The Rembrandt Affair

'And the next owner?'

'A man named Jacob Herzfeld.'

'Are Dutch boys ever named Jacob?'

'They're usually called Jacobus.'

'So he was Jewish?'

'Probably.'

'When was the next sale?'

'Nineteen sixty-four at the Hoffmann Gallery of Lucerne.'

'Switzerland? Why would Jacob Herzfeld sell his painting there?'

'I'm betting it wasn't him.'

'Why?'

'Because unless Jacob Herzfeld was extremely lucky, he probably wasn't alive in 1964. Which means it's quite possible we've just discovered a very large hole in the painting's provenance.'

'So what are we going to do now?'

Gabriel shoved the documents back into the envelope.

'Find out what happened to him.'

15 AMSTERDAM

Portrait of a Young Woman, oil on canvas, 104 by 86 centimeters, was painted in a large house just west of Amsterdam's old center. Rembrandt purchased the property in 1639 for the price of thirteen thousand guilders, an enormous sum even for a painter of his stature and one that would eventually lead to his financial undoing. At the time, the street was known as Sint Antonisbreestraat. Later, due to a change in the neighborhood's demographics, it would be renamed Jodenbreestraat, or Jewish Broad Street. Why Rembrandt chose to live in such a place has long been a matter of debate. Was it because he harbored a secret affinity for Judaism? Or did he choose to reside in the district because it was home to many other painters and collectors? Whatever the case, one thing is beyond dispute. The greatest painter of Holland's Golden Age lived and worked among Amsterdam's Jews.

Shortly after Rembrandt's death, a number of large synagogues were constructed near the opposite end of Jodenbreestraat around the Visserplein and Meijerplein. The redbrick buildings somehow managed to survive the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, though most of the people who prayed there did not. Nestled within a complex of four old Ashkenazi synagogues is the primary keeper of this terrible memory, the Jewish Historical Museum. After passing through the magnetometer at the front entrance, Gabriel asked for the research facility and was directed to the lowest level. It was a modern space, clean and brightly lit, with long worktables and an internal spiral staircase leading to the upper stacks. Given the lateness of the hour, it was empty except for a single archivist, a tall man in his early forties with reddish blond hair.

Without going into specifics, Gabriel said he was looking for information about a man named Jacob Herzfeld. The archivist asked for the correct spelling, then walked over to a computer terminal. A click of the mouse brought up a page for a database search engine. He entered Herzfeld's first and last name and clicked again.

'This could be him. Jacob Herzfeld, born in Amsterdam in March 1896, died at Auschwitz in March 1943. His wife and daughter were murdered at the same time. The child was only nine years old.' The archivist glanced over his shoulder at Gabriel. 'They must have been rather well-to-do. They lived at a good address on Plantage Middenlaan. It's quite close to here, just on the other side of Wertheim Park.'

'Is there a way to tell if any members of the family survived?'

'Not using this database, but let me check our files.'

The archivist disappeared through a doorway. Chiara roamed the stacks while Gabriel sat down at the computer and scrolled through the names of the dead. Salomon Wass, born in Amsterdam, 31 May 1932, murdered at Sobibor, 14 May 1943...Alida Spier, born Rotterdam, 20 September 1915, murdered at Auschwitz, 30 September 1942...Sara da Silva Rosa, born Amsterdam, 8 April 1930, murdered at Auschwitz, 15 October 1942...They were but three of the 110,000 Dutch Jews who had been sealed into freight cars and dispatched eastward for murder and cremation. Only one-fifth of Holland's Jews survived the war, the lowest percentage of any Western country occupied by the Germans. Several factors contributed to the lethality of the Holocaust in Holland, not least of which was the enthusiastic support given the project by many elements of Dutch society. Indeed, from the Dutch police officers who arrested Jews to the Dutch rail workers who transported them to their deaths, Dutch citizens were active at nearly every stage of the process. Adolf Eichmann, the managing director of the Final Solution, would later say of his local helpers, 'It was a pleasure to work with them.'

The archivist reappeared, holding a single sheet of paper. 'I thought I recognized the name and address. There was another child who survived. But I don't think she'll talk.'

'Why not?' Gabriel asked.

'We have an annual conference here in Amsterdam that focuses on the children who were hidden during the Holocaust. Last year, I handled the registration.' He held up the sheet of paper. 'Lena Herzfeld attended the first session but left almost immediately.'

'What happened?'

'When we asked her to write down her memories of the war for our archives, she became very agitated and angry. She said it had been a mistake to come. After that, we never saw her again.'

'A reaction like that isn't uncommon,' Gabriel said. 'It took years for some survivors to talk about their experiences. And some never have.'

'That's true,' the archivist agreed. 'But the hidden children are among the least understood victims of the Holocaust. Their experience has its own special tragedy. In most cases, they were handed over to complete strangers. Their parents were simply trying to save them, but what child can truly comprehend being left behind?'

'I understand,' said Gabriel. 'But it's important that I see her.'

The archivist searched Gabriel's face and seemed to recognize something he had seen before. Then he smiled sadly and handed over the slip of paper.

'Don't tell her where you got the address. And be sure to treat her gently. She's fragile. They're all a bit fragile.'

16 AMSTERDAM

The archivist told Gabriel and Chiara everything else he knew. Lena Herzfeld had worked as a teacher in the Dutch state school system, had never married, and, as it turned out, lived just around the corner from her old family home. It was a small street with a leafy green park on one side and a terrace of gabled houses on the other. Hers was a narrow little house with a narrow black door at street level. Gabriel reached for the bell but hesitated. She became very agitated and angry...After that, we never saw her again. Perhaps it was better to leave her undisturbed, he thought. He knew from personal experience that coaxing memory from a survivor could be a bit like crossing a frozen lake. One wrong step and the entire surface could crack with disastrous results.

'What's wrong?' Chiara asked.

'I don't want to put her through it. Besides, she probably doesn't remember.'

'She was nine when the Germans came. She remembers.'

Gabriel made no movement. Chiara pressed the bell for him.

'Why did you do that?'