Free Offerings by Richard Smolev Page A

Kate apologized, said the long flight and the time change were catching up with her. She was afraid of saying anything more than she had to. The two women searched through the remaining boxes with very little conversation for the better part of an hour. The shuffle of papers was the only sound in the room.
    Chloe’s voice eventually broke the silence. “Have you ever heard the name Hirsch associated with this painting?”
    Kate was surprised, both by the sound of Chloe’s voice after such a long period of silence and by the commonness of a name. She was slow to react.
    “Do you have evidence, Chloe, linking that family to the painting?”
    Chloe was holding a receipt. It had been prepared by her great-grandfather in November, 1870. The receipt was for a painting by Gustave Courbet named Le Dent de Midi. It had to be what Kate came here to find. The receipt was to a Karl Hirsch, of Linz, an industrial town in Upper Austria on the Danube River, about an hour’s drive west of Vienna.
    “It appears Herr Hirsch paid around three hundred Swiss francs. He made an excellent investment. I suspect a piece by old Gustave could fetch many millions today. He’d be pleased with that news. He was quite the showman, but he died penniless.”
    Chloe opened the top of her small copy machine. A green light danced along the wall behind her for a moment. The printer whirred to life and three copies of the receipt slipped onto its small plastic tray. Kate closed all of the other boxes. She put them on the floor. Chloe put the three receipts on the table. Both women ran their fingers over Karl Hirsch’s name. Neither spoke for the longest time.
    “Is it possible, Chloe, you have other records relating to Mr. Hirsch? Did your family keep letters or records of the people with whom they did business?”
    “I wouldn’t know where to look if they’re not in the boxes which I found for you. You’re welcome to go back through them to see if there are any letters. I’d be surprised, very pleasantly so, I might add, if any member of a family named Hirsch from Mr. Hitler’s birthplace is alive at this point.”
    Chloe’s reference was obvious. The odds of a Jewish family getting through that period were almost nonexistent.
    Kate felt if she didn’t change the focus of their conversation she’d be unable to breathe. “Chloe, how does one authenticate a painting under these circumstances? What passes for a legitimate provenance?”
    “That is a very murky area. There was much theft during that period, much confusion. Tracing the ownership of a painting can be hazy after the late nineteen thirties.”
    “Hazy?”
    “In so many cases, the chain of custody is broken. Tens of thousands of pieces of art and jewelry were appropriated from their rightful owners.” She touched the receipt Kate was holding. “I have no way of knowing with any certainty, of course, whether that was the fate of this painting. I hope Mr. Hirsch enjoyed it for a long and healthy life and then passed it on to his children. I wish life were that simple.”
    “How do you authenticate the provenance of a painting in light of what you just told me? How are any of these pieces sold?”
    “Business must go on. The art community has adjusted. A dealer will see words such as ‘private collection, London,’ with no other explanation and choose to let that suffice. But we all know what that means.”
    Chloe put the original receipt into an envelope. She slid the envelope into the drawer in the middle of her desk. “From time to time you will read of a piece of artwork surfacing, and of course there’s been a bit of litigation over the occasional painting or statue. The issue is far from resolved. Even though the various Internet projects have facilitated the flow of information, there are so many gaps that never will be filled.”
    Chloe paused. “You used the phrase ‘current owner’ before. Perhaps I’m reading too much into what you said, but that suggests there