Hitler's Art Thief

by Susan Ronald

  In fact, Haberstock and Posse coordinated their efforts since the Anschluss. Posse traveled to Vienna to see German troops parading victoriously through the city. While the Gestapo interrogated and tortured private collectors from their base at Vienna’s Hotel Metropole, Posse personally impounded the collections of Alphonse and Louis de Rothschild. Together with the Nazi Kunsthistorisches director with the unfortunate name von Baldass, Posse plundered thousands of artworks from private collectors who either fled without their beloved possessions or who were made to sign them over for their freedom, like the Ephrussi family.

  These artworks were then taken to the Hofburg Palace (used as Vienna’s depository) before being redistributed to the Kunsthistorisches Museum and smaller museums throughout Austria, or sold at the state-owned auction house, the Dorotheum. As if by magic, however, some reappeared in the hands of the official four dealers of the Third Reich.

  Gurlitt and his colleagues had been trading in Austria before the Anschluss. Yet, theoretically, once Austria was part of Germany this should have been forbidden. Their mandate was to sell for foreign exchange and they were not licensed to sell to Germans, which the Austrians had become. They carried on regardless. If Barr salivated over a few modern masterpieces, how were lesser mortals supposed to act?

  Their presumed dilemma was resolved in general by Switzerland, and in particular by the SVSt trust. Dr. Hans Herbst, the Dorotheum’s director, was able to sell to Switzerland, the nonoccupied territories of Europe, and the United States. Over the next six years, he would become one of Gurlitt’s primary contacts and sources for transactions—both privately and on behalf of the Sonderauftrag Linz.5 Schmidt of the Basel Kunstmuseum would be another.

  As with many of the artworks sold by Valentin in the United States, Gurlitt relied heavily on Switzerland as the intermediary for barter and sales transactions involving blocked (discounted) and unblocked reichsmarks to obtain much-coveted foreign currency. As Valentin himself wrote to refugee art dealer Galka Scheyer in California in 1939, “By the way, it is not too difficult to get pictures from Europe. I received shipments from Switzerland, from France, from England und [sic] even from Klee himself.”6

  For Gurlitt to join the treasure hunt, sooner or later a base of operations in Austria would be de rigueur. He had bailed out Wolfgang from insolvency in the early 1930s, not for family loyalty but to exercise a hold over him. Wolfgang had bought himself a small single-story chalet down a country lane nestled on the outskirts of the sleepy Alpine village of Bad Aussee in Austria. Situated only an hour or so from Linz, it was the perfect location for Hildebrand’s uses, too. Yet it must have been the topic of many a hushed family conversation, for Wolfgang often lived there with his first and second wives after it became unsafe in Berlin in 1943. Soon his mistress joined them, too.

  Gurlitt also kept a nasty secret: that Wolfgang had tried to circumvent him. At the end of 1938, Wolfgang had written to Theodor Fischer in Lucerne offering his “superior” services to the Swiss art dealer and auctioneer. Fischer replied that he already had a relationship with Wolfgang’s cousin Hildebrand and the Propagandaministerium. Wolfgang’s assistance would be surplus to his requirements.7 Only once they ironed out their difficulties did Gurlitt finally arrange for Wolfgang to receive the coveted official authorization to trade internationally on behalf of the Third Reich, on February 7, 1940, so long as it was on his terms.8

  * * *

  When war was declared in Europe on September 3, 1939, Austria became merely the first of many rich countries the Nazis would plunder. As the blitzkrieg thundered through Poland, Posse harked back to his previously safeguarded charge—Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man. The thought of keeping it safe again proved intoxicating. The Raphael, however, would be only the fingertip of his desires.

  By mid-October, Kajetan Mühlmann’s field of operations moved into Poland. He secured three of the incomparable Czartoryski Collection’s masterpieces for Berlin: the Raphael, da Vinci’s Lady with the Ermine, and Rembrandt’s Portrait of Martin Soolmans. Over the coming years these would travel several times between borders as Allied air raids struck at the heart of the Third Reich. The Raphael, however, would always voyage cradled lovingly by Mühlmann.9 It was last seen in the offices of Gauleiter Hans Frank of Poland in 1945.

  Poland lost most of its treasures in the first year of Nazi occupation. The Veit Stoss Altar and its glorious panels fashioned by Hans von Kulmbach were stolen from the Marienkirche, in Krakow, and moved to Berlin. In late November 1939, Posse made his first—and only—inspection trip of the Polish collections to determine if there were other treasures worthy of Linz. Aside from the artworks already plundered and “several works of the National Museum in Warsaw,” Posse sighed, “there is not very much which could enlarge the German stock of great art. The Polish store of applied art is richer and more varied” and could be consigned to his assistants for handling.10

  Posse’s snide remark excluded, naturally, the twenty-seven drawings by Albrecht Dürer at the Lvov Museum, as well as the work of other German masters which remained in Soviet hands. The order to retrieve these as soon as the war permitted was issued, since the Dürers were looted by Napoleon in Vienna and were deemed part of Germany’s patrimony. Within six days of the German attack on the Soviet Union in June 1941, while battles still cracked hotly within earshot, Mühlmann was sent into the fray on the express orders of Göring to retrieve the drawings and bring them to the reichsmarschall at Carinhall straightaway. The next day, they were in Hitler’s possession and would remain with him always.11

  * * *

  By 1940, Gurlitt had learned to be alert to every opportunity to endear himself to the Nazi elite. On December 10, he wrote to Posse that he’d heard the Linz director was looking for a suitable present for the reichsmarschall. Apparently, Gurlitt had come across just the thing—a snip at RM 25,000. The proposed gift required swift action. After all, it could hardly be possible to buy it more inexpensively.12

  The gift was intended as a present for Christmas 1940. It was “framed beautifully and would make a wonderful addition to the reichsmarschall’s collection. The old stained glass window from an early German artist also had very beautiful gold-work.”13 Naturally, Gurlitt’s sales pitch claimed he’d stumbled on it for a museum client. That very Friday afternoon he planned to meet some men who were anxious to see it, as it was precisely what they’d been looking for. Still, if it was something Posse would like to consider, the director could count on Gurlitt for his utter discretion in the matter. Posse could even reverse the charges if he wished to discuss the matter by telephone.14

  Of course, Gurlitt knew about the tradition that had already sprung up among the Nazi hierarchy of expensive gift giving at Christmas, on their birthdays, or as New Year’s presents. Gifts to Hitler, Göring, and Goebbels on these occasions were intended as tributes to their greatness. Since 1933, art became increasingly significant in these overblown ceremonies of homage; and anyone who was able to acquire the highly unusual grew in stature with the recipient.15 As Gurlitt’s letter arrived only a few short weeks before Christmas, an old stained-glass window with intricate goldwork did not demand the question “From where did it come” or indeed invite comment about the price, but rather “How soon may I see it?”

  However, two days later Posse replied that “with the best will … I can’t acquire it for this price.” Doubtless, Posse knew it was an inferior example at any price. Yet, Posse’s second paragraph shows a new willingness to deal with Gurlitt. “There is an exceptional stained glass window with eight images from the St. Lorenzen Kirche near St. Marien im Mürztal I can recommend (4.5m high x 1.3m wide). This can be found at the Kunsthaus Malméde in Cologne.… It is truly a rare and eclectic object.”16 Posse had set a Machiavellian test.

  This stained-glass window, eventually bought through Gurlitt, formed part of Göring’s enormous tally of looted art. Believing he was part of the inner circle at last, Gurlitt offered Posse one of his own grandfather�
��s paintings—Acropolis, a landscape of the Greek ruin—weeks later, on January 15, 1941. The price was, again, that all-too-familiar RM 25,000. Posse hesitated.

  Two months later, Gurlitt wrote to Posse to say that the painting had sold at auction in Frankfurt for RM 6,275 on March 6—evidently forgetting the huge price tag he had previously demanded. At the bottom of Gurlitt’s letter, Posse wrote, “Write to Professor Albert Speer.” Then, on March 21, Posse penned his letter to Gurlitt: “I’ve just returned from a long journey to see a letter from Professor Speer that he bought the Louis Gurlitt. Would you be so kind as to send him an invoice to his home: Berlin-Charlottenburg, Lindenallee, 18?”17 At a stroke, Posse had rumbled Gurlitt, demonstrating his superior market knowledge and that he knew Gurlitt had tried to swindle him—twice. Posse clearly understood who Gurlitt was and had the trump card against him, which he might need in the future.

  With the requisite written proof that Gurlitt had tried to dupe him, Posse knew what kind of beast the man was and became confident that Gurlitt could be controlled by threats and blackmail if needed. By that point, too, Posse had tired of Haberstock’s increasingly outrageous demands. To his mind, Haberstock compared less favorably to the malleable Gurlitt. Then Posse had a brainstorm. Let the two dealers fight it out like gladiators in the arena. Consequently, he set up Gurlitt in opposition to the criminally deceitful Haberstock from January 1941.

  Haberstock had already come up against the opposition of the Reich Chancellery officials, owing to his unsavory reputation and “illegal” business transactions in 1940, and had been prevented from conducting further business in Holland. However, Haberstock would not be denied his part in the rich pickings, reminding Posse of the debt owed to him. So Posse retaliated by limiting Haberstock to French territory only—just weeks before he signed the travel papers for Gurlitt that set the two men up in opposition to each other. The country was big enough for the egos of both art dealers, was it not? Haberstock could continue to act as Posse’s main dealer in France in much the same way Prince Philipp of Hessen had been working for Posse in Italy. Both Haberstock and Gurlitt would be held in check knowing that the other was looking over his shoulder. It was a most Machiavellian plan.

  * * *

  Once the blitzkrieg rattled through the Western Zone in May–June 1940, with its occupation of Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg, some art dealers demonstrated considerable concern for the safety of the artists—in many cases their bread and butter—who’d taken refuge in these countries. Gurlitt was not among their number.

  On June 14, 1940, Karl Buchholz penned a letter to Max Beckmann, in exile in Amsterdam since 1937. “It has been so long since we’ve written to one another,” Buchholz lamented a month after Holland’s surrender. “I had a letter today from Valentin [from New York] saying he needs to buy more pictures from you and he hopes you’re still working. Perhaps you could send a selection of new oils direct to New York.”18 Buchholz was explicit: He could no longer send artworks direct to the United States from Germany, whereas there hadn’t been any such restriction by the artist himself in Holland.19 Valentin, too, was worried, having also written to Beckmann, on June 8.20 As if to underline the danger to Beckmann of continuing to paint despite the Malverbot, the envelopes of these letters were stamped by the German censors, showing that they had both been opened.

  Until then, Buchholz had caught glimpses of Beckmann’s welfare from officials traveling through Holland, ever hopeful that soon he would be able to exhibit Beckmann’s work again in Germany. In his letter, Buchholz promised to send “a man” to Beckmann. That man would be Erhard Goepel, who not only represented Posse in the Netherlands for Linz, but also for the feared Dienststelle Mühlmann. From 1941 until the end of 1944, Goepel also worked closely with Gurlitt in the Netherlands, Belgium, and France.21

  In Germany, Gurlitt, too, was quietly exhibiting and selling Beckmann’s art, along with many other Expressionists from his private Kunstkabinett located within his own home. In the front room were nineteenth-century “approved” artworks; the back room was chock-full of degenerate art. According to Beckmann, Gurlitt had been the last to exhibit his works before he was forced into exile.22 Due to the discreet atmosphere created, thanks in no small part to Gurlitt’s attractive wife Helene, dealers and collectors were able to congregate, discuss modern art, and, most importantly, buy modern art even if they were German.

  * * *

  Gurlitt’s Kunstkabinett was not registered as a business in his own name. Until 1940, it had been in Helene’s name, in a successful move to “Aryanize” the family business. Yet, once war broke out, Gurlitt transferred the ownership of the Kunstkabinett to a Hamburg art dealer, Frau Ingeborg Hertmann.23 Gurlitt wanted to hedge his outward involvement in art trades if Germany lost this war, and Helene’s involvement in the business did not achieve that goal. Between 1940 and 1942, Inge Hertmann was the owner of record of the Gurlitt Kunstkabinett. Yet she was more often than not referred to as Gurlitt’s secretary. In her own words, she became “a confidante, gaining insight into Dr. Gurlitt both privately as well as in the business.”24

  Privately, Hertmann thought Gurlitt was the most secretive and greedy of men. Still, she described Helene as the more grasping of the two. Everything he said or did was about creating the right illusions about his business for both artists and potential clients, while, in fact, all that interested Gurlitt was generating the greatest profit. For many, Gurlitt’s attitude might seem like “good business,” but given how the artworks were acquired, it displayed a distinct lack of morality. Although Gurlitt made “absolutely derogatory statements” about the Nazi regime, he “donned their cloak during the entire time,” Hertmann claimed, in order to benefit from “the advantages afforded to him.” As time went on, more and more of his letters and invoices were signed “Heil Hitler!” His rapacious and less scrupulous cousin, Wolfgang, never once used the expression.25

  In fact, Gurlitt “often dropped into the conversation that he was working with Dr. Hetsch of the Propagandaministerium, Reichsleiter [sic] Speer, Goebbels etc. With Speer, Gurlitt had both personal as well as business relationships.”26 Gurlitt bought cheaply and sold high. He had wide-ranging business relationships, and often sold to some of Germany’s top industrialists. “Herr Reemtsma’s secretary,” Inge Hertmann claimed, “heard Gurlitt voice that in 1942/1943 he worked for the führer himself.”27

  Hertmann was genuinely outraged at the enormous profits that Gurlitt made on the sale of art. “While at the Kunsthalle [Kunstverein] in Hamburg he had purchased several Liebermann paintings very inexpensively and sold these on for unheard of profits.” Considering that Liebermann’s widow had been forced to sell their villa in the beautiful southwest Berlin suburb of Wannsee in 1940 for a pittance, Gurlitt’s attitude showed extreme callousness to the memory of a man who, during his lifetime, had been the mainstay of the German Expressionist movement.*

  To make matters worse, Gurlitt had acquired Liebermann’s Two Riders on the Beach from the Aryan auctioneer and art dealer Hans W. Lange in 1942.28 Still, he did nothing to save Liebermann’s widow, Martha, who in 1943, aged eighty-five and bedridden by a stroke, killed herself when she received notice that she would shortly be deported to Theresienstadt.

  Hertmann highlighted another example, too. “Concerning the Jews, when Litzmann went into exile,” she explained, “he gave Gurlitt his paintings to sell. I recall that he wrote to Gurlitt afterward, please send us the money from the sales, we are starving. Gurlitt instructed me in a calm and casual manner to send ten reichsmarks to the Jews and to use the services of a Herr Werner to send them the money.”29

  Hertmann had more damning things to say against Gurlitt, too. It seemed that Gurlitt was directing art operations for the Abwehr during the Posse years. “With Messrs Abbs and Gieseler, who are already dead,” Hertmann told police in late November 1947, “Gurlitt nurtured very profitable deals in extremely private conversations. I heard that these two men were, as far as one can know, s
pies from the Abwehr and had a commission from Gurlitt for [taking] wagonloads [of art] to Holland.”30

  Indeed, while she worked in the Kunstkabinett, “Gurlitt spent more and more time in Paris, stopping at 14, rue St Simon, and had connections with the art dealers Ader, Aubry, and André Schoeller, 15 rue Théeran [sic]. André Schoeller was an expert in French Expressionism. With these men, and many others, Gurlitt nurtured extravagant deals.”

  Despite her disillusionment and disgust, Gurlitt had chosen his Aryan partner well. Hertmann knew that if she spoke out to those who might care about such things in the Third Reich, Gurlitt would denounce her. Understandably, she said as much to the police after the war, adding that she was forced to “keep her mouth shut.” After all Inge Hertmann was married to a Jew. “Such things as I am portraying here occurred regularly,” she told the police, “as if rolling off an assembly line. For me today, these things need to be reemphasized. Gurlitt always acted for indecipherable reasons.”31 She hadn’t appreciated that his natural penchant for privacy had been hardwired into him from childhood by his father; or that he had, in turn, further developed this art of concealment to pass on to his own children.

  * * *

  Hertmann’s affidavit in 1947 claimed that she’d protested directly to Gurlitt countless times about his callous and unscrupulous behavior during her tenure. From Gurlitt’s perspective, obviously Inge Hertmann had to go. Fortunately, Gurlitt already had a new Aryan partner in mind through the auspices of his next-door neighbor, Wilhelm Hermsen, the Dutch chemist who lived at 5 Alte Rabenstrasse. It was Wilhelm who introduced Gurlitt to his relations Theo and Jean—whose specialty was the transportation of fine mahogany furniture.32 Little else is known about precisely how this partnership came about; only that Theo agreed to replace Ingeborg Hertmann sometime before November 1942, and that together, Hildebrand Gurlitt and Theo Hermsen would make a killing in France.