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

by Thomas Carr Howe

Knowing that he was referring to Messrs. Brown and Hammond—Lincoln’s assurance of the night before to the contrary notwithstanding—I piously observed that high-level visitors to the field might do quite a lot of good. For one thing, the fact that they had taken the trouble to visit it emphasized the importance of the work they had come to inspect; and, for another, it pleased the officer in the field to have his job noticed by the boys at the top. I thought I sounded pretty convincing, but sensing that I was not, I turned to other topics.

About that time John and Mason arrived. Our last meeting had taken place in the vaults of the Reichsbank at Frankfurt several weeks before. Mason referred to that and jokingly accused me of having run out on him. When I told him that I was about to return to Hohenfurth he announced loudly that that was perfect—he and John would drop in to see me there. I said that would be fine but, when I noted the expression on Captain Posey’s face, I added to myself, “fine, if they get the clearance.” Before coming up to see me, they expected to visit one or two places south of Munich, so they wouldn’t reach Hohenfurth before the end of the week.

Captain Posey was a great believer in the old theory that the Devil finds work for idle hands, at least as far as I was concerned. That same afternoon he casually suggested that I take a “little run down into the Tyrol” for him and inspect a castle about which he had been asked to make a report. He proposed the trip with such prewar insouciance that it sounded like a pleasant holiday excursion. As a matter of fact it was an appealing suggestion, despite my plans for an early morning start to Hohenfurth.

It was a beautiful summer day and my jeep driver asked if a friend of his, a sergeant who was keen about photography, might come along. I agreed and the three of us headed out east of Munich on the Autobahn. It was fun to be riding in an open jeep instead of an enclosed truck.

We reached Rosenheim in record time and there struck south into the mountains. Our objective was the little village of Brixlegg, between Kufstein and Innsbruck. We were on the main road to the Brenner Pass. Italy was temptingly close. We stopped from time to time so that the sergeant could get a snapshot of some particularly dramatic vista. But there was an embarrassment of riches—every part of the road was spectacularly beautiful.

Brixlegg was a tiny cluster of picturesque chalets, but it had not been tiny enough to elude the attentions of the air force. On the outskirts we saw the shattered remains of what had been an important factory for the manufacture of airplane parts. Happily, the bombers had concentrated their efforts on the factory. The little village had suffered practically no damage at all.

We located our castle without difficulty. It was Schloss Matzen, one of the finest castles of the Tyrol—the property of a British officer, Vice-Admiral Baillie-Grohman. This gentleman had requested a report on the castle from the American authorities. We found everything in perfect order. The admiral’s cousin—a Hungarian baron named Von Schmedes who spoke excellent English—was in residence. He showed us over the place. The castle was an example of intelligent restoration. According to the inscription on a plaque over the entrance, the aunt of the present owner had devoted her life to this task.

Although an “Off Limits” sign was prominently displayed on the premises, the baron was fearful of intruders. As the castle stood some distance from the main highway, I thought he was being unduly apprehensive. He said that an official letter of warning to unwelcome visitors would be an added protection. To please him I wrote out a statement to the effect that the castle was an historic monument, the property of a British subject, etc., and signed it in the name of the Commanding General of the Third U. S. Army.

On our way out we were shown two rooms on the ground floor which were filled with polychromed wood sculpture from the museum at Innsbruck. The baron said that additional objects from the Innsbruck museum were stored in a near-by castle, Schloss Lichtwert.

It was but a few minutes’ drive from Schloss Matzen, so I decided to have a look at it. Schloss Lichtwert, though not nearly so picturesque either in character or as to site, was the more interesting of the two. It stood baldly in the middle of a field and was actually a big country house rather than a castle.