We were awakened early by a call from Major Miller. He had another job for me—two, in fact. They had been interrogating Görnnert and he had told them that several pieces of valuable sculpture had been buried in the grounds of his house. The major had located the spot and the things were to be excavated before noon. Also he wanted me to go with him to inspect a cache of pictures reported hidden in a forester’s house not far from Berchtesgaden. I said I’d be ready in an hour.
The phone rang again. This time it was Captain Posey. Had we remembered to pick up the pictures at St. Agatha? The ones Mussolini had given to Hitler? No, we hadn’t. We were to be sure to attend to that before we returned to Munich. Steve was cursing these early callers and Lamont was shaking his head sadly. Our life of ease was getting off to a hell of a poor start.
When Major Miller and I reached the Görnnert place, the Sergeant of the Guard and one of his men were standing beside a hole in the ground some twenty yards behind the house. The hole was about six feet square and four feet deep. Four bundles wrapped in discolored newspaper lay on the ground at the edge of the excavation. The first bundle I opened contained a wood statue of the Madonna and Child, about eighteen inches high. It had been an attractive example of the fifteenth century French school, but moisture had seriously damaged the original polychromy and the wood beneath was soft and pulpy. The next two bundles contained pieces of similar workmanship, but they were not polychromed. One was a Madonna and Child; the other a figure of St. Barbara. Although they were damp, the wood had not disintegrated. The fourth package contained the prize of the lot, an ivory figure of the Madonna and Child. It was a fine piece from the hand of a French sculptor of the late fourteenth century. The ivory was discolored but otherwise in good condition. I wrapped the statues in fresh paper and put them in the car.
Our next objective was the little village of Hintersee, a few kilometers west of Berchtesgaden. The forester’s house, a large chalet with overhanging eaves, stood at the edge of a meadow several hundred yards from the road. I explained the purpose of our visit to the young woman in peasant dress who answered our knock. She took us to a room on the second floor which was filled with unframed canvases stacked in neat rows along the walls. They were the work of contemporary German painters and, according to the young woman, had been the property of the local Nazi organization. From my point of view, the trip had been a waste of time. There wasn’t a looted picture in the lot. While I looked at the paintings, Major Miller thumbed through a pile of books on a big table in one corner of the room. Among them he found a volume called Die Polnische Grausamkeit—The Polish Atrocity. A characteristic sample of German propaganda, it was a compilation of “horror photographs” illustrating the alleged inhuman treatment of Germans by the Poles. It added a gruesome touch to our visit.
Removal of treasures from the castle of Neuschwanstein was completed by Captain Adams and Captain de Brye.
Neuschwanstein—Ludwig II’s fantastic castle in which the Nazis stored looted art treasures from France.
Neuschwanstein. Packing looted furniture for return to France. The carpentry shop was set up in the castle kitchen. (Note the large range in the foreground.)