Princesses rise from Viennese vaults

as part of the only major European commission for Glasgow's most famous

son.

MUSEUM curators in Vienna made a remarkable discovery in their dusty

vaults when workmen uncovered a lost masterpiece made for Charles Rennie

Mackintosh's only major Continental commission -- the

turn-of-the-century music room for the extravagant home of avant garde

collector Fritz Waerndorfer.

The priceless Art Nouveau frieze, by Mackintosh's wife Margaret

Macdonald, had lain without being noticed in the cellar for over fifty

years.

It was only when contractors began preparation for a basement

renovation programme in Vienna's Museum of Applied Art, that the

astounding discovery was made.

Scholars of Mackintosh and his work have for decades believed that all

of the contents of the Waerndorfer music room had been lost forever.

Then, in 1990, a large wooden crate was found concealed behind a

partition wall and a large chest. When museum staff prised open the lid

they discovered the three long-lost panels, each measuring 60ins by

79ins, illustrating a scene from Maurice Maeterlinck's play The Seven

Princesses.

The discovery must have mirrored the magical moment in November 1922,

when Howard Carter first set eyes on the gleaming solid gold mask of

Tutankhamun.

Protected in its wooden casket from the harmful effects of the

atmosphere and daylight, the triptych, as good as new, presented a

stunning sight.

Mr Reinald Franz, the museum's resident expert on Mackintosh, is in no

doubt that the piece ranks alongside all the important works from the

Art Nouveau period.

Describing the find as ''incredible'' and the frieze as ''amazing'',

he estimates its value to be several hundred thousand pounds ''or

more''.

''As far as we can tell, it was brought to the museum during the

Second World War, as lots of pieces were, to be protected here. Whoever

was responsible must have feared that the slightest hint of its location

would have placed it in some peril,'' he said.

''We have correspondence between the lawyer who was handling the sale

of the house and its contents on behalf of Mrs Lily Waerndorfer in 1916.

She was looking for 30,000 Crowns for some of the artefacts, including

the panels, but the museum just could not afford it at that time,'' he

revealed.

The elaborate frieze, executed in classic Art Nouveau style, captures

the moment in The Seven Princesses when the central figure of the prince

cradles the dead princess in his arms, with two mourning figures on his

right and four to his left.

The exotic, almost fairytale scene, lavishly decorated with huge

sweeping swirls, was built up on a gesso-covered wooden base, on which

layer after layer of plaster was applied, then heavily decorated with

inlays of mother-of-pearl and semi-precious stones.

Following careful restoration, the fabulous tryptych can be seen again

in public for the first time since it was concealed in the darkened

chamber during the Nazi era.

The panels have been placed on permanent display in the museum and are

rated among the most important pieces held in its impressive collection.

''There is no doubt that it ranks alongside the very cream of the work

from the period.

It is of major worldwide importance and, in my opinion, is up there

with the very best of Gustav Klimt,'' added the enthusiastic Mr Franz.

''Quite apart from the fact that it is an extremely rare piece, it is

also in amazingly fine condition, due to the fact that it had lain

protected for half a century.''

Despite being preserved intact, restorers found the frieze was

criss-crossed with hairline surface cracks, and set about a year-long

programme of restoration work, before it could again go on display.

Exactly how the panels came to be hidden away is a mystery that may

never be solved. The crate containing them had no labels.

There is now no doubt that the frieze, one of the most important

pieces from the Glasgow school to have survived, was the dominant

feature of Mackintosh's impressive music room.

The find finally puts an end to the fierce debate which has raged over

the years between rival camps, some of whom believed it had never even

been installed.

Another entirely separate controversy centred on whether or not the

panels had been executed by Mackintosh or his wife.

That argument can finally be laid to rest, as the elaborate panels

carry Margaret Macdonald's signature and are dated 1906.

The fate of the other furnishings, including a peculiar

rectangular-shaped grand piano, still baffles the experts.

Mr Fritz Waerndorfer, the wealthy son of a prosperous family of Jewish

textile manufacturers, gave the Scottish architect the commission after

Mackintosh had submitted entries for Alexander Koch's design competition

in 1902.

An enthusiastic patron and collector of the avant-garde, he had

befriended Gustav Klimt and, over the years, amassed many of his

drawings as well as some of the artist's best-known early canvasses.

He also possessed numerous drawings, and around 150 letters, by the

English artist Aubrey Beardsley, including the famous ''last letter''

written ''in my death agony'', in which the artist pleaded with his

publisher Leonard Smithers to destroy all of his obscene drawings in the

hope that his immortal soul ''might be saved''.

Mr Waerndorfer suffered severe financial misfortunes and was declared

bunkrupt a few years after the impressive room was completed. He left

Vienna for exile in America in 1914, and his wife Lily tried without

success to sell the house and its furnishings separately.

The entire contents of the room -- including the panels -- were

offered to the Austrian Museum for Art and Industry in 1916, but the

museum declined the opportunity to acquire them.

Records show that the house and contents were subsequently purchased

that year by Wilhelm and Martha Freund. There is an unbelievable

anecdotal suggestion from the period that the Mackintosh furniture was

''chopped up by a little girl of dubious taste''.

It was believed that a Viennese Professor, Mr Eduard Wimmer, from the

School of Applied Arts, had saved the panels from destruction and that

they had later been exhibited at the city's Museum of Arts and Crafts,

but no documentary details survive to support this assertion.

In an essay written in 1981 by a leading authority, Mr Peter Vergo, on

the vexed subject of the missing Mackintosh artefects, he states:

''Despite continual rumours that this or that piece of furniture has

turned up at some sale or in some private collection, not a trace of its

furnishings or decorations has survived.''

He believed the music room was completely destroyed around 1916, and

added: ''We are dependent on verbal descriptions and on surviving

photographs for any idea of what the room was like. The photographs,

however, provide only a partial glimpse of the interior.

''As a result, there have been disagreements among scholars over the

precise details of some of the decoration. Particularly puzzling is the

question of the frieze, which must have run along the upper part of the

walls of the room.

''In the surviving photographs, probably taken in 1903 or 1904, the

spaces above the shallow cornice on each side of the room are bare, and

are clearly waiting for decorative panels of some kind to be inserted.''

In his 1968 catalogue for the Mackintosh Centenary Exhibition, Mr

Andrew McLaren Young doubted whether the panels were ever installed, but

Mr Vergo admits that, from descriptions by art critic Ludwig Hevesi, it

would seem they had finally been in place by 1909.

All those who appreciate Mackintosh and his work were convinced,

however, that the remarkable furnishings and fittings, including the

panels, had vanished, until the triptych was unearthed in the bowels of

the Viennese museum.

Mr Reinald Franz agrees the story has intrigued students for decades

and continues to fascinate those interested in the genius of Glasgow's

most famous son.

Sadly, it is unlikely that the panels will ever be seen outside

Vienna.

He explained: ''It would be almost impossible to transport the piece.

It is extremely delicate and I fear the risk of damage would be far too

great to contemplate such a thing.''

When Mrs Pamela Robertson, curator of the Mackintosh and Scottish

Collections at Glasgow's Hunterian Art Gallery, worked on mounting the

1983 exhibition to mark the 50th anniversary of Margaret Macdonald's

death, she wished forlornly that somehow the panels might miraculously

turn up.

The frieze would certainly have given her a magnificent centrepiece.

But never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that they would

re-appear just seven years later, under such dramatic circumstances.

A leading European expert on Mackintosh and Macdonald, she describes

the frieze as the most ambitious and sophisticated piece of work she

created.

Speaking from her base at Glasgow University this week, Mrs Robertson

revealed that she had been given a sneak preview while it was lying

tucked away in the Viennese museum cellar.

''I was shown them by torchlight as they lay in the basement. It was

indeed like something from the Tutankhamun story. 'What do you see?' I

see wonderful things.

''It was just as if a veil was being drawn back -- hugely exciting --

as this is such an important piece of the Mackintosh jigsaw puzzle,''

she said.

''As one of the commentators on the Vienna scene said, the loss of the

music room was one of the greatest acts of vandalism in Mackintosh's

career.

''There has been so much intrigue about the subject, and all we were

left with was black and white photographs from this mecca for the

artistic avant-garde.

''It's like a miracle. There was an assumption that the work had not

survived.''

Glasgow museums chiefs had hoped to be able to bring the frieze to the

city next year, to coincide with the major Mackintosh retrospective

being staged in the McLellan Galleries.

The exhibition will tour the US after its Scottish run.

A spokeswoman said: ''We asked Vienna to loan us the panels, but sadly

this will not be possible. They are just too fragile and valuable.''