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Within the silence of the sacred stone walls and smooth marble floors, flickering altar candles radiate hints of wax, ashes and chilled frankincense.

In the cafés and parks along the grand boulevard, the dernier cri is the curiously soft and milky fragrance of an exotic plant with an outlandish name.

From the open doors of the Orangerie, bright notes of green and golden citrus flow into the crisp morning air of the palace gardens.

Franz Ferdinand in India: After a day of elephant riding, tiger hunting and coin shooting, tobacco and spirits are served beneath the arcades of Chowmahalla.

In the early hours of December 12, 1877, there was no stopping the guests of the Court Opera Soirée. The Waltz-addicted Viennese pushed chairs aside and took over the floor, in defiance of an Imperial ban on dancing. An homage to the Waltz, the Opernball and the Viennese Blood.

High above the mountain forests, between snow fields and bare rock, the crystal-clear nocturnal sky carries the scent of cold wood and eternal ice.