The Rape of Europa (25 page)

Nazi experts in the meantime had revalued the lot at FFr 3.4 million, which they felt was generous as it contained so many
“wild expressionistisch”
works by Braque and Picasso. Fearing that they might end up with nothing, Perdoux and Lestang agreed to this valuation and to payment of their commission in pictures. They were taken to the rooms where the pictures were stored and urged to choose from among the rejected “expressionist” canvases. This they declined to do, indicating instead two Pissarros and a Renoir. In the end they were given three works by Pissarro, one from the previously confiscated Rothschild collection, the Germans having decided that even though the last Pissarro was worth twice as much as the Renoir, “it presented no interest for Germany … since Pissarro is Jewish.”
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Nothing further was heard from the two French gentlemen, and the Paul Rosenberg pictures from Floirac joined the hundreds of others in the sorting rooms of his Nazi namesake, as did the “other collection,” which were the Rosenberg stocks stored at his bank in Libourne. While involved in this removal, the Nazis discovered Georges Braque’s deposits, including his Cranach, in the same bank. Braque’s possessions were technically not in danger, as he was an Aryan. But the Germans suggested that the rest
of his collection would only be safe if he sold the Cranach to them, which he did.
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Goering was terribly pleased with the success of these operations. From his hunting lodge in East Prussia he wrote a friendly, if loaded, letter to ERR chief Rosenberg saying how happy he was to have all the confiscated works concentrated in the hands of one agency. Noting that both the Foreign and Propaganda Ministries were “claiming” the right to seize objects, he assured Rosenberg of his support for the ERR, but emphasized that without the information he had obtained long ago through bribes and corrupt French officials the ERR never would have found most of the precious items. These activities, he proudly noted, would continue, and much could be expected from the activities of his Currency Control agents. In order to avoid any false suppositions, he informed Rosenberg that he planned to buy a “small percentage” of the ERR take to complete his own collection at Carinhall, which would one day be left to the nation. At the moment that would only be some fifteen pictures, which would leave plenty “for the offices of the Party, the State and the Museums.”
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Worried by the proprietary tone of this letter, Rosenberg sent his assistant Robert Scholz off to Paris to find out precisely what the situation at the ERR might be. Once there, the subversion of the ERR staff by Goering was crystal clear to Scholz. He reported to Rosenberg that he thought Goering was about to ship everything back to Germany for his own benefit. Rosenberg, who still hoped to exploit the art to the profit of his own organizations, ordered Scholz to advise the Reichschancellery that he had decided to bring the confiscated works back to Berlin “in the next few days,” even though they were not completely catalogued. He suggested that the fifteen boxcar loads be taken to the basements of the Reichschancellery for sorting by the ERR and requested that Bormann obtain Hitler’s decision on the matter as soon as possible.
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Bormann was no more willing than Goering to let all these goodies be squandered on Rosenberg’s fuzzy ideological pursuits. Scholz was sent a curt letter containing a copy of the Führervorbehalt order and told to get in touch with Posse immediately. To Posse, Bormann wrote simultaneously that Dr. Scholz was “obviously unaware that all art treasures in occupied territories come under the Führer’s right of disposition,” and that the administration of them was Posse’s affair.
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During this struggle of the titans the protests of the Vichy government, produced after much prodding by Jaujard, and transmitted by the pathetic office they were allowed to maintain in Paris, were totally without effect. To Jaujard’s dismay, his new government did not condemn the confiscations outright, but declared that the takings should be the property of the
French, and not the Germans. The protests were not even graced with a response. Nevertheless, Jaujard and officials at the Direction des Domaines continued their almost daily letters to the Nazi authorities in an effort to block the confiscation of one collection after another.

In December 1940 five protests were lodged regarding the famous harpsichordist Wanda Landowska, whose marked scores and clavichord, plus her wine cellar and a large quantity of soap, had been taken in September. A correspondence of some months up and down occupation channels followed, with much quoting of decrees and Nazi legalisms which must have kept a phalanx of underlings busy.

By January they had determined that the possessions of the Polish Jewess Landowska, who had fled German troops (a favorite recrimination), were “ownerless,” not French, cultural property. This would seem to have been reason enough, but the investigators felt compelled to add that she had also helped other Jews, who were well-known enemies of Germany, and worst of all had given a concert in the Opéra to raise money for Polish relief. On top of this, a piano once owned by Chopin had “surprisingly” been found in her house, a suspicious matter which would have to be taken up with General Governor Frank.

As for the soap and wine, the bureaucrats explained that they had been used for washing and sustenance by the poor packers, who had had a long commute every day for two weeks from Paris to Mme Landowska’s house. This case was only one of many. If Jaujard could not prevent the looting, he must at least have enjoyed the astonishing and self-deluding responses that the conquerors felt compelled to produce.
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Hitler did not authorize the removal from France of any of the works held by the ERR until New Year’s Eve, 1940. Thirty-two pictures from the Rothschild collections—including the Vermeer
Astronomer
, portraits by Hals and Rembrandt, and Boucher’s famous
Madame de Pompadour
—went to their new owner on February 8, 1941, some still economically packed in their original gleaming black crates marked with Rothschild monograms.
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Posse had chosen well. His wish list was being nicely filled.

After the Führer had taken his pick, Goering could take his. He chose thirty-two pictures in addition to the twenty-seven he had reserved for himself in November, including two by his favorite artist, Cranach: a
Portrait of Frederick the Wise
from the Wildensteins, and the particularly suitable
Allegory of Virtue
from the Halphen collection. Six commodes and two eighteenth-century desks were added to the previously chosen furniture.

Both Hitler’s and Goering’s choices were to be sent to the Reich on
Goering’s special train, run by the Luftwaffe. The whole affair was supposed to be kept secret, but on February 9 the commander of Paris informed the German commander in chief for France of the shipment. A copy of the memorandum went to the Kunstschutz offices, with a note by a certain Dr. Langsdorff of the SS demanding to know who had leaked the information. There was no mystery: on February 5 Goering had rudely sent away Count Metternich and his assistant, Dr. von Tieschowitz, when they appeared at the Jeu de Paume stating that they were present as representatives of the Army Supreme Command, which was responsible for the safety of the sequestered works. The irritated Reichsmarschall, after exclaiming “Another organization to deal with!” said he wished to make his “tour of inspection” with a small group. The only Kunstschutz representative permitted to stay with the entourage was Dr. Bunjes, who had already fallen under Goering’s influence, and who later would be rewarded with the job of director of the German Institute of Paris, but who still felt compelled to inform his superior of Goering’s plans.

The Army, having been faced with the inevitable since autumn, had, in fact, already begun to prepare documents absolving itself of blame. Goering’s orders of November 5 had, the Wehrmacht reasoned, superseded those of Hitler prohibiting the displacement of artistic property. The military administration was, therefore, “exempt from any responsibility for contravention of The Hague Convention.” As for the French government’s protests, “clearing and settling of this issue … has become a political affair to be settled between the Reich and the French Government.” In regard to the deplorable actions of the ERR the Army recommended that “in order to express that the Military Commander in France is in no way responsible for the activity of the ERR, the Goering order of November 5 should be amended to read: ‘Further confiscation of Jewish art property will be effected in the manner heretofore adopted by the ERR under my [Goering’s] direction.’ ”
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Having the stuffy Wehrmacht out of the way was just what Goering had wanted. Despite his other duties, the Luftwaffe chief came back to the Jeu de Paume twelve more times in 1941, and five times in 1942. Hans Posse did not lower himself to personal visits to the ERR premises. He preferred to buy on the market, money being no problem for him. In the end only fifty-three items were formally logged into the Linz collection from the ERR, though anything Posse wanted was his for the asking. Goering indulged himself to the tune of some six hundred. To keep things “legal” the objects were evaluated by a minor French artist named Jacques Beltrand, whose pricing would vary according to Goering’s desires. If the work was destined for Carinhall, the evaluation was low. If, on the other hand, it was
to be sold, it would be high. So ludicrous were some of his prices that one French source referred to him as a “half-blind engraver.” Goering was to pay the stated amounts into a fund for war orphans, though there is no evidence that he ever did so. His money, much more restricted than Posse’s but still substantial, was also being used to buy on the market. But he always needed more. From this need, as we shall see, developed a most ingenious scheme in which the ERR would play a large role.

Rose Valland: the unlikely spy (photographed in uniform after the liberation)

After Goering’s second visit the confiscations continued apace. Truckload after truckload would appear at the door of the Jeu de Paume and be dumped there, often without any indication of provenance. There were clocks, statues, paintings, jewelry, and furniture from banks, storage warehouses, and abandoned apartments. Soon the whole ground floor was full. More and more now came from the many Rothschild country houses. Twenty-two chests containing their jewelry were brought in from a bank vault and presented to Goering on March 14. With great restraint he chose only six pieces, including two magnificent sixteenth-century pendants representing a centaur and St. George and the Dragon, which he took away unwrapped in his pocket.
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Still more came from the David-Weill château at Mareil-le-Guyon and the Jacques Stern collection in Bordeaux. So frenzied was this scavenging that several non-Jewish collections belonging to people with suspicious names had to be returned with sheepish letters of apology.

Now that the Army had washed its hands of the whole sordid affair, the ERR could no longer be prevented from removing the Jewish collections sheltered in the French national repositories. They began to arrive at the Jeu de Paume in July 1941. Among these arrivals was more of the fabulous David-Weill collection, 130 cases worth, which was brought in from Sourches. Jacques Jaujard protested once again, this time on the grounds that M. David-Weill had left the collection to the French Musées in his
will, which was duly produced. This brought forth yet another long and reference-filled letter from the ERR denying the claim, first because David-Weill was a Jew—the reference quoted being the American
Biographical Encyclopedia of the World
, first edition, 1940—and secondly because he was not yet dead, and therefore still owned the art.
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In all the chaos at the Jeu de Paume, inventories could only be hastily done, to the great chagrin of the German art historians who worked fourteen and sixteen hours a day without an adequate art library, any confiscated books having already been shipped off by the non-art branches of the ERR. Their task was enormous: 218 major collections ranging from Arnhold to Zach had to be listed and given codes based on their names (ARN-Z). Thousands of uncatalogued items from lesser collections required considerably more research. Their chief, Baron von Behr, was not sympathetic. His interest was in the gathering, and in self-promotion at the highest Party levels, which meant pleasing Goering above all else.