The responsibility of Herman Goering for the horrors of the Third Reich was second only to that of Hitler. He was after all the second in command and clearly took pleasure in his work. But not only in his work, he also enjoyed the collateral benefits which accompanied it. Although Hitler had the first choice of the spoils available to him as invader of the various European countries, an invader without scruples, Goering came second. Yes, he was a man made of hatred and egoism, but he had another side to him of which we don't hear much. He considered himself to be a great connoisseur of art. In every country which was invaded, there was a huge collection of art available, whether from museums or private collections, from which he was able to make a selection.

Usually it was sufficient just to walk in and take what he wanted or, when something famous had 'gone missing', then he could use the methods of persuasion for which the Nazis were famous in order to make it reappear. Hitler had the first choice, but there was still loads left over for Goering. Normally. Towards the end of the war, Hitler had acquired 2 paintings by Vermeer, whilst Goering had none. Goering wanted a picture by Vermeer so desparately that he was even prepared to pay for one. He found an art dealer in Holland called Hans van Meegeren who said that he would be able to find the desired object. After a few months, Meergeren showed Goering an exceptionally fine example of Vermeer's work and Goering paid him a price equivalent to 8 million Euros in today's money.

After the war, the Allies discovered Goering's collection of paintings, including the painting by Vermeer. Van Meergeren was arrested and accused of treason by reason of his collusion with the enemy. After 6 weeks of being held in prison, Van Meergeren confessed to his crime. But it was not the crime of which he was accused. He confessed instead to forgery. Offended by the incredulity with which this confession was received, he offered to paint, in his cell, another Vermeer more beautiful than the Vermeer “which I painted for that disgusting Nazi”. There was a condition: he wanted to be provided with alcohol and morphine ”because it's the only way in which I can work”. He painted another perfect 'Vermeer' and then confessed that there were lots of famous paintings in museums which were in fact his work. Having served a sentence of 1 year for forgery, he was released and became a national hero in Holland for what he had done to Goering.

Goering was interrogated at Nurembourg and obviously was a complete psychopath. But even for him one may feel a tinge of compassion when he was told that his most favourite painting was a forgery. His biographer wrote that Goering “had the look of someone who, for the first time, had discovered that there was evil in the world”. He committed suicide shortly afterwards.

But the forgery was incredibly good. It was not possible to tell it apart from a real work by Vermeer. Why then is a forgery worth nothing as compared to an original? The obvious answer is snobbery. To possess an original work of art means that I am not a member of the masses who, by definition, could not possibly afford such an object.

But is this the whole explanation? Some psychologists have conducted experiments to determine the true nature of our motivation. They asked what price a group of people would be willing to pay for something which had belonged to someone whom they all adored – George Clooney. The object? A Pullover worn by gorgeous George. The average price offered was $132 dollars.

But then the researchers re-offered it on the basis that it was subject to a condition that the buyer cold never reveal its origin or resell it. The price offered dropped by 8% to $122. It seems that the 8% was the proportion of its price attributable to snobbism.

In the third part of the experiment, the researchers again offered the pullover, this time on the basis that the buyer could reveal that they owned it and who it had belonged to, but that the pullover would be washed before the sale was concluded. Even with the right to boast about the pullover, but without the true essence of George clinging to it, the price dropped by 20% to $105.

So all this suggests that the desire to possess an original is not only down to snobbery, but something more profound in our nature. It seems that we see an object differently according to its history and we value it accordingly. An object is not only an object but, for example in the case of a painting, it is also the relationship across time with the artist.

We know from our own experience that this is so. If someone breaks in and steals our possessions, it is not by any means just their market value which is of importance. Their sentimental value is of equal, if not greater importance. We cannot simply go out and buy something with the same history, something which has accompanied us perhaps throughout our lives or even those of our predecessors. The original may not have had the essence of George or had the beauty of a Vermeer, but its loss still leaves an emptiness which cannot be filled, however good the replacement. Which is in part, I suppose, what makes us human.