Art Database,” Miles said. “It was in a box in the basement of the Kunsthistoriches Museum in Vienna, where it had been since 1945, when the Allies found it in an SS officer’s home in Munich. I admit, when you’re looking for a missing Brueghel, a windup toy doesn’t seem all that exciting. But any collector in the world would kill for it.”
“How did you know to even look for it?”
“The 1906 inventory. It’s been a godsend. If your family has any special collections, make sure they have an inventory done, and stored somewhere safe.”
Not really an issue for us
, thought Sarah. Miles poured them both more coffee.
“What do you know about the family background?” he asked.
“Just the general Wikipedia stuff,” Sarah said, deciding brazen honesty was probably her best approach. “I know a bit more about Joseph Franz Maximilian Lobkowicz of course.”
“Oh yes, the 7th. We tend to call the princes by their numbers around here, saves time.” Miles continued on with more details of the Lobkowicz history. The palace had been in the family since {famidth="2ethe first Prince Lobkowicz married extremely well, to the rich widow and future defenestratee-shielder Polyxena Pernstein in 1603. While other noble families had died out or lost favor, the Lobkowiczes had always managed to both produce an heir and chart a safe course politically and financially, and thus for five hundred years had accumulated properties, books, paintings, ceramics, and all the other trappings of European nobility. By the early twentieth century, they were one of the richest families in Europe. The fairy tale began to unravel in 1938, when Hitler started making noises about annexing “German” lands in Czechoslovakia, and ended up swallowing the whole country. Maximilian Lobkowicz, who would have been the 11th prince except titles were abolished by then, barely escaped to England with his life. The Nazis seized everything and dispersed it, sending some pieces to be part of what was to be the Führer’s Museum in Linz, and handing out others to key SS members.
“Including this piece,” said Miles, pointing to the automaton. “Can you imagine Heydrich turning the crank as he planned the Holocaust?” Miles paused for effect.
“I can’t believe how recent World War II still feels here,” Sarah said. “It’s come up like three times since I arrived.”
Miles nodded. “It’s anything but ancient history here. Anyway, when the war ended in 1945, Maximilian returned and managed to get most of his belongings back. But in 1948, there was a communist coup and he was forced to flee again, leaving everything behind. Every single item that the Lobkowiczes owned became the property of the Czechoslovak government. And of course, ripe for plucking by higher-ups in the Communist Party all the way to Moscow. And that was the state of things when the current Prince Max, Max’s grandson, got the palace back last year after a legal marathon with the Czech government over restitution, and with warring branches of his own family.”
“Wow,” said Sarah. “What a crazy story. So I guess the current Prince Max would be the 13th, if they bring back titles. Do you call him the 13th, or is it like with elevators and you just skip that number and call him the 14th?”
Miles laughed. “It’s fine to just call him ‘Max,’ he said. But people have gotten into the habit of Prince Max, and I don’t think he really minds.”
“What was Prince Max doing before he got his family stuff back?”
Miles looked around as if the room might be bugged and leaned in close. “Officially, he was in banking. Really, he was the drummer in some sort of rock band in Los Angeles,” whispered Miles. “But no one knows that, and I didn’t tell you.”
Sarah smiled. She liked Miles Wolfmann, who was clearly an expert at what he did and was treating her as someone intelligent and capable. Her brain began to focus into something like its usual acuity and she
“How did you know to even look for it?”
“The 1906 inventory. It’s been a godsend. If your family has any special collections, make sure they have an inventory done, and stored somewhere safe.”
Not really an issue for us
, thought Sarah. Miles poured them both more coffee.
“What do you know about the family background?” he asked.
“Just the general Wikipedia stuff,” Sarah said, deciding brazen honesty was probably her best approach. “I know a bit more about Joseph Franz Maximilian Lobkowicz of course.”
“Oh yes, the 7th. We tend to call the princes by their numbers around here, saves time.” Miles continued on with more details of the Lobkowicz history. The palace had been in the family since {famidth="2ethe first Prince Lobkowicz married extremely well, to the rich widow and future defenestratee-shielder Polyxena Pernstein in 1603. While other noble families had died out or lost favor, the Lobkowiczes had always managed to both produce an heir and chart a safe course politically and financially, and thus for five hundred years had accumulated properties, books, paintings, ceramics, and all the other trappings of European nobility. By the early twentieth century, they were one of the richest families in Europe. The fairy tale began to unravel in 1938, when Hitler started making noises about annexing “German” lands in Czechoslovakia, and ended up swallowing the whole country. Maximilian Lobkowicz, who would have been the 11th prince except titles were abolished by then, barely escaped to England with his life. The Nazis seized everything and dispersed it, sending some pieces to be part of what was to be the Führer’s Museum in Linz, and handing out others to key SS members.
“Including this piece,” said Miles, pointing to the automaton. “Can you imagine Heydrich turning the crank as he planned the Holocaust?” Miles paused for effect.
“I can’t believe how recent World War II still feels here,” Sarah said. “It’s come up like three times since I arrived.”
Miles nodded. “It’s anything but ancient history here. Anyway, when the war ended in 1945, Maximilian returned and managed to get most of his belongings back. But in 1948, there was a communist coup and he was forced to flee again, leaving everything behind. Every single item that the Lobkowiczes owned became the property of the Czechoslovak government. And of course, ripe for plucking by higher-ups in the Communist Party all the way to Moscow. And that was the state of things when the current Prince Max, Max’s grandson, got the palace back last year after a legal marathon with the Czech government over restitution, and with warring branches of his own family.”
“Wow,” said Sarah. “What a crazy story. So I guess the current Prince Max would be the 13th, if they bring back titles. Do you call him the 13th, or is it like with elevators and you just skip that number and call him the 14th?”
Miles laughed. “It’s fine to just call him ‘Max,’ he said. But people have gotten into the habit of Prince Max, and I don’t think he really minds.”
“What was Prince Max doing before he got his family stuff back?”
Miles looked around as if the room might be bugged and leaned in close. “Officially, he was in banking. Really, he was the drummer in some sort of rock band in Los Angeles,” whispered Miles. “But no one knows that, and I didn’t tell you.”
Sarah smiled. She liked Miles Wolfmann, who was clearly an expert at what he did and was treating her as someone intelligent and capable. Her brain began to focus into something like its usual acuity and she
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