Saving Italy: The Race to Rescue a Nation's Treasures from the Nazis (27 page)

Believing the Redoubt to be a credible threat, and hoping to avoid a protracted series of battles with Germans entrenched in a mountain hideout, General Eisenhower shifted focus away from Berlin and diverted his armies south toward Berchtesgaden, Germany, the site of Hitler’s beloved mountain-ridge home. Wolff considered the idea of building a defensive holdout in the Alpine Redoubt “madness,” but, given the Allies’ conviction that it existed, he calculated that they would welcome the surrender of his troops.

Wolff’s plan offered other benefits to the Western Allies. In addition to ending the fighting, the first German surrender would pave the way for the surrender of other German armies. The morale of Allied troops would in turn be boosted. A German surrender would minimize if not altogether subvert Hitler’s scorched-earth policy for northern Italy, something Wolff had already taken steps to prevent. The astute Wolff also played to Anglo-American geopolitical concerns. He realized that a surrender of German forces would enable the U.S. Fifth and British Eighth Armies to swiftly liberate and occupy all of northern Italy. This would preclude Red Army troops from crossing Yugoslavia into the north of Italy; capitalism would arrive ahead of Communism. Finally, Wolff alone could deliver the artwork currently stowed in the Alto Adige region. No plan being pursued by Himmler, Kaltenbrunner, or any other Nazi official could offer the Allies so much.

But the window for action was closing rapidly. Winter would soon turn into spring and bring with it a relentless and victorious drive northward by Fifth Army and Eighth Army forces. The fury of Italian partisans would be loosed and no one wearing a German uniform would be safe. That explained why one of the most senior SS officers, a general of the Wehrmacht, was on a passenger train to Zurich in March 1945. At this stage, almost any plan, no matter the risk, offered more hope than sitting in underground bunkers waiting for the end to come.

WOLFF’S TRIP TO
Zurich was a consequence of a February 25 meeting among three intelligence officers: Allen Dulles, Chief of the OSS mission in Switzerland; his closest associate, Gero von Gaevernitz; and their counterpart with Swiss Military Intelligence, Captain Max Waibel. Through a series of intermediaries, Waibel had learned that General Wolff had an interest in developing a connection with Allied leaders. Although Gaevernitz indicated a willingness to meet with Wolff, Kesselring, or one of their representatives, he had little expectation such a meeting would ever materialize.

Dulles received an urgent phone call from Waibel just five days later. One of the intermediaries, Baron Luigi Parrilli, an Italian industrialist, had already returned to Switzerland accompanied by two SS officers, one of whom was Colonel Eugen Dollmann, the much-shorter assistant who had lent Wolff a suit for his audience with the pope in May. According to Parrilli, the SS men wanted to meet the Allied representatives. Gaevernitz had been so sure there would not be a meeting that he had gone skiing.

In his absence, Dulles sent an OSS staff member, Paul Blum, with instructions to find out what the SS officers wanted. After a brief and awkward beginning, Blum told them that the Allies had an interest in making contact with people of goodwill. He reminded them that “unconditional surrender” was official Allied policy and made it clear that there wasn’t “a Chinaman’s chance” the Allies would ever deal with Himmler. If they had some proposal in mind, now was the time to present it. While Dollmann didn’t put forth a specific plan, he hoped to persuade General Wolff to make the trip to Switzerland for further discussions.

On Dulles’s behalf, Blum then handed Dollmann a piece of paper bearing the names of two men—Ferruccio Parri, a senior leader of the Italian partisans and prominent public figure, and Antonio Usmiani, one of Dulles’s spies in northern Italy. Both men had been caught and jailed by the SS. Blum informed Dollmann that the release of each man was a precondition of any meeting between Wolff and Dulles. Dollmann appeared “startled” at the thought of releasing such important prisoners, but he assured Blum he would do what he could and hoped to be back in contact within a few days.

By asking for the release of two men, each jailed in a different city (Parri was in Verona, Usmiani was in Turin), Dulles could quickly discover the level of Wolff’s commitment and the extent of his power. The demand also provided cover for Dulles’s actions. Should news of a meeting with Wolff leak, he could claim it was to negotiate a prisoner exchange, an entirely legitimate component of his job. However, by making such a demand, Dulles accepted the risk that they might never hear from Wolff or his associates again.

Dulles also had to be careful to avoid any actions that might threaten the Western Allies’ alliance with the Soviets. In December 1944, OSS leader General Donovan received word that his request to offer immunity to certain Nazi leaders in an effort to induce them to forge a separate peace agreement with the Western Allies had been rejected by President Roosevelt. On January 31, 1945, both Donovan and Dulles received instructions specifically prohibiting such negotiations, much less any form of agreement with German government officials. When the possibility of a meeting with Dollmann emerged, Dulles subsequently sought and received permission to proceed, with the proviso that he do so “without entering [into] any negotiations or without promising any further talks.”

On March 8, Gaevernitz received a call from Max Waibel. “Gero, are you standing or sitting?” Waibel asked Gaevernitz. “Because if you’re standing you might fall over when you hear the news. Parri and Usmiani are here. They were delivered safe and sound a few hours ago to my man at the Swiss-Italian frontier at Chiasso.”

Even more stunning news followed. Earlier in the day, Wolff had crossed into Switzerland, hoping to meet Dulles. Six men accompanied him, including SS officers Dollmann and Guido Zimmer and intermediaries Baron Luigi Parrilli and Professor Max Husmann.

Dulles decided to meet with Wolff, but only on the condition that it take place in an apartment on Zurich’s Genferstrasse used by the OSS. With the meeting set for 10 p.m., just hours away, Husmann handed Dulles a document that Wolff had asked him to deliver. A quick glance revealed what was, in essence, Wolff’s curriculum vitae, handwritten in German, complete with references and affirmations of others concerning the accuracy of Wolff’s various claims. The first two names alone made a formidable impression: Rudolf Hess
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and “The present Pope.” The following pages listed the various good deeds performed by Wolff during his assignment in Italy. Prominently featured was his role in issuing orders to protect works of art from the Uffizi and the Pitti Palace.

Wolff, the former advertising man, certainly understood the power of first impressions. He had prepared himself for this moment since making the decision to disobey Himmler and seek a solution on his own. The fate of Italy—and perhaps that of the Florentine treasures—hinged on the outcome of his meeting with Dulles.

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After the war, one German officer even credited an unknown American diplomat working in Switzerland as being the “Father” of the Alpine Redoubt legend.

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Hess was a Reichsminister and the Deputy Nazi Party leader. In 1941, he piloted a plane to Scotland in a botched attempt to negotiate a peace agreement with Great Britain. His plane crashed and he became a prisoner of war.

23

OPERATION SUNRISE

MARCH 8–APRIL 2, 1945

W
ith a grandfather and an uncle who had served as secretaries of state, Allen Dulles seemed destined for a life in the Foreign Service. After graduating from Princeton, he spent time teaching English in India and traveling throughout the Far East before joining the diplomatic service in 1916. From postings in Vienna and Bern, Dulles gathered intelligence during World War I; he then served as a junior adviser during the 1919 Paris Peace Conference. By 1926, he had earned a law degree and begun a career in private practice at the prestigious New York law firm of Sullivan & Cromwell. But his business activities coexisted with periodic engagements as an adviser to the U.S. State Department. One such assignment involved a series of meetings in 1933 with European leaders, including the new German Chancellor, Adolf Hitler.

In October 1941, Dulles became the head of the New York City office of the Coordinator of Information, precursor to the OSS, working out of an office on the twenty-fifth floor at 30 Rockefeller Center. A year later, at the age of forty-nine, he took up a new post, returning to Bern with the title of Special Assistant to the Minister. This job was in fact cover for his activities as spymaster for the United States.

By early 1945, after more than two remarkable years on the job, Dulles had developed an extensive network of contacts. He was shrewd, daring, and ambitious. Experience had honed his listening and negotiating skills, and he understood the social nuances that encouraged the natural flow of conversation. Dulles liked to take the measure of a person while facing the warm glow from the fireplace, scotch at the ready. He assessed Karl Wolff: “A handsome man and well aware of it—Nordic, with graying, slightly receding blonde hair, well-built and looking no older than his age, which was in the middle forties.” But Dulles suffered no illusions: “At [this] stage we were more interested in [Wolff’s] power than in his morals. We did not expect to find in this SS General a Sunday School teacher.”

Following introductions, made without handshakes, Dulles, Gaevernitz, and Wolff began their meeting in earnest. The discussions took place in German. Wolff wanted the OSS men to know that the decisions to come to Zurich and to release Parri and Usmiani were his alone, done without the knowledge of Hitler, Himmler, or Kaltenbrunner. Wolff accepted that Germany was all but defeated, and the Allies would never be divided. Continued prosecution of a war already lost was, in his view, “a crime against the German people,” although he freely admitted “that from the early days of Nazism until the previous year he had had faith in Hitler and had been completely attached to him.”

Wolff then revealed the purpose of his trip: “I control the SS forces in Italy and I am willing to place myself and my entire organization at the disposal of the Allies to terminate hostilities.” This amounted to some 225,000 troops. Unfortunately, Wolff’s control did not extend to Kesselring’s Army Group C, comprising twenty-seven divisions from German Fourteenth and Tenth Armies and the Social Republic’s Ligurian Army. But he added that if he could somehow arrange for a “joint action with Kesselring, Hitler and Himmler would be powerless to take effective counter measures, thus distinguishing [this] situation from that of July 20,” the Stauffenberg assassination attempt on Hitler.

Wolff believed that in the event of a surrender in Italy, many German generals on the Western Front, too fearful to act alone, would follow his lead and surrender their forces as well. Thus his proposed defection “would have vital repercussions.” To demonstrate his commitment, Wolff promised that attacks against Italian partisans would be discontinued and several hundred Jewish detainees would be released when possible. The SS general also assumed personal responsibility for the safety of more than 350 American and British prisoners of war.

Gaining Kesselring’s support would require Wolff to convince him to renounce his oath of loyalty—not just to Germany but also to Hitler. That would not be easy. Wolff would have to persuade Kesselring that his overriding duty was to serve Germany and its people, not a madman. He hoped that pledges of support from others, most notably Ambassador Rudolf Rahn, would positively influence Kesselring’s decision. Wolff said he expected to meet with Kesselring over the weekend and would petition him then. “Gentlemen, if you will be patient, I will hand you Italy on a silver platter.”

The following day, March 9, Wolff and his party crossed back into Italy. They were stunned to see the SS Chief Inspector from Milan at the station with two urgent messages. Kaltenbrunner had tried to reach Wolff at his headquarters the previous two days. Somehow he knew that Wolff had left Italy for Switzerland. Wolff could only wonder what else his enemy knew.

The second message proved even more shocking. On March 8, while Wolff had been meeting with Dulles, Hitler had sent his plane to Italy to pick up Kesselring and fly him to Berlin. Once there, the Führer appointed him Commander-in-Chief in the West, replacing Generalfeldmarschall Gerd von Rundstedt. Kesselring would now control all German forces on the Western Front, but not those in Italy. News from the Western Front was so bleak that Hitler had ordered Kesselring to proceed directly from Berlin to assume his new command. Any meeting between Wolff and Kesselring to discuss a secret surrender would now have to take place in Germany at the Generalfeldmarschall’s new headquarters. Wolff could only guess how much time might pass before he got such a chance. It certainly wouldn’t occur as quickly as he had represented to Dulles.

Once Wolff reached his headquarters in Gardone on March 10, he learned that Kaltenbrunner wanted to meet with him as soon as possible in Innsbruck, Austria. Wolff’s position in Italy afforded him a degree of safety that he could not count on in Austria or Germany, where Kaltenbrunner and Himmler had the upper hand. Wolff decided to tell Kaltenbrunner, his chief antagonist in the SS, that he was too busy to leave Italy at that moment.

There were other problems. Colonel Langsdorff informed Wolff that the photo-album project had been halted at the insistence of Dr. Ringler. Stressed and sleep-deprived, Wolff made time to address what on the surface appeared to be an insignificant staff problem. However, having also assured Dulles that he would safely deliver the Tuscan masterpieces to the Allies, Wolff could not afford any further setbacks.

Dr. Ringler, a stickler for detail, had been against the photo-album project from the outset. He bristled at the thought of making new images of art that had already been photographed innumerable times before, especially using a small, 35-millimeter Contax camera. What could be the point? Moreover, the carelessness of the photographers made him apoplectic. During one unannounced inspection, he discovered that portraits by Raphael and Rembrandt had been removed from their frames and were being photographed outdoors, in the snow. Seething with rage, he demanded that the work be suspended immediately. “So if we want to take this responsibility in front of the entire world, which we have taken upon ourselves by removing these art works,” he wrote Langsdorff on March 6, “then we cannot endanger them to this degree. At the end of the day it is I who will be held responsible if something goes wrong.” Ringler showed no less concern about the overall protection of both repositories, noting, “The withdrawal of many German Wehrmacht departments . . . brings many people and a lot of strangers near to these repositories[,] making it difficult to keep them secret; danger becomes more tangible.”

Sensing trouble, Langsdorff sent a reply on behalf of Wolff, dated March 12, that clarified the general’s role and responsibility: “Those precious items have been rescued by the Highest SS and Police leader in Italy, the Plenipotentiary General of the German Wehrmacht in Italy, SS Obergruppenführer and General of the Waffen SS Wolff. He utilized the Kunstschutz which is subordinated to him as the Plenipotentiary General and myself as an old colleague in the personal staff of the Reichsführer SS.”

Langsdorff also tried to assuage Ringler’s concern by telling him that Wolff had reconfirmed with the Führer that “the responsibility for the entire Italian works of art removed on orders from higher authority is entirely that of General Wolff, who considers himself in the position of trustee for the Italian nation of these two deposits. You are locally responsible for their maintenance to Hofer, in whose territory they are situated.”

Late on the night of March 12, acting on instructions from Wolff, Parrilli, the go-between, returned to Switzerland to meet with Dulles and inform him of Kesselring’s transfer. Wanting to gauge Wolff’s commitment to the surrender plan, Dulles instructed Parrilli to return to the general’s headquarters and ask whether Wolff was prepared to act alone if he was unable to convince Kesselring to support his plan.

In less than forty-eight hours, Parrilli returned with Wolff’s answer. The general was prepared to act alone, but only as a measure of last resort. Parrilli then reached into his pocket and handed Dulles a scorched piece of fabric from Wolff’s overcoat. While returning to his headquarters after meeting with Dulles on March 8, an American plane had strafed Wolff’s car, injuring the chauffeur and another officer and narrowly missing Wolff. While Dulles may have considered it evidence of Wolff’s “good sense of humor,” the less-than-subtle message emphasized the SS general’s good fortune. The whole operation, which Dulles and his team designated with the codename “Sunrise,” appeared to be unraveling before it had even begun.
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The second meeting with Dulles and Gaevernitz occurred on March 19 in a private lake house in the small town of Ascona, Switzerland, on the west bank of Lago Maggiore, about six miles north of the Swiss-Italian border. Wolff was unaware that Dulles had selected the villa because it allowed him to conceal the presence of U.S. Major General Lyman Lemnitzer and British Major General Terence Airey, who had orders from Field Marshal Harold Alexander to participate in discussions if circumstances warranted.
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Wolff greeted Dulles with the news that General Baron Heinrich von Vietinghoff-Scheel, commander of German Tenth Army, which had fought at Monte Cassino, had been designated Kesselring’s successor and would occupy his new command soon. While Wolff had a good working relationship with Vietinghoff, he expressed little hope that such a weak “by the book” commander would support his plan without Kesselring’s endorsement.

Wolff told Dulles: “If you can give me five or possibly seven days to act, I would favor an immediate visit to Kesselring. I would need this time as I would have to go by car. . . . I have laid the groundwork with Kesselring, and, what is more, I have a perfectly legitimate reason to visit him. There are many unfinished matters affecting the Italian theater which I would discuss with him.”

A second meeting that afternoon included the two Allied generals, dressed in civilian clothes and introduced as “military advisers,” not by name. The somber atmosphere marked the first time during the war that senior officers of opposing forces had met on neutral ground to discuss a German surrender. Wolff, anticipating the awkwardness of such an encounter, walked around the table that had been intended to serve as a buffer, determined to shake each man’s hand. After further discussion, including details of how an actual surrender might proceed, the meeting ended. Wolff departed for Italy to make arrangements to see Kesselring; the two generals decided to wait in Ascona, hopeful that Wolff would return as promised around March 26, to confirm the end of the war in Italy.

FRED HARTT AND
Deane Keller, like the other soldiers of U.S. Fifth Army, were restless, waiting for the spring offensive to begin. Hartt had used this time to continue inspections in and around Florence. But his preparations to return the art from all of the repositories into the city were suspended following rumors that “the Germans had a V-weapon site in northern Italy pointing in the vicinity of Florence.”
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There would be no more art returns until the war ended. While Hartt had lost some battles with overzealous bulldozer operators in his effort to salvage the city’s medieval towers, his supervision of the repairs to its great churches and museums had earned kudos from civic and military leaders.

Despite this success, the whereabouts of the missing Florentine art filled Hartt with anxiety:

All we knew was that the works of art, ostensibly to save them from a few shells that might have hit the roofs above them, were exposed to a far greater danger. A third of them had no cases or boxes of any kind, and all of them were being moved over mountain roads which the Allies were shelling and strafing day and night. The charred remnants of German trucks that lined the road from Rome for a hundred miles brought visions of what a fighter plane might do to a convoy of works of art. And even if these works did arrive safely in North Italy or Germany or wherever, who was to assure us that in a last holocaust of nihilistic fury the Germans would not blow them up or set fire to them?

When Marchese Serlupi Crescenzi, one of the guardians of Florence—and Bernard Berenson’s protector—suggested that Hartt enlist the help of the OSS, he leapt at the chance. Serlupi reminded Hartt that when he had arrived at Villa delle Fontanelle in early September 1944 looking for Berenson, he had missed by a day an American captain, now major, who might be of some assistance. Alessandro Cagiati had operatives sprinkled throughout northern Italy; perhaps they could locate the works and guard them until Allied forces could reach those areas. Never one to allow protocol to interfere with a good idea, Hartt immediately contacted Cagiati, who proved willing to help. Hartt then cleared the idea directly with Ernest DeWald, who feared that the trove of paintings and sculptures “may be shipped across the Swiss border when the stampede begins.”

On March 22, Hartt forwarded a formal memo to Cagiati entitled “Works of Art Removed by Germans to North Italy.” He summarized the number of objects missing and the circumstances of their removal from the major Florentine repositories and requested that “agents of OSS endeavor to trace whereabouts and condition of works of art removed from deposits . . . and also if possible to arrange that trusted personnel keep watch on the eventual peregrinations of these works [of art] to prevent if possible their disappearance into Germany, or any material damage to the works.”