West
Germany honored the 700th anniversary of the Marienkirche
in Lübeck by issuing two postage stamps depicting an ancient
mural sky high in the church’s choir. It may be the only time
that fake art figured in philatelic history.
The
anniversary and art were lauded by Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, and
some of Germany’s most distinguished art critics followed him
overboard in praising the restored religious frescoes. The praise was
gushingly picked up by the press everywhere, including America’s
Time magazine.
This
post-World War II story actually began a few years earlier in another
German church, before the war, and the people bestowing the praise
were Nazis.
Two
shady figures are the crux of this story, before and after the war:
Dietrich Fey and Lothar Malskat. I first encountered them in Guy
Isnard’s Les Pirates de la Peinture (Pirates of Painting),
Paris, 1955 and his two volume study Faux et Imitations Dans l’Art
(Fakes and Imitations in Art), Paris, 1959. I was doing research
for my own book, The Fabulous Frauds, long out of print, on
art forgery.
The story begins in Schleswig, where a German bishopric established
a cathedral town nearly eleven centuries ago in what had been Danish
territory. St. Peter’s cathedral took centuries to build. Its
greatest treasures were its fresco paintings in the choir and
cloister. Centuries of Baltic fog, sea-blown grime, and burning
candles eventually diminished the paintings, almost to obliteration.
In 1888 a heavy-handed restorer, August Olbers, was hired to clean
and restore them. Fifty years later they were again black.
Professor
Ernest Fey, who had guilt-edged academic credentials, and his son
Dietrich were hired to restore the frescoes to their pristine purity.
The Feys were noted for their work restoring tattered frescoes in
other churches. The Feys hired a young artist, Lothar Malskat, to
help.
Dietrich
Fey did not have much painter’s talent and traded on his
father’s reputation. Malskat started out as an apprentice house
painter, until he obtained his release and entered art school. There
a Professor Marten was impressed by his “almost uncanny
productivity and versatility.”
For
week after week in 1937, behind barricades to keep out prying eyes,
the walls of St. Peters were methodically scraped down to the bare
bricks. These were replastered with a new ground which consisted of
several layers of lime muddled with gray pigment to simulate age.
Then Malskat sketched and painted a cycle of Teutonic figures of his
own making. Teutonic! That fit the Nazi ideology perfectly.
The Nazis applauded.
The
restorers had made no effort to determine what the original paintings
had looked like. Nothing had been restored. Decorating the walls with
pre-Columbian 12th, 13th, and 14th
century frescoes, Malskat perpetrated one of the most famous
anachronisms in the history of art fakery. Among the animals in
Massacre of the Innocents he included an American turkey!
The
restored frescoes were hailed far and wide throughout the Fatherland.
Dr. Alfred Stange, on his way to becoming one of the world’s
authorities on Van Eyck, stepped out of his specialty to edit a large
book, Schleswig Cathedral and its Mural Paintings. In time
this would lessen his credibility. He did not identify what
long-dead, pre-Columbian artist had observed American turkeys.
The
Nazi-ologues had an answer to this conundrum: the picture was proof
some Teutonic Norse Viking had indeed discovered America long before
Columbus and had brought back a turkey.
All
the praise for the superb restoration went to the Feys. Malskat got
none of it, no recognition at all for his work. Although this rankled
him, he did not break from his employers. Not yet.
Drafted
into the Wehrmacht, Malskat spent the war with the troops
occupying Norway. The war over, he drifted back to Hamburg, where he
found Dietrich. The father was no longer on the scene.
Although
he harbored resentment for the way the Feys had treated him, Malskat
soon teamed up with the son, and the two created a picture factory.
Malskat turned out a tide of drawings, watercolors, and paintings,
fakes of Barlach, Chagall, Rembrandt, Corot, Watteau, Utrillo, Munch,
Gauguin, Pascin, Rousseau, Hodler, Bechmann, Pechstein, and other
German expressionists, which Dietrich sold.
Because
of the wide-spread devastation, nail-biting politics, and the murky
status of lots of art after the Nazi pillage and downfall, art began
supplanting cigarettes as the black market currency of exchange,
particularly if no questions were asked. Paper money was not trusted.
By count, Lothar and Dietrich made and sold more than 600 fakes.
German buyers only wanted assurance that their purchases had not been
looted. Malskat assured they had been owned by his family.
Ludwig
Erhardt’s currency reforms effectively killed the black market.
Dietrich and Lothar had to find another livelihood. They took a big
step backwards.
On
Palm Sunday, 29 March 1942, in Britain’s first strike at carpet
bombing to splinter enemy morale, 234 planes hit Lübeck, a
Baltic city of wood buildings, with 300 tons of incendiary bombs,
burning vast sections of the town. (Goebbels declared that the
Luftwaffe would retaliate by obliterating every English town
given three stars in Baedeker’s Guide to Great Britain.)
The
Marienkirche was badly damaged in the raid. Despite some fiery
opposition, Fey received the contract to restore its blackened
frescoes. These were sky high in the choir, beginning 70 feet up, too
far to be observed in detail by officials or the curious. To make
doubly sure they were not watched by prying eyes, the restorers
barricaded the entrance to the church and posted signs warning of the
danger of falling masonry. Walled off from scrutiny, they did what
they had done in Schleswig, obliterating originals and replacing them
with their own work, mostly Malskat’s.
Marienkirche in Lubeck
On
2 September 1951 the Marienkirche celebrated its 700th
birthday. The restorations were complete, and the birthday party
became a gala rejoicing for the whole nation. High ecclesiastical
dignitaries made the pilgrimage to the church. They were joined by
professors, city and municipal officials, foreign ambassadors, and
Chancellor Konrad Adenauer himself.
When
the Chancellor asked to see the frescoes, Dietrich gave him a
personal tour, going from image to image explaining the difficulties
the restorers had encountered with each.
Three
days before the celebration the West German Federal Post Office
issued two semi-postal commemorative stamps. The subject: Malskat’s
“restored” frescoes.
Two semi-postal stamps honoring the 700th anniversary of the Marienkirche.
The
adulation of the frescoes was widespread and jubilant, in newspaper
and magazine articles, critical essays, and books. In one, the
countenances of Mary and the angels were described as “celestial
beauty, detached from earthly worries.” These images supposedly
painted from medieval models by an unknown genius of 1300 A.D. were
actually based on some 1951 models: Malskat’s sister Frieda,
his close friend Kurt Meiser, and film actresses Hansi Knoteck and
Marlene Dietrich.
Malskat
seethed over his being locked out off any recognition for his work.
Although he continued to work for Fey on another project, he sent his
employer a registered letter demanding that Fey “inform all
interested parties that new paintings, not discoveries, are
involved.”
When
Malskat received no reply, he wrote to church authorities in Lübeck
and told them the sordid details of the fraud. When they did not
respond, he took his battle to the public.
He
was denounced as in imposter: his story could not be true. But
Malskat had used his Leica to take before-and-after pictures!
The
walls came tumbling down. The truth of Fey’s and Malskat’s
duplicitous collaboration, including the forgery mill, became the
grist for widespread scandal. Malskat’s frescoes were stripped
from church walls, which were left ugly and vacant.
Both
men received prison sentences, Fey getting 20 months and Malskat 18.
Before
and after, Malskat tried to make a living selling his own paintings.
The irony of the situation: none of them is worth as much as the
postage stamps depicting his frescoes, little pieces of paper which
are rare and much sought after by collectors.
Lawrence Jeppson is an art consultant, organizer and curator of art exhibitions, writer, editor
and publisher, lecturer, art historian, and appraiser. He is America's leading authority on
modern, handwoven French tapestries. He is expert on the works of William Henry Clapp, Nat
Leeb, Tsing-fang Chen, and several French artists.
He is founding president of the non-profit Mathieu Matégot Foundation for Contemporary
Tapestry, whose purview encompasses all 20th-century tapestry, an interest that traces back to
1948. For many years he represented the Association des Peintres-Cartonniers de Tapisserie and
Arelis in America.
Through the Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service, the American Federation of
Arts, the Museum of Modern Art, and his own Art Circuit Services he has been a contributor to
or organizer of more than 200 art exhibitions in the United States, Canada, Japan, and Taiwan.
He owns AcroEditions, which publishes and/or distributes multiple-original art. He was co-founder and artistic director of Collectors' Investment Fund.
He is the director of the Spring Arts Foundation; Utah Cultural Arts Foundation, and the Fine
Arts Legacy Foundation
Lawrence is an early-in-the-month home teacher, whose beat is by elevator. In addition, he has spent the past six years hosting and promoting reunions of the missionaries who served in the French Mission (France, Belgium, and Switzerland) during the decade after WWII.