The art of survival

Despite being all-but destroyed in the Second World War, Dresden's tradition of great art and music has continued and thrived. Natalie Wheen was overwhelmed by the city's cultural highlights

I never much went for Peter Paul Rubens; a terrorism of buttocks, I used to think. Don't get too close, if they fall out of their frame you'd be smothered. Not any more; there's a room of them in the Old Masters Gallery in Dresden that made me laugh out loud at the sheer joyous excess. Double-decker buttocks from floor to ceiling, rosy pink pinchable arms, voluptuous bosoms; fat and luscious, their owners romp up and across the walls, garlanded with flowers, laughing, snacking on outrageous fruits. Ripe, sexy, ostentatious. Having a great time.

There's rather a lot of flesh in Dresden art galleries, a feast of tasty dishes going from the saucy through the religious, historical and goodness knows what else. You have your breath taken away again and again: from the Younger Cranach's lifesize Adam and Eve (which you can see at the Royal Academy's current exhibition of Masterpieces from Dresden) to Giorgione's Sleeping Venus, lying peacefully fulfilled in a soft evening landscape.

The latter never leaves Dresden – a priceless treasure taken there by one Augustus the Strong, the Elector of Saxony who also became King of Poland, and was minded to make Dresden matter in the 18th-century wars of culture. You can't miss him in Paul Heerman's marble bust at the RA; a take on an antique imperial pose, all swagger and drapes. "An energetic and sensuous ruler," says the catalogue. And what about those eyes? What about the eyebrows? He knew what an international impact he would make buying the Giorgione – nearly 200 years old already, and a world-famous beauty.

His son (also in the RA show) is pretty formidable as well. Fatter in the nose and chin but with the unmistakable eyes and brows; glaring out over his significantly armoured frontage, a small fortune in gold lace on his velvet coat. What father started he continued a thousand-fold, never stinting on the shopping for the best artworks (including commissioning the contemporary), hiring the best writers, architects, musicians, whatever was necessary to put his Dresden ahead of the game on the cultural map. It must have been hell in the 18th century keeping up with the Jones's at Versailles and the Fredericks in Prussia.

But unlike the daunting prospect of the St Petersburg Hermitage, where Catherine the Great tried to trump them all by buying in bulk and piling it high, there is little chance of being crippled by gallery hip in Dresden. The collections are unarguable quality, tightly focused, brilliantly contained; 11 of them all within a mere 500m or so walk – and with plenty of delicious cafés and watering holes for refreshment in between. That's a five-star recommendation in itself.

It's a small site because Allied bombing reduced Dresden to 15 square kilometres of rubble in February 1945: afterwards there were more pressing tasks than faking the city back to its elegant historic façades. The buildings that matter, at the heart of things, are there – the Schlossresidenz, the Semper Opera House, Schaubuhne Theatre, one or two churches, the famous embankment on the river and the astonishing Zwinger – the baroque pleasure gardens which were transformed into the setting for the art. Indeed, Dresden was rebuilt with reference to actual 18th-century paintings commissioned from Canaletto's nephew, Bellotto, as calling-cards for the city's new glamour.

It's said that this central place is what roots Dresdeners, providing their foundation, their sense of themselves. It's why they turned out en masse last summer when the Elbe flooded, desperate that their treasures should be safeguarded. (Six months on – you wouldn't know it had happened unless you start poking around the cellars). Theaterplatz is in old time; Postplatz around the corner starts the Dresden of the ruins that were simply breeze-blocked into mass housing, now being transformed into glitzy shopping malls and lifestyle temptations.

But you still come across shocking reminders of the destruction, not least at the Frauenkirche, the domed baroque church that was such a central focus in old Dresden. Her stones literally exploded after the heat of the bombing, collapsing into rubble. The rebuilding has only recently started, controversially, since the ruins also stood as a memorial to the destruction, the focus of the annual commemoration.

The Second World War is still sharp for some. Out in the suburbs the old Stasi barracks are sealed up but not yet demolished. Ghosts of the Soviet army still linger around the once-famous sanatorium they requisitioned. However, beyond the ring of fire there's much to discover: magnificent palaces, industrialists' follies, 19th-century mansions and an entire suburb of art nouveau tightly controlled by the town planners of the day. The luck of it is that restoration is slow and appropriate – the right materials, the right references and all around are absolute gems to explore and enjoy.

In its prime, Dresden was a marvel of the civilised world, seething with cultured behaviour – literature, art, theatre, music. Rather more than Bomber Harris's contemptuous dismissal as nothing but "German bands and Dresden shepherdesses" after he'd flattened the lot. The city's institutions are some of the oldest there are; the Kreuzkirche choir has been in voice since round about then, the Staatskapelle in continuous employment for 455 years – reckoned to be the oldest orchestra.

The opera has been going some 300 years; the current building, Gottfried Semper's 19th-century masterpiece, is the eighth on the spot. Certainly the music is fabulous – concerts, recitals or operas – with myriad opportunities over the summer to get to a performance.

Everyone who was anyone went to Dresden. Just in music the roll-call of talent was formidable – even JS Bach sent in his CV and the first two movements of the B Minor Mass touting for a job. Handel came and head-hunted musicians, Weber was the first director of the modern opera, Berlioz was almost tempted to succeed him, the Schumanns lived there, Richard Strauss had all his new pieces done with the Staatskapelle. You fall over traces at every corner. I woke up in the Hilton with my head full of Wagner, who'd rented lodgings on the spot when he first arrived in Dresden, dreaming up his Flying Dutchman.

But what I particularly loved about Dresden was the quiet; the traffic subdued. Even the people spoke softly, kindly, tolerating my execrable German. I could spend a lot of time there, hanging out, strolling along the river, stopping off for a glass of wine, looking at pictures and going to hear the best music in the world. I should just add, they don't have neon lights either.

Natalie Wheen broadcasts for Classic FM

Traveller's guide

Getting there: Natalie Wheen's visit was arranged by the Dresden Tourism Board (00 49 351 4919 2100, www.dresden-tourist.de). She flew from London City airport to Berlin courtesy of Lufthansa (08457 737 747, www.lufthansa.co.uk), and continued by train – a two-hour journey. You can reach Dresden more quickly via Leipzig (from Stansted by Cirrus Airlines, book through Lufthansa) or Altenburg (from Stansted on Ryanair, 0871 246 0000, www.ryanair.com). The writer stayed at the Hilton Hotel, An der Frauenkirche 5 (00 49 351 86 42 745, www.hilton.com).

'Masterpieces from Dresden' is showing at the Royal Academy of Arts, Piccadilly, London W1 (020-7300 8000; www.royalacademy.org.uk) until 8 June 2003.