The Invisible Collection

Two stations after Dresden an elderly man stepped into our compartment, spoke a polite word in greeting and then, looking again, nodded to me particularly, as if to a good acquaintance. At first I could not place him, but when with a smile he mentioned his name I remembered him at once: he was one of the most respected dealers in old prints and drawings in Berlin. Before the war I had often examined and bought books and autographs from him. We chatted at first about unimportant matters. Suddenly, without warning, he said: “I’ve got to tell you where I’ve just come from. It’s absolutely the strangest episode I’ve lived through in my thirty-seven years as an art dealer…