Nazi looted art conference at Lafayette College, October 26-28, 2011: a debriefing (I)

From left to right: Rachel Davidson, Diane Ahl, Radu Pribic

Courtesy: Lafayette College

It has now been close to two weeks since Lafayette College in quaint Easton, PA, hosted a first-ever conference on Nazi looted art. Starting from scratch, the organizers of the conference, Professors Diane Ahl and Radu Pribic, brought together a group of speakers who represented different perspectives on the issue of looted art and art restitution.

Day 1: October 26, 2011

The conference opened on a screening of “The Rape of Europa”, a freewheeling adaptation of Lynn Nicholas’ landmark work of same name which detailed the Nazi-orchestrated plunder of works and objects of art across Europe, while focusing most of its attention on the Allied—read American—civilian and mostly military response to those exactions and the means taken to repair the damage caused by Nazi thefts.

This was my third viewing of “The Rape of Europa” The first time was on television, the second time was at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, during a Jewish Film Festival. That screening was memorable only because I ran into Lynn Nicholas looking a bit lost in the line of viewers waiting to see the film being shown in the East Wing. When I asked her what she was doing there, she said simply that she wanted to be there in case anyone had questions about the movie. What? You mean you weren’t invited to speak at your own movie? No, was the answer. The third screening was in Easton. At the second screening, I noticed three things:

1. someone intimately involved with production and scriptwriting decided to go for the schmaltz factor by inserting several high points of art restitution in the United States—the return of Marie Altmann’s famed paintings by Gustav Klimt, and the recovery of a painting by François Boucher from a Utah museum which had belonged to a member of the Paris-based heavily splintered Seligmann family. The true schmaltz occurred when a German citizen was featured as self-anointed rescuer of Judaica from his small town, the name of which escapes me completely. Not having anything to do with the “Rape of Europa,” it did, however, take on a life of its own by injecting the personal into the political, thus illustrating how a complex topic such as cultural plunder can transform daily lives into a quest for justice and, for others, redemption.
    
2. the Russians were very emotional and steadfast about their desire to equate their policy of no-return of so-called ‘trophy art’ and the humanitarian catastrophe wrought upon them by the Wehrmacht, the SS, and the Luftwaffe against the former Soviet Union, especially during the years-long siege of Leningrad. Interestingly, and memorably, one of the hard-line ministers of culture who was interviewed in what is now Saint-Petersburg dropped a portentous hint, indicating that his countrymen would be willing to discuss the return of trophy art in 20 years or so. Since the movie was produced in the late 1990s, that would place a potential return date… within six to eight years. Now, that’s a sign of hope!
    
3. the “Rape of Europa” spends an unnecessarily long, long time on the siege of Monte Cassino in Italy. That accursed monastery drew hellfire for weeks without harming German defenses, but managing to erase a major cultural monument and killing close to a thousand civilians huddled for safety in what they had rightfully viewed as a ‘sanctuary’ from the horrors of war. Needless to say, I cannot blame your average GI Joe for wondering why ten thousand men had to die for that rock.

The third screening reaffirmed what I had long suspected, that the subject of art looting per se was given short shrift throughout this award-winning documentary. Although well-illustrated in its broadest possible strokes, the “Rape of Europa” goes very light on the very complex and very heavy on the not-so-clear. To wit: the actual plunder of collections in occupied Europe was a complicated affair brought about by conflicting interests within the Nazi hierarchy (Goering, Hitler, Himmler, Goebbels, Rosenberg, von Ribbentrop, to name a few) and the plethora of local opportunists that the Nazis encountered in countries that they occupied, who were only too willing to provide their assistance, support and expertise in exchange for a cut of the booty. Too heavy on the not-so-clear is evidenced by the French episode on the Jeu de Paume and Rose Valland, the iconic heroine of art restitution in France on the verge of attaining sainthood should anyone pay close attention to the myths that have been designed around her career as an unwitting curator of the Musée du Jeu de Paume in downtown Paris during the period of German occupation and as the lead postwar restitution officer for a succession of failed French governments up until the early 1960s. 


Myth #1: Rose Valland volunteered for her mission to spy on the Germans at the Jeu de Paume; myth number two: she risked her life every day while taking copious notes on the ins and outs of looted works entering and leaving the Jeu de Paume; myth number three: no one knew that she spoke German. These are some of the many details that have filtered out into postwar revisionist history of cultural plunder in France.

Producers of "Rape of Europa": Richard Berge, Nicole Newnham, and Bonni Cohen
Source: Rape of Europa

On the plus side, I was delighted to finally meet up and converse with Nicole Newnham, one of the producers of the “Rape of Europa” who spoke candidly of her experiences making this beautifully-filmed and edited documentary on a subject that resonates even more today than it did a decade ago and which, for some corny reason, brought me close to tears, more so because we are still so far away from reaching a far-reaching solution to the long-term effects of the continental-wide plunder of cultural items during the Third Reich and the postwar occupation of Germany and Austria by Allied forces. It’s not so much the Rape of Europa as it is the rape of the cultural heritage of the victims of Nazism and Fascism, writ large.

Gabriel Metsu at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC

This stunning exhibit at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, which had already been at the National Gallery of Ireland in Dublin, brings together more than 30 playful, delicately observant genre paintings by a 17th century Dutch master, Gabriel Metsu.

Interestingly, the paintings labeled as coming from “private collections” turn out to be the ones with the more complex histories.

As part of our commitment to transparency in the global art market, here is our version of the Metsu exhibit currently on view at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC.

“A Woman writing a letter,” c. 1662-64, Oil on panel, Private Collection.

"A Woman Writing a Letter", Gabriel Metsu
Source: National Gallery of Ireland

"A Woman Writing a Letter", Gabriel Metsu
Source: DHM MCCP Database via Bundesarchiv

According to the Munich Central Collecting Point (MCCP) Database, this painting originated in Amsterdam. It was sold by a dealer named Hartog to agents of Adolf Hitler’s Linzmuseum project. The Allies found the painting at Altaussee before returning it for processing and repatriation to Holland from the Munich collecting point.

“A hunter visiting a woman at her toilet[te],”, 1661-63, Oil on panel, private collection, United States.

"A Hunter Visiting a Woman at Her Toilette", Gabriel Metsu
Source: ERR Project via Bundesarchiv

"A Hunter Visiting a Woman at Her Toilette", Gabrielle Metsu
Source: National Gallery of Ireland

This charming interior scene hails from a private collection somewhere in the United States. At one point in time, it belonged to the heirs of Alphonse de Rothschild in Paris, France, from where the Germans plundered it in the summer of 1940. After being processed at the Jeu de Paume, Hermann Goering took custody of this painting as he did of many others from the Rothschild collection. Moreover, the ERR art-historical staff produced a complete pre-1940 provenance as exemplified by the content of the card produced for this painting and designated as R 5/”Das Besuch.”

R 6
Source: DHM MCCP Database via Bundesarchiv

R 6
Source: ERR Project via NARA

It was processed through the MCCP and repatriated to France in September 1945 and subsequently restituted to the Rothschild family.

R 6
Source: DHM MCCP Database via Bundesarchiv

R 6
Source: ERR Project via NARA

You can also find this painting at http://www.errproject.org/jeudepaume/card_view.php?CardId=6343

Last but not least, my favorite Metsu painting of this set:

“Le corset rouge/Red corset” or “Woman artist with red corset”, circa 1661-64, oil on panel, Private collection.

"Woman Artist with Red Corset"
Source: ERR Project via Bundesarchiv

"Woman Artist with Red Corset"
Source: National Gallery of Ireland

Who knows who the happy current anonymous owner is of this wonderful painting? What we do care about is that it also belonged to the Rothschild family in Paris, France. Dubbed “Die Malerin” by the ERR and labeled “R 8”, this painting suffered the same fate as that of the “Hunter visiting a woman at her toilet[te]”. But, since it had suffered some damage and was in need of restoration, the ERR sent it to Buxheim where the official ERR restorer, Otto Klein and his staff helped stabilize it. Rather than go through Munich, the painting was repatriated to France in December 1945 and restituted to the Rothschild family.

 

R 6
Source: ERR Project via NARA

R 8
Source: ERR Project via NARA

If you are in Washington, DC, please visit the Gabriel Metsu exhibit at the East Wing of the National Gallery of Art and realize, once again, that behind every work on public display lies a complex and sometimes dramatic story provoked by unpredictable turns of history.

At the National Gallery of Art with Paul Gauguin

Yellow Christ
Source: Humanities Web

Not everyone is a fan of Paul Gauguin, myself included. But his obsessive sense of esthetics concerning exotic women (read, Tahitian) blended with mystical Catholic religiosity from his days in Brittany can produce a haunting effect on the viewer, innocent, skeptical, or not.

The “Yellow Christ” is one special painting and stands out as one of my favorite works on the theme of crucifixion. Unique in its rendition of Jesus on the Cross, its paganism coupled with ecstatic pain and melancholy is riveting. Even more fascinating is the history of the painting.

Owned by Paul Rosenberg of Paris at least since the 1930s, the “Yellow Christ” ended up in Bordeaux for safekeeping in the face of the Nazi onslaught against Western Europe in the spring of 1940.

Unfortunately, Paul Rosenberg’s collection was a highly coveted prize to unscrupulous agents of the Reich and their dealer friends in Paris. By the spring of 1941, all that could be found in various depots across southwestern France which belonged to Paul Rosenberg was conveyed to Paris and ended up at the Jeu de Paume, including a haul of works found on a cargo ship as it left Bordeaux.

PR 49, "The Yellow Christ" by Paul Gauguin
Source: NARA via ERR Project

Gustav Rochlitz obtained the Gauguin work on the occasion of the 21st officially recorded exchange (Tausch) with the ERR staff at the Jeu de Paume. The exchange occurred on 24 July 1942. In exchange for the “Three Graces”, a lovely work attributed to the School of Fontainebleau, Rochlitz obtained the Gauguin painting (PR 49) and a painting by Henri Matisse (Unb 353). Both paintings were allegedly shipped to Rochlitz’s warehouse in Baden-Baden in June 1944. I say allegedly because, as it turns out, the Gauguin was located in Paris. As it turns out, Paul Pétridès sold it to the "Yellow Christ" to Raphael Gérard for one million francs on 8 December 1942. Two years later Gauguin's painting returned to Gérard, this time offered for three million francs to Gérard on 29 December 1944.

It was recovered and restituted in 1945, Paul Rosenberg agreed to sell it to the Albright-Knox Gallery in Buffalo, NY, in 1946. The story of the acquisition has a charming twist in that Andrew Ritchie, then director of the Albright-Knox, had been detailed as an art advisor with the US Forces European Theater (USFET) headquarters to ferret out looted collections and aid in their return to their countries of origin. Rosenberg sold the Gauguin to the Albright-Knox in recognition of Ritchie’s efforts on behalf of spoliated collectors such as himself.

The other twist to this story reflects the oft glaring inadequacies of art-historical knowledge regarding artists and their creative output. These lacunae have come back to haunt claimants in their quest for restitution of items attributed to specific artists. When they are particularly famous, like Gauguin or Klimt, the stakes are even higher as the value for the work can increase exponentially. In the case of the “Yellow Christ,” very few people in the art world then and now knew of the existence of a smaller version of the iconic painting.

The infamous art book publisher, Albert Skira, whose wartime activities have been less than honest, spread a rumor in spring of 1945 to the effect that Rosenberg’s painting was sitting in a bank safe in Geneva, Switzerland. The Office of Strategic Services (OSS) launched an investigation in Switzerland and contacted a Gauguin expert, Dr. Lucas Lichtenban who worked at the Basler Kunsthalle. He reported that, indeed, there was a very small work on panel depicting the Yellow Christ (measuring 8 x 5 cm!) which had been in his Basel gallery back in 1928 and was sold to a London concern, Brown and Phillips, in 1932. However, OSS wanted to make sure that there was no link to Paul Rosenberg and the inquest went on, in vain.

Back to the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC. If you go see the Gauguin exhibit before June 5, 2011, please do so and linger in front of the “Yellow Christ.” Soak it in and ask yourself why on earth there is no explanatory text next to the painting which reflects its extraordinary saga through wartime France and its happy ending at the hands of the Albright-Knox in Buffalo, NY. Transparency does not require much effort, or does it?

The strange odyssey of Mme. Stumpf and her daughter

Madame Stumpf and Her Daughter
Source: NGA

The National Gallery of Washington in Washington, DC, holds more than a dozen paintings that were once looted by the Germans during World War II and have since been restituted to their rightful owners. One of those paintings is “Mme. Stumpf and her Daughter”, by Jean-Baptiste Corot, stolen from the Paris art dealer, Paul Rosenberg. The painting appears in his Floirac inventory as “Portrait de Mme. Stumph née Elisa Monet et sa fille” and bears his inventory number No. 623 and was painted in 1872.

According to Paul Rosenberg, he had stashed away this painting together with many others at a small château in a southwestern French town called Floirac-la Souys, in the district of the Gironde.

In his own words: “On September 18, 1940, a group of German gendarmes and policemen, accompanied by an expert from Paris, whose name I do not known, took possession of the paintings packed at Castel Floirac and loaded them in motor trucks.” The German gentlemen were part of so-called Geheime Feldpolizei units (GFP) working under orders of the German Embassy in Paris. In November 1940, the German Embassy was forced to cede to the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg (ERR) all of the art objects that it had forcibly removed from Jewish owners who had fled France. The works were deposited at the Louvre and from there at the Jeu de Paume.

The ERR staff at the Jeu de Paume inventoried a segment of the Paul Rosenberg collection in three lots—Floirac (P.R.), Bordeaux (Rosenberg-Bernstein Bordeaux), and Paris (Rosenberg Paris). But, being the disorganized lot that they could be, the ERR staff comingled some of the works, not that it ultimately mattered. Hence, Mme. Stumpf ended up as Rosenberg-Bernstein Bordeaux Nr. 27 (“Mutter und Kind”), although the painting had not been seized in Bordeaux. Interestingly, the inventory was drawn up in 1942, a year after the painting had already been recycled on the Paris art market.

Rosenberg Bernstein-Bordeaux 27 Öl auf Leinwand
Source: NARA via ERR Project

“Mme. Stumpf and her daughter” was the subject of the first exchange of paintings between Hermann Goering and dealers such as Rochlitz who obtained it from Goering on 3 March 1941 as part of a lot of 11 Impressionist paintings. Rochlitz provided Goering with two Old Masters—one by Jan Weenix and another from Northern Italy. He turned around and provided it to a man named Zachariah Birtchansky. Together with his brother, Birtchansky operated from several addresses in Paris, including the rue Royale. Although of Jewish descent, the pair had established itself as art brokers on the Paris art scene for many years prior to the Second World War and had cultivated shady relationships with a number of unsavory pro-Nazi art dealers, especially Gustav Rochlitz, Hans Wendland, and Karl Haberstock.

Hans Wendland, characterized as the most prolific art dealing operator working for the Nazi government in Western Europe, paid a visit to Birtchansky in 1941 and left with Rosenberg’s Corot painting. He consigned the painting with several others from the Paul Rosenberg collection at a Swiss gallery named Fischer, whose owner was Theodor Fischer, and was based in Lucerne, Switzerland. Fischer, too willing to transact in works of dubious provenance, sold the painting to Dr. Raeber of Basel, another recipient of looted works from France.

The Corot painting was found, repatriated to France, and restituted to Paul Rosenberg.

Decades later, in 1965, Madame Stumpf and her daughter was in the hands of Alexandre Rosenberg, son of Paul Rosenberg, who had his own gallery in New York City not too far from East 79th Street and Madison Avenue. Alexandre’s claim to fame was to have been part of the French resistance unit that intercepted the infamous train of looted art that had left Paris on 1 August 1944, heading for Nikolsburg. To his great surprise, he discovered a great number of his father’s paintings on that train. Back to New York…

Eugene Thaw, the New York art expert, bought the painting from Rosenberg who sold it to Rudolf Heinemann, international man of mystery, close partner of Knoedler’s, and the brains behind the Thyssen-Bornemisza collection. Heinemann turned around and sold part interests in the painting to a number of collectors including Sir Geoffrey Agnew. Within months, Agnew had sold the painting to Ailsa Mellon Bruce for $275,000. Ironically, the transaction to Bruce had been the brainchild of John Walker, then director of the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, where the Corot masterpiece eventually ended up.