Berlin, Museum Island, World Heritage Site since 1999. Among the imposing dark stone Prussian buildings, a modern structure stands out, in pristine white and with a colonnade of rationalist lines, the work of architect David Chipperfield. It is the entrance to the Pergamon Museum and the Neues Museum, where the iconic bust of Nefertiti is displayed.
On one of the facades of that new construction, there is a name engraved in large letters: James-Simon-Galerie. It represents the reparation of German society to James Simon, a fundamental character in the history of the city. A Jewish businessman who donated ten thousand pieces of art (including the bust of the Egyptian queen), in addition to carrying out outstanding social work.
Despite his legacy, James Simon was cornered for decades, when National Socialism erased him from history. In Nazi ideology it could not be tolerated that a Jewish patron had played such a prominent role in the development of Germany's capital.
The recovery of his figure began in the new century and reached its climax in 2019, when German Chancellor Angela Merkel inaugurated the brand new wing of Museum Island named after him. The event was attended by the country's main authorities and Simon's descendants.
In this way, the years of neglect of a man who was born in Berlin in 1851, into a rich Jewish family dedicated to the cotton trade, were made up for. “He had a protected childhood; in an upper-class home, where he received a humanistic education,” says historian Olaf Matthes, whose doctorate focused on Simon, by email. Matthes explains that he attended the most prestigious high school in Berlin, learned to play the violin and piano “and was very interested in art and history.”
Despite this, his destiny was the family business: Gebrüder Simon (Simon brothers), where he began to work once he finished his formal education. The business was going great: the American Civil War, which broke out in 1861, had paralyzed American cotton exports to Europe. Gebrüder Simon had become the most powerful wholesaler on the Old Continent.
When, after his father's death, James took over the business, at the age of twenty-four, money was pouring in. With his wife Agnes, daughter of another rich Berlin family, he moved into a splendid house on Tiergartenstraße, the most elegant street in the city. His position among the upper bourgeoisie was consolidated, as well as his relations with power; among them, the kaiser himself. In fact, Simon was known as a Kaiserjude, or “imperial Jew,” which, as Dr. Matthes explains, “was a derogatory term for Jews who had contact with Kaiser Wilhelm II.”
Simon, his biographer explains, was an excellent businessman. But his passion for culture remained unchanged, so, as soon as he was financially independent, he began buying art. He turned out to be an eclectic collector, although his first collection focused on the Renaissance.
He treasured the pieces in his home, where he created a spectacular “room of wonders,” or cabinet of curiosities. Among the works, a superb painting by Mantegna – a Virgin and Child –, tondos, sculptures and pieces of furniture. In parallel, James and his wife, parents of three children, carried out important social work, emphasizing child care.
James Simon's first donation to the State occurred on the occasion of the opening, in 1904, of the Kaiser-Friedrich Museum (today the Bode Museum). As a collector and Prussian patriot, the businessman considered it his duty to give away the five hundred works that made up that first collection of Renaissance art. He only set one condition: the pieces should be displayed in the museum practically as he had them in his house, in the form of a cabinet, for a hundred years.
The premise seemed good to Wilhelm von Bode, the promoter of the new museum, who, in addition, knew Simon well, since he had advised him on his art purchases. The relationship between the two, as Dr. Matthes explains, was complex: “It was not a friendship in the classical sense of the term, but without Bode and his assistant, Max J. Friedländer, Simon would not have had the expert judgment to build a collection of that level.”
It could be said that this was a fruitful relationship of convenience, although Bode deplored that, after the first donation, Simon began to collect more independently. In any case, when in 1918 he also decided to donate his second collection, which included more than three hundred pieces of medieval art, the already director of the Berlin museums was delighted at that new gesture.
“This second donation was made after the defeat in the First World War, a time when it was more common for collectors to sell their works to the highest bidder. It was a declaration of principles to complete the so-called 'German Museum', which today is in the north wing of the Pergamon Museum," explains Dr. Matthes.
This latter museum also owes a lot to Simon, who had another weakness: antiques. In 1898, he founded the German Society of the East, with the aim of financing archaeological excavations, a field in which the then great powers, England and France, disputed supremacy.
In 1911, work began on Tell el-Amarna, in an expedition led by archaeologist Ludwig Borchardt. The excavation in the ancient Egyptian capital obtained thousands of pieces, of which five thousand were taken to Berlin. Among them one stood out: the bust of Queen Nefertiti.
The chronicles explain that Borchardt concealed the importance of the effigy from the authorities responsible for authorizing its transfer to Germany. This explains why, for decades, Egypt has been demanding the return of Nefertiti, alleging that her departure from the country was illegal.
Today the bust is an icon of Berlin museums and is displayed, alone, in a magnificent room. Few know that before being exhibited there it was in the living room of the Simon mansion, on Tiergartenstraße. “Yes, although he only had it there for a few weeks. We know that he had two copies made: one for himself and one for the Kaiser. Almost everyone was fascinated by the colorful bust of Nerfertiti, and James was no exception,” explains Olaf Matthes.
In total, Simon spent half a million marks of the time to finance the various German excavations in the Middle East and Egypt. The formal donation of the Amarna finds took place in 1920. It would not be the only one of this kind: the patron was also patron of the excavation that brought the Ishtar Gate and part of the walls of Babylon to Berlin, which are other of the jewels from the Pergamon Museum.
The 1920s were very difficult for Simon: the financial crisis affected the cotton trade, and, although he invested large sums of money, he had to close his company in 1927. He also closed the house on Tiergartenstraße and sold the remains of His collection. Already widowed, he moved to a new, more discreet address, where he would reside until his death in 1932.
He would not be a witness, then, to the madness of Nazi Germany, where the existence of a Jewish patron of the arts was something contrary to the prevailing fanaticism. However, he was another victim of the racist policies of the Third Reich: in 1939, his cabinet was dismantled and his name went unnoticed for decades, until his recent rescue and tribute. The redress has included the restitution of his Kabinett in the same room of the Bode Museum where it was placed more than a century ago.
“The recovery of the figure of James Simon is really a sui generis story, linked to the German post-war period and the Cold War,” says Olaf Matthes, who says that he was not able to access the files on Simon, kept in East Germany, until 1989. But, with the fall of the wall, everything changed and he was able to research and publish his doctoral thesis.
In this way, he summarizes: “Interest was awakened by the important role that Jewish philanthropists played in the arts, science and social affairs in the imperial era and the Weimar Republic.” And, as the historian highlights, in that group of cultured and socially responsible men, “James Simon was a paradigmatic figure.”
