A curving dirt road wound around to the entrance on the west side. The monastery consisted of a series of rambling buildings forming two courtyards. In the center of the larger of these stood a chapel of impressive proportions. An arched passageway, leading through one of the buildings on the rim of the enclosure, provided the only means of access to the main courtyard. It had plenty of “Old World charm” but looked awfully small in comparison with our trucks.
Leclancher pooh-poohed my fears and said he’d take his truck through. He did—that is, part way through. With a hideous scraping sound the truck came to a sudden stop. The bows supporting the tarpaulin had not cleared the sloping sides of the pointed arch. This was a fine mess, for it was a good two hundred yards from the entrance to the building, behind the chapel, in which the things were stored. It would prolong the operation beyond all reason if we had to carry them all that way to the trucks. And what if it rained? As if in answer to my apprehension, it suddenly did rain, a hard drenching downpour. I should have had more faith in the resourcefulness of my Frenchmen; at that critical juncture Leclancher announced that he had found the solution. The bows of the trucks could be forced down just enough to clear the archway.
As soon as this had been done, nine of the trucks filed through and lined up alongside the buttresses of the chapel. The tenth remained outside to take the drivers and the two packers to chow. After seeing to it that they were properly cared for, the sergeant deposited me at the officers’ mess.
At lunch, Colonel Sheehan introduced me to the military Government Officer of his outfit, Major Lewis W. Whittemore, a bluff Irishman, who gave me considerable useful information about the setup at the monastery.
“Mutter, an elderly Austrian, is in charge of the collections stored there—a custodian appointed by the Nazis. He is a dependable fellow so we’ve allowed him to stay on the job. You’ll find him thoroughly co-operative,” said the major. “One of the buildings of the monastery is being used as a hospital for German wounded.”
“Are there any monks about the place?” I asked.
“Hitler ran them all out, but a few have returned. When Hohenfurth is turned over to the Czechs, it will make quite a change in this Sudetenland community. Even the name is going to be changed—to its Czech equivalent, Vysi Brod. All the signs in town will be printed in Czech, too. It will be the official language. Except for a few families, the entire population is German.”
“How will that work?” I asked.
The major apparently interpreted my question as an expression of disapproval of the impending change-over, for he said rather belligerently, “The Czechs in this region have had a mighty raw deal from the Germans during the past few years.” I rallied weakly with the pious observation that two wrongs had never made a right and that I hoped some satisfactory solution to the knotty problem could be reached.
By the time we had finished lunch the rain had dwindled to a light drizzle. I started out on foot to the monastery, leaving word at the colonel’s quarters for the sergeant to meet me in the courtyard of the Kloster. He got there about the same time I did, and together we started looking for Dr. Mutter, the Austrian custodian. We went first to the library of the monastery—a beautiful baroque room lined with sumptuous bookcases of burled walnut surmounted with elaborate carved and gilded scroll-shaped decorations. The room was beautifully proportioned, some seventy feet long and about forty feet wide. Tall French windows looked out on the peaceful monastery garden, which, for lack of care, was now overgrown with tangled vines and brambles. Along the opposite side of the handsome room stood a row of massive sixteenth century Italian refectory tables piled high with miscellaneous bric-a-brac: Empire candelabra, Moorish plates, Venetian glass, Della Robbia plaques and Persian ceramics. Across one end, an assortment of Louis Quinze sofas and chairs seemed equally out of place. What, I wondered, were these incongruous objects doing in this religious establishment?