 I would like to welcome you all to the reading of Stone by Eflin Batchlaeda. I hope I've said that right because she's in the audience. Straight after the show we're going to do a talk back for about 15 minutes and then we'll head into the bar and you can talk to the actors and to the writer of course about anything about the play because it is based on a true story. We'll hear more about the artistic process afterwards. I'd like to say hi to our virtual audience, because this has been livestreamed to the world. So hi guys, hi to you here and I'd love to hear what you've got to say after this show. Thank you very much for all for coming. Come in, there is no lock. We begin, I am curious to know how it is that you came to contact me. Pastors agent, the tax officer, whoever she was, despite what you've seen, she mailed me your card. Perhaps she felt guilty. I dunno, nothing makes sense any more. Her notes said that I needed you. Someone like you for the court proceedings. So you wrote to me while I'm glad that you did. I didn't want to. I considered it for a very long time. All I wanted was the ones who were stolen. All of them gone. I family. I realised, if I wanted to see them again, I needed your help. Is it a crime to inherit what your father had bequeathed to you? Is it a crime to cherish family, to live alone and harm no one? Are these now crimes in the 21st century Germany? I got it. You must start at the beginning. I'm here to help you tell your story. Are you? Or are you like all the others two years ago? I'm here to help you. I promise. I have no choice. I see that. There is much I must do. Nick, tomorrow the 21st of September will be cloudy, the 50% chance of precipitation. Higher 14 degrees with an overnight, low of nine. Thank you for listening to BR Classic Radio 103.2. Now in 2010 we celebrate 20 years in giving Germany the best of light classical listening. I cannot bear the thought. Again another choice. Sister, they would know what to do. Mother, you and me was her terrible choice. But here we are, this dilemma. So how many times must I make this unspeakable act? But wishing it otherwise does not make it so. Soon we shall be out of money again, terrible choice, and make it today. Otherwise none of us will survive. Are my responsibility my loving charges and forward help? Are there no volunteers for the sake of the family? Who ride us on the beach? Compliments of the artistic talents of Hermax Lieberman. You have each other boys. I hate to see you go after five decades, but you will fetch a pretty penny. You are such a strong, virile, handsome couple. Mounted on equally handsome steeds, striding through the surf. Very sorry, but off you must go. You refuse to go. I mean well then, Roswell and Casper. I love you too much anyway. But who shall it be here? Who will leave us richer in pockets, but poorer in spirit? Beautiful, rough boy. My one and only lion teamer. It shall be you. But let me explain, I fear you will not understand. Please try, just try not to be angry. You sent for me. I couldn't come so quickly. I belong here with you. I acknowledge that. The circus life is lonely. The lions and the tiger, I must keep them. How is it said at play? Cats, how are they? Have you seen them? The same forever. Aren't we all in time frozen? Well my child, you are not dressed for that. They are waiting, dependent. I have thought them to be patient, even too big, yet time counts. Do you think that is a good trade, caring enough to beg? I think as much as any of us, but not much about caring. There are limits, as you say, among us within the family. I would not argue with that when have you ever argued anything. I have never seen you pick up the spear, or the whip, or any weapon of the sort. Why? Don't you ever get tired? Tired of pretending? I just love being with you, I've not pretended. Then what would you call this? Don't let water. That's my nature, what's of it. Fair, fair, laws. Most music to be appreciated by one is not enough. Come, my lions are waiting, dependent, tell me. Tell you? Why I am here? An orphan has his gratitude, but as you say, limits. We do have limits, don't we? Always. Between man and beast. The real and unreal. What is the imagine? Everyone in the family knows all this. All of it. So, nothing. I didn't want what is it all man. Speak! Should I let the beasts loose to have their way with you at my bidding? They could carry your part in seconds. Is that what is going to happen? Don't you blaspheme your laws? I finally deny my existence. You are easy to confuse, old man. All right. Just let me think. All right then. Is something you need to know? You are like one of my lions. You could be so powerful. So strong, but... So timid. So groupily. And what? You're going away forever. I'm sorry, I'm very sorry. Not likely. Me! So, I mean yes, yes. I am one of grandfather's favourites. I don't want. Want what? I can't do. I want what. You had to what? A deal. I made a deal. It was absolutely necessary. With the dealer in Zurich. We, the rest of us... The rest of us? The rest of us, old man? Who do you think is in charge? I am not. We, you and I, we leave tomorrow. Just so then. Here I go. I'm not surprised you have never loved me. You always loved my cats more than me. I have always admired you. I love? Have you stolen more love? New love? Is that why you have no need of me? How pure is your family, Cornelius? What will you do? How will you fight to keep or lose them? Who will you abandon next? Pure, I think not. Find yourself a weapon, old man. You're going to need at least one. You won't live forever, but I will. You'll see. You say you love family. So much for family. You are not who I had in mind. It is I. Are you alone? Yes. What are you afraid of? Roswell, come in. I am already in. Yes sir. Yes you are. I was it today. The beach. I was it. Like in an November day along the North Sea Strand? Cold then. Yes. And cloudy. Many white caps. The horses were spirited, but I had no trouble. Casper on the other hand. Gentle Casper. Yes. I was afraid of his own shadow timid as his gilding. I questioned myself. No response then yet. Why do you pursue him then? Why do I continue to woo him? I have no difference. The same is everyone. So are you. We all want a family. A family to turn to. I have your family. No, not so. I am your family. Yes, but you are not mine. I'm sorry. I've hurt you. Do you not see the difference in us? Me and you. All of us and you. Do you never have moments of clarity? We both come from a world of stories. A world of other people's doings. Lives shaped by other people's animals. You dwell in the past. I prefer the ongoing present. Now is the place of power. You step backwards. I look at you because I need you. Illusions, Cornelia. Illusion. Half-trust lies about what we have to shape our lives. We cannot be strangers then. How many decades? Have we been together? Surely you haven't forgotten when the war was. Depending on the day, I forget. But remember, upset. So upsetting what has happened. You are young. You are strong. So smart. You will help me know what to do. Really? Why do you think that? Look at you. So strong, so virile. So sure of your way in the world. I am a homosexual Cornelius. Conceived in London in 1901. I am not strong enough for the times into which I was born. Not nearly strong enough. Manly, yes. But not strong. But times have changed. When you came to Berlin in the 30s, there was a freedom and underground. Yes, and you were then what? Seven years old? What would you know about underground? I have learned and undergrined my whole life. My father lived two lives, you know. Your father, your father. Here we go again, Cornelius. The argument it never changes. Your father was a thief. Don't bring my father into this room. He's dead. I will not have you desecrate his name. I think of him. Every day. Do you hear? Every day. He saved you. You could be more grateful. You called me, as always. Is this what you want to talk about? Again and again. Over and over and over. Tell me something new. You know everything already, don't you? Do I? Yes, of course you do. It doesn't feel that way. You're the one who seems unsure, not clear about what really happened. Don't be ridiculous. My father and now me, we saved you from destruction. From being thrown away in the gutter. Or worse. Yes, worse, burned. As a so-called degenerate. Let's compare stories, shall we? What do you mean compare stories? Are history? How we came to be? How it is we are in each other's lives. Well, why not? What are you afraid of? To lose? You can always make me disappear, Cornelius. It makes me sad and confused. I am shy, you know. Oh, yes, that you definitely are. But it might do you good to sort through things. To finally talk about work all soft. No, I tell you, no. Suit yourself. I'm leaving then. If you have nothing more to say to me, then pick someone else out of your drawer and moon over there. Wait. Why? I will tell you. Oh, no, Roswell. Please be kind to me. You are all I have now. I'm all you have now. You must be joking, Cornelius. You are. There's bloody more than a thousand of us at your command. That's an army for God's sake. Not really. It's not that simple. Sometimes. Sometimes what, old man? Who's in charge here anyway? It's certainly not me. More than you know. Sit by me. Good man. It is your hopes and needs we honour here, Cornelius. Our lives are quite two dimensional compared to yours. So what do you remember about your father? He always looms so large. Brilliant. A hero. Everyone thinks so, you know. Don't? If they don't, they are simply wrong. All right, all right. Calm down. Tell me about it. Much further back, my family on both sides, the arts were everything. Grandfather was a composer. And your father's grandmother was a Jew, yes? That is not what matters. Come now, Cornelius. Jewish lineage travels through the mother. That makes your father enough of a Jew. One who strangely operated at the highest levels of Nazi Germany. It takes quite a bit of cunning. Maybe even telling a few lies. Quite a few to do that, wouldn't you say? My father suffered for his Jewish heritage. Yes, that surely is suffering. Buying art for the furrow. It's much more complicated than that, I tell you. No, I will tell you. All you do is whine. Don't you ever question any of it? Where it all came from, where your father acquired all of this? Never that you must never tell anyone anything. What he said. You must never volunteer the truth about anything. People make their own associations and conclusions. And that got you where? Alone and talking to me. Perhaps he'll be the grand girl that was the best example of a father. Perhaps that's it, Cornelius. Perhaps I should be going. No, please. You must see. My father saved a whole culture's treasures. The world owes him gratitude, owes him everything for the modern art that he alone saved at great personal risk. Really? Well, do go on. But I still want to compare versions. I'm sure that you almost end mine or not, the same. Stop taunting me. My version is real. I was there, you weren't. I am times. Yes, I am of a certain place and time, but I transcend that to know many, many things. That is why you love me. For my beauty and my wisdom, I am waiting. In museums, 1925, in 1930, father showed the avant-garde words he loved and believed in by father lost both those jobs for what he was showing. But his commitment to the modern masters of the time was total, absolute and total. Many times driven out, he failed many times too, always got. I was a child because of my father's complicated work situation. Money is where we move. We live with them. We love them. Vigil is the air we breathe. Ticulus in putting his mark on all of them so that we would always know they were ours. Document them. Parents. My sister Anita and myself. My point exactly. When we get to my side of things, besides you know but won't admit that it's actually happened. Twisting my words, my intentions again. Am I? I wish my father was here. He would convince you in the ways that I could not. Yes. Stayed in Hamburg and my father was an art dealer. He also had a gallery. What did he show? By that time, to show the art that he loved, showing it was dangerous because of that monster Hitler. That's why people on the wrong side of things died. Yes, that is very much true. There was a great culture of mistrust that people did and did not do the things they were told they must. So what did Hildebrand do? My father was always smart. He began to show more traditional work instead. And where did he get it? All of this. Don't you need to know that? From dealers from museums of course. But what are you implying? My father was scrupulous, absolutely scrupulous. Is that so? I'm not implying anything old man. It's a fact that the painting of me and Casper writing on the beach was stolen from David Friedman. A sugar refiner from Breslau. This is so because he lent the painting to museums many times. Lastly in 1927. When Friedman died his entire estate was seized. The Nazis took the paintings. And sent his daughter Charlotte to a death camp. Spoils of victory over the dead. My father wouldn't have done that. Taken advantages of Jews who needed to liquidate every valuable to feed for their lives. And what about getting money to pay the tax levied only on Jews? You are wrong and hateful. Why am I talking to you? Because there is no one else. And am I wrong? There are other facts in play here Cornelius. No matter how much you loved your father and tried to impress him. Stop. Missing him and his guidance is no excuse to lie about his nature. It changes nothing. I want to stop. This conversation is hateful and has taken a very wrong turn. It's all you Cornelius. Don't you know that by now? Do you not even know that much less that your father stole all of this art? Your father could be a lying opportunist. And he often was. Tony, with his Jewish heritage how did he escape the purchase? Very clever. Go again. My father had excellent connections to purchase art. Some of it was of the degenerate label to be destroyed or sold to raise money for Hitler's war on the world. So my father rescued what was to be burned or trampled in the mud or sold in other countries. And how did that work? Your father was cutting terrible deals in Germany with desperate Jews. Travelling to Paris to wheel and deal. Couriering favour with Hitler. Downplaying his own Jewish heritage. Am asking a personal fortune of stolen art much of which was condemned by Hitler as degenerate. Quite a busy man. I think even when he paid for art he was a thief with no conscience. Paying 20% of the market value or less is not honorable. I'm only sorry he died in the car crash so he couldn't be tried and punished. You, if you could understand the passion my father had for this work for you. Yes, that I don't doubt. Why do you refuse the truth? It is as plain as the paintings on these walls. My father died when I was 24 years old. The weight of the artistic world fell on my weak young shoulders. Always, always, always my father drilled into me that I must always guard these precious works. These specimens of beauty, passion and peace. Culture itself. What really do you know of that, Roswell? I have known it my whole life. For 81 years I have lived with this. So you assumed this as a burden then? You've never admitted that before? I am not, nor ever shall be the man that Hildebrandt goal it was. The best, the very best I can do. If you understand, I must protect my father's life work. It was his only charge on me. In this I must not fail. And when did we become so real? Was it yesterday? Or forever. For we are far more than a collection of canvases and paper. Aren't we all that? Go. There is nothing more to say just now. Just go as you came. We will speak again. You are my beautiful son. But you are still too painful and rude. And to no one else. These are your documents. Here. Sorry for the delay. I was almost asleep. I see that, hair girlet. Are you well, hair girlet? You're up aspiring. We can't. Sometimes it betrays. Shall I call someone, a medic? No, thank you. I will be fine. Thank you. Very well. Do you have any other documents? Proof of residence, an e-card perhaps? Sorry, I don't. Please have a look inside your wallet. Perhaps you have something else that could substantiate you. I'm not sure who you are or where you pay your taxes. What was your business in Switzerland? Nothing, nothing. I took the order. Where are you on business? Where you all worked you on business and if you were, what was it? I was here, an old associate and sorry. And what is your line of work? I don't have much. Retired then, from what occupation? Yes, yes. Occupation then. Open your wallet. I would like to see what you are carrying. You must. That's a dangerous amount of cash to be travelling alone with. How much do you have there? I'm not sure exactly. As you likely know, there is a limit as to how many euros a person can carry at one time. How many do you have there? I haven't any idea. Please take it out and count it before me. It's my only duty. You understand? Yes, I'll do it. One thousand. No, you have miscounted already. Would you prefer I do it? If you insist. Why are you carrying so much cash? Tell me. I need your answer please. I don't know. I don't know. Very well. You are within the legal limit but only barely. I would urge you to think more carefully about your arrangement. You could be a great danger if someone were to discover your secret. You are a great danger. You could be a great danger if someone were to discover your secret. You are a great distance from fate. Right, I'm fine, Rob. Of dishonest stag of Nazis are costing my father fight for him, for myself. Your father is dead. Remember, ever since the car accident in 1956, your father is dead so he is safe. I know. I know. It's just... I can't frighten you. Please tell me. On the train from Zurich? Yeah. Showing my papers. But that is normal, yeah? They always ask to see your ticket. You, I'm sure, had your ticket, your passport. Yes, but... And you are always so meticulous with your correspondence. Your ticket booked months in advance by post, your meals all carefully planned and packed. Yes, but it was a German customs agent. Customs agent? But what business did they have with you? An old man travelling alone with nothing but a small valise full of cold-card spread and a change of clothes. Did you act suspiciously? Give him any reason to...? I don't know why. I wish my father was alive. He would know how to handle this. Handle what, Connie? Oh, yeah. I remember him. Quite an aggressive little schmutz. Sold him 864,000 euros to an auction house. We were running out of money. I travelled for part of the payment. One job has been to take care of all of you. By him? It was just about money. He argued with me right to the end. Still, he was so magnificent in his own way. I feel so awful about it all. So? The train, the customs agent, she saw the euros in my wallet when I showed my papers. And she asked me questions. What I did, personal questions. Where I lived, where I paid my taxes. Questions, questions. So much of it! She took so many notes in her little book. Oh, I'm so afraid. Now they know about me. So they know you have a lot of currency, not of it. This is the end of it. I feel it. Oh, I'm so afraid. What will I do? You won't do anything, Connie, because there's nothing to be done. Put on some music, pour some schnapps, and let's dance! Oh, really? I don't feel like it. Oh, come on, my little sausage. You must dance when you have problems. Dance them away. You know I won't stop pestering you until you give in. Oh, come on, my little sausage. It's cold outside, but I can warm you up, just like I always do. Isn't that why you keep me? I keep you close for my life, because... Because you love me, yeah? We have some laughs, you big old. With us, life is good. Even if you try to resize it. Warm it, yeah? Not to someone? Good for you. I did. You did. And what a big brave step it was. And don't you feel better? Afraid again. Of living. Yes, but what about those tax people? I'm afraid of them, too. One day, Conny, you will rise and show everyone what a good and decent man you are. My father was the man. I am but a shadow. A pale shadow. Enough of your father. You made us a promise at a great cost to yourself. More than you know. The meaning of your cloud will illuminate much. We will not see it. It will shine across the entire world. Bon chance. Mon chéri. You interested me. Very much you interested me. I followed up and I have a fine promotion, thank you. Who are you? What are you doing in my home? You've broken into my home. I am here on official German business. Stand back please. I will call the police. No right to be here. No right. Calling the police won't help. We and my colleague outside now, we are the government. We suspected you for tax evasion, but I see now we need to amend those charges. We have found here something else entirely. These artworks, so many famous names should be hard to explain here, girlie. Agent Zeiss. We have a much bigger, more complex, very serious situation here. We're looking at complete inventory and removal. Call for agents, at least 10, immediately. Get three for the master bedroom, two for the second bedroom. The rest can work here with me and the lady room. I think what we have here is a trove of art that is stolen. Girlie, I need your final cooperation that our cases. Nothing left, nothing. Come now here girlie, do you still have your home? Home without my family is not a home. It's just an address out of the rain. What have you done? Look what you have done to us. My job. I am following orders and such a discovery should surely earn me a value. Earn you? Is that what this is about? Earn you what? I have wanted nothing in my life but to live with my art. They are not your pictures. How can you say that to you, you monster? I have lived with them my whole life. We are parts of each other. How will I live? Do you need medical assistance? Shall I call someone, an ambulance, your doctor? Oh, if only I'd. Do you need medical assistance? I wish you no personal harm. The governments of Munich and Germany intend you no personal harm. If only I had lived somewhere else. None of this would have happened from Munich. The source of all evil, where the Nazis first arose. Oh, I should never have acquiesced to my mother. Here girlie, I'm sorry to say you simply must sign these papers acknowledging that you surrendered the artworks to the government. I surrendered nothing. You have stolen them from me. We had your implied consent. You watched us work. You knew what we were doing. And what is an 81-year-old man supposed to do against dozens of you? We are not against you here, girlie. We are for the rightful owners of these works. They can't possibly all be yours. It's obvious they must be stolen Nazi art. Yes, stolen. They are stolen in the last four days. Who am I to talk to? Who will welcome and embrace me? What is my reason for living? I think I should have someone come in and check on you. A social worker perhaps, a mental, a health. I can see this has all been very stressful for you. Are you suicidal? I can hardly believe you care. You don't understand anything, do you? No. I am not going to kill myself. I would have to get my family back if I did. But please do not send anyone to check on me or evaluate me. I have always minded my own life. Someone from outside would be a violation. I will just sit here until I die. A television perhaps, perhaps a television would keep you busy. A television. I stopped watching television in 1963. Nothing to do with real life or the arts. Hegelic, I'm sorry to say you simply must sign these documents saying that you surrendered the 1,406 works to us. You may get some of them back at some point. If you can prove any of them are truly yours and not belonging to do's before the war, as an attorney would be helpful. I will sign nothing. Go. All I wanted to do is live with my pictures. Go. Very well. I shall indicate you refuse to sign. I don't know what legal bearing this will have for of course there will be court proceedings. Tax evasion is the least of it now. You're liable for a long separation from your art while this all gets sorted out. Go, I tell you, go! Shall I open the curtains? There's no longer any need to protect the works from sunlight. Sunlight is not what worries me. It's people like you. Why couldn't they just have waited? Waited until I am dead. They left me. Broken lock. Can it protect now? Nothing. Not even me. Especially not me. I wondered if you'd come. It's been a long time. Nearly six decades. Yes. I am here. Just as my sister Cornelia painted you. You are in trouble. Yes. Satisfy I am here. To berate me? I haven't the strength for that. Besides, I am managing that quite well on my own. You have, sister. Tell you? Don't you know? Haven't you eyes to see? Yes. They're all gone. Losing you so long ago. My mother and my sister beneath her. Those deaths were easier than losing my whole family. My real family. So many of them all gone. What you protected from Hitler. Bones. The Nazis. The Russians. The Americans. I have lost to Germany's bureaucrats. You stood up against them all. I fell before a simple locked door. Yes. You know why? I am weak. I have almost been weak. It's not just my years. I have always been weak. In every way. You knew that. So if I would I trust you with a collection worth today. One billion euros. You didn't trust me. You died that horrible night. Giving something. Or letting something fall from your hand. But it must be picked up. These are very different things father. What do you know? I did my best. My best wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough to see through my life's one mission. What do you know of loneliness? Something. Not everything. I have many secrets. They make my living. Oh I learned. You? Why did you have to die? I wasn't ready. I was too young. I didn't know anything. You were 24. But you learned. Not enough. Did you steal those pictures? You never know that Cornelius. Just like everyone else. You never know the circumstances around each war. I hate you for it. What does it matter? If any crimes were committed. The statute of limitations ran out a long ago. Really Cornelius. In the long run. Takes a long view. Few pieces of clay. A few bits of metal. Why are you talking like this? This isn't you. You love these words. I know you did. Perhaps not. No. You're confusing me. I don't understand. But I think you do. We lived in many places. Yes. For your work. You lost those jobs. Because you weren't afraid of the new brave way that art showed us the world. Perhaps I was a coward. I was a saviour. Perhaps an opportunity. Is that the point? I don't understand. Tell me. Before my heart I would have died for them. Ultimately. I loved them for their stories. The more I looked at them the more they told me. They made me belong to a world living beings. With them I knew I was alive. When my heart had no place to turn. When my being, my life was ground down to a small thin flat place. As the canvas and paper were friends, neighbours and fellow citizens dwell. When this happened and it happens to every living soul. When birds can barely sing through winter's walls. These souls were the ones who gave me solace. Who made me alive. Who brought me comfort, peace, caress, beauty. Put yourself in the way of beauty. Didn't you used to say that father? Yes. Courage, power, honour. For I could not stand in the vast sunlight of the world on my own. These souls brought the world to me. And they never failed me. Everyone in this world eventually fails all the others. Yes, we ride horses on the beach. We argue, we kiss, we dance. These were precious objects. Specimens of mastery, insight and breakthrough. For me they were my home life. My real life, real and vital to me. As anything that passes from flesh and blood, I did not steal it. Family. My son said I did. My family, my life. It was you who gave them to me. How you got them I don't know. But tell me father, what do you know of loneliness? You have known loss. Yes, anguish of accident and disease. Common place, often expected tragic losses. I didn't lose anything. And to have stolen from me those souls so beautiful that should have lasted forever powerless. I sat and watched the death of 1,406 loved ones. My father, do you know of such a story? Did you steal my family? Do I believe you? This bone breakingly cold and rainy day, is anewent and complicated matter of Cornelius Gurlett. Your honour. Where is your client, Councillor? Is he late? Why so detained? These are serious matters. Your honour, my client is unable to be with us today. Why? The court does not take this offence kindly. Your honour, no offence is meant. As you may be aware, my client is advanced in years. Ages have no exempt for the courts of Germany. We are aware both myself and my client is not well. How so? Physically, mentally? I am not well. I have been seeing a specialist for seven years. Again, this does not excuse him from his German civic duty to appear when charged with tax evasion that in his case runs to very different and difficult ends. Your honour, my client is currently bedridden. How long has this been the case? For several months, ever since he was released from hospital. What is the prognosis? Tenuous. Why did he not inform the court of this situation sooner so that proceedings could be rescheduled? The Federal Republic of Germany and the world are watching this affair with great scrutiny. The very reputation of this court itself is at stake. Is this weakness or insolence? Whatever happens, this must be resolved. I will die. I must learn to trust you in all things, status of the artworks, and my possession of them must be cleared. My health must not, cannot stand in the way. Your honour, my client wishes for the proceedings to continue, post haste. He's designated that I speak for him on all matters. Yes, I have at the Davies signed by him. He eagerly wishes that this global spotlight will be drawn elsewhere. In fact, it was this global attention which was a factor in his downfall. Continue on the matter of his health. As you may be aware, my client, Rolf Nicolines Conellius-Garlett, has, or I should say had, lived as a near total recluse for several decades. It seems his only outings were to purchase food. And four times a year he travelled by train to visit his heart specialist in Lichtenstein. And what bearing does this have for us today, Councillor? I am losing patience. I only need to offer, your honour, that when the news broke about his art collection, the world's eye turned on him. Difficult for any of us, but least of all, my client. And because the German government... Ah, Councillor! Care for what you say about the state that I represent and that you live under. But it is a fact, your honour, that this raid, yes, raid, took place on my client's home at dawn in 2011. The world was unaware of the cash of Nazi-era artworks until Focus News magazine broke the story in 2013. Are you admitting that the works were ill-gotten gains leading up to enduring World War II? No, of course not, your honour. I merely used the term Nazi as a descriptor, not by any admission of crime on behalf of my client. I trust you. Central issue before the call today is a question of property and therefore contingent tax liability. How do you begin to propose her girl's innocence? Your honour, this whole affair is a misplaced effort. We should not be here. Oh, really? And where do tell, Councillor, should we be? Yet again, you try my patience. The statute of limitations on looted Nazi artwork expired in 1975. Therefore, even if, and this is a virtually unassailable if, if my client had in his possession items deemed to be stolen during the war era, the window of culpability closed nearly 40 years ago. The work succeeds by the German government in group space, Councillor. If the conversation was legal, then why was it kept a government secret for nearly two years? The discretion of underling bureaucrats is not of my concern. And that's for you. Your place is not to challenge me. Your place in this German court of law is to answer my questions. Yes, your honour. Thank you for your kind and timely understanding. May it please you that I proceed? Of course, your honour. How did her girl come to have these works, many of which have already been proven to have been acquired by nefarious illegal means? I object to the use of the word nefarious, your honour. You missed my point entirely. My client committed no crime whatsoever. How did this collection come under the authority of the son, this Cornelius girlet? How did he not return the works with the value of... What is it? One billion euros to their rightful owners? None of us. Not my father, nor myself. None of us committed any crimes. The collection is an honourable one. Sir, who we are to just take him at his word. My father was a good man. End of story. Your honour, my client led an extremely shant of love. His father was an exceptionally important figure in his love. It was not in his nature to question his father. Certain constraints and understandings are to be taken as evidence. Under my authority, yes they are, Chancellor, and I am gratified that you are beginning to grasp that concept. Certain distant relatives have come forward to agree that the works were her girlet's entire world. At night, in particular, when he felt safe from the prying eyes of the world, he would take individual pieces out of their safekeeping cases and the world was with them as if they were alive. Was my client lifeline to the world? How? How did these relatives know if nobody visited him? People talk, your honour. Not speaking legally, but speaking realistically in the world of blood relations. Things of the dark, they become known as fact and even more so the truths which they represent. Art anchored her girlet's life on this earth. If they were, his family, if they were, one makes provisions for what they love, provides a future as best as possible. Even her girlet in his, how shall we say, unusual mental state. I know I will die. I must make provisions. Can you help me with this? What then, Councillor Hoffman? What then? Apologise profusely, your honour. This call may pertain to the matters at hand. May I? I would normally object to such rudeness in my courtroom, but proceed. I've got your text. Terrible timing. The judge is quite disenchanted with me. What? When? Is there nothing to be... Yes, Rosa, I understand. Please try and stay calm. But don't call anyone. I'm going to send someone soon. We always knew this was coming. Thank you. Goodbye. Well, Councillor, what did your ever so important call have to serve us today? Your honour, it is her girlet. Yes, when is he coming here? Your honour, Cornelius girlet is dead. How do you know? Are you sure? That was his medical attendant who I just spoke to. Cornelius died minutes ago at home. I'm sure it was his heart. Actually, your honour, it may simplify matters somewhat. Speak plainly. It may now be made public that Cornelius girlet bequeathed his entire collection to the art museum in Berg, to Switzerland. How do you know this? Are you sure? Yes, we drew up with Lars Williamson together. Oh, what was his connection to this museum in Switzerland? None whatsoever, your honour. He'd never even been there. Well, this does not exactly support your claim that the works were as dear as family to him. If they were, then why would he give them to some unknown institution in Switzerland? To get them out of Germany. Why get them out of Germany? To Cornelius, Germany was both the homeland and the enemy. It endangered his father. It wanted to destroy or deport these works during World War II. Then the German government moved again and seized this same property. The very creations it so despised and wanted to destroy during the war. Times councillor, have changed. Have they, your honour? Have they? And there is more. Cornelius wished all works, proven to belong to others through rightful provenance, to be returned. With what compensation to his estate? None whatsoever, your honour. Perhaps the works of art taught him about the ruins of suffering and injustice too. We talked at length, Cornelius, and folded in upon himself, much like the hand dying alone, as he did. The rest of his created family must have been. I imagine the sole mission of a lifetime that he believed he'd failed. So, in some, this means what, councillor? Perhaps the collection, the works themselves, taught Cornelius to face an inevitable responsibility. Perhaps the art was a way to embrace the prison of his strange humanity and give back in the only way that he could. Speak legally. Cornelius Gernet formally endorsed the 1998 doctrine on Nazi-conversated art. This document specifies how, if you will, stolen artwork is treated by the nations of the world. An old lonely man at the centre of a Nazi-made storm. His endorsement gives more strength to a doctrine that many nations currently only pay lip service. But it remains that throughout the years her girl had didn't try to return the works. He kept them a secret. That's right, Your Honor. He was hiding his family. Usually enough, old man. I've been worried about you too. Forgive me for sending you away? Because you forgave me so many times when I berated you to be strong. Be well. Cornelius. Over here, Cornelius. I've come to see you. Roswell, is it you? Yes, of course. It's really me, Roswell. The house was stabling the horses, giving them a nice brush down and a bucket of mash. Oh, they deserve it. The ride was magnificent. The sea was like thunder. And we were all speed and joy. There was love in the bracing air. Oh, you should have been with us when you come with us next time. Next time? Yes. Haven't any snaps just now, but will you come again? Will you? Of course. Just call. Cornelius. Just call. Thank God. All come home. You are home. I never thought I'd see you again. You'll be pleased with me? Yes, you will. Pleased with me. Put things right as best I could. To your glory and humanity, I have learned what to do. All go to your own safe place around the world. And we will stay safe. Come visit me whenever you like. We're waiting with so much love. I will see you again. Everyone will see you again. One day, Connie, you will rise and show everyone what a good and decent man you are. The silver lining of your cloud will illuminate much, though you will not see it. The light will shine around the entire world. Bon voyage. Now, Lyn is a national-based playwright. She's blown over here for this free day. So any constructive criticism is very welcome. She has been a freelance non-fiction writer for more than 35 years. In 2009, she began playwriting with a full length work, Diamonds in the Dark. In 2016, she studied with Matt Wellman at the La Mamma Umbria, Italy, international playwrights workshop. Her second full length play, which was stolen, had a stage public reading at La Mamma in New York in 2017. So this is the European staging of this play. And for the 2017 National Fringe Festival, which will produce stories from the back scenes, a one act collection of monologs from her experience as a lift driver. There we go. She's at work on the full length. Do I have to? An intersection of artificial intelligence, reincarnation and divine games. So what I'm good to ask, the first question that I'm sure you'd like to know is about the process, about the writing of her play. And first of all, what is the inspiration for this play story? Quickly, thanks to all of the actor and the crew and proud, please, in the round. The inspiration was when the story broke, it was even outside the world of art, it was an international sensation. Not only because the art that I thought to be missing was suddenly found, but also the fact that the German government had hidden it for several years. So it was hard to miss that story if you're interested in art, which I am. Also, the fact that when I learned that the art became his family in a very real sense to him, I thought, well, this is a quirky little person, this is going to be quite a little good story. And of course you're always looking, for playwright, not only a good story with good conflict, but the fewest sets, the fewest characters, and I thought, well, most of this takes place in his apartment. That's good. And really, on two personal notes, I was interested very much to explore and put forward what I think is the essential power of art that we sometimes, frankly, take for granted, even though sometimes it's priced in the millions. I think whatever is hanging on your walls can be just as powerful for you and carry you through. For me, the other personal note is, I am well acquainted with loneliness. And I thought, I know this guy. I can do this guy justice. So was that sort of constellation of ideas that drew me to the work? What I'm going to just explain was that this was in 2012. He was on a train from Zurich. The play's explained it, but his name was Cornelius Gerlith, and he was stopped by a customs officer. And then what happened about 12 months later, they broke down his door in the very area, and they took all his art away. They never questioned him, nothing was said, and as was said in the play, in 2013, there was a tiny little article in Focus magazine, and then the whole world went mad. And what you're seeing is a mixture of fantasy and reality in this play. So some of those facts are in there, but of course the paintings come to life are the works of Len here to describe his fantasy world of how he lived. And that came from a disdain article, the only interview that he ever gave when he described his family, and that was his works of art. Now the other question I'm going to ask you, Len, is do you have a favourite character in the play, and who is it? Yes, I do. It's Frau Weimarad, of course. And doing this play presented a particular challenge because I knew that we could never show the works of art, no matter where the production was or what the budget, because the provenance wasn't settled, the rights permissions would be a nightmare and probably be unaffordable. So my greatest challenge as a playwright I think became a great strength after months of thinking, I'm going to do this. And that's where I came up with the conceit of having characters based on real works in the collection come alive and be costumed like them. And I'm hoping this is not going to be too much of a glare, but this is really Frau Weimarad. And so to me I adore her because she's kind of like, I'm beginning to be a woman of a certain age. And she kind of represents to me somebody who's been rode hard and put up wet, as we say. But yet she has wisdom, she has humour, she has heart, she's playful, and so to me she's a personal inspiration and she was a blast to write. I just loved her. OK. And the last question I'm going to ask, because we're going to continue this discussion afterwards in the bar, what do you think the value of art is enough to fight it? And what do you think? Well I think it serves the ancient purposes that it has since the caves at Lascaux and before. And I think it applies across all the art forms. It's the only thing really in my estimation that makes life worth living. It always has been, it always will be. And interestingly enough, it's the artists who always have the last word. It's the arts that endure. So not only can they be a bridge and lift us across the difficult times or help us celebrate the magnificent times. But coming from America, as I do, when I think that people in prominent positions such as government act foolishly, they do not understand that the artists will have the last word and they shall be sorry. So thank you so much. That's lovely. I'm going to end with a little quote from a Vanity Fair article that was Cornelius's cousin who quoted it. It's Eckhart Gullit, a photographer in Barcelona. And what he said about Cornelius was, he's a lone cowboy, a lonely soul and a tragic figure. He wasn't in it for the money. If he were, he would have sold those pictures longer ago. He loved them, they were his home coal life. Without admirers like that, art is nothing. So I'd like to thank Glyn for coming to the state reading of Richard Solar and Richard Smith in London. I'd like to thank all of you. I'd like to thank the virtual world, whoever, wherever you may be. And of course it acts as the technical team without whom I could not have done it at all. Thank you very much. If I could get a child, he would give you a pen.