I. Introduction

Apart from the theft of the Biblioteca Palatina, the Palatine library, which was looted in 1622 from Heidelberg castle by the troops of the Emperor and League, the Swedish raid on Prague's Kleinseite in 1648 is probably the best known event in the history of plunder during the Thirty Years War. It is an irony of history that without these and other forms of "art migration" the collections of countless, not only European, museums, would never have attained the international diversity that makes them so famous today. In cartographic terms, the roads that many current collections took to the museums housing them today is a web of routes weaving their way through Europe and across other continents. It is likely that a not inconsiderable number of these routes were also those taken by various military campaigns.

At present, there is no comprehensive body of work on the looting of art treasures during the Thirty Years War; this complex topic has not been examined in a way comparable to Wescher's work on art robberies in the Napoleonic era [1], while Redlich's thorough study purposely restricts itself to the military aspect of war plunder. [2] Whereas in 1957 Treue still noted that "Oddly enough, [...] no topic, no event has been of as little interest to both contemporaries and later historians as the plunder of works of art during the Thirty Years War." [3], the situation has clearly changed a great deal in the 40 years since. On the one hand, the current debate surrounding the art looted during the Second World War has generated a certain level of awareness; on the other hand, numerous in-depth investigations have yielded excellent material for further research. [4] As a result, Trevor-Roper's essayistic account "The Plunder of the Arts in the Seventeenth Century" [5], can now be completed on several points. The present paper, however, cannot, nor does it wish to, provide a comprehensive summary of this subject, not least because it would far exceed its scope. Rather, it will attempt to highlight some of the fundamental questions relating to this domain. What were the motives underlying the plunder of the arts in the Thirty Years War, and how was the victor's age-old right to loot invoked? What settlements valid under public international law were provided for in the Peace of Westphalia and the negotiations preceding it? What were the interrelationships, in practice, of legal entitlements, offers of restitution and special settlements, and to what extent did the plunder of Prague impact on the negotiations in Westphalia? The area of interest here is thus not so much the individual case but rather general the aspects of a phenomenon. [6]



II. The attraction of owning and plundering art: power and aesthetics

The increasingly profane nature of art - a trend which started during the Renaissance - and the expansion of the art market was accompanied by a lively debate about the definition of "true nobility". As far as life at court and the required norms of behaviour were concerned, Castiglione's Cortegiano became the benchmark for the upper aristocracy at European courts. This code of conduct, which "[became] the intellectual property of all those able to participate in an increasingly sophisticated and expanding social culture" [7], among other things required that representatives of the court should value the arts appropriately and themselves make attempts, if only as dilettantes, at artistic activity. "Buon giudizio", good taste, was to be cultivated on the basis of a sound humanist education. [8] Whether these qualities had been acquired could be determined by the princely art collections, which also served to educate. This practical effect, however, was overridden by the theoretical requirement that visually and spiritually works of art had to convince the spectator of the glory of the prince or nobleman who owned them. Since the Renaissance, therefore, nobility was synonymous with ownership of art: according to the precepts of the theoreticians of the 16th and 17th century, collecting art conform to certain aesthetic criteria both imbued the collector with, and was proof of, noble status and a noble soul. An art collection was the concrete expression of an ethical and moral conviction. Apart from the fact that the material resources required precluded others from gaining access to this medium of self-portrayal, the ownership of art (including libraries and curios) was a decorum to which only a very restricted level of society was entitled. As a result, for those who benefited from the growing social mobility of the early 17th century, acquisition of their very own magnificentia became a must - after all, the humanist discourse of the Renaissance considered that this Aristotelian virtue constituted the core of the much debated nobility of the soul. [9] Muller's conclusion about the collection of the painter Rubens, who as homo novus decided to ennoble himself by decorating an entire house in Antwerp, on a much larger scale also applied to the princes' collections, which served as models for this manner of acquiring social and ethical status: "The display of magnificence [...] expressed ethical, social and aesthetic values bound together." [10] These types of collection - especially the kind gathered by Rudolf II in Prague - served to demonstrate domination of the macrocosm within the microcosm of a perfect whole encompassing all knowledge, nature and arts of this world, and was also the supreme medium of princely representation. [11]

These spiritual values, which closely bound the aristocratic collectors to their precious belongings, reflect the system's sensitivity to damage or plunder: damage or harm to the art objects directly affected the person or dynasty whose authority and morality they embodied and reflected.

Müller's dry comment that "art at court was acquired in various ways" reflects the vast range of means by which art could be obtained, especially in the 17th century; buyers were largely catered for by a well organized art market. [12] At the same time, however, art migrated from place to place by not quite so friendly means and in a manner not practised since the conquest of Constantinople by the Crusaders in 1204. [13]

The right to booty enshrined in the law of war, or ius belli, is part of an age-old cultural and historical phenomenon, which during military conflicts to this day permits the warring parties to inflict not only physical but also psychological harm. [14] Originally, this took the form of damage in religious terms, by which the victors destroyed what was sacred to the losers, installed their own gods and in so doing eliminated the mana or numen from which the conquered people had drawn their identity. Plunder of the arts, however, tended to be free of any religious aims and objectives. For instance, in the late Roman Republic some generals', such as Sulla's, passion for art and collecting same lead to excessive incidents of plunder. [15] Profane art had already become an accepted, routine component of military booty.

According to Roman law of war, which Alberico Gentili and Hugo Grotius continued to uphold on numerous occasions (see below), the fact that the conquered party was stripped of all rights legitimized the acquisition of "abandoned" property. [16]

Even though the motives, procedures and extent of successful plundering of the arts may have varied, during the Renaissance period - for the reasons stated above - they took on new forms, which subsequently blossomed in the Thirty Years War. The conflict areas contained people with the motivation, know-how and opportunities for theft, as well as outstanding collections of art; furthermore, both existed in previously unheard of quantities. The theatres of war changed frequently, and as the routes taken by the armies grew longer, so did the distance between the precious loot's original owners (usually the church or private homes) and its "destination", which it often never reached, thus frequently precluding the possibility of restitution.



III. The legal basis underpinning plunder of the arts in the Thirty Years War

Like his predecessor Alberico Gentili (De Iure Belli Libri Tres, 1598), Hugo Grotius in what is now his best know work, the public international law treatise De Iure Belli ac Pacis (1625), examines in detail the rights and duties of a victorious warring party. [17] Both authors follow the accepted belief that natural and divine law both legitimize the taking of loot during war: anything removed from the enemy in the course of a just, or formal, war, may pass into the ownership of the victors and their legal successors (Grotius III, 6 ii-1). No distinction was made here between sacral and profane objects, since the law applied without restriction to all "movable property". [18]

The case studies from antiquity cited by Grotius and Gentili show the wide range of different motivations for plundering art. The example of the Romans' nascent passion for Greek art, for instance, demonstrated to what extent military means could be made the instrument of aesthetic arguments. [19]

According to Grotius (III, 6), Roman law of war still applied in the 17th century insofar as any items taken during direct confrontation in battle belonged to the individual soldier, whereas anything else - i.e. so-called "abandoned" property - fell to the State and was distributed in line with a system laid down by the military hierarchy. Grotius' work set out how booty was to remain (or be passed on) (III 6 xiv-xx). This procedure, which was clear-cut only on the surface, was from times immemorial opposed by a rule which promised generals an "extra share". A passage in the Iliad explaining more about this practice is used by Grotius as an example: although the State in principle becomes the owner of any loot taken, the commander - in this case Agamemnon - by virtue of his superior moral status, is entitled to the main share of the "pie" (Grotius III 6, xiv). [20] Neither this nor other examples cited by Grotius make it possible to define clear ways in which loot was allocated. But there was a further reason why objects that were of great artistic or scientific significance on occasion remained in the hands of the "market" described above: failure to return property confiscated "unlawfully" (Grotius III 20, xx). This was determined by the hierarchy which ranked loot by order of importance according to its "value". Accordingly, human beings were rated more highly than objects, immovable property (real estate) before movable items (chattels), and State-owned chattel before that in private possession (III 20, xxi). As a result, anything which today would fall under the category of "cultural assets" was part of the last category of State-owned or private chattel. [21] Furthermore, the relationship between goods owned by the State or crown and private property was not always clearly defined. It is therefore all the more remarkable that restitution of items such as archives, libraries and art collections was expressly called for in the peace treaties of 1648. Contemporaries would have been acquainted with the hierarchy described by Grotius. The entitlement to restitution, however, was doomed to fail from the outset in view of almost insurmountably complex procedures for satisfaction and restitution, whose priority concerns initially lay with areas (vital in the political landscape) other than cultural assets; the one exception were archives, as they were exceptionally important from the dynastic and political point of view.



IV. The "most noble occupation" in the Thirty Years War

The two raids that mark the beginning and end of the plunder of the arts in the Thirty Years War were also the most promising: the theft of Heidelberg's Bibliotheca Palatina in 1622, and of Rudolf II's Kunstkammer (art collection) in Prague in 1648. Both examples show the mark of good organization - and in both cases the stolen goods remained, in part forever, in the hands of the victors. As discussed above, during the Thirty Years War any raiding expedition was legal in accordance with the law of war. If we examine these forays more closely, however, we notice to what extent individual incidents varied and how the participants acted differently in each case, depending on the interests at stake. [22]

In principle, it is safe to say that it was not unheard of for the intention to plunder to differ from the way the loot was distributed. The plunder of the books of the Palatina library is a paradigm for this kind of discrepancy.

Almost one year before Heidelberg was finally conquered by troops of the Emperor and the League, Pope Gregory XV (1621-1623) expressed an interest in what was at the time the most famous library. At an early stage already he used his extensive connections within the church so as to ensure his hold over the potential loot. This destroyed all the hopes Maximilian of Bavaria and Ferdinand II had had for a share of the takings. Sadly, however, Gregory XV was unable to enjoy the fruits of his labour, since he died before the Palatine library reached Rome. The fact that the library was given in its entirety by the conquerors to a third party was an exception rather than the custom with art plundered during that period. A case apart were the usual donations.

The organizational aspects had been taken care of by the papal librarian, Leone Allacci, who also accompanied the convoy to Munich and then on to Rome. He himself earned only little for his efforts - even though he did make sure that he would receive his share of the loot.

After the plunder, the "mother of all libraries" ceased to exist. For a long time, this act of cultural humiliation resulted in retaliatory measures, since the fugitive 'winter king' Friedrich V, already weakened, suffered a further considerable loss of stature as a result of the coup. The later history of the plunder of the art in the Thirty Years War reveals a very particular dynamic, an exchange of blows between defeat and revenge. Even if not all subsequent major raids of the Thirty Years War can be explained as a direct consequence of the theft of the Palatine library, it is remarkable what effect it had.

After the battle of Rain am Lech (1632), during which Tilly, the man who had conquered Heidelberg, lost his life, Ludwig Camerarius, one of the most important of Friedrich V.'s advisers, was hopeful that the campaign would move on to Rome and permit the highly symbolic reconquest of the Palatine library as a sign of the reinstatemet of the Winter king. The continuing interest of the disappointed Maximilian in the former Electoral library shows with how much energy and ambition the object of desire was kept in focus. Why else would he have asked the Pope to preserve the complexity of the collection? In 1632, Gustav Adolf, despite written guarantees, plundered Maximilian's major collection in Munich (see below); Friedrich V was one of the protagonists involved. This act of plunder can well be interpreted as a response to the theft of the Palatine library. As late as 1634/35 the plunder of Heidelberg remained part of an ongoing pattern of revenge, since Imperial and Bavarian troops looted the collections of Stuttgart and Tübingen and in so doing ostensively reacted to Gustav Adolf's plunder in Munich. This exchange, by which the plunder of art objects within the period of one war on several occasions served to pay like with like, is probably unique.

Gustav Adolf's modus operandi in the bishoprics of Würzburg and Mainz is instructive in this regard: to ensure that he would receive a complete share of loot, from which others had not already selected the choicest bits, he made use of all legal means at his disposal. The strategy he followed in Mainz in 1631 is particularly representative. In addition to his own excellent knowledge of the law of war and of Grotius' work, he found support in the verdict of legal experts, which decided on the lawfulness of individual cases of confiscations. He took care that the law of war was respected and that only "abandoned" chattels were confiscated. It was only after the death of Gustav Adolf that Oxenstierna relaxed these rules and released all libraries and archives in Mainz for confiscation. Gustav Adolf, however, had already started to "acquire" libraries in this way years previously in the Baltic region. His apparently contradictory motives, based on the one hand on anti-Catholicism, on the other on educational policy, found expression in donations to the University in Uppsala and other educational institutions (Linköping, Strängnäs, Västerås). The timing of Gustav Adolf's entry into Mainz virtually coincided to the day with his letter of donation to the library of Uppsala (November 1631), which set off a vast flow of looted literature into Sweden.

In Munich (1632), however, he abandoned his strict principles in this regard. The plundering of Maximilian's Kunstkammer and library did not take place without his knowledge. After all, he and his companions were able to seize hold of what, after the Emperor's own collection, was one of the most important art collections of the time. Those parts of it that reached Sweden were incorporated into the developing royal art collection in the Stockholm castle Tre Kronor. As a patron of the arts and sciences, Gustav Adolf in this way established for himself a place in Sweden's cultural history. His daughter Christina benefited considerably from this; in addition to effecting regular purchases she continued the acquisition drive in 1648 by looting on a vastly greater scale.

Maximilian made several attempts to regain his collections. The fact that he refused to accept Gustav Adolf's violation of the Salvaguardia for Munich and demanded restitution, the fact that he further asked the council of the city of Nuremberg for advice about the whereabouts of his scattered treasures, show clearly how much he had lost. He made a third attempt after the battle at Nördlingen. Following the capture of Gustav Horn, lists of the plundered items were drawn up, on the basis of which the hostage was to be used to recover the Kunstkammer. This attempt too, however, was unsuccessful. Instead, Maximilian applied methods apparently similar to the ones used in Munich to the art collection (Kunstkammer) in Stuttgart and the libraries of Tübingen. His reward, however, was no comparable. Uncontrolled plundering had already decimated the works in the Kunstkammer, when an initial inventory of the Stuttgart collection was drawn up to provide a general overview of the situation (16 September 1634). What is more, all loot had to be shared with the Emperor. In Tübingen, the legal situation had been obscured somewhat, insofar as the surrender clause did not ab initio entirely exclude the removal of the "princely library". At least Maximilian was able to settle the matter of distribution for himself, as no decision was forthcoming from the Imperial Chamber Court.

It was rare for the victims of looting to be able to take adequate, if any, protective measures. Friedrich V's urgent request to his councillors in Heidelberg to save the archive and library came too late; in any event, given the sheer volume of books, it would not have been feasible. Maximilian was able to rescue only minor parts of his chamber gallery. Among the House of Württemberg, only the duke's widow, who fled with her treasures to Strasbourg, escaped unharmed. In principle there was no question that archives had priority in case of danger, as they attested to property rights, titles and privileges. For the same reason, they always enjoyed priority under the restitution "ethos", which is why the Duke of Württemberg was able to bring about the restitution only of his archives but not his art collection. Depending on motivation and means available, the reconstruction of such a collection could take many laborious years and, like in the case of Stuttgart and Prague, meant starting from scratch.



V. Demands for restitution under the Peace of Westphalia

The above notwithstanding, the peace conference attempted in earnest to lay down clear rules for the restitution of (cultural) goods that had been carried off during and as a result of the war. However, even the legal experts attending the conference must have been aware that the relevant clauses would by no means necessarily be complied with.

Many years before the final conclusion of the Peace of Westphalia, there were express calls for restitutions at the conferences in Osnabrück and Münster. [23] In April 1646, archives in particular were mentioned among chattels to be restituted and were taken out of the group of "other objects", which included anything found on enemy territory. [24] Although there is no specific reference to that effect, one can conclude that these "other objects" also included valuable cultural assets. In June, the Emperor's representatives submitted to the Swedish delegation their recently drafted instrumentum pacis, whose article IV demanded the restitution of archives and "other chattels". Using only slightly different wordings, §110 of the Instrumentum Pacis Monasteriensis (IPM) and article XVI, §15 of the Instrumentum Pacis Osnabrugensis (IPO) provide for the restitution of archives, literary texts and other chattels. [25] It remains to be examined, whether the amnesty clause (article II IPO) [26] preceding the individual treaty clauses as well as article IV §56 IPO did not (at least in part) run counter to this provision. Whereas the amnesty clause, in the sense of an expanded preamble, calls for the cessation of all hostilities and appeals to a commitment to peace by all parties, article IV formulates concrete exceptions to restitution. Goods which were confiscated and then "handed on" could no longer be claimed. [27] This realistic assessment of the situation not only took into account common looting practice but may also have served as a loophole for contracting parties unwilling to return plundered goods.

The proposed implementation schedule of the peace treaty provided that, two months after signature, that is on 24 December 1648, the ratification documents were to be exchanged in Osnabrück and Münster and all troops to be withdrawn or demobilized. "All archives and art treasures, as well as all means of warfare, which was found in the garrisons after capture, is to remain on site." [28] The actual course of events, however, was influenced by the fact that these points had not been defined more clearly during the conclusion of the treaty. Neither the political and organizational preconditions for demobilisation nor the former property relationships had been precisely set down, making it possible for restitution proceedings to be delayed and obscured. In addition, military commanders were entrusted with the task of agreeing on the rules of implementation of the peace treaty. They in particular, however, had a vital interest in delaying peace. Another factor favouring only limited restitution was not only the fact that it had not been settled clearly whether princes' loot was private property or belonged to the State or crown [29], but also that restitution demands were influenced by military concerns in such varied ways and to such a great extent that art became a negligible quantity on the scale of importance and need (which nevertheless did not exclude the kind of request for restitution made by Maximilian during the war). As already demonstrated by Gentili's and Grotius's hierarchy of restitution goods, military and territorial restitution, as well as Swedish satisfaction, were given priority. "Immediately after the conclusion of the Peace of Westphalia, contemporaries' principal concern was for foreign armies to be withdrawn from the Empire and demobilized." [30]

Although the Peace of Westphalia was the first such treaty to lay down any kind of rules regarding restitution, it was obvious that in this area it provided an only insufficient lever for the executors. On the one hand, the date of conclusion of the peace treaty clearly signalled the end of plunder and the start of restitution. The example of the loot taken from Prague shows, however, that on the other hand it was possible even in the pre-peace period and under the eyes of the European powers to ignore agreed ground rules.



VI. Plunder of the arts against the backdrop of the Peace of Westphalia: the plunder of Prague

In summer 1648, as Königsmarck and 7,000 soldiers were crossing the upper Palatinate, they changed course for Prague and on 26 July 1648 conquered in one swoop both the Hradzin and the Kleinseite of Prague. [31] The news was met with strong reactions from all sides. On 5 August Christina was notified of the success. In response she immediately wrote to her cousin, Count Palatine Karl Gustav (since October 1648 the Swedish commander-in-chief), asking him to reserve the treasures of Prague for the Swedish crown. A famous second letter followed - the tone had become that of an order. Almost simultaneously, on 6 August 1648, the preliminary peace treaty was concluded between Sweden and the Emperor at Oxenstierna's residence in Osnabrück. It contained a solemn mutual vow to honour the agreements as if they had been signed and sealed. However, not all points of dispute raised during the negotiations had been settled. [32] Soon after, on 5 September, Christina in the above-mentioned second letter explicitly ordered Karl Gustav to take into custody the most precious pieces - "trofaea och monumenta" - of the former Rudolfingian collection. The objects she desired for herself were to be transported on the Vltava and Elbe rivers to Mecklenburg and then across the Baltic Sea. Königsmarck in the meantime had been instructed personally to take care of the archives, libraries and art treasures and also to see to the logistical side. [33] The postscript is of great interest, in which the queen divulges her private wish - " [...] among all the pleasures of this earth, these objects are the only thing I truly love and which is entirely to my satisfaction, so that I desire to possess all there is that is similar." [34]

Although from a military point of view, the blow against Prague had been marginal, it had been an exceedingly attractive and, as it turned out successful, opportunity to take hold of the art treasures kept in the city. [35] The looters removed the treasures of not only the Hradzin but also of other palaces on Prague's castle hill, such as the bronze figures in the Waldstein gardens and the important Rosenberg library. The greatest possible use was made of the applicable law of war. Christina's superior education enabled her to clearly judge what was of artistic value. [36] The legendary fame of the Rudolfingian collection did its part to rouse her desire.

All of the above had a substantial impact on the negotiations that followed the signing of the peace treaty. According to a letter Johan Oxenstierna and Adler Salvius wrote to Christina on 1/11 December 1648, the Instrumentum Pacis had already been submitted for ratification. On the eve of the letter, however, the Emperor's delegation had protested to them about the fact that the Swedish crown, even after the peace treaty had been signed and peace pronounced, continued to "divert and remove some documents and items from the royal art collection and treasury in Prague." [37] This constituted breach of contract and was to be reversed. The Swedish delegation started to squabble with the Emperor's representatives about how the restitution paragraph applied to archives and other chattels (article XVI IPO). Sweden's argument that their actions in Prague were lawful until the place itself had been restored were countered by the Emperor's envoys with the demand that Sweden should speed up its withdrawal from Bohemia. The delegation finally decided to ask Stockholm how to proceed. [38]

An entry in the diary of Franz Wilhelm von Wartenberg dated 10 December 1648 confirms the seriousness of the situation from the perspective of the Imperial party. According to a message by Cranes the Emperor's envoys had, for the reasons above, protested to their Swedish counterparts that Swedish loot was dispatched to Sweden. [39] In response the Swedes had threatened to delay the scheduled exchange of the ratification documents, not without referring to their trump card, the demand for rapid compensation for the Swedish army.

More than a month earlier, in early November, the Emperor, through Piccolomini, had among other things called for the restitution of all Swedish loot from the Hradzin. [40]

His request notwithstanding, at the end of November 1648 the art objects, archives and libraries plundered in Prague arrived in the fortress of Dönitz, where they were stored for the winter. On 20 January 1649 Christina ordered the commander of Wismar to take the works of art across the Baltic as soon as the sea was free from ice. On 14 April, the treasures Christina had asked for nine months earlier reached Stockholm. The Theatrum Europaeum, which had previously reported about the transporting of the loot and a legendary raid on the convoy, [41] considered this worth of a separate entry: "shortly before dawn the imperial art collection and library, including the lion, which had been taken in Prague, reached Stockholm safe and sound, where there was much activity in unpacking the goods and sending them to special sites." [42]

As a result, although the loot from Prague was a factor in delaying the negotiations, it remained in the possession of the conquerors and was taken abroad unhindered. Sweden's military presence in Bohemia came to be tantamount to a right to loot. The fact that everything happened so quickly speaks for Königsmarck's efficient organization of the convoys. [43] The fact that their timing coincided with the conclusion of first the preliminary and then the final peace treaty must have been a welcome incentive to speed up proceedings. One can further assume that the conference participants were aware that once the confiscated possessions, including the live lion, had been taken across the Baltic Sea they would be lost forever. As mentioned above, in the midst of the complex concerns of military restitution, compensation, territorial claims and many more, the relatively minor issue of the plunder of the arts was of secondary importance. [44]



VII. No end in sight?

"The materialists did good work taking away works of art and curios": [45] this comment from the late 19th century on the plunder of the art collection in Stuttgart wavers between irony and resignation. The 20th century also continues to struggle to talk calmly about plundered art. The current debates show all too clearly that the old mechanism of spiritual damage has not ceased to have an effect.

The consequences of the plunder of works of art during the Thirty Years War are still felt, both by the winners and the losers. After it was looted, the Bibliotheca Palatina ceased to exist as core and focus of Heidelberg's scholarship. Similar statements apply to the Rudolfingian art collections in Prague. Even though each mass convoy of art, many of which lead halfway across Europe, much was lost en route, it is remarkable how much was preserved precisely because of these immense displacements. What changed were the names of the owners, the foci of collections and thus the scope for identification and representativeness. Owing to the determination of Gustav Adolf and Christina, the last two aspects had an especially marked effect on Sweden's period as a great European power: the country was now able to meet late humanist demands for courtly culture and educational institutions. In the aftermath of Christina's acquisitions and the migration of the Rudolfingian collection to Stockholm, an entire cultural centre was shifted north.

The plea for "humane" looting, which we already find in the works of Grotius and Gentili, gradually started to have an effect in the course of the following century; it went hand in hand with a growing "respect for the natural bond of art and cultural values". [46] Eventually, this "natural" affinity gave rise to the construct of the "national" cultural heritage, which for almost the past 200 years has been given expression in museums as institutions which took over part of the former identificatory and representatory function of private (noble) art collections. This also explains why museums became the pet projects of those rulers and monarchs whose hunger for power also knew no limits with regard to plundered art. One need only recall the Musée Napoléon, Stalin's plans for museum of world art in Moscow, and, last but not least, Hitler's remarkably similar ideas for Linz and Berlin. The last two carried their intention to do spiritual damage to in some cases irreparable extremes. Fifty years after the Second World War the consequences of their actions are the subject of difficult, sensitive debates which look set to continue for some time. Should art and cultural assets in their role as items of negotiation end up contributing to the making of peace, then the effect of the "most noble of professions" might yet be reversed. Nonetheless, the relationship between identification and source of conflict will ultimately not be resolved. [47]

FOOTNOTES