The destruction and dispersal of the Ephrussi’s world is described with chilling, annotated accuracy. They were, after all, Jews in Austria in the 1930’s, and their wealth and titles (Barons and Baronesses) did nothing to protect them from the Anschluss. On March 11, 1938, a group of brownshirts wearing Nazi armbands stormed their house, stealing valuables and vandalizing the property, and left promising to be back. The new regime in Austria eventually seized every last bit of their property, forcing them to sell their bank, and stripping bare anything that was left of their mansion. Viktor’s huge library of 1st editions simply disappeared. The best paintings were photographed and sent directly to Hitler, so that he could choose the ones he wanted sent on to him. The plunder included everything, down to the silverware and items of clothing.

The desperation to find a way for family members to escape Austria is heart-rending. Some were able to obtain visas (endless lines and documents to be signed and bribes, one guesses, to be paid). They escaped to various countries: America, Mexico, Switzerland, Czechoslovakia, etc. Viktor and his daughter, Elizabeth, a poet and lawyer (the first woman awarded a law doctorate by the University of Vienna, in 1924), fled to England, enduring many hardships en route. Iggie, who earlier had gone to America to work in fashion design, served in the US Army. Several members of the family were trapped in Europe, and perished.

When Elisabeth returned to Vienna after the war, she was greeted only by her mother’s maid, Anna. Because she was a Christian, she had not been forced to leave the Ephrussi house, but was retained by the Germans to help sort out the family’s belongings, and pack them into wooden crates for dispersal to the Reich. It was she who saved the netsuke. She told Elisabeth:

“I couldn’t carry anything precious away for you. So I would slip three or four of the little figures from the Baroness’s dressing room, the little toys you played with when you were children – you remember – and I put them into the pocket of my apron whenever I was passing, and I took them to my room. I hid them in the mattress of my bed. It took me two weeks to get them all out of the big glass case. You remember how many there were!”

This reflection on the story-telling inherent in the handing-down of objects will strike a chord in anyone who has inherited family treasures, no matter how small and un-dramatic their story. Edmund De Waal is now a man in his 40’s, with three young children. It appears that the netsuke, and the family, are in good hands.

—  ©2010 Julia Sneden for SeniorWomen.com

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