 By Mathias Weingartshofer - Blickfänge einer Reise nach Wien - Fotografien 1860-1910; Ausstellungskatalog des Wien Museums, 2000/2006, Public Domain, https-//commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=1371380
Against the backdrop of The Magic Flute tapestry, I keep watching the conductor’s movements as he carries on rehearsing despite our presence. The artists performing belong to visiting theatre companies to whom the Wiener Staatsoper rents out its spaces for a few months.
Ticket prices for performances vary depending on the chosen seat and can reach nearly €300.
However, for those seeking an authentic experience on a modest budget, there is the option to buy standing tickets (Stehplatz), which go on sale for just a few euros on the day of the show.
It is a noble and democratic tradition, but just picture what it means to stand stock-still on your feet for three or four hours, perhaps during an elaborate Wagnerian drama. It takes devoted love and remarkable physical endurance to trade the comfort of a seat for the bliss of perfect acoustics mere steps from the stage.
Balancing the books can hardly be easy, even in a city steeped in art, beauty, and prosperity like Vienna.
Every year, the Opera House runs an operational deficit that it strives to recover through various activities. The most iconic is undoubtedly the traditional and prestigious Wiener Opernball (the Vienna Opera Ball, with the first under this name dating back to 26 January 1935, following preliminary dance evenings inside the Opera House since 11 December 1877). A grand gala and charity event supporting cultural and humanitarian initiatives, it is attended by celebrities from around the globe. Standard admission starts at around €445, but can reach upwards of €19,000 or €27,000 for the private boxes offering the finest view.
For a single night, the Wiener Staatsoper transforms into the most glamorous ballroom on earth, with young debutantes (aged 18 to 26) opening the dancing from the initial fanfare right through to the final waltz.
The setup is timed to the second. Johannes tells us the exact number of hours it takes to dismantle the stalls' seats to bring the floor flush with the stage, but the precise figure escapes me.
I can easily believe that the organisation requires colossal coordination; the setup costs alone come to around one and a half million euros. Mind-boggling! Among the visitors, a young woman asks for the official Staatsoper platform to book tickets for the dress rehearsals.
Johannes recalls that evening as a truly memorable experience, notably for the collective emotion felt as the Austrian national anthem resonated with everyone present.
All that’s left for her is to keep her fingers crossed and try her luck with the online lottery-a draw that manages the immense demand before tickets can be purchased (typically ranging from €50 to €120 depending on the seat). While attending the opera today calls for a certain dress code, punctuality, and a reverent silence, I am amazed to think how different the atmosphere used to be. During performances, the auditorium lights remained on, and people were free to chat, stroll around, and even eat.
These occasions were treated primarily as social gatherings; the very layout of the boxes was designed to encourage conversation and to be seen by the Emperor from the Royal Box.
It was Gustav Mahler, drawing inspiration from Richard Wagner’s vision, who enforced a strict artistic discipline: he dimmed the lights, barred entry to latecomers, and introduced intervals for the very first time.
Our walk with Johannes continues into the Emperor’s Tea Room, elegant and immaculately preserved right down to the silk wall coverings featuring his stylized monogram (today, you can even hire it for around €800 for the duration of the interval or for private events).
We wrap up our tour shortly after in the Schwind Foyer, lined with busts of celebrated composers and legendary conductors such as Mozart, Rossini, and Haydn.
Although Giuseppe Verdi’s operas feature regularly in the Wiener Staatsoper’s repertoire, his bust is conspicuously absent.
Beyond the Italian border, that famous acronym “Viva V.E.R.D.I.” came at a high political cost: a tribute to the composer, certainly, but above all a patriotic rallying cry meaning “Viva Vittorio Emanuele Re D'Italia” (Long Live Victor Emmanuel, King of Italy).
Wiener Staatsoper
https://www.wiener-staatsoper.at/
https://maps.app.goo.gl/JExtqVY8sRxpoQga8