This is Part 3 of a five-part series on the Sommerfeld family, focusing on Georg Sommerfeld’s path from bookseller to scandal and decline in Switzerland.
Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 4 will follow in a week. Part 5 will follow on January 28, 2026.
Setting the Stage: The Sommerfeld Family in Zürich
The three Sommerfeld men didn’t look like fraudsters, not at first glance. The stout patriarch, flanked by his lean, lanky sons, looked exactly like what he was—successful Berlin cloth merchants. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Hermann Sommerfeld and his two sons, Georg and Siegbert, may have started their business legally but, over time, they slowly slipped across the line. In the last blog post, we traced the lives and fates of the rest of the Sommerfeld siblings, so many of whom ended their lives in concentration camps across Germany and Eastern Europe. Georg’s family, however, including his daughter, Yvonne, the centre of our epic story, escaped the fate of the others. All thanks to an illegal business venture in Zürich.
Fraud, Flight & Extradition (1897-1898)
In the late 1800s, the three Sommerfelds, father and sons, were in Zürich, ostensibly buying some silk for their textile business. Hermann was the spitting image of a successful businessman, stout and corpulent, with a large bald spot offset by his black moustache. He typically wore a black fur coat and a black soft felt hat. Just shy of 50 years old, he was possibly eyeing retirement and bringing his two eldest sons into the family business. Georg was 22 years old, a slim young man of average height. He had dark blonde hair and a full moustache. His elder brother, Siegbert, just a year older than Georg, was also of average height albeit with dark hair and a dark moustache. He had a long thin, pale face and a shuffling gait. They must have cut a rather comical image, the confident patriarch striding ahead of his boys, doffing his hat to passing ladies. An image of respectability. But the truth was not as it seemed.
At some point before late March, 1897, the three Sommerfelds approached Brussel & Co, a large textile enterprise in Zürich. The Sommerfelds desired to purchase a significant supply of silk fabric. Perhaps the trio had done business with the company before, for they were able to purchase the silk on credit. The actual terms and conditions of the purchase and the payment plan are lost to history. What we do know is that on 28 March 1897 the Zürich police issued three “Wanted” notices for Hermann, Siegbert and Georg—the charges were Unterschlagung (theft/larceny/embezzlement) of 19,000 Swiss Francs, a significant sum.
We next pick up their trail on 20 November when Georg and Siegbert left Zürich by train, arriving in London via mail steamer on 22 November. They were accompanied by their father, Hermann, their mother Maria and their two young sisters: 12 year old Elsa Sommerfeld and 9 year old Regina Sommerfeld (I have been unable to trace these two in the genealogical record).
On 29 November 1897 the Zürich police began a long communication chain with the Swiss Legation in London, noting that Siegbert, Georg, their father & mother and two sisters were in London, presumably living in a family residence there. The Zürich police noted that the Sommerfelds had been travelling with 11 crates weighing almost 1000 kg. Hermann had informed the shipping clerk in Zürich that he intended to travel with his crates to Basel, and then onwards to Berlin and finally Russia. Instead, in Basel, the Sommerfelds took a left turn and headed directly for London.
That same day, upon receipt of the message from the Zürich police, the Swiss minister, Charles-Daniel Bourcart, obtained a warrant from the Bow Street Police Court. He submitted the warrant to Scotland Yard, for the arrest of Siegbert and Georg Sommerfeld who were accused of obtaining silk worth 16,000 Swiss Francs and 2000 Swiss Francs by cash, under false pretenses. The fraud had apparently been carried out by the accused using five different names. A few days later, Bourcart informed the Assistant Commissioner of Police at New Scotland Yard that the plaintiff, Mr. J.T. Hoffmann (a representative from Brussel & Co.) would be arriving in London on 2 December and wished to meet with the police officers handling the case.
(From Muller-ury site)
The London police finally tracked down the Sommerfeld men, possibly while all three were visiting a London jeweller. The police arrested Siegbert and George on 7 December, charging them on a Provisional Extradition Warrant. That same day, Bourcart sent an urgent telegram to the Zürich police asking if Hermann Sommerfeld should also be arrested, as he was in London, in the company of his sons. The response was a definitive yes—the Zürich police had an arrest warrant in hand and would forward it. The two brothers were remanded to 14 December, sufficient time for the Swiss arrest warrants and supporting paperwork to arrive. Hermann was arrested on the evening of 8 December. It would appear that the police also conducted a search of the Sommerfeld residence. One detective noted that among various crates of household items in the cellar, they had found three crates containing silks.
It is rather fortunate that the London police moved as quickly as they did. Hermann had in his possession a steerage passenger ticket for himself and his son Erich from Southampton to New York aboard the S.S. Paris, due to depart on 11 December. Hermann also had a second cabin passenger ticket for his wife Maria, as well as Elsa (his 12-year old daughter) and Gretchen Sommerfeld. This last girl may be identical with Regine or may be another child entirely.
On the eve of their next court appearance, the High Court in London received a letter from the Federal Department of Justice and Peace in Switzerland noting that the criminal police in Zürich had submitted a new provisional extradition request with extra charges. The two Sommerfeld brothers were now being investigated for forgery, suborning witnesses and fleeing justice.
The Zürich government council requested the extradition of the Sommerfeld brothers, Siegbert and Georg, but this was expanded a few days later, on 13 December, to include Hermann Sommerfeld. When the three men appeared in court again on 14 December, the Swiss papers had still not arrived and the magistrate, Sir James Vaughan, postponed the hearing for a week. That same day, the Swiss Legation received a letter from the District Attorney’s Office in Zürich enclosing the witness statements of J.T. Hoffmann and H. Levy, presumably both affiliated with Brussel & Co. Hoffmann stated that the silk goods found at the Sommerfeld residence did indeed belong to him and should not be returned to the Zürich branch but should be delivered to his cousin, Emil Goldstein, 5 Gutter Lane, Cheapside, London.
On 4 January, after many diplomatic memos, letters and telegrams, the extradition of the Sommerfelds was finally granted. A short notice ran in the Morning Post the following day stating:
Hermann Sommerfeld, and George [sic] and Siegbert Sommerfeld, his sons, were again charged with obtaining goods by fraud within the jurisdiction of the Swiss Government. It was alleged that in November last the men went to Zurich [sic], and by means of false pretences [sic] obtained from Messrs. Brunsel [sic] and Co., silk worth about £2000. Prisoners were committed for extradition.
The French agreed to allow the men to be transported through France and on 8 January, the Swiss Federal Department of Justice requested that the three seized crates of silks should be delivered to them (and presumably not to Emil Goldstein).
On 20 January, the Swiss Legation requested that a shipping company pick up the three crates of silks (two wicker baskets and a wooden case) from Scotland Yard and deliver them to Zürich. Two days later, the three Sommerfeld men boarded a ship for Calais.
And then we lose them. The Zürich trial records are missing, so whether they were convicted, acquitted, or quietly settled out of court remains unknown.
Business as Usual (1898–1905)
Less than three months later, on 1 April 1898, we find Siegbert and Georg living in Birsfelden, near Basel. They still had their business, the Gebrüder Sommerfeld (Brothers Sommerfeld), at Freiestrasse 101, trading in silk goods. Whatever happened in the Zürich courts, it clearly did not end their enterprise.
On top of that, their extradition from London apparently did not result in any lasting banishment from the United Kingdom. On 21 February 1900 Georg Sommerfeld married Marie Magdalena Studer in London. Marie was herself a native of Switzerland (born 5 April 1873, in Bettlach), and London seems an odd location for two Swiss residents to marry, particularly as they did not make London their permanent home, but rather Bern. This decision, in marked contrast to Siegbert (who returned to Germany), would prove extremely important for Georg and his family in later decades.
And yet, Georg’s brush with fraudulent activities did have its repercussions. On 15 December 1904, Georg applied to be naturalized in Switzerland but his application was rejected after a 13 March 1905 report from the federal prosecutor. What exactly the federal prosecutor said, we are not sure, but it would appear that while Georg was tolerated in Switzerland, he wasn’t seen as citizen material. At least not yet.
By 1906, Georg and Marie had two young daughters to care for: Margarete (Margrid/Marge) Maria (born 1901) and Alice Yvonne (born 1906). Georg was now a family man, with a wife and two children to support. Perhaps it was this change in situation which provided him the impetus to alter his business model.
Respectability and Restlessness (1908–1920)
Somewhere between 1900 and 1908, Georg pivoted his business from silk to books. Between 1908 and 1923, Georg’s name appeared regularly in the Swiss press. From a number of small ads, as well as full-page promotions, we can deduce that he ran a bookshop and publishing house in Bern. No longer a dealer in silks and fabrics, Georg was now a respectable man of letters, a dealer in works of culture and education. His advertisements promised readers the world: encyclopedia sets to stimulate the mind and grand travelogues hot off the presses, all offered on the “easy terms” of monthly instalments. The titles he promoted—from the Brockhaus Konversations-Lexikon, the German-speaking world’s great encyclopedia, to Roald Amundsen’s Conquest of the South Pole, a sensation fresh from the headlines—tell us much about both his business model and the aspirations of his clientele.
The Brockhaus Konversations-Lexikon
The Brockhaus Konversations-Lexikon was a 17-volume encyclopedia, the German-language equivalent of the Encyclopaedia Britannica in both scope and prestige. It was also a hefty investment, priced at 272 francs—closer in price to a piano than a novel—and designed as much to adorn a parlour as to provide information. Sommerfeld’s advertisements stressed accessibility and affordability: the entire set could be acquired “immediately, postage free,” with monthly payments of just five francs. Contracts, however, were ironclad, binding customers to years of monthly payments: instalments had to be paid on schedule; verbal side agreements meant nothing; cancellation was forbidden.
Families who owned a Brockhaus set signalled their respectability and wealth, as well as proof of their cultural and societal aspirations. For Sommerfeld, these sets were a highly profitable line—provided customers kept up their instalments. As a later court case would reveal, some did not, and Sommerfeld pursued them with vigour.
Amundsen’s Conquest of the South Pole
If the Brockhaus represented timeless respectability, Roald Amundsen’s Conquest of the South Pole captured the thrill of the moment. Fresh from Amundsen’s 1911–1912 expedition to Antarctica, the work was quickly translated into lavishly illustrated editions. Sommerfeld seized on the moment, advertising himself as the Swiss publisher and distributor. His ads boasted of 285 illustrations and 15 maps, with two formats on offer: a deluxe silver-embossed edition for 36.50 francs, and a cheaper two-volume edition for 29.35 francs. His name appears on the frontispiece of some surviving copies of the two-volume set of Amundsen’s published adventures.
Roald Amundsen’s Die Eroberung des Südpols, published for Switzerland by Georg Sommerfeld in 1912. Lavishly illustrated with maps and photos,
it was marketed as both an educational resource and a cultural trophy. (From OneBid site)
But whether selling encyclopedias or polar adventures, behind the polished advertisements and the promises of easy monthly payments lay the harder edge of Sommerfeld’s business model. His book contracts were airtight, drafted to leave customers with virtually no escape once they had signed. Georg was not shy about enforcing the terms of his contracts, and when buyers balked at paying, he took them to court. The most vivid example is the case of A. Kronenberg, a Bern merchant who signed for the Brockhaus encyclopedia in 1907—and then tried to back out.
Kronenberg vs. Sommerfeld (1908)
In 1908 the socialist newspaper Berner Tagwacht printed an overview of a recent court case to illustrate questionable practices in the “industrial literature” trade. Sommerfeld’s business model was held up as a prime example: buyers of the Brockhaus Konversations-Lexikon were locked into agreements that forbade cancellation, nullified verbal side deals, and made them responsible for postage, COD fees, and even the cost of address tracing. The books remained Sommerfeld’s property until every instalment was paid.
that signalled cultural prestige in early 20th-century German-speaking households.
(From the Lexicon and Enzyclopedia site)
One customer, merchant A. Kronenberg, signed such an order in May 1907 but quickly tried to withdraw, claiming that his purchase had been conditional on being able to sell the set. Kronenberg returned the books and refused to pay, while Sommerfeld insisted that the contract was legally binding. Letters flew back and forth, and a conciliation attempt failed. Sommerfeld then sued in the Bern District Court.
On 21 September 1907, the court ruled entirely in Sommerfeld’s favor. Kronenberg’s objections were dismissed, and he was ordered to accept the encyclopedia and pay the full 272 francs, plus 5 percent interest (backdated to June 1907) and 80 francs in legal costs. For Berner Tagwacht, the case exemplified how publishers used airtight contracts and the courts to enforce sales that ordinary buyers often regretted.
Customers paid for encyclopedia sets and other works in small monthly installments,
enforced through binding contracts.
(From Ricardo website)
Rewards of Respectability
By 1912, Georg’s hard work finally paid off. As a bookseller and publisher, his business was rooted and secure. While his 1904 attempt to secure Swiss naturalization had failed, his second (or third) attempt succeeded. On 16 January 1912, Georg and his family were granted naturalization, approved by the Federal Council of Switzerland. One might think that, having married a Swiss citizen, Georg would have acquired Swiss citizenship himself. Such was not the case. At the time of the marriage, Marie would have given up her Swiss nationality and taken her husband’s German citizenship. Their children, despite being born in Switzerland, would also have acquired their nationality from their father. Had Georg not succeeded in his quest for naturalization, the consequences in 25+ years would have been dire.
In 1913, Georg’s name appeared in the newspaper again, this time as a supporter of the Bern City Orchestra’s relief fund. His donation of 50 francs was publicly acknowledged alongside those of other professionals. And yet, legal troubles seemed to follow Georg wherever he went.
On 10 April 1913, Georg’s appeal against the suspension order of the Zürich district attorney’s office, regarding the investigation against Josef Knöchl was rejected. We have no idea what this entailed, but it was clearly a legal loss for Georg. In 1918, a Jacques Schmid of Geneva submitted a request for information regarding the legal proceedings against Georg. Again, we have no details on this fragmentary note, but we can see that Georg’s business kept brushing up against the law.
In 1917, an intriguing ad in one of the Bern newspapers promoted an exhibition of Persian carpets in Bern’s Kaiserhaus, highlighting “beauty and low prices”. The ad was in the name of Georg Sommerfeld and, if it is indeed him, would suggest he was diversifying beyond books, into luxury imports.
A year later, Georg had another ad in the newspaper, this one advertising his search for a bookkeeper and correspondent at his shop at Bernastrasse 4, clear evidence that his business had grown to the point of employing staff. At the same time, the First World War, and its aftershocks likely affected his business. Even though Switzerland was neutral, it was not immune to the economic fall-out of the war. The war likely strained the trade—paper shortages, fewer foreign titles, and a drop in tourism.
In 1920, Sommerfeld ran an ad in the local newspapers announcing that his “publishing bookstore” was relocating to his residence at Optingenstrasse 1. He sought to reassure his customers of his continuing careful service, and reaffirmed his specialty: delivering books on monthly instalment plans. And yet, one can wonder at his smooth affirmations, for within a few years, his business was in freefall. Once a familiar name in Bern’s newspapers—through endless advertisements for encyclopedias, literary works, and even Persian carpets—Georg was now appearing in the press for very different reasons.
Bankruptcy and the “Spielsalon” Affair (1923)
In May 1923, newspapers outlined the scale of Georg’s financial collapse. According to the courts, Georg owed a staggering 274,000 francs to fifty-six creditors. Forty-three agreed to a judicial composition: creditors would write off a quarter of their claims, while Sommerfeld promised to repay the remaining 75 percent within five years. To secure this, his future income and even his household furnishings were placed under the supervision of a creditors’ committee. He blamed his ruin on the collapse of the German mark, which had devastated many who dealt in cross-border trade or speculation.
But the court’s ruling also touched on something more scandalous. Georg was accused of endangering creditor funds through gambling. He denied it vehemently, insisting he only won modest sums and had never lost a bet—an implausible claim. Yet even with his denials recorded, the very mention of gambling in the context of bankruptcy tied his name publicly to vice and improvidence. It didn’t help that his name appeared in the newspapers again the following month.
In June 1923, the “Spielsalon” affair erupted in the press. Neighbours on Optingenstrasse had long whispered about late-night gatherings in Sommerfeld’s villa. Police finally raided the house in the early hours and found a group of men in the midst of a game; one tried to stuff poker chips into his pockets when the officers entered. Sommerfeld was detained and interrogated for several hours at the local police station. He admitted that poker games were played at his home and in local restaurants but insisted these were harmless pastimes, often following political or social discussions, and that no money ever changed hands.
The newspapers carried the story under bold headlines—“A Gambling Salon”. Sommerfeld’s lawyer issued public statements prior to the trial, defending him, stressing his Berlin birth, his long residence in Bern, and his previously clean record. Georg’s household maid, however, told reporters that large gatherings sometimes met at the villa late into the night. The gambling scandal, combined with his bankruptcy, quickly overshadowed his past reputation as a respectable bookseller.
(Produced with Gemini AI)
The gambling salon case went to trial in late June 1923 and Georg quickly retracted parts of his police statement, insisting that only friends and acquaintances had been admitted to his salon. In restaurants, he said, they had played only the card game Skat, not poker. Three co-defendants—including a Russian who described himself as a master of poker—backed this story. Police witnesses admitted it was difficult to prove what had been played, since the men were quick to change their game when officers appeared.
In the end, the court acquitted Sommerfeld and his fellow defendants, much to the chagrin of the police. The judges awarded him a token 10 francs in compensation plus 50 francs toward legal expenses, though the state still bore the costs of the proceedings. Technically cleared, Sommerfeld escaped conviction, but his reputation had been deeply tarnished.
The bankruptcy settlement and the Spielsalon affair together mark the collapse of Georg’s standing in Bern. From the ambitious entrepreneur who once plastered the newspapers with advertisements, he became a man fighting off creditors and fending off accusations of running a gambling house. The court may have accepted his explanations, but in the eyes of creditors, neighbours, and the public, Sommerfeld had moved from respectable bookseller to cautionary figure of financial ruin and scandal.
Georg did what any sensible man would do. He packed up his family and the tatters of his business and moved to Geneva. Perhaps he sold
Interwar Years (1923-1940)
With his reputation in Bern in tatters, Georg packed up his family and the remains of his business and moved to Geneva. With a fresh start, in a new city, Georg was able to rebuild his business.
By 1934, when Josef Jakobs and Werner Goldstein met Yvonne Sommerfeld, Georg was again a successful businessman who, according to Josef, owned a publishing house in Basel. The family lived in a villa at Chemin de Moillebeau in Geneva while Yvonne moved in and out of Nice (France). The picture that Josef paints is of a respectable family and yet, there is not a single newspaper advertisement for Georg’s publishing house after 1920. It is as if his business dropped off the face of the earth.
We have already seen in the fraudulent gold affair how Josef and Werner’s arrest tied directly to Yvonne—with Werner supposedly promised a staggering 60,000 francs if he married her. That kind of promised dowry suggests the family had access to significant resources, even if their public business had all but vanished. We also need to consider Josef’s claim that Yvonne was somehow involved with the French Intelligence Service, and that he and Werner were arrested initially not for the gold scandal, but because of their association with her. Was the book publishing business simply a front to cover the true source of their wealth?
Family memories add another layer. Eveline Gundelfinger, Margarete’s daughter, often told her son Stephan that the family lost their fortune at a casino in Monaco. Stephan recalls her saying this many times and adds that, in her version, “Yvonne was there. Georg. Everyone.” Eveline claimed that Paris Match even ran a story in the 1930s with a photograph of the family sitting on a bench outside the casino, crying or looking morose. Stephan remembers the story vividly, though the precise issue of Paris Match has yet to be identified. Whether or not the article can be located, the anecdote resonates with the gambling shadows that had trailed Georg since the “Spielsalon” affair of 1923.
For clearly, the family did have money in the 1930s and even into the 1940s. Jewish child welfare reports from the early 1940s note that the Sommerfeld family always had money. And yet, on the surface, whatever stability Georg had regained did not last. From 1938 to 1940, he lived in Lugano, in southern Switzerland, just across the border from Italy. By 1940, Georg and Yvonne were listed in the Zürich city directory simply as “commercial travellers”—salespeople who moved from place to place with no fixed residence. Both appear at Rämistrasse 2, their names followed by the shorthand “ohne Wohnsitz” (without permanent address).
On 2 March 1940, Swiss authorities issued an arrest warrant for Georg, his wife Marie, their daughter Yvonne, and Berta Josephine Wyss (identity unknown) on charges of substantial pension fraud in Zürich. A week later, the gazette marked the case erledigt—resolved or withdrawn—but the episode reveals that Georg, even at 65, remained enmeshed in schemes that dragged in those around him.
That same year, on 21 May 1940, Georg registered with the Fürsorge ICZ (the welfare arm of the Israelitischen Cultusgemeinde Zürich—the Jewish community organization in Zürich). Georg outlined his residential history (Bern, Geneva, Lugano) and noted that he was a traveller in books but that he earned nothing at the time. There was a separate registration card for Margarete Gundelfinger (his eldest daughter, whom we will meet in detail in a later blog post).
As commercial travellers, it would seem likely that Georg and Yvonne travelled outside of Switzerland. We know from Josef that Yvonne often travelled to Nice. Geneva was conveniently on the border with France and Lugano was just across the border from Italy. Josef said that Georg’s book publishing business was in Basel, conveniently on the border with France and Germany. All of these cities are strategically placed for a cross-border business. But, by 1940, it was clear that Germany was no longer friendly to Jews. Nor France. Nor Italy. Georg’s registration with the Jewish welfare authorities in Zürich, shortly after the invasion of the Low Countries and France, would suggest that he knew that they were living on an island of safety, for the moment.
Decline (1940–1953)
From 1940 to 1946, Georg and his wife resided in Zürich. Sadly, Marie Magdalena Sommerfeld-Studer passed away on 6 January 1944 in Zürich. She was buried a few days later at Friedhof Sihlfeld, the largest cemetery in Zürich. Georg was 73 years old when his wife passed away, already an old man. His two daughters were not financially well-off and their children, Yvonne’s son Edgar, and Margarete’s daughter, Evelyne, were sometimes foisted on their grandfather. As difficult as his life was, he was a relatively stable influence on his grandchildren. At least for a while.
In February 1943, Georg Sommerfeld reported his wallet stolen
on a tram ride through the city.
(From Wikipedia)
One revealing glimpse of this period comes from a 17 February 1943 Swiss Police Gazette notice. Georg reported that his wallet had been stolen on a Zürich tram. The entry described the green leather wallet in meticulous detail, along with its contents: a newly issued commercial traveller’s card in his name for Fa. Kupfer in Lugano, a 2nd-class railway subscription, his Swiss passport (only valid to 1940), and personal letters and photographs. The report concluded it had “possibly [been] pick-pocketed.” Even into his seventies, Georg was still eking out a living as a travelling salesman, reliant on temporary contracts and expired papers, a far cry from his earlier image as a prosperous bookseller.
After the war, Georg moved to Clarens/Montreux for a couple of years, then to Lucerne for a year, followed by a couple of years in Basel (1950-1951). According to the Jewish welfare association, Georg suffered a heart attack on 15 August 1951, while en route from Basel to Lugano. All of this movement and travelling would seem to suggest that Georg was still working at something, even if he was in his late 70s. What it might have been, we have no idea.
Georg died in Zürich on 30 July 1953. Herr Schulz (a friend of Georg’s daughter Margarete) phoned the Jewish welfare association and requested a Jewish burial. On 7 August Georg was finally laid to rest at the Jewish Oberer Friesenberg cemetery in Zürich, after his “son-in-law” Harald Tobler covered the costs.
Fates of Two Brothers
After the silk debacle and the extradition from London, the paths of Georg and his brother, Siegbert, diverged. While Georg reinvented himself in Switzerland, fighting for Swiss naturalization, Siegbert returned to Germany and established himself in Frankfurt. It was there, on 3 March 1910, that he married Martha Straus (born 10 December 1871 in Mainz). Siegbert passed away on 9 March 1923, in Hamburg. His wife, was deported to Theresienstadt on 18 August 1942, where she presumably died. Their children, if there were any, have unknown fates.
And yet, even though Georg and his family survived the war and the Shoah, theirs was not an easy life. Both of his daughters, Margarete and Yvonne, had very nontraditional lives, relationships and children. Their unconventional paths were shaped as much by turbulent times as by the restless legacy of the Sommerfeld clan. In the next blog post, we will take a look at Margarete’s fate, as well as that of her daughter, Eveline Ruth, the one shining beacon of hope in all of this. In the last post, we will do a deep dive into Yvonne’s post-war escapades with Harald Tobler and her son Edgar, a most unconventional trouble-maker.
Sources
Familien Blatt for the Sommerfeld Family – gathered by Daniel Tiechmann – November 2021
Ancestry – genealogical documents
Swiss Archives – files on the Sommerfeld family
Various Swiss Newspapers – E-Newspaper Archives Switzerland
Header Image – produced by Gemini AI