An elegy for Vienna

Somebody once described Vienna as a top opera performed by understudies. The remark was unquestionably witty, but utterly false when it was made. It is perfectly true today, however. During the 650-year rule of the Habsburgs, Vienna reigned supreme, an opera sung by its greatest stars. It is the present-day Vienna, which has lost its empire, its imperial family and its power, that is sung by the understudies. I’ve just spent three days there, in Harry Lime time.

Okay, close your eyes and imagine the Grand Canal with just a few gondolas and no behemoth floating horrors, the Bridge of Sighs without the crowds of visiting Chinese beneath it, the Spanish Steps with only Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck, and Vienna with no tourists but a solitary Harry Lime lurking in the shadows. That was the Austrian capital last week. The only thing missing was the theme to The Third Man, played on a zither by Anton Karras. It was the first day of freedom and the usual deluge of visitors was still stuck behind the Great Wall of China.

With its baroque streetscapes and rambling imperial palaces, its winding cobbled lanes and art-filled museums, the city is a magnet for tourists. What the Turks failed to accomplish — they were stopped at the gates — our Chinese, American and Latin cousins have managed: Vienna’s Ring is permanently under siege by the 21st century’s most lethal virus, mass tourism. Last week, though, I had the whole place to myself, walking up and down the pedestrian-only Kärntner Strasse, along with a few bikers and some normally unfriendly Viennese.

Saying that Vienna is steeped in history is a cliché, like calling Emily Maitlis a left-wing publicity hound. The capital’s music heritage alone makes the city unique.