The Rape of Europa Page 17

  The new French government in Vichy, which had come into being on July 10, had meanwhile been passing suitably restrictive measures which would soon put it right in line with Germany and create a New Order à la française. Pétain, who had never bothered to read Mein Kampf, naively expected to return his government to Paris, where he would deal as an equal with the Führer in negotiating peace. Never did it occur to him or to his Prime Minister, Laval, that there would be no negotiations, and that they would remain sealed off in Vichy for four years.

  Among the new decrees passed was a law stating that French nationals who had fled the country between May 10 and June 30 were no longer citizens, and that their property could be seized and liquidated for the benefit of the French “Secours National.” The Vichy government, still believing itself independent, had complained that a similar law passed by the Germans a week earlier in the Occupied Zone was a violation of The Hague Convention, which forbids an occupying power to interfere with the civil laws of a conquered nation.29 Basic to both measures were sections requiring the registration and Aryanization of Jewish businesses. The removal of private property was another bone of contention, and the Pétain government protested Ambassador Abetz’s undertakings in late October. But nothing could now stop the German agencies, who merely pointed out that the possessions of the Rothschilds and so many others who had fled were no business of the French, who had themselves declared that they were no longer citizens.

  Indeed, by the end of October so much material had accumulated at the Louvre that it was decided to find a more suitable space. Metternich and Jaujard chose the Jeu de Paume, the small museum used at that time by the Louvre for temporary foreign and modern exhibitions. They were then informed that the ERR would also use the premises. It was agreed that French curators, working alongside the Germans, would be allowed to inventory whatever arrived at the new depot, and Vichy was so informed. To carry out these duties five Louvre employees were sent to the Jeu de Paume to help Mlle Rose Valland, the curator who had been left in charge of the empty building.

  The transfer of objects to the new location began at once. Accompanied, oddly enough, by a Luftwaffe guard, more than four hundred cases were brought in on October 30. The next day they were unpacked with tremendous speed by the Air Force men, and works were stacked up in every gallery. Mlle Valland was prepared to start her inventory, but was surprised to find that she had no German counterpart, and that no system of registration was being organized in the frenzied scene surrounding her. Wanting to show that the French were as competent as any German, she determinedly set to work on her own. Around noon Dr. Bunjes, one of Metternich’s assistants, found her at work. Glancing at her notebook, he reached down and closed it firmly: there was to be no French record. The five other employees were sent away and told not to return; only Mlle Valland, technically in charge of the building itself, and a few workmen were allowed to remain.30

  More German officers soon arrived, among them Baron Kurt von Behr, chief of the ERR in France, wearing such a spectacular and unusual uniform that even the skeptical Mlle Valland was dazzled. The uniform was that of the German Red Cross, of which the Baron was an important official. He had, in fact, no military rank at all. Politely he agreed that the French curator should stay on. All afternoon rushed activity continued as a group of Germans sorted through the paintings, picking out the best, and hanging them as if there were to be an exhibition.

  And indeed there was to be one. Exhausted and angered by his lack of success in the Battle of Britain, Goering was coming to town. All through the summer he had been making little visits to Paris from his headquarters near the Channel coast. He would lodge at the Ritz and be attended by the Luftwaffe commandant for Paris, General Hanesse. His art agents Hofer and Angerer had meanwhile been scouting the acquisition possibilities. Despite Metternich’s resistance, the two agents, escorted by an official supplied by the military administration, had been given tours of certain collections which were about to be confiscated. They had ordered items they liked to be taken to the Jeu de Paume, care of the ERR. The official, adhering to the Wehrmacht decree, emphasized that it would not be possible to remove these items from France.

  Goering arrived at the Jeu de Paume on November 3 to find it done up as if a major opening were in the offing. The floors were adorned with beautiful rugs and the galleries crammed with furniture and decorative arts carefully coordinated with the pictures. There were potted palms and champagne. The whole was further set off by the snappy full-dress uniforms of the German officers, who were all aware of the Reichsmarschall’s love of such display. But for once Goering appeared in rather rumpled civilian clothes, looking oddly out of place in his long overcoat and soft hat.

  Goering in mufti at the Jeu de Paume

  The selection presented to him was staggering, eclipsing anything he had seen in Holland. He spent the entire day at the museum. But there was much more in storage, and Goering delayed his departure while the remaining works were brought out. On November 5 he again spent the day among the treasures, talking excitedly, picking up and putting down one picture after another. He chose twenty-seven for himself, mostly Dutch and French works from the collections of Edouard de Rothschild and the Wildensteins, among them Rembrandt’s Boy with a Red Beret and a magnificent van Dyck Portrait of a Lady. There were four depictions of Venus and two of Diana, plus a good number of hunting scenes and fêtes chompêtres. Among the former possessions of various members of the Seligmann family he found much to enhance Carinhall: five stained glass windows, four tapestries, three sculptures of angels and shepherds, and a nice eighteenth-century sofa with six matching chairs.

  After his experiences in Austria, Goering was too smart to try to take the famous Rothschild Vermeer known as The Astronomer, which glowed seductively from the wall. That would go to his Führer. Goering made no attempt to remove this selection and for the time being satisfied himself with a large album of photographs, of which Hitler also received a copy. But to make quite clear what was what, he issued an order that same afternoon declaring that the objects “saved” by the Army and the ERR would be divided into several categories. The Führer’s choice was first. Second were “objects which can be used to complete the collections of the Reichsmarschall.” Third came items “useful” to Nazi ideologue Rosenberg for his anti-Semitic think tank. A fourth group was reserved for the German museums. The leftovers could be given to the French museums or put on the market. Everything was supposed to be appraised and paid for, with all profits going to French war orphans. The first four categories were to be packed and sent to Germany by the Luftwaffe—so much for the Army’s refusal to provide transport. In a little note at the end of the order Goering promised that he would immediately get Hitler’s approval for all this. Meanwhile, the ERR, put in charge of the Jeu de Paume, was to keep up its good work.31

  In Paris the confiscations poured in so fast that more art historians had to be brought to the Jeu de Paume to cope. The ERR teams had begun to range farther afield. Subsidiary operations were carried on in Belgium. Helpful informants led them, and other agencies, to collections hidden all over the countryside. A certain “Count Lestang” and a Paris dealer by the name of Yves Perdoux agreed to reveal the whereabouts of Paul Rosenberg’s pictures at Floirac to German embassy officials in return for 10 percent of the value of the collection. This they rather excessively put at RM 100 million, or FFr 2 billion. After some time had passed with no response from the Germans, Lestang and Perdoux appeared at the embassy and announced that they knew of a second, more valuable collection, but that if their terms were not met on the first one, they would not reveal its whereabouts. They then added that “a very high German official” had heard of the second collection too, and was seeking its location. When pressed, they admitted that they meant Goering. The embassy, suspecting a bluff, had Luftwaffe General Hanesse make inquiries.

  Nazi experts in the meantime had revalued the lot at FFr 3.4 million, which they felt was generous as it containe
d 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.”32

  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.33

  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.”34

  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.35

  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.36

  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.37

  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.38 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.’ ”39

  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.40 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.