Salt mines and castles: The discovery and restitution of looted European art

by Thomas Carr Howe

The same bunker contained another priceless looted treasure—the coronation regalia of the Holy Roman Empire. Among these venerable objects were the jeweled crown of the Emperor Conrad—commonly called the “Crown of Charlemagne”—dating from the eleventh century, a shield, two swords and the orb. Since 1804 they had been preserved in the Schatzkammer, the Imperial Treasure Room, at Vienna. In 1938, the Nazis removed them to Nürnberg, basing their claim to possession on a fifteenth century decree of the Emperor Sigismund that they were to be kept in that city.

On the eve of the German collapse, two high officials of the city had spirited away these five pieces. The credit for recovering the treasures goes to an American officer of German birth, Lieutenant Walter Horn, professor of art at the University of California. The two officials at first disclaimed any knowledge of their whereabouts. After hours of relentless grilling by Lieutenant Horn, the men finally admitted their guilt. They were promptly tried, heavily fined and sent to prison. Three months later, at the request of the Austrian Government, the imperial treasures were flown back to Vienna. This historic shipment contained other relics which the Nazis had taken from the Schatzkammer—relics of the greatest religious significance. They included an alleged fragment of the True Cross, a section of the tablecloth said to have been used at the Last Supper, a lance venerated as the one which had touched the wounds of Christ, and links from the chains traditionally believed to have bound St. Peter, St. Paul and St. John.

On Captain Rae’s instructions, Steve and I went to Nürnberg to pack the Stoss altarpiece. (At that time the coronation regalia was still in the bunker, where, on the afternoon of our arrival, we had an opportunity to examine it.) We found that the heavy framework which supported the altar panels was not stored in the bunker. Because of its size—the upright pieces were thirty feet high—it had been taken to Schloss Wiesenthau, an old castle outside Forchheim, thirty miles away.

Leaving Steve to start packing the smaller figures and pinnacles, I got hold of a semitrailer, the only vehicle long enough to accommodate a load of such length. It was an hour’s drive to the castle. With a crew of twenty PWs, I finished loading the framework in two hours and returned to Nürnberg in time for supper.

That evening Steve and I figured out the number of trucks we would need for the altarpiece. Lamont had remained in Munich to make tentative arrangements, pending word from us. He was going to ask for ten trucks and we came to the conclusion that this would be about the right number—in addition, of course, to the semitrailer for the supporting framework. We got out our maps and studied our probable route to Cracow. One road would take us through Dresden and Breslau; another by way of Pilsen and Prague. Perhaps we could go one way and return the other. In either case we would have to pass through Russian-occupied territory. It would probably take some time to obtain the necessary clearances. We figured on taking enough gas for the round trip, since we doubted if there would be any to spare in Poland. Altogether it promised to be a complicated expedition, but already we had visions of a triumphal entry into Cracow.

Our ambitious plans collapsed the following morning. While Steve and I were at breakfast, I was called to the telephone. The corporal in Captain Rae’s office was on the wire. I was to return to Munich at once. Major La Farge was arriving from Frankfurt and wanted to see me that night. Plans for the trip to Cracow were indefinitely postponed. Internal conditions in Poland were too unsettled to risk returning the altarpiece.

Our plans had miscarried before, but this was our first major disappointment. We had begun to look on the Polish venture as the fitting climax of our work as a Special Evacuation Team. On the way back to Munich, Steve said he had a feeling that the team was going to be split up.

Steve’s misgivings were prophetic. At Craig’s apartment after dinner, Bancel La Farge outlined the plans he had for us. Colonel Dalferes had acceded to Colonel Dewald’s request. Lamont, Steve and a third officer—new to MFA&A work—were to resume the evacuation of the salt mine at Alt Aussee. If the snows held off, it would be possible to carry on operations there for another month or six weeks.

I was to return to USFET Headquarters at Frankfurt as Deputy Chief of the MFA&A Section, replacing Charlie Kuhn who had just received his orders to go home. I knew that Charlie would soon be eligible for release from active duty, but had no idea that his departure was so imminent.

We didn’t have much to say to one another on the way to our quarters that night. Steve had already made up his mind that he wasn’t going to like the new man. Lamont said that he thought it was going to be an awful anticlimax to reopen the mine. And for me, the prospect of routine administrative work at USFET was uninviting. After three months of strenuous and exciting field work, it wouldn’t be easy to settle down in an office. All three of us felt that the great days were over.