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Edited by: Fern Sidman
In the quiet recesses of a museum storage depot in Amersfoort, the Netherlands, lies a piece of history entangled in a web of bureaucratic red tape and unresolved restitution claims. The subject of this story? A 17th-century painting by the Dutch old master, Isaac van Ostade, titled “Unloading the Hay Wagon”. But this painting is not just a mere artifact; it’s a symbol of a tumultuous past, marked by wartime looting, Nazi confiscations, and a decades-long quest for justice by the heirs of its original owners, according to a recent report in the New York Times.
Once the cherished possession of an elderly British-Jewish couple residing in France, the painting fell victim to the horrors of World War II. Seized by Nazi collaborators and subsequently acquired by none other than Hermann Göring, Hitler’s infamous second in command, its journey through history reads like a gripping thriller, as was reported in the NYT. However, the plot thickens further when we learn of an administrative error in the aftermath of the war, which saw the painting end up in the Netherlands, where it languished in obscurity for decades.
The heirs of the original owners embarked on a relentless pursuit to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. The report in the NYT indicated that Alain Monteagle, a 77-year-old retired history teacher, emerged as the stalwart leader of this familial crusade. Speaking of their struggle, Monteagle lamented to the NYT, “We, the heirs, are regarded in the Dutch system as crooks who are eager to make money on a sale, not as victims of looting.” His words echo the frustration and disillusionment felt by many in similar situations, where justice seems elusive against the backdrop of bureaucratic indifference.
Despite the Dutch authorities’ acknowledgment of the family’s claim and their recommendation for restitution as early as 2007, the painting remains out of reach. According to the information provided in the NYT report, the culprits standing in the way of its rightful return are not shadowy figures from the past but rather a few missing documents and a meticulous Dutch civil notary who refuses to budge until all loose ends are tied.
The painting itself, “Unloading the Hay Wagon,” is a testament to the talent of Isaac van Ostade, whose works, though not commanding astronomical prices in the art market, hold significant historical and cultural value, the NYT report mentioned. Van Ostade, the son of a Haarlem linen weaver, met an untimely demise at the tender age of 24 in 1649, leaving behind a body of work that captures the essence of Dutch life in the 17th century.
However, beyond its aesthetic and monetary worth, the painting serves as a poignant reminder of the human cost of war and the enduring quest for justice in its aftermath. As the years pass, the narrative surrounding the painting grows increasingly complex, with each twist and turn adding layers to its already rich tapestry of history.
Centuries had passed before the oil painting in question found its way into the hands of John Jaffé, a Belfast-based exporter of Irish linen and lace, and his wife, Anna Jaffé, daughter of the personal physician to the King of Belgium, as per the information contained in the NYT report. Their story, a fusion of wealth, culture, and wartime turmoil, unfolds like a captivating narrative woven with threads of tragedy and resilience.
The Jaffés, in their twilight years, settled in a villa in the picturesque enclave of Nice, France, adorning its walls with an eclectic array of artistic treasures by luminaries such as Rembrandt, Goya, J.M.W. Turner, and John Constable, the report in the NYT said. Yet, amidst the opulence of their collection, one painting stood out — an oil masterpiece by Isaac van Ostade, capturing the rustic charm of Dutch life in the 17th century.
The turning point in the fate of this collection came with the death of John Jaffé at the age of 91 in 1934. With no offspring to inherit their legacy, Anna Jaffé initially contemplated bequeathing their extensive art collection to the French state, envisioning the van Ostade finding a new home at the Louvre, the report added. However, the specter of war loomed large as German Nazi forces encroached upon French soil in 1940, prompting Anna to reassess her plans.
“Considering the new tragic situation,” Anna wrote, “I am leaving the collection instead to my four nieces and nephews, to aid in their escape from Europe,” as was noted in the NYT report. Little did she know that her altruistic gesture would be thwarted by the insidious machinations of wartime bureaucracy.
Following Anna Jaffé’s demise at the age of 90 in 1942, the tranquility of Nice was shattered by the iron grip of the pro-Nazi Vichy government. The report in the NYT also indicated that in a cruel twist of fate, the State Commission for Jewish Affairs seized all her possessions, including the treasured art collection, and callously put them up for auction, ignoring the rightful claims of her beneficiaries.
The journey of the van Ostade took a sinister turn as auction house records revealed its sale to a mysterious figure known only as “Madame Bonfils.” Subsequently, it found its way into the clutches of Walter Andreas Hofer, Hermann Göring’s art procurer, who eagerly added it to the Reichsmarshall’s personal trove, as per the information in the NYT report. With the tide of war turning, the painting was among the spoils discovered at a looted art collection point in Munich, only to be mistakenly repatriated to the Netherlands in the chaotic aftermath of the conflict.
Once back on Dutch soil, the van Ostade became enmeshed in the labyrinthine bureaucracy of post-war restitution efforts. The report in the NYT highlighted that as part of a vast repository of looted artworks, its rightful owners remained elusive amidst the herculean task of identifying and returning stolen treasures to their original heirs.
Reflecting on the challenges of restitution, a spokesperson for the Dutch state organization tasked with this monumental endeavor lamented, “Finding the owners has proven to be a daunting task,” the NYT said. Indeed, the magnitude of the undertaking underscores the profound complexities and moral dilemmas inherent in rectifying the injustices of the past.
The harrowing statistics speak volumes – some 75 percent of Dutch Jews perished during the Holocaust, leaving behind a void that no amount of art restitution could ever fill, the report in the NYT observed. In the aftermath of the war, the monumental task of returning looted artworks to their rightful owners fell upon the shoulders of those tasked with administering justice in a world scarred by deep conflict.
In 1951, as Europe sought to heal its wounds and move forward, the group responsible for art restitution felt it had reached the limits of its capabilities, closing its doors and consigning the remaining works to the Netherlands Art Property Collection, or the NK Collection, the information in the NYT report said. Among them was the van Ostade masterpiece, “Unloading the Hay Wagon,” designated simply as No. 1861, a mere footnote in the annals of wartime plunder.
For Alain Monteagle, one of Anna Jaffé’s great-grandnephews, the quest to reclaim his family’s lost heritage became a personal mission. The report in the NYT also indicated that while scouring the globe for nearly 200 scattered artworks, Monteagle unearthed fragments of his family’s past, from a Venetian scene by Guardi nestled in the Louvre to a Turner masterpiece adorning the walls of the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth.
In 2006, armed with unwavering resolve and a steadfast commitment to justice, Monteagle took the first step towards reclaiming the van Ostade from the clutches of history. The NYT report said that as he filed a request for restitution with the Dutch Restitution Commission, he began to embark on a painstaking journey through bureaucratic labyrinths and legal quagmires.
The following year brought a glimmer of hope as the commission’s investigation concluded that the van Ostade was indeed a case of involuntary loss of possession, decreeing its return to the Jaffé heirs. Yet, despite this long-awaited validation, the road to restitution proved fraught with obstacles.
Over the years, Monteagle has managed to recover 11 artworks for the heirs, each victory bittersweet in its reminder of the arduous path that lies ahead. As per the information contained in the NYT report, for three of Monteagle’s elderly relatives – Anna Dervaux, Marianne Gluge, and Renée Maistre du Chambon – the wait for restitution proved to be an agonizing testament to the toll exacted by time and bureaucracy.
In the Netherlands, where tradition and law intertwine, the role of civil law notaries holds particular significance. Charged with validating official transactions and presiding over solemn ceremonies, these quasi-government officials embody the nation’s commitment to order and legality, a cornerstone of Dutch society since the 16th century, the NYT report explained.
In the heart of Amsterdam, nestled along the picturesque Keizersgracht, lies a canal-house mansion that serves as the battleground for a protracted struggle for justice. Within its walls, Maarten R. Meijer, a seasoned civil law notary, grapples with the complexities of art restitution, a task that has consumed him for over two decades, according to the NYT report. Among his many cases, none has proven as vexing as the saga of the van Ostade painting, a symbol of unresolved restitution and bureaucratic quagmire.
Meijer, an hourly contractor with the Dutch Cultural Agency, shoulders the weight of ensuring that artworks are returned to their rightful owners, a responsibility he takes with utmost seriousness. “This is my longest-lasting case ever,” he revealed in a candid interview with the NYT, as his frustration was palpable. “I’m a civil law notary, and that means I’m an impartial lawyer acting on behalf of all the parties concerned,” he added.
Despite his best efforts, Meijer faces formidable obstacles in his quest for resolution, chief among them the elusive cooperation of the heirs. “I find it difficult to work with these heirs,” he admitted to the NYT, lamenting their frustrating lack of responsiveness. “I do have some of the documents, but not 100 percent.”
Brandishing a list compiled in 2019, Meijer revealed to the NYT the intricate web of ownership shares among the 14 known heirs, ranging from “one-ninth undivided share” to the minuscule “one-144th undivided share.” Each heir’s contribution is crucial, requiring valid identification and signed power-of-attorney statements to proceed, the report in the NYT noted. Yet, despite his diligence, Meijer finds himself stymied by the absence of crucial materials from over four of the heirs.
“I can’t go further without 100 percent of the information,” he told the NYT as he expressed his exasperation. The recent deaths of three named heirs only compound the challenge, necessitating the same materials from their beneficiaries. “I don’t know why it is so difficult,” he mused, grappling with the roadblocks that impede progress.
For Meijer, efficiency is paramount, his sole aim to navigate the labyrinth of bureaucracy with precision and diligence. “My only job is to make sure that this is done in the most efficient way possible,” he affirmed to the NYT, as his resolve appeared to be unwavering in the face of adversity.
For Alain Monteagle, the quest to reclaim his family’s lost heritage has been a decade-long odyssey marked by frustration and disappointment.
Monteagle, recounting his efforts to provide Meijer with the requisite paperwork, expressed his exasperation at the lack of progress. “The process has been anything but efficient,” he remarked to the NYT, as his voice tinged with resignation. Despite his best efforts to comply with Meijer’s demands, the road to restitution has been marred by delays and administrative hurdles.
In an effort to expedite the process, Monteagle facilitated communication between Meijer and the family’s French notary, as well as their Belgian genealogist, Eleanore Delabre. The NYT reported that Delabre, a provenance researcher with ADD Associés in Paris, echoed Monteagle’s frustration, attributing the delay to “the excessive formal checks asked by M. Meijer for the Dutch State.”
“There is no confusion about the identity of the heirs or whether the painting must be returned to them,” she affirmed to the NYT as she highlighted the glaring disparity between bureaucratic procedures and the clear-cut nature of the case at hand.
Despite his frustration, Monteagle refrained from laying blame on Meijer personally, when he spoke with the NYT, as he recognized the systemic flaws inherent in the Dutch system’s reliance on notaries to handle restitution matters. “It’s so frustrating that my old cousins, who knew this painting in the past, couldn’t see it again before they died,” he lamented, his words tinged with a sense of regret for lost opportunities and dashed hopes, as was stated in the NYT report.
Reflecting on his experiences with restitution cases over the past two decades, Monteagle noted the absence of disputes among the heirs, underscoring the undeniable legitimacy of their claims. However, the NYT report indicated that Marc J. Masurovsky, a founder of the Holocaust Art Restitution Project in Washington, D.C., shed light on the broader systemic issues plaguing the restitution process.
Masurovsky lamented the tendency of governments to erect procedural hurdles that impede and delay the return of stolen artworks to their rightful owners. “Governments are really loath to step forward to the claimants,” he remarked to the NYT, as he decried the administrative roadblocks designed to stall the restitution process indefinitely.
“Even though there is nothing wrong with the claim,” Masurovsky continued, “it’s a means of stalling, stalling, stalling until everyone is dead,” the report in the NYT added. His words serve as a stark reminder of the human cost of bureaucratic inertia and the urgent need for reform in the realm of art restitution.
Also speaking to the NYT was Anne Webber, co-chair of the Commission for Looted Art in Europe. She shed light on the rigorous standards upheld by European restitution agencies, emphasizing the need for proof of inheritance to ensure that works are returned to their rightful owners. However, the NYT reported that she acknowledged the formidable obstacles faced by families in piecing together their fragmented histories, particularly in light of the upheaval wrought by the Nazi era.
“It can be enormously difficult for heirs to find the right documentation,” Webber explained to the NYT, as she highlighted the profound impact of wartime displacement and familial separation on the process of inheritance. Against this backdrop of complexity, officials at the Cultural Heritage Agency of the Netherlands in The Hague reaffirmed their commitment to righting past wrongs.
“Our aim is to give everything back to all the rightful heirs,” asserted Dolf Muller, a spokesman for the agency, his words resonating with a sense of moral obligation, according to the information in the NYT report. Yet, he acknowledged the inherent difficulties in the restitution process, cautioning against the temptation of shortcuts in the pursuit of justice. “We try our best to do it as well as we can,” he affirmed to the NYT as he acknowledged the agency has a history of past misdeeds and its supposed commitment to rectifying them.
While the Jaffé case may be an anomaly in the broader context of art restitution, Muller remains hopeful for a resolution. “This is a unique case, so hopefully it will come to an end,” he stated to the NYT, as his optimism was tempered by the recognition of the prolonged wait endured by the heirs.
Meijer shared in this optimism, albeit tinged with a sense of urgency. “The deed is more or less done,” he revealed to the NYT, as his desire to bring closure to the heirs was indeed palpable. Yet, he acknowledged the lingering uncertainties that cloud the horizon, leaving the fate of the painting hanging in the balance.
As the van Ostade painting languishes in a storage depot, the passage of time weighs heavily on those who yearn for its return. For Alain Monteagle, the last surviving Jaffé relative with memories of the painting before the war, the wait has been marked by indignation and worry. “I’m worried that I won’t see it before I die, either,” he confided to the NYT as his words stand as a poignant reminder of the human toll exacted by the restitution process.
