Kaspar Hauser: Europe's Child

To Julian and to the Memory of Julien Favre

Contents Family Tree

viii

Introduction

ix

1 Feral Man

1

2 Kaspar Hauser Appears in Nuremberg

22

3 Homoeopathic Experiments

36

4 The Search For Identity

51

5 Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes Against the Soul’

66

6 Philip Henry, Lord Stanhope

81

7 Kaspar Hauser in Ansbach

98

8 The Death of Kaspar Hauser

112

9 Kaspar Hauser and the Grand Duchy of Baden

133

10 Who Was Kaspar Hauser?

156

11 Literary Representations of Kaspar Hauser

175

12 Conclusion

189

Notes

195

Bibliography

214

Index

226

vii

Luise

Karoline

Josephine Son 29.9.1812– 16.10.1812 (This is the son whom some claim was Kaspar Hauser †1833)

Amalie

2

Marie

Wilhelmine Karl 1786–1818 1811 Grand Duke = Stephanie Beauharnais 1789–1860

Leopold

2

Alexander

Marie

Ludwig I

Friedrich

Friederike

1

1

Luise

Karl Ludwig 1755 –1801 = Amalie von ssen-Darmstadt 1754–1832

1 Wilhelm

2

2 Maximilian

Carl Friedrich 1728–1811 1803 Duke 1806 Grand Duke = I) Caroline Luise von Hessen-Darmstadt 1723–83 = 2) Luise Geyer v. Geyersberg (Countess Hochberg) 1768–1820

Baden. Zähringen Family Tree

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Introduction

Kaspar Hauser was a foundling of about 16 years of age who appeared in Nuremberg in 1828. He was the object of considerable public curiosity and speculation and aroused the compassion of the city fathers. He claimed to have been confined in a dark cellar for years on end and to have been fed on a diet of bread and water. He arrived in the city barely able to speak and walked with great difficulty. Here was a blank screen on which could be projected the fantasies of those with whom he came into close contact. Here was another of those wild children who people ancient mythology and who had appeared infrequently in Europe since the fourteenth century and had excited philosophers and medical men to speculate on the nature of man. How was a human being to be defined? How is speech acquired? Is man by nature good or evil? Are there any innate ideas? Do children have rights? Is civilization harmful or beneficial? By 1828 some of these questions had lost their urgency, but faced with a youth who appeared to have grown up apart from human society there were many who wished to test their pedagogical and medical theories on such a promising subject. Much of the speculation about Kaspar Hauser was conditioned by the reaction of earlier intellectuals to previous cases of feral man. Nuremberg’s intellectual elite was fully conversant with the writing of the likes of Montaigne, Rousseau and Voltaire and were eager to make their contribution to a debate to which so many distinguished writers had contributed. In our own day such cases are still of great interest, although the emphasis is now no longer on speculation about the nature of man but rather on the psychological effects of child abuse and the question of language acquisition. Few ask whether children have an innate conception of God, but the question still is raised whether children have an innate generative grammar. These questions are addressed in the first chapter which gives the intellectual setting to Kaspar Hauser’s reception in Nuremberg on Whit Monday 1828. ix

x

Kaspar Hauser

The case of Kaspar Hauser was of particular interest to specialists in a number of different disciplines and thus provides us with fascinating insights into the climate of the times. This was the heyday of homoeopathy and Mesmerism, and ‘animal magnetism’ still had its devotees. Kaspar Hauser was put in the hands of a man who was fascinated by such forms of alternative medicine and he was placed in the care of homoeopathic doctors who conducted a series of experiments on their unfortunate patient. Kaspar Hauser appeared to be remarkably sensitive to homoeopathic medicines and was considered to have exceptional animal magnetism, particularly in his early days in Nuremberg. The doctors’ reports thus provide interesting insights into these unorthodox but popular medical practices. Kaspar Hauser claimed to have been kept in solitary confinement in a small, dark cellar for as long as he could remember. Under existing Bavarian law his gaolers were not necessarily liable for prosecution because it had to be shown that there were significant long-term harmful effects on the victim before a case could be made for abuse. Just as there had to be a corpse before anyone could be charged with murder so there had to be clear indication of abuse before charges could be laid. Kaspar Hauser appeared to be in good health, was not insane and insisted that he had been well treated, and thus no indictable crime had been committed. Under the Bavarian criminal code his gaolers could be charged with illegal confinement under articles 192 to 195 and with abandonment under article 174 but not for the lasting psychological damage they had inflicted on their victim. Anselm von Feuerbach, one of Germany’s foremost jurists and the principal author of Bavaria’s progressive criminal code, was fascinated by the case and took a kindly interest in Kaspar Hauser’s welfare. In his remarkable pamphlet Kaspar Hauser: An Example of a Crime Against the Soul he argued that a dastardly crime had been committed against his soul, a crime that was far more serious in his view than either illegal confinement or abandonment. The debates between lawyers over child abuse and mental cruelty are indicative of current legal opinion on important issues that were only just beginning to be addressed. When Kaspar Hauser arrived in Nuremberg he was barely able to talk and could only write the alphabet and his name. His education was first entrusted to a schoolmaster on sick leave who espoused progressive views on education that were tinged with the ideas of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. When it was felt that he was no longer safe in Nuremberg he was moved to near-by Ansbach where he was entrusted to a pedagogue with a radically different approach. He believed in strict discipline and

Introduction

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learning by rote. These two opposing views on education illustrate how a change was taking place in Germany from the flexible and humanistic to the rigid and authoritarian. Inevitably questions were soon asked about Kaspar Hauser’s origins. He had become an overnight celebrity in Nuremberg. A steady stream of visitors came to his cell. Sensation seekers mixed with those who wished him well. Later, on his walks around the town he was surrounded by the curious. He was a local conversation piece, but soon his fame spread far and wide until he was christened ‘Europe’s Child’. But who was this strange youth? Whence did he come? Who were his cruel gaolers? Most people were familiar with the fund of stories of foundlings, mysterious prisoners, and the intriguing drama of the ‘Man in the Iron Mask’. Then as now there was a widespread belief in conspiracy theories. Combined with the popular radicalism of south-western Germany it was hardly surprising that it was widely believed that Kaspar Hauser was of noble or even royal birth. Why else should such pains have been taken to hide him for so many years? How else could it be explained that he was in remarkably good health and had clearly lived in hygienic surroundings? Was it not reasonable to presume that only the rich and powerful could have managed to cover their traces so successfully that the police, in spite of handsome rewards offered for any relevant information, were unable to uncover a single clue that might have helped them solve the mystery. Radicals and republicans seized upon the Kaspar Hauser affair to discredit the petty principalities and what the great Prussian statesman Baron vom Stein described as the ‘sultanates’ of the German Confederation. Only such petty tyrants and their corrupt and ambitious satraps were capable of such cruelty. Only they had the dynastic or financial motives to remove an heir who stood in the way of a throne or a fortune. They alone had the power, the money and the organizational resources needed to cover all traces of their crime. The proponents of this conspiracy theory were quick to seize on the grand duchy of Baden as the scene of the crime. Both male heirs had died in early infancy. The daughters were all perfectly healthy. Since the line of succession went through the male line, and since offspring of the Grand Duke’s morganatic marriage to an ambitious schemer thus inherited the throne, there was a clear motive to remove the two legitimate male heirs. That Kaspar Hauser was the legitimate Grand Duke of Baden was explained by claiming that he had been exchanged when only a few days old with a baby that was mortally ill and who died a few hours later. He was then kept in captivity for about 16 years. He was

xii

Kaspar Hauser

now old enough to be able to pass as yet another of the homeless children that roamed the highways and byways of Germany. It was obvious that he had no notion of his exalted station and thus posed no danger to his kidnappers. The suggestion that Kaspar Hauser might be the legitimate Grand Duke of Baden was of particular interest to the Bavarian authorities because of a complex claim to some previously Bavarian territory which should revert to them if the direct succession to the grand duchy of Baden were broken. Since Nuremberg was in Bavaria the police were bound to investigate the Kaspar Hauser affair, but the case was given an added importance because of the long-standing territorial wrangles with the neighbouring state. It is for this reason that the king of Bavaria took a particular interest in the case and offered a handsome reward for its solution. It required a quite considerable leap of faith to believe that Kaspar Hauser was the first-born son of the grand duke of Baden and from the very beginning the theory was fiercely attacked by those who argued that he was simply an impostor who was leading a comfortable life at the expense of the taxpayers of Nuremberg. Many resented his fame, found his character unattractive, commented bitterly on his arrogance, his mendacity and his absurd pretensions to gentility. It was grotesque to people of a conservative bent that this somewhat ridiculous figure should be the darling of assorted radicals, devotees of alternative medicine and practitioners of experimental pedagogy. The ‘anti-Hauserianers’ saw the whole fuss as further evidence of the absurdity of radical pretensions and as an underhand attack on the established order. Then as now investigative journalists had their political agendas, the sensationalist press concocted fabulous tales to increase circulation, and the public eagerly consumed the latest startling revelation. Kaspar Hauser became a media celebrity. It was thus hardly surprising that Kaspar Hauser excited the interest of an eccentric British peer, Lord Stanhope, who had been educated in Germany, had a wide network of influential friends and acquaintances in Germany and whose Germanophile excesses caused no little comment at home. He first met Kaspar Hauser in Nuremberg in May 1831. He appeared to be entranced by the boy and believed that he must indeed be of high birth. He announced that he wanted to make him his ward, showered him with all manner of extravagant gifts and much to the relief of the authorities undertook to pay his expenses. Stanhope’s abortive efforts to solve the mystery of Kaspar’s birth left him angry and frustrated. He soon tired of Kaspar’s affection, and what had appeared

Introduction

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to him initially as innocent and charming he found tiresome and irritating. His passionate affection soon turned into a positive dislike and he changed sides to become a leader of the anti-Hauserianers. Stanhope’s motives for becoming involved in the affair are mysterious. Various suggestions have been put forward. Was he merely intrigued by the case, seeing in Kaspar Hauser an entertaining curiosity and a mystery to solve? Was he acting as a political agent for some of the German courts and possibly for the British government? Did he hope to find further fame and fortune by restoring Kaspar Hauser to his rights? Was this merely a transitory homosexual infatuation? Added to the mystery of Kaspar’s past and the question of whether he had been the victim of a monstrous crime was the question of the attempt made on his life and his eventual murder. In October 1829 he received a severe gash on the forehead and claimed that he had been attacked by a mysterious man in black. Since no one had seen a stranger who matched this description some suggested that the wound had been self-inflicted. In December 1833 he died as the result of a knife wound which punctured his heart, liver and stomach. Once again the experts differed as to whether this was murder or a suicide. The circumstances of Kaspar Hauser’s death provided further material for both his supporters and his detractors. His supporters saw this as clear indication that he must indeed be the legitimate grand duke of Baden, for why should such an elaborate plot be hatched to dispatch a nonentity? His detractors argued that this was yet another attentionseeking device to win back Stanhope’s affection. From the ranks of the proponents of the crown prince theory came some staggering theories about the identity of his murderers. Strands of circumstantial evidence were woven together with imaginative abandon to show that the grand ducal house of Baden, the Zähringer, was deeply implicated in the murder. These suspicions were confirmed when most of the relevant papers in the possession of the family were destroyed and researchers were denied access to what remained. The themes of a lost childhood, an imprisoned prince, a mysterious stranger, the outsider and the simple fool provided ample material for artists and a remarkable body of literature was inspired by the tale of Kaspar Hauser. The protagonist in this remarkable story remains to this day a shadowy figure. He was a simple-minded youth who provoked both genuine affection and intense dislike. To some he appeared to be pure and innocent, to others mean-spirited, ludicrously vain and incapable of telling the truth. That he should excite such widely different emotions was due

xiv

Kaspar Hauser

to the fact that he was the screen upon which so many different people projected their fantasies and beliefs. Here was living proof that man was inherently good – or the exact opposite. Kaspar Hauser showed that an innocent child was spoilt by a corrupting society, or was evidence that bad character was inherent and not learned. He was a crown prince robbed of his rights or a contemptible swindler. Was he the victim of a vicious crime, or did he inadvertently kill himself in an attempt to draw attention to his distress? Did he provide evidence for the power of homoeopathic remedies, or was he simply an epileptic given to convulsions? These and many other questions plagued contemporaries and the answers they provided give us many clues to the mentality of his times. In a sense therefore Kaspar Hauser only really existed in the minds of those who projected their fantasies upon him. Of unknown origin, rumoured to be of noble birth, a simple soul who reflected mankind in a state of nature, here was a figure whom imaginative souls could easily mythologize. Much of the fascination of the Kaspar Hauser story was that it so easily fitted into a long tradition of foundling stories. He seemed to many to be in the line of succession to Moses, Joseph, Oedipus, Romulus and Remus, Gilgamesh, Siegfried and Parsifal. Some, such as Rudolf Steiner, were so carried away by such far-fetched analogies that they came to believe that Kaspar Hauser had some divine mission. Freudians were later eager to quote the master’s essay of 1909 ‘The Neurotic’s Family Novel’ to argue that the fascination of the case was due to the typical childhood fantasy that one is merely the adopted child of one’s parents and that one’s true parents are of exalted station. Adults suppress these fantasies which are then awakened when confronted with figures such as this mysterious foundling. Contemporaries were fed with a rich diet of Gothic tales in which cellars and oubliettes, seemingly motiveless murders, anonymous letters, and vicious stepmothers played prominent roles. Germans eagerly consumed the novels of Ann Radcliffe and Horace Walpole and their German epigones, along with rich doses of trivial literature, and were thus well prepared to embroider the Kaspar Hauser story with all manner of exotic and horrific speculation. Kaspar Hauser emerged from the obscurity of his mysterious past in the heyday of Metternichian reaction between the fall of Napoleon and the revolutions of 1848. The intellectual life of Germany was stifled by censorship, exile and emigration. The police rooted out revolutionaries and informants kept a close watch on subversives. The story of Kaspar Hauser, with the suggestion that he might be the heir to the grand duchy of Baden provided an ideal opportunity to attack the princes and

Introduction

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to give vent to a widespread dissatisfaction with the existing order. Once the story became politicized it mattered little whether it was true or false. This was not lost on the authorities and their efforts to silence those who used the affair for political ends merely served to convince the opposition that they had a great deal to hide. The ground was thus well prepared for Kaspar Hauser’s arrival in Nuremberg. The story of a child held prisoner for years on end and who was possibly of noble birth fascinated those who had been nourished on myth and the Gothic romance. In the stifling atmosphere of the Germany of the Karlsbad decrees the opposition seized this opportunity to attack the established order and the repercussions were considerable. Others had a more limited agenda in welcoming the opportunity to study a wild child and test their theories whether medical or educational. His story also served to open an important debate on the appropriate legal response to child abuse. That the story is of lasting interest can be seen in the stream of literary works that it has inspired. However enlightened we may feel ourselves to be today the mythical still has a strong hold upon us. We are still fascinated by violence, corruption and intrigue in high places. Addiction to conspiracy theories is as powerful as ever and the pushers, whether among the media or the politicians, are busy at work. Alternative medicine, experimental pedagogy and an obsession with the esoteric all have their place in the New Age. For those who are above all this there is the greatest attraction of the story of Kaspar Hauser. It is a rattling good yarn.

1 Feral Man

The myth of feral man is as old as myth itself. Cronus the Titan, having castrated his father Uranus and seized power over the gods, married his sister Rhea. Mother Earth and the dying Uranus prophesied that Cronus would be dethroned by one of his sons. He therefore swallowed the children which Rhea bore him every year – Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades and Poseidon. Rhea was determined to save a son and thus gave birth to Zeus in the middle of the night on remote Mount Lycaeum in Arcadia. She gave the newborn child to Mother Earth who entrusted it to the care of the goat nymph Amaltheia whose milk he drank alongside his foster-brother Pan. When Zeus became Lord of the Universe he paid homage to Amaltheia by setting her image among the stars as Capricorn. Tyro, having been ravished by Poseidon who disguised himself as the river-god with whom she was infatuated, bore twins. Frightened of the reaction of her wicked stepmother Sidero she left the twins on a mountainside. They were discovered by a horse-herd who took them home with him. One twin – Pelias – was raised by a brood mare, the other – Neleus – by a fierce bitch. Tyro later married her uncle who then adopted the twins. Feral man is as old as recorded history. He appears in the pages of Herodotus. Rome, we are told, was founded by the twins Romulus and Remus who were suckled by a she-wolf and, in a poetic symmetry, the last Roman surviving the pillaging Goths is said to have been saved by a kindly animal who offered him a nourishing teat. There were many reports during the Middle Ages of abandoned children who spent years in isolation, or who were nourished by wild beasts, but it was not until the eighteenth century that scientists and philosophers, particularly in France, who were fascinated by the question of the nature of man began to examine seriously the case histories of 1

2

Kaspar Hauser

those who had been denied a normal childhood in human society. The philosopher Condillac and the naturalist Buffon were both fascinated by enfants sauvages which they imagined could tell us something of the true nature of mankind. Condillac was particularly intrigued by the bear-child of Lithuania, discovered in 1694, whose story provided evidence for his conceptual model of man as a statue endowed with senses by which he hoped to illuminate the origins of his sensorial nature. Christian Wolff also used the same example in his immensely tedious but influential efforts to explain the relationship between concepts and language.1 In an earlier work the great legal theorist Baron Samuel von Pufendorf had argued that a child would have to fall to earth from the heavens for a true understanding of the fundamental nature of man. 2 Pufendorf’s disciple Heinrich Conrad Koenig argued that the feral men such as Peter of Hamlin and Anna Gennärt were concrete examples of the Fictio Pufendorfiana.3 It is thus hardly surprising that August Rauber in his work on feral man of 1885 should remark that had not such children existed they would have had to have been invented. 4 Rousseau in his ‘Essay on the Origin of Inequality’ of 1754 describes five such cases. The earliest was that of the wolf-child of Hessen, a boy of about 7 who was discovered in 1344. The bear-child of Lithuania was found in 1661 at the age of about 12, and the second Lithuanian bear-child of 1694 was about 10 years old. Two further wild children were found in the Pyrenees in 1719 and the famous Peter, the wild boy of Hanover, who provided entertainment for the court in London, was discovered in 1724. Rousseau reported that all these wild children walked on all fours and showed no signs of the ability to reason. Believing that the ‘noble savage’ was an intelligent biped he insisted that feral men owed their unfortunate characteristics to the imitation of the animals among which they had been obliged to live. Persian myths tell of children fed by bears. Japanese sagas accord this Samaritan role to monkeys. The abandoned child, surviving in the wild, often tended by a wild animal, has been an enduring literary device. In our own day the stories of Mowgli and Tarzan still have their fascination. This was but one phase in the long debate which dates back to Aristotle about whether the upright stance was an essential criterion of humanity. There is no valid reason to suppose that man was intended to walk on all fours. The head and the spine are designed for an upright stance. Mankind is not adorned with a tail. A woman’s breasts are inappropriately placed for a four-legged creature. The legs are wrongly designed and are far too long for anything other than an upright stance. Although some observers claimed that all feral men walked on

Feral Man

3

all fours, the wild boy of Aveyron walked upright and did not have any callouses on his knees. But none of this answers the questions as to whether orang-outangs are human because they walk upright, or feral men beasts because they walk on all fours. Columbus’ Caribs were not accepted as human beings until they were decreed so in a papal bull of 1537. Linné made a clear distinction between homo sapiens and homo ferus. Four years after Rousseau’s prize essay the great Swedish botanist, Carl Linné, published the tenth edition of his Systema naturae, in which he introduced seven further examples of feral man. Three more were added in the thirteenth edition of 1788. Johann Christian Daniel von Schreber’s ‘Mammals Drawn From Nature With Descriptions’ of 1775 and Michael Wagner’s ‘Contributions to a Philosophical Anthropology and Related Sciences’ mentioned some further cases. 5 Herder, who insisted that the ability to speak was an essential human characteristic, for without language there could be no thought, cited Schreber’s examples of feral man in his ‘Ideas on the Philosophy of Human History’. Claude Lévi-Strauss echoed Herder when he wrote, ‘he who speaks of man speaks of language; he who speaks of language speaks of society’. 6 By the time Kaspar Hauser appeared in Nuremberg in 1828 there were 16 recorded cases of feral men in Europe, by far the most famous and best recorded being that of Victor, the wild boy of Aveyron.7 The earliest case is that of the wild boy of Hessen of 1344. The great Dutch anatomist Nicolas Tulp, whom Rembrandt used as a model for his Anatomy Lesson, was delighted to be able to examine the Irish sheepchild ( juvenis ovinus hibernus) who was captured in 1672 and brought over to Holland. The calf-child of Bamberg (juvenis bovinus bambergensis), described by Linné, could fight large dogs with his bare teeth and it is reported that his intelligence showed some signs of improvement since he entered human society in 1680. The second bear-child of Lithuania, discovered in 1694, was able to learn to walk upright and to speak. The girl from Kranenburg in Holland ( puella transislana), who was given the name Anna Maria Gennärt, was about 19 years old when she was captured in 1717. She was never able to speak, but learnt to spin wool, a trade which she practised until her death. It was said that a business man from Amsterdam had got a woman pregnant whereupon he had sent her away. The child died in early infancy. On his deathbed the businessman ask to see his child. Hoping that he would leave her some money his spurned mistress stole a 16-month-old baby and went to see her repentant lover. Having inherited some money the woman left the child in the woods where she lived for many years until she was captured by the local peasants. At that time she was about 18 years old. 8

4

Kaspar Hauser

Peter, the wild boy of Hanover, is the subject of more detailed reports and is mentioned by both Rousseau and Linné. He had been abandoned by his father, but managed to find his way back home after one year in the wilds. He was savagely beaten by his stepmother who chased him away for good. Having managed to avoid numerous attempts to capture him he was finally seized at the age of about 13 in 1724. At first he was placed in the charge of the poorhouse in Hamlin. Then he lodged with a burgher in the vain hope that he would learn a useful trade. The religious leader Count Nicolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf und Pottendorf asked whether he could have the boy so that he could make some experiments with him. He was told that the king had placed him in the care of a philosopher who wished to do some research in innate ideas. 9 He was thus taken to the court of George I in London. For some time he was in the care of Queen Anne’s physician, the renowned wit Dr John Arbuthnot, whose friend Jonathan Swift wrote a satirical piece on the wonderful Wild Man that was nursed in the woods of Germany by a wild beast, hunted and taken in toyls; how he behaveth himself like a dumb creature, and is a Christian like one of us, being called Peter; how he was brought to court all in green, to the great astonishment of the quality and gentry. 10 Swift wrote: I am told, that the new sect of herb-eaters intend to follow him into the fields, or to beg him for a clerk in their kitchen; and that there are many of them now thinking of turning their children into woods to graze with cattle, in hopes to raise a healthy and moral race, refined from the corruptions of this luxurious world. Peter lived in society for 18 years, but was never able to speak. He showed some appreciation of music and gradually got used to wearing normal clothes. The Scottish anthropologist Lord Monboddo was fascinated by this case and wondered whether Peter had any sense of ‘the great Author’ of the wonders of nature that so obviously fascinated him. He was told that he had no consciousness of the existence of God. 11 Peter provided clear evidence for Monboddo that the ‘state of nature is not an imaginary state . . . but a real state, upon which we may safely found our philosophy of man’. Other observers were less enthusiastic and said that Peter, far from being an example of man in a state of nature, was simply an idiot.12

Feral Man

5

The wild girl of Sogny in the Champagne was captured in 1731 when she was about 10 years old. 13 She lived on a diet of small birds, frogs and fish and particularly relished rabbit’s blood. She claimed to have lived with another human whom she had killed by accident. She was looked after by nuns in Châlons-sur-Marne who taught her to speak. She was taken to live with a religious order in Paris where she was visited by the Duke of Orleans. Her ambition was to become a nun, but ill-health prevented her from taking the veil. In 1756 Dr Milsintown found a wild child of about 12 on the Scottish island of Barra and undertook the awesome task of making him into a human being and a Christian. The good doctor had little success with either endeavour. The sickly child who had a cleft palate, upon which Milsintown performed a singularly clumsy and painful operation, soon died. Shortly before his death he was baptized and given the name Edward.14 Jean of Liège, who was estimated to be 21 years old when he was captured, was a strict vegetarian. It was assumed that he had spent about 16 years in the wild and, like Peter, he was never able to speak. In 1767 two further wild children were discovered in Hungary. Tomko managed to learn Slovak and to understand some German. His health was poor and he appeared to have no sexual drive. The Bear-Child, discovered in the same year, was kept in a hospital in Karpfen. The most famous of all the wild children, and the one about whom the most has been written, is Victor, the wild boy of Aveyron. 15 He was first spotted in 1797 playing stark naked in a wood in the Tarn. He was captured, but escaped after 15 months. He was caught once again by some hunters in the summer of 1798 and was placed in the care of a widow. Again he escaped and spent part of the winter in the woods. On 19 nivôse of the year VIII (9 January 1800) he was spotted in the garden of a dyer by the name of Vidal who lived at Saint-Sernin-sur-Rance in Aveyron. The following day he was brought to an asylum in SaintAffrique and on 4 February he was taken to Rodez. Here the naturalist Abbé Bonnaterre made a preliminary examination of the boy. 16 Bonnaterre had worked in Paris on the Encylopédie méthodique, was pursued by the Committee of Public Safety, and forced into hiding. On the creation of the central schools he was appointed professor in Rodez in 1796. Bonnaterre was particularly interested in the phenomenon of wild children and had studied the scanty literature on the subject. Like most contemporary philosophers he believed that society was ontogenetic and that ‘the greatest source of ideas among men is their human interactions’.17 He made a meticulous preliminary study of the child. News

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Kaspar Hauser

of the discovery excited the scientific world and Victor was taken to Paris to be examined by the most illustrious psychologist of the time, Philippe Pinel, the head of the Bicêtre. Pinel, who is often regarded as the father of psychiatry since he was the first person to write a textbook on the subject, introduced a number of reforms in the asylum, put a stop to the more brutal practices of the time, and insisted on a more humane treatment of the mentally ill. He classified mental illness in four categories: mania, melancholia, dementia and idiocy. In his classic text on mental illness he classified idiots as ‘destitute of speech and confined to the utterance of some inarticulate sounds. Their looks are without animation, their senses stupefied, and their movements heavy and mechanical.’18 Pinel decided that Victor was an idiot because he showed characteristics identical to those of his idiot patients in the Bicêtre. Many philosophers have argued that speech is essential for humanity. Julien Offray de La Mettrie as a thorough-going materialist, once reviled as an atheist and now regarded as one of the founding fathers of modern psychology, rejected Descartes’ notion of innate ideas. He insisted that ideas could not exist without speech, and since wild children had no speech they could not have any ideas, innate or otherwise. Thus a wild child could not of his own discover God, since Descartes’ belief that all humans had an innate notion of God was a fallacy. For la Mettrie ‘tous nos idées viennent des sens’, an idea which he acknowledged as a ‘belle conjecture’ which came from Arnobius the Elder who, in the fourth century, had argued that if a child were raised in total isolation on a simple diet he would emerge after 20 or more years ‘as baffled and mindless as an animal, a piece of wood or a stone’. 19 This was an idea which particularly appealed to Feuerbach when he first met Kaspar Hauser. Jean-Marc-Gaspard Itard, the resident physician in the Institution for the Deaf and Dumb in the rue Saint-Jacques, violently disagreed with his distinguished colleague at the Bicêtre. Itard was profoundly influenced by the philosophy of Locke and Condillac and believed that a human being was a social construct. He argued that Victor’s idiocy, which he could hardly deny, was due not to any inherent genetic failure, but simply to the fact that he had been excluded from human society at a vital stage in his development. His idiocy was thus due not to nature, but to the lack of nurture. In his first report of 1801 Itard said that the wild boy no longer wet his bed, could dress himself, and had learnt some elements of table manners; his sentiments and affections showed signs of growth, but he still had little intellectual curiosity. He painfully learnt to say all

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the vowels, except the ‘u’, and three consonants. Thus he could say the word lait, but that was the extent of his verbal ability. In the six intervening years before the next report Victor made some further progress. He showed signs of emotional development, his senses were more acute and he was able to perform simple tasks. Although he remained virtually mute he was able to read and write a number of words and thus indicate his wishes and concerns. Victor was evicted from the Institute in 1811, was given a small state pension, and lived with a caretaker, Madame Guérin, in the Impasse des Feuillantines. He died in 1828, aged about 40, the year that Kaspar Hauser arrived in Nuremberg. He was almost forgotten and was no longer the talk of Paris as when he had dined with Madame Récamier, whom he delighted by stripping off his clothes and climbing a tree in the best enfant sauvage manner. He met the Marquis de Sade, and it was widely rumoured that he was none other than Louis XVII. Itard died in 1837. He had a distinguished career, acknowledged by the medal of the Legion of Honour and his election to the Academy of Medicine, but he never bothered to visit Victor after he left the Institute. Itard’s eulogist, Dr Bosquet, remained convinced that Victor was a cretin and that Itard’s failure to make significant progress with him was due to this simple fact. 20 Jean-Etienne-Dominique Esquirol, whose father had worked with Itard many years before, was convinced that Victor was an idiot who had been abandoned by his parents.21 Pinel agreed. Itard thought the exact opposite: Victor was an idiot because he had been abandoned in the woods. Other experts who shared Pinel’s opinion felt that although Itard was a psychiatrist and educator of genius his efforts were largely wasted on the wild boy of Aveyron. Itard suffered greatly from such criticism and continued to insist that there was nothing congenitally wrong with Victor and that his idiocy was due to his years of isolation. He argued that Victor had made enormous progress under his supervision and that this poor savage should not be compared with children who had enjoyed a normal upbringing in ‘the most civilised country in Europe’. The most spectacular modern case of feral children was that of Amala and Kamala who were discovered near Midnapur, some 120 miles west of Calcutta, in October 1920, by the Reverend J. A. L. Singh. 22 The two girls, aged about 18 months and 8 years had been nurtured by a shewolf. They were taken by Singh to an orphanage in the vain hope that they might be saved for ‘humanity and Christianity’. The younger child died a year later, the older lived for a further eight years. Singh’s diary of the case was published in the United States in 1942 in a book

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co-authored by R. M. Zingg, Professor of Psychology at the university of Denver and an expert on feral children.23 Even though Singh’s account had been authenticated by Arnold Gesell, a professor of paediatrics at Yale, it was not long before its veracity was under fierce attack. The English-born American anthropologist Ashley Montagu, the most outspoken opponent of the view that cultural phenomena are genetically determined, announced that however attractive such stories of children reared by wolves might be they could not be accepted by any serious scientist.24 An American sociologist who cooperated with Gandhi’s one-time secretary Nirmal K. Bose cast further doubt on Singh’s account of the case. They were unable to find Godamuri, the village near which he had claimed to have found the children. Nor could they find anyone who could corroborate his tale. They concluded that Singh had made up the story as a publicity stunt, possibly in the hope of making some money. 25 Singh found a supporter in the little-known British novelist Charles Maclean who travelled to India in 1977. He claimed that Godamuri had been renamed Ghorabanda and that the older villagers in the region vividly remembered the capture of the wolf children. Too much credence should not be given to this account, for there are countless stories of feral children in India, dating from 1858 when William Henry Sleeman reported the appearance of such children in Husanpur, Sultanpur, Chupra, Lucknow and Banikpur. 26 Rudyard Kipling’s father collected stories of feral children and doubtless inspired his son to write the story of Mowgli in The Jungle Book and The Second Jungle Book.27 A number of cases of feral children in India was reported in the twentieth century, the last being Ramu who was found near New Delhi in 1954. Many of the things about feral man that fascinated eighteenth- and nineteenth-century intellectuals are no longer of pressing interest. We are hardly concerned about the precise nature of our distinct species of homo sapiens, the broader questions having been answered by Darwin. Our attention is directed to the even more sensitive questions of the differences between the races and between males and females. Similarly the issue of innate ideas is hardly central to the philosophical debate, although Noam Chomsky’s postulate of an innate grammar has done something to revive the question. Figures such as Kaspar Hauser continue to fascinate hermeneutists and linguists. A speechless foundling in possession of an authorless letter is a challenge to both disciplines. Friedrich Daniel Ernst Schleiermacher clearly enunciated the hermeneutic programme when he said that it was his aim ‘to understand speech as well and even better than the speaker’.28 From this starting point it is

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argued that the truth about Kaspar Hauser is to be found in the text and not in what lies behind it, since speech does not have the ability to represent. From the moment of his arrival in Nuremberg Kaspar Hauser became the point at which various discourses crossed.29 From this point of view there is little more to him than a discursive meeting place. For most people he remains a mystery, a symbol of a world that cannot be understood. To the hermeneutist, however, he is an allegory for the relationship between speech and the world. Kaspar Hauser shows that language does not depict the world and his linguistic efforts are seen as an exemplification of a romantic longing for a state in which there is no distinction between being and meaning. It is a melancholy longing for it can never be achieved.30 Psychoanalysts are also intrigued by the story of Kaspar Hauser. Freud’s famous study of paranoia published in 1911 was based on Daniel Paul Schreber’s Memoirs of a Neuropath, in which he used the phrase ‘soul murder’, a notion which he had picked up from Feuerbach’s book on Kaspar Hauser. ‘Soul murder’, which Feuerbach defined as ‘the criminal invasion of man’s most sacred and unique property – the freedom and destiny of his soul’, became part of Freud’s vocabulary and was used by Jung, Abraham and Ferenczi.31 Schreber was a distinguished jurist, the presiding judge in a division of the appeal court in Saxony, who suffered from dreadful paranoid delusions and wrote a harrowing account of the torments they caused. 32 In 1909 Freud published an essay in which he pointed out that it was a typical childhood fantasy to believe that one was a bastard or a changeling, and that one was not the child of one’s official parents. Naturally one assumes oneself to be of more distinguished birth than one is in fact, usually imagining oneself to be the offspring of a landowning aristocrat.33 In the first (non-sexual phase) of this questioning of parental authority the child fantasizes that he is a foundling. In the second (sexual) phase only the role of the father is placed in question, and the child believes himself to be a bastard child of some distinguished person. In the inflated language of psychoanalysis this rests on an infantile conflict between a narcissistic inflation of the ego and a grossly exaggerated father image. Such fantasies feed on the fact that pater semper incertus est whereas the mother is certissima.34 Freudians thus believe that this widespread fantasy lies at the root of the fascination of the story of Kaspar Hauser as a child whose origins were wrapped in mystery. It is also used to explain Kaspar Hauser’s often arrogant behaviour and his brief but intense relationship with Lord Stanhope.

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Alexander Mitscherlich even goes so far as to suggest that a Kaspar Hauser complex, rather than an Oedipus complex, should be seen as the fundamental causes of neuroses in today’s world which he described as a ‘fatherless society’.35 Children grow up denied the affection and comfort provided by their parents and fellow man. They are alone, virtually without a culture, developing within an asocial environment. The individual is merely a creature driven by the compulsions of the moment. From birth he suffers from impoverished relations with his cultural environment. The modern masses are thus open to seduction, anger, disloyalty and fear. The Oedipus complex, according to Freud, works itself out in normal relations between individuals, does not necessarily hinder a person’s healthy development, and is an essential component of our civilization. The Kaspar Hauser complex, based on a lack of love and affection, is a far more serious matter, for it cannot be overcome. A more contemporary case provides evidence for Mitscherlich’s theory. In 1970 a girl came to the attention of the Los Angeles County welfare office. She came with her aged grandmother and her virtually blind mother who was searching for the services for the blind, having left her brutal husband. The worker on duty was shocked by the little girl’s appearance. She was barely able to walk, and seemed to want to correct her bent-over stance by holding her hands out in front of her as if grasping an imaginary railing for support. The eligibility worker assumed that the child was autistic and estimated that she was about six years old. Her supervisor did not agree with this diagnosis, but could not fail to notice that something was seriously amiss. It was soon revealed that the child was a teenager, although she only weighed 49 pounds and was a mere 44 inches tall. She understood a few simple words, but was only able to say ‘stop it’ and ‘no more’ plus a couple of other negatives. She was incontinent, could not focus her eyes beyond 12 feet, was unable to chew food, had difficulty in swallowing, and had no perception of heat and cold. Further investigation revealed that she had been imprisoned from the age of two in a room measuring 10 by 14 feet, and had been tied down naked to a potty seat for hours at a time. She was beaten if she made the slightest noise. Like Kaspar Hauser, whose fate was similar, she was much liked by those who took care of her. She was sweetly innocent and responded to the care and affection that was lavished on her. The hospital workers named her ‘Genie’.36 This sensational story was reported in the local press, but was somewhat overshadowed by the Charles Manson trial, the bombing of Hanoi,

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and the controversial policies of Governor Ronald Reagan. The parents’ arrest and the father’s suicide were reported on national news and Genie became something of a celebrity. Her arrival at Los Angeles’ exclusive Children’s Hospital happened at a time when linguistics and the question of language acquisition was the subject of intense academic debate. Noam Chomsky’s ideas about an inborn generative grammar were at the height of fashion. B. F. Skinner’s theory that ‘verbal behaviour’ was entirely learned had many supporters, and Eric H. Lenneberg’s theory of brain growth, which postulated that it was virtually impossible to acquire a first language after the age of 12 or 13, were hotly debated. The debate over the acquisition of language is long-standing and fraught with difficulties. Is it a purely biological function like sight or hearing as Epicurus argued, or is it a gift of God as Leibnitz insisted – although he made an exception for Chinese, a language which God in his infinite goodness could not possibly have imagined, and which was thus clearly the invention of some ingenious Asiatics. Herodotus tells us that in the late seventh century BC the Egyptian King Psamtik I of Egypt, a ruler with burning imperial ambitions, sought to discover the universal language which would hold his kingdom together. He ordered two infants to be taken from their mothers to be raised in an isolated shepherd’s hut. The shepherd was told not to speak to the children and to note their first words. Two years later one of them uttered a sound that resembled the word bekos, the word for bread in the Phrygian language. Whereupon the king announced that Phrygian was the original language on which all others were based.37 King Psamtik has been accused of a pitiful lack of methodological rigour and historians, although prepared to accept that the flute and the Dionysian orgy may well have originated in Phrygia, are dubious that the language, of which precious few traces remain, was the first that crossed human lips. Father Salimbene of Parma tells us that Frederick II of Hohenstaufen conducted a similar experiment to discover mankind’s original language. He was a truly remarkable ruler who had absorbed the cultures of Europe and the Orient, a patron of the arts and sciences, the author of a treatise De arte venandi cum avibus (The Art of Hunting with Birds) which was the definitive work on ornithology for several centuries. His tolerance towards Moslems was such that many Christians feared that he might convert to Islam. Others thought he was an atheist who believed in nothing at all. But he was brutally harsh in the pursuit of heretics and discriminated against the Jews, forcing them to wear special clothing. He was a man of immense culture and learning, but was also a suspicious and mean-spirited despot. The stupor mundi ordered

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a number of children to be brought up in silent isolation. Alas, these harsh experiments brought no results. The good priest reports that these efforts were in vain. All the children died.38 In 1807 G. F. A. Wendeborn complained that it was a ‘misunderstanding of humaneness’ not to conduct experiments on a dozen children of both sexes who would be raised in complete isolation so as to unlock the secrets of human nature. 39 For many linguists Chomsky’s Syntactic Structures, published in 1957, provided the answer to these perplexing problems that had troubled inquisitive minds for so many centuries. By concentrating on syntax rather than vocabulary, Chomsky sought to show that all languages are essentially identical. This similarity is based on an innate structure of which language is an expression. The fact that by the age of four a child can produce and understand a large number of sentences which are new to them is indication that they can rearrange familiar words in new ways according to rules of which they are not aware. Thus the structure and design of language is in the genes. A particular language is the result of the interaction between this ‘universal grammar’ and the specific linguistic data to which the individual is exposed. Chomsky claimed that prelinguistic children on a desert island would most likely invent their own language and that this language would obey the same syntactical rules. He thus came to much the same conclusion as Montaigne who claimed in 1580 that a child brought up in solitude would develop some kind of language. Subsequent thinkers worried about what kind of language that would be. Would it be the language of the soul, or the language of the intellect? Did thought generate language and language society, or could it be the other way round? The environmentalists, recovering after Chomsky’s shattering review of Skinner’s Verbal Behaviour in the review Language in 1959, argued that there was no evidence for a language gene, that learning a language was a long and difficult process, and that the innatist argument was little more than a metaphor. As a prominent psycholinguist, George Miller remarked: ‘The trouble with language acquisition is that the nativists have proved that it’s a mystery and the environmentalists have proved that it’s impossible.’ It was the old debate between Condillac and Descartes. Victor appeared on the scene when Condillac’s ideas were in vogue, Genie when Chomsky’s transformational grammar was all the rage. Genie was fascinating both to linguists and to psychologists interested in the effects of sensory and social deprivation. But there were serious problems. The whole case was compromised by what one consultant, Jay Shurley, described as the ‘glitz factor’. Genie was a celebrity and there was fierce competition among the 20 psychologists and

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neurologists concerned with the case as they sought the maximum of publicity and professional glory. There was also the problem that the team needed funding from the National Institute for Mental Health (NIMH) and thus the scientific value of the case was to some more important than the interests of the patient. Seven months after Genie arrived at Children’s Hospital she contracted rubella and was boarded with her teacher, Jean Butler, with whom she was particularly close. She was a single woman with private means, fiercely protective of her pupil, determined to keep the inquisitive scientists at bay. She applied to the Department of Public Social Services (DPSS) to adopt the child. When they argued that Genie needed a stepfather, Jean Butler asked her lover, a psychologist at the University of Southern California, to act in this capacity. He consented. Under Butler’s care Genie improved greatly. Her bed-wetting was less frequent, she masturbated less often, her speech improved somewhat, and she appeared to be a happier and more contented child. Nevertheless the DPSS turned down the application for adoption and Genie was returned to the Rehabilitation Centre. Genie was now placed in the care of David and Marilyn Rigler. David Rigler was the head of the Genie research project funded by NIMH, his wife Marilyn was a graduate student in human development. They lived with their three adolescent children, a golden retriever puppy and a cat in a comfortable home in an exclusive area of Los Angeles. They were handsomely rewarded by grant money for their efforts. After a promising start Genie’s language ability hardly improved, even though in other respects she was progressing remarkably well, and there was no evidence that she was mentally defective. The vast amount of data collected by researchers all over the country had produced precious little of value. NIMH was reluctant to renew the grant and the Riglers were under constant attack from Jean Butler who blamed Genie’s lack of progress and even regression on their failure as guardians. She had now married her lover, lived in great style, and collected some six thousand pages of documents to bolster her case against the Riglers. In spite of all her efforts her attempt to become Genie’s foster parent failed and Genie was returned to the Rehabilitation Centre. She then lived with the Riglers for four years in their home in an exclusive district of Los Angeles. She was then returned to her mother, who was unable to cope, and Genie passed from one foster home to another. Jay Shurley, Professor of Psychology at the University of Oklahoma and a specialist on cases of extreme isolation, who worked with Genie, made some prescient comments on the case which are directly relevant

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to Kaspar Hauser. He pointed out that she was suddenly removed from an unfriendly but consistent environment to one that was overpowering. She went from a famine to a feast, and was unable to adjust to a frantic new world. Furthermore she was used by the scientists who found her case fascinating but had little concern for her real needs. She was exploited in both her worlds just as Victor and Kaspar had been before her. After some severe initial problems of adjustment Genie continued to make progress to the point that at a meeting of the American Psychological Association in Honolulu in September 1972 Victoria Fromkin, a distinguished linguist and member of the Genie team, reported to her colleagues that Genie’s linguistic ability disproved Eric Lenneberg’s then fashionable theory that language acquisition was virtually impossible after the age of five. Lenneberg and Chomsky had both been invited to join the Genie team, but had refused on the grounds that she was too emotionally disturbed for there to be any valuable scientific results in the field of language acquisition – a view which Professor Fromkin rejected out of hand. It soon became apparent that Professor Fromkin had been too optimistic in her assessment as Genie’s linguistic abilities improved only minimally. Genie’s inability to master syntax seemed to support Lenneberg’s theories, but were a problem for the Chomskians. If part of language was innate why was it that it was precisely this part which Genie lacked? Experiments on the receptivity of her left and right brain suggested an answer. Genie’s brain processed language in the right hemisphere rather than the left. Susan Curtiss suggested that Genie’s left hemisphere had not been stimulated in early childhood so that she perceived language as an environmental sound and thus appropriately processed it across the aisle. 40 Research on deaf children suggests that this is indeed the case. If they are not exposed to sign language at an early age they do not process language in the left hemisphere. The facts of Genie’s tragic life are fully known, but most wild children became the subject of much speculation. Why had they been left alone to fend for themselves? Who were their parents? Were they insane, or were they merely lacking in education? None of the wild children was the object of more speculation than Kaspar Hauser. In large part this was because he, like Genie, was not a truly wild child. Unlike any of the others he learnt to speak, to read and to write. Although retarded in his development, he would have been able to hold down a modest job. He shared with all the wild children an air of mystery – indeed the words ‘mystery’ and ‘puzzle’ are the characteristic words in many of the hundreds of pamphlets, articles and books written during his lifetime

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and subsequent to his death. The mystery surrounding him could lead some imaginative spirits to believe that he was symbolic of certain aspects of human existence, or even that he had some divine mission. Those of a less mystical cast of mind were convinced that he was of noble, or even royal blood, and eagerly espoused the notion that he was the heir to the Grand Duchy of Baden – a belief that greatly appealed to the radical critics of the corruption of the petty German states. Many would have none of this and proclaimed him to be a swindler enjoying a comfortable life at the taxpayers’ expense and wallowing in the admiring curiosity of the highly born, the rich and the fashionable. Satirical journals frequently stooped to dubious levels in poking fun at the case. Der Komet recommended a number of books on the subject. Among them were: Caspar Hauser, The Unnatural Fruit Of Intercourse Between A Negress And A Baboon, Explained, Described And Edited With The Permission Of The Father By The Originator Of This Popular Prank – Sir Jocko The Long-Nosed Ape and A Medical-Fantastical-Political-DiplomaticCannibalistic-Bestial Experiment – Caspar Hauser Shown In The Magic Lantern of Public Opinion to Be An Impostor . . . By An Anonymous Author Who Is Well-known.41 The Kaspar Hauser of these pamphlets was certainly no ‘noble savage’, a child of nature whose innocence illuminated the falsity and depravity of contemporary civilization. By the time he appeared in Nuremberg the romantic cult of the savage, the child and the peasant was no longer fashionable. 42 Yet although actual savages, children and peasants were hardly objects of uncritical wonderment, as abstractions they provided rewarding objects for philosophical and ethnological investigation. This philosophical and ethnological approach was then applied to contemporary society as a critique of existing conditions, particularly of power relationships. It was a process that began with the French philosophes, was taken up by German philosophers such as Herder, and then pursued by Claude Lévi-Strauss in his attempt to find a universally valid methodology for the examination of cultures, and by Michel Foucault as an ‘ethnology’ of contemporary society. 43 The myth of the ‘noble savage’ dates back to Christopher Columbus whose enthusiasm for the virtues of the Arawaks knew no bounds. 44 But Columbus also provided in his description of the Caribs the archetype of the evil savage. This distinction between the noble and the evil savage is nowhere more striking than in the works of Bartolomé de las Casas and Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo y Valdés. 45 Oviedo went to San Domingo in 1514 as inspector of mines and wrote his history of the Indies on his return to Spain. He described the natives as cannibals,

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sodomites, idolaters and pitiless beasts with insatiable sexual appetites. They could only be saved by the firm hand of Christian conquerors. Las Casas’ History of the Indies was a direct attack on Oviedo with whom he had clashed over the question of Indian rights. Whereas Oviedo insisted that such beasts could have no rights Las Casas argued that the Spanish behaved like ravenous beasts of prey who fed upon the Indians. He saw the Indians as a meek, patient, peaceful and virtuous people who were ruthlessly exploited by the conquistadors. Both the noble and the evil savage are projective fictions. The nobility of Las Casas’ savages is contrasted with the brutality of the Spanish. The idealized savage is representative of a condemnation of the barbarity of the civilized world. But he is also the ideal subject. He is submissive, but at the same time retains his sensuality and unrepressed sexuality. He is emotionally free, but knows his place in society. Las Casas was the first person to represent another culture as a means of criticizing European civilization. His Indians were to him what the Nambikwara were to be for Lévi-Strauss – their virtues and skills exposed the vices and vanity of European civilization. By the same token Oviedo’s evil savage justifies colonial repression and exploitation, but there is a hint of envy of his aggressiveness and unrestrained libido. Amerigo Vespucci was clearly titillated by the libidinal generosity of the Indians and somewhat coyly reported that their women treated the penises of their lovers with a balm which swelled the organ so as better to satisfy them. He was horrified at the tales of their cannibalism and claimed to have seen salted human hams hanging in their huts, but he felt that theirs was a prelapsarian society in which mankind lived in harmony with nature, naked, propertyless, uninhibited and with no gods to fear.46 To live ‘sans roi, sans loi, sans foi’ was for some commentators a vision of horror, for others pure utopia. The Franciscan monk Bernardino de Sahagún studied the Nahautl language, wrote a history of the conquest of Mexico from the native point of view, and is often considered to be the first ethnologist.47 He first wrote his history in Nahautl so that the Indians could speak for themselves. Later he translated the book into his native Spanish. His viewpoint was far removed from that of the cultural relativist, for his concern was to understand the Indians’ culture in order better to cure it of its ills and introduce these misguided people to the mysteries of the Christian faith. Sahagún respected The Other, was non-judgmental in his descriptions of Aztec religious practices, insisted that like any other culture the Nahautl had its strengths and its weaknesses, but was never in any doubt that Christianity was the only true religion and that

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European culture was superior to that of the Indians. However harsh his judgment of the Spaniards’ behaviour in the New World he insisted on the fundamental superiority of Spanish culture. Spain might be a society given to indiscriminate slaughter, but it was still a bearer of Christian truths. Sahagún had a profound respect for the otherness of the Nahautl, but found it difficult to square with his belief in the universal equality of mankind. The savage endowed with considerable nobility confronted the murderous conqueror from a Christian culture. This clash of civilizations could only be overcome by the triumph of the Cross. Sahagún, like Las Casas, had made a bold step away from ethnocentrism, delivered a blistering attack on the shortcomings of his own society, but remained convinced that Christianity and European civilization offered the only true hope for universal salvation. It was Montaigne who first made the noble savage into a philosophical concept. Las Casas and Sahagún condemned the Spaniards for their barbarous behaviour towards a people which had many virtues; Montaigne claimed that the barbarity of the civilized world resulted from its separation from nature. Civilization was itself barbarous: the Spaniards were thus no special case. The Indian, living close to nature sets an example of utopian communal living. Such was his enthusiasm for the three Brazilian Indians with whom he conversed, and for the reports of various travellers, that he threw his scepticism overboard and announced that the New World had realized the utopian dreams of ancient philosophers. The Golden Age was no philosophical pipe dream, but a tangible reality. Montaigne’s Indians, like those of LéviStrauss, lived in a way which European philosophers could only imagine.48 Like any present-day cultural relativist he bemoaned the devastation of such societies by greedy, power-hungry Europeans who destroy such perfection all for the ‘traffic of pearls and pepper’. The iron age destroyed the golden age.49 Montaigne’s Indians lived in a classless society where there was no division between rich and poor. Without agriculture or industry there were no disparities of wealth. Without a written language there could be no Mandarin class. Without hierarchical kinship structures there was no familial ranking. Without trade or inheritance and lacking even the ability to count there were no classes. In this egalitarian society there was no place for lies, miserliness, envy, spite, or hatred. The country was so naturally abundant that there was no need for work and the people were seldom if ever sick. It was a society free of restraints and restrictions and thus their sexual life was uninhibited – in marked contrast to guilt-ridden Christian Europe with its taboos and restrictions.

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Montaigne felt that their supposedly complete sexual freedom meant that there could be no jealousy, possessiveness or shame. Europeans like Montaigne saw in American Indians a picture of their former selves, and bemoaned the loss of their freedom and spontaneity. Montaigne was a conservative sceptic who withdrew from public life in the Bordeaux parlement at the age of 38 and retired to his country estate where he wrote his Essays. His motto, que sais-je? is indicative of his scepticism and his open-minded and undogmatic mind. He returned to public life, serving as mayor of Bordeaux while the murderous religious war still raged. He was a leading figure of the parti des politiques which called for religious toleration, but as a conservative he opposed the Reformation, for it had called the old order into question and set off a chain of events which had led to the current disaster. His scepticism and his conservatism were in accord. Truth and falsehood were for him subjective judgments the outcome of which was likely to be disastrous. Thus it was best to stay with the familiar than risk the new. In contrast his scepticism made him an outspoken critic of existing society. Thus although he roundly condemned the cannibalism of his beloved Indians, he argued that European practices such as torture, sadistic executions and the burning of witches were far worse. He believed that by painting a grim picture of the barbarities of the cannibals attention was deliberately diverted away from the cruelty and viciousness of European society. In spite of his conservatism he also knew that custom and tradition could be forms of tyranny. His projective fiction of the noble savage enabled him to live among the Tupinamba when he sat in the tower of his ancestral home and pondered the iniquities and injustices of his own times, a perfumed handkerchief to cool his brow. Here he distanced himself from the real world in melancholy isolation and found thereby the freedom for which he yearned. As a cultural pessimist he despaired of the written word, of which he was a past master, as only serving to stir up strife. Rome, he declared, was at it best when it was the least learned. Among contemporary societies the Turks were the highest in his estimation. They glorified the sword and despised the pen.50 The noble savage lived on in the imagination of philosophers and provided a convenient literary device with which to exorcize the abuses of contemporary society. Campanella’s Città del Sol, Thomas More’s Utopia and Francis Bacon’s Nova Atlantis formed the foundation of a literary genre that was to become increasingly popular. Montaigne’s noble savage, whom Columbus would have counted among the evil savages, can be found in the description of the voyage made by the Domincan

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Father Du Tetre to the West Indies in 1640, and in the writings of his fellow Dominican Labat who published a book on the Caribs in 1722. Du Tetre was to have a profound influence on Rousseau who did more than any other philosopher to popularize the notion of the noble savage.51 Captain Cook, Johann Georg Forster and Louis Antoine de Bougainville brought back glowing reports of the Tahitians, conveniently overlooking the complexity of their social structure and the higher level of their civilization, and extolled the virtues of this primitive Pacific paradise. Their fictional ethnology provided a means of criticizing existing society and for the projection of dreams of personal freedom. Baron Louis-Armand de Lahontan felt that the Hurons were the truly noble savages who lived according to their three commandments of brotherly love, virtue and tranquillity. 52 Lahontan had served with the French army in Canada – his first visit to New France was in 1683 – and convinced himself that the Hurons, unlike the French, lived in harmony with nature. He argued that only a bloody revolution, carried out by means of a military coup, and the abolition of private property could save France from greed, materialism, violence and selfishness. Voltaire agreed with Lohantan that the civilized were the true barbarians, and his highly idealized noble savage – a Frenchman who had been brought up among the Hurons – commented on the evils of contemporary society from the peace and quiet of the prison library in the Bastille where he had been incarcerated thanks to the machinations of his putative father-in-law and a wicked Jesuit. 53 Voltaire’s Huron, unlike Lohantan’s, is no revolutionary. Like Montaigne in his tower, his meditations in the Bastille lead him to the conclusion that he should make his peace with the world around him, maintain an ironic and melancholy distance from it, and pursue a career. Voltaire’s hero is thus not a true noble savage. In his ignorance he merely lacks the trappings of a civilization which, for all its shortcomings and evils, is susceptible to perfection. Diderot confessed that he believed the state of nature to be a fiction but that only in Tahiti were people truly happy. In Europe only the Calabrians led a tolerable existence for they lived in a state of anarchy. His fictional character argued that anarchy caused less harm than civilized behaviour, for European civilization was based on domination and sexual repression. Calabrians sought to destroy the power structure and Tahitians lived in a free and open society with complete sexual freedom. 54 Rousseau also saw the savage as a freedom fighter against the tyranny of Western civilization. His Caribs, like Montaigne’s Tupinamba,

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Diderot’s Tahitians, or Lévi-Strauss’s Nambikwara, heroically resisted attempts by colonialists to impose their way of life upon them, a way of life which they too condemned. He adopted the point of view of the Carib in order to write an ethnology of European society. He believed that despotism was inevitable and that it would in turn be overthrown. Despotism was based on power, and when that power dwindled it would finally collapse. The result would be a new state of nature with all against all. For Hobbes the state of nature was overcome by the formation of society. For Rousseau it was the consequence of social development. The Second Discourse makes it clear that he did not hanker after a long lost primitive state of nature when mankind was merely a ‘stupid and limited animal’, but looked forward to a state in which reason, an equitable distribution of property, morality and civil rights were guaranteed. Rousseau, like Montaigne before him, saw himself as a noble savage. It was not for nothing that he frequently quoted Horace: ‘I am a barbarian because they do not understand me’. 55 Along with the noble and ignoble savage there were the myths of the Wild Folk who roamed the woods and forests of Europe. To some they were dwellers of an Arcadia, delighting in the beauties of nature, leftovers from a golden age of which Gonzalo speaks in The Tempest: All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people. (2.i.166–71) Others feared the Wild Folk as dangerous heathens who would viciously attack unsuspecting travellers. The noble savage was not merely a convenient myth whereby contemporary society could be called into question, it was also a fictional device whereby fundamental questions about human nature could be asked. Is there such a thing as ‘human nature’? Is each individual a product of circumstances, a historical artifact? Behaviourists deny that mental ability is genetically determined. Marxists see society as ontogenetic. Psychoanalysts assert that even instinctual behaviour is the result of individual experience. Those who assert the importance of genetic factors are vulnerable to ferocious attack for asserting a point of

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view which provides ammunition for racists, reactionaries and the enemies of the poor and underprivileged. Is the new-born child a tabula rasa, or does it possess certain innate ideas? At the time that Kaspar Hauser appeared in Nuremberg people were still worried about the question of whether mankind is by nature good or evil. Nowadays it is generally felt that unacceptable behaviour is the product of an undesirable society or of faulty parenting, and those who think otherwise belong to an endangered minority. Concepts such as original sin seem to most people to be quaintly scholastic. Although Kaspar Hauser emerged into a largely secular world morality was still a serious issue. Was the foundling a sweet innocent, a holy fool, a Parsifal? Or was he by nature mendacious, spiteful and fraudulent? Were his shortcomings the result of a faulty socialization since his release from his prison cell, or were they due to an essentially evil character? Which was at fault – the individual or society? Kaspar Hauser was not only the object of fierce debates, onto whom such notions were projected, he was also the pawn in a political game of republicans against legitimists, of radicals against conservatives. If that were not enough his case aroused the interest of all manner of faddists, charlatans, fortune hunters and sensation seekers. A simple-minded foundling thus became the point of intersection of so many strains of thought so that his own curious personality became hidden under layers of fictional projections. Each had their own Kaspar Hauser – prince, fraud, sweet innocent, pathological liar, tragic object of abuse, victim or culprit.

2 Kaspar Hauser Appears in Nuremberg

The city in which the drama of Kaspar Hauser unfolded had a rich and proud history. In 1471 the astronomer Johannes Müller (Regiomontanus) flattered the city fathers by proclaiming the city to be the centre of Europe.1 As a sign of its wealth and sense of civic responsibility Nuremberg was one of the first cities in Europe to boast a public library which was opened in the early sixteenth century. Henry IV of France’s brilliant financial councillor Maximilien de Béthune, Duc de Sully, while in retirement after the assassination of his royal master dreamt up a fantastic scheme for the peace of Europe. Fifteen regions were to be created with six regional councils. Nuremberg was to be the seat of the German body.2 By 1828 such schemes would have seemed even more preposterous and the city had yet to adjust fully to its new and inferior position within the German Confederation. On 15 September 1806 at ten in the morning the French plenipotentiary Friron handed over the imperial city of Nuremberg to the Bavarian commissioner Count Thürnheim in an impressive ceremony. Cannons roared, church bells rang, French soldiers and the Nuremberg militia paraded through the streets as the decision of the Act of Confederation of the Rhine was formally acknowledged. The patricians of the city were appalled. The wife of the prominent businessman Paul Wolfgang Merkel burst into tears and told her bemused children that they were now the slaves of princes. 3 The vast majority of the citizenry were more stoic and accepted the inevitable and waited upon events. The Patricians felt it prudent to give the Bavarian commissioner a lavish banquet. They were hard hit by the high-handed way in which the Bavarian government took over both the city’s assets and its debts, and they lost many of their privileges when Nuremberg ceased to be an imperial city. Most of the 22 patrician families were 22

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later included in the ranks of the Bavarian aristocracy and given the title of Baron. Although the city’s governing body, the Patriarchy, was abolished and replaced by a directorate of police, little changed in the administration of the city. The civic offices were renamed royal Bavarian departments, and Christian Wurm from Ansbach was appointed director of the police. Although authoritarian and vain, he was a hard working and effective administrator. In 1808 the administration of Bavaria was reformed and the kingdom was divided into a number of districts. Nuremberg became the capital of the Pegnitz District. The districts were reorganized two years later and Nuremberg was now placed in the Rezat district whose capital was Ansbach. This was partly the result of the riots in Nuremberg in 1809 when the people had welcomed the Austrian army, forced Wurm to flee, and mishandled Count Thürnheim. This outburst of popular anger was prompted by Thürnheim’s remark that the Austrians were ‘a motley rabble of cobblers, tailors and linen-weavers’ which Nuremberg’s proud artisans found highly offensive. 4 The police director Wurm was the most powerful man in the city. The Municipal Council (Munizipalrat) had only 5 members and they were elected by a mere 10 electors who were appointed by the police director. The council could only meet at the police director’s bidding. In 1818 the city was given a degree of self-government under a city commissioner. A few thousand voted for the 36 members of the Municipal Committee (Gemeindekollegium) of solid bourgeois property owners and professionals. These worthies elected a mayor and his deputy (who was responsible for charitable organizations), 4 regular councillors (Magistratsräte), an officer of works (Baurat) and 12 honorary councillors. In 1821 Jakob Friedrich Binder was appointed mayor. It was an enormously popular choice, and he remained in office until 1854. There were about 80 people in the city’s employ, most of them clerks and policemen and 20 teachers. There was a garrison of some 3000 men who stood guard at the city gates and controlled the visitors. A great deal was done for the poor and needy, providing food and clothing, medical assistance and education. Binder’s deputy mayor, Johannes Scharrer, instituted a special scheme whereby the working poor could put by a modest amount to help them out in times of unemployment. It was a remarkably successful idea which was soon copied throughout Bavaria. In the socially disruptive years of the pre-March Nuremberg had to deal with the pressing problems of post-war poverty and the dislocations caused by the onset of the industrial revolution. The call

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on the city’s resources for poor relief were excessive. 5 In 1839 a special tax had to be instituted to help pay off the debt and provide the funds for future investment in hospitals and schools. In this context it is understandable that the exceptionally generous treatment afforded to Kaspar Hauser gave rise to widespread adverse comment. Patrician and bourgeois Nuremberg had a rich cultural and social life. Family music and amateur dramatics were popular home entertainment, and clubs such as Harmony (Harmonie) and Museum (Museum) were popular meeting places. In the spirit of German romanticism there was a lively interest in local history and Johann Ferdinand Roth’s Nuremberg Pocketbook (Nürnberger Taschenbuch) of 1812/13 and New Pocketbook (Neues Taschenbuch) of 1819/22 are among the finest book productions of the age. It was not until 1833 that a theatre was built by public subscription. The price of admission was very high, so only the wealthier could enjoy the productions of modern drama. Nuremberg was a traditional city and at the time it was handed over to Bavaria its economy, severely hit by Napoleon’s continental blockade and the disruptions of war, had not yet adjusted to the needs of a new industrial age. There were 2500 businesses – in other words one enterprise for every 10 inhabitants. The majority were tailors, shoemakers, smiths and wood turners. Few had more than one employee. Eight tobacco firms employed 76 workers in 1811, 2 furniture manufactories had 84 employees in the same year. In all there were only 30 firms which employed more than 10 workers, but many of the small workshops were linked together in putting out arrangements under a single entrepreneur. There were a number of high-quality mirror manufactories along the river Pegnitz, the water power being used for polishing the glass and pounding the foil backing. These highly prized products were exported to North and South America. The most important trades were brewing and tobacco. The Bavarian government loosened the control of the guilds, and the trade and industries law (Gewerbeordnung) of 1825 made it far easier to form a new company, but it took some time before Nuremberg saw any sizable modern factories. The textile manufacturer Johann Philip Lobenhofer followed the example of his Rhineland colleagues and opened a factory with 56 machines and 96 employees in 1827, but the machines were still water-driven. By 1834 when the German customs union (Zollverein) was formed only four enterprises had more than 50 employees. Nuremberg prided itself for being a traditional city of independent artisans largely unaffected by the problems of industrialization. Romantic writers such as Ludwig Tieck praised Nuremberg as

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a model of old-fashioned German civic virtue, and the city was widely seen as the perfect German city. Few thought it unreasonable that Jews were still not allowed to reside in the city, and that only wealthy Jews were granted permission to do business within the city walls. The Zollverein and the opening of a polytechnic in 1833, along with the opening of the first German railway from Nuremberg to Fürth two years later mark the beginning of a new and dynamic era of economic expansion. The population of Nuremberg in 1806 was 25,176 according to the census. By mid-century the population had doubled. During that period Nuremberg was transformed from a city of merchants and artisans to an industrial centre. This traditional, proud and conservative city was the setting for a remarkable drama which was to excite the interest of Germany and Europe. No one could have imagined that a story which had such a humdrum beginning would end so dramatically. On Whit Monday 26 May 1828, some time between four and five o’clock in the afternoon, Georg Leonhard Weickmann, a 53-year-old cobbler, set out for a stroll through the streets of his native Nuremberg. The town was almost empty as the Nurembergers profited from the good weather to relax in the countryside. As he was about to leave his house on the corner of the Unschlittplatz and the Mittlere Kreuzgasse he met his guild-brother Jakob Beck and stayed in the doorway for a chat. His attention was drawn to a strange young man, who appeared to be about 16 years old, waddling downhill in a most peculiar manner from the Bärleinhuter shouting ‘hey lad’ (‘He Bue!’), an expression used by master craftsmen to hail an apprentice. At first sight he appeared to be drunk. He walked with his heels and soles touching the ground at the same time, the feet turned inwards. He stretched out his arms in order to keep his balance. As he came closer to the two cobblers he said, ‘Neue Torstraße!’ – the name of a street in Nuremberg.6 He was wearing a grey jacket which had been crudely shortened. The grey riding breeches did not match, and had probably belonged to a servant or a forester. He wore a waistcoat with red spots and a black silk scarf around his neck. His boots had high heels with metal cleats and studs. His hat was of a type worn in the town, it was of poor quality and there was a heavily scratched picture of Munich in the lining. His hair was very fine and curly, cut in the style of a farm boy. His clear bluish eyes and blank expression gave him an impression of animal stupidity. Weickmann naturally assumed that the stranger was looking for the Neutorstraße. Since he intended to go in that direction Jakob Beck suggested that he could show him the way. Beck, who was going in the

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opposite direction, took his leave. It was a decision he was later to regret when this pathetic newcomer became an international celebrity. Weickmann set off with the awkward stranger over the Max bridge in the direction of the Neutorstraße. They walked together in silence. Shortly after they had crossed the bridge the young man stopped and took a large sealed letter from his jacket pocket and handed it to Weickmann without saying a word. The letter was addressed to ‘The Major of the 4th Battalion’. Since Weickmann had no idea who this person might be, he suggested that they should go to police station at the New Gate. The stranger muttered: ‘Station! Station! New Gate just built eh?’ The cobbler tried to explain that the New Gate was in fact old, and that it had simply kept the name from the time it was built. The young man did not appear to understand this curious logic. Weickmann then asked him where he came from and was told ‘Regensburg’. Asked whether he had been to Nuremberg before he replied: ‘No. First time.’ When Weickmann asked what was new in Regensburg and what he knew of ‘war and peace’, the boy parroted the word ‘war! war!’ It did not take Weickmann long to realize that he had no idea what the word ‘war’ meant, nor did he understand anything that he was saying. By this time the two had reached the police station at the New Gate. The desk clerk asked if the stranger had his journeyman’s identity papers, and Weickmann replied that he did not. The cobbler then took the young man to another guard room where he respectfully removed his hat in front of a corporal and two other men. He showed his letter to the corporal, whereupon the desk clerk showed him the way to a door and told him to enter. Weickmann understood this to mean that the police would look after the stranger and therefore went on his way. There is no record of what happened in the next few hours and it was not until seven o’clock that evening that the stranger arrived at the house of Major von Wessenig. The Major’s batman, Johann Matthias Merk, who was working in the stables, answered the bell and was somewhat non-plussed by the sight of a strange youth, all alone, who thrust a letter into his hand and said, ‘I wanna be a sixth cavalryman like wot my father were’, and, ‘I were showed here to the house.’ Merk, whose master was out, asked the young man where he came from and to whom the letter was addressed. To this and a number of similar questions the only reply was ‘I dunno’. He took pity on the visitor who cut a very pathetic figure and who indicated that his feet hurt badly. He led him to the stable where the stranger immediately threw himself down onto a pile of straw. Merk offered him beer and meat but this he energetically refused, but he eagerly accepted bread and water. 7

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The Major returned home at eight in the company of a police official called von Scheurl and Lieutenant von Huenpoët with whom he had been to a fête in Erlangen. They were met by the Major’s eight-year-old daughter who announced that there was a wild man in the stables who would not go away. The Major and von Scheurl went into the stables and found the young man asleep on a pile of straw. They had a hard time waking him and were somewhat startled at his reaction. The youth rushed towards the Major, who commanded the 4th squadron of the 6th light cavalry regiment and was in uniform, showing a childish delight in the uniform and exclaiming, ‘I wonna be in the sixth like my father.’ He answered both men’s questions with ‘I dunno’. The Major noticed that he was utterly exhausted and could hardly walk, and thought that his behaviour was infantile. 8 Merk showed the Major the letter which the stranger had given him. He read it hastily and then asked von Scheurl to take the young man to the police station. The anonymous letter, riddled with spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, but written in a clear hand, said that the writer had been given the child on 7 October 1812, and that since he was a poor day labourer with ten children of his own, he had been unable to pay much attention to him. Nevertheless he had brought him up as a Christian and had taught him to write. When he had asked the boy what he wanted to be he replied that he wanted to be in the cavalry like his father. He had told him that when he became a soldier he would come and visit him. He ended the letter by pointing out that there was no point in the Major trying to find out where he came from as the youth had no idea. A second note, in a very uncertain hand, said that the child had been baptized and that his name was Kaspar. His father, who was now dead, had been in the Light Cavalry (Chevaulegerregiment – in this letter corrupted as ‘Schwolische’) and had asked that when the boy was 17 he should be sent to join the 6th Light Cavalry. The writer, purporting to be his mother, said that the child was born on 30 April 1812 and that she had no money and could not look after him. The letter answered none of the questions which people were likely to ask of him and was deliberately confusing. The writer claimed that he had given the foundling a Christian education and then adds that he had not let him out of the house since 1812 – hardly an example of Christian charity. He claimed to have been a poverty-stricken daylabourer, and yet he goes on at great length about the excellent care he had given Kaspar. He insisted no less than four times that he had given him an excellent education, and yet Kaspar Hauser had clearly had

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none. The letter was thus pure nonsense, designed to mislead and misinform. That it was reproduced and widely distributed (the original getting lost in the process) could only lead to further confusion. In addition to the letter and the short note, the lad had in his possession a prayer book entitled A Spiritual Forget-me-not (Geistliches Vergißmeinnicht), a small rosary made of horn with a metal cross, two short pamphlets with prayers, a collection of old and worn prayers and sacred pictures, a folded piece of paper containing a small quantity of gold dust, and some blue and white rags. Just as the rosary and religious pamphlets were in marked contrast to his total lack of religious feeling so the single key he carried with him could be interpreted as a mockery, as could the pamphlet entitled ‘The Art of Making up for Lost Time and Unhappy Years’. 9 Scheurl got a servant from the inn Zum schwarzen Kreuz to drive him to the police. The police offered him food, all of which he refused except for bread and water, which he wolfed down eagerly. He answered all questions with his habitual ‘I dunno’. Johann Adam Röder was the officer of the day responsible for questioning the newcomer. He assumed that he was a vagrant since he had no papers. According to a statement made six years later by Jean Jacques Lemarié, a police constable who was on duty at the time, the boy made no reply to any of the questions asked of him, even when he was threatened with a beating if he did not say where he came from. When it was realized that there was little point in continuing this questioning the boy was handed over to a gaoler, Andreas Hiltel, at about 10.30 p.m., with the instruction that he should not be locked up with the beggars and vagrants but with ‘decent prisoners’ who might be able to find out something about this peculiar youth.10 Hiltel put him in a cell with a Swabian butcher’s boy who had been locked away for 48 hours for drunkenness. He lay down on his pallet, remained silent and occasionally sobbed. The next morning he was given black bread and water. When Hiltel asked his name he replied ‘Kaspar Hauser’. Hiltel later noticed that the two shirts he wore one over the other were marked with a letter ‘H’, as was his handkerchief. Encouraged by this reply he asked him where he came from, only to be treated to yet another ‘I dunno’. He then tried another tack, but without much success. In answer to the question ‘from whom do you come’ came the reply: ‘From ’im where I always were and from who I were led inner the big village.’ All further questions were answered with the habitual ‘I dunno’. A clerk of the court (Aktuar), Hüftlein, in the company of a medical officer, Dr Paul Siegmund Karl Preu, tried to get a statement from the boy, but he was unable to speak coherently.

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Much to the amazement of the police officers he was able to write his name clearly and legibly, but he was unable to write anything else. He was thus able to write his name before he could speak a coherent sentence. He took pure pleasure in writing, without knowing what it was he wrote. In his mind there was no relationship between the signifier and the signified. There is a curious symmetry in Kaspar Hauser’s arrival in Nuremberg with a meaningless letter of introduction and his dying moments when he tried to write on the bedcover with his index finger. The written word served as a denial that there was a subject behind each sentence, a consciousness behind each utterance, just as Kaspar Hauser’s reluctance to use the reflexive pronoun was a denial of the subject. His first statement ‘I wanna be a sixth cavalryman like wot my father were’ is not that of a self-activating subject but the overdetermined object of others’ intentions. The symbolic father determines that the son shall be his double. Kaspar Hauser’s personality is thus merely a derivative of an absent and unknown figure. He was given beef and noodles for lunch but refused to eat them. The butcher’s boy ate both portions with gusto. He told his gaoler that he thought his cell-mate was an idiot and that he had been unable to get any sense out of him. Hiltel, a patient and considerate man, was less damning in his judgment, although he came to similar conclusions. He noticed that the youth referred to all humans, regardless of sex or age, as ‘lads’. Similarly he called all animals ‘horse’. He had no idea of the difference between night and day, or the sun and the moon. He was obviously unfamiliar with fire and on his second day under Hiltel’s care he grabbed the flame in a lantern. Apart from ‘I dunno’ all he could say was ‘wanna go ’ome where I were’ and ‘I wanna be a cavalryman, a sixer like my father were’. At the same time he was able to write a few single letters in addition to signing his name. Hiltel let Kaspar play with his two children, aged 11 and 3, and this gave him obvious pleasure. In 1834 Hiltel made a further statement in court about his charge. It is clear that he soon grew fond of the boy and would have kept him under his care had it not been for the fact that he had eight children of his own to look after. Kaspar learnt quickly, was obliging, and appeared direct and honest. Hiltel remarked that Kaspar was extremely sensitive to the light. He ate two pounds of bread daily and was regularly given fresh water. He sat cross-legged, never stretched his legs out, and appeared uncomfortable in a chair. The great jurist Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, who played such an important role in Kaspar’s life, insisted to the contrary that he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, and that since he had always sat in this manner his legs had become deformed. 11

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Kaspar was filthy when he arrived, objected to being washed, and shrank at any physical contact. He was so fearful that he was even frightened of Hiltel’s 2-year-old son, whom he thought was about to beat him up. In contrast when police officers brandied their sabres at him, stabbing and slashing, he showed no sign of any emotion and looked at them with blank amazement. He was fascinated by a lighted candle, but howled when he innocently touched the flame. He told Hiltel that he had been confined in a cellar. Through an opening in the wall he could see a pile of wood and the tip of a tree. His gaoler had brought him to Nuremberg, had given him a change of clothes and had abandoned him at the city gate. After three of four days Kaspar was moved into a room in Hiltel’s quarters on orders from the Mayor of Nuremberg, Jakob Friedrich Binder. This small room was such that it was possible to observe the boy without him noticing, and Hiltel was instructed to keep a close watch on his charge. He came to the conclusion that Kaspar Hauser was no idiot but that he had been denied any education or training. At first he had played with toys like a small child, but he quickly became interested in more mature pursuits. Hiltel’s 3-year-old daughter Margareta showed him how to thread beads and his 11-year-old son Julius taught him vocabulary and encouraged him to write. He showed great interest in drawings and etchings which were given to him and he pasted them on the walls of his little room. The curious and sundry well-wishers brought him toys so that the room was soon crammed full of hundreds of lead soldiers, wooden dogs and horses, and other toys for which Nuremberg was famous. He was also given clothing in which he took a certain coquettish pride, but he showed no interest in the money he was given. He did not play with his toys, merely packed them away in the evening and set them up again the next morning. Two days after Kaspar’s arrival in Nuremberg the court asked Dr Preu, a prominent Nuremberg physician, to examine him to decide whether he was insane.12 This was a reasonable assumption since a number of idiots, who also were unable to say whence they came, had arrived in Nuremberg in recent years. The doctor examined Kaspar Hauser for a number of days and concluded that far from being stupid he was the innocent victim of a monstrous crime. He had been denied normal human company, decent food and a rudimentary education. It was thus understandable that he behaved like the ‘wild man of the woods’. Dr Preu remarked that Kaspar’s body movements were awkward, his walk unsteady, his voice monotonous. He could only repeat his limited

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repertoire of phrases and frequently wept. The doctor concluded that he could not possibly be a fraud, nor the instrument of a fraud. He was genuine – but was he mad? This could only be decided by careful observation. Hiltel was therefore instructed to let him move about as freely as possible and to keep a close watch on him. After a few days Dr Preu confirmed his diagnosis that Kaspar was a human animal who had been denied a normal upbringing. He later admitted to having made two false assumptions during this first examination. He had assumed that he could read a few words from the devotional pamphlets he had brought with him, but in fact he had learnt a passage by heart. He had further believed that when Kaspar Hauser had said that he had fed a horse he meant a real horse and not a wooden toy. A policeman, Joseph Blaimer, was given the task of taking Kaspar for walks around Nuremberg in the hope that he might recognize some part of the city through which he had passed on his arrival. This was to no avail. Blaimer soon grew tired of the endless repetition of his few phrases and noted that he called all animals a horse, all humans Bue. He was terrified of black animals, but liked white ones. Kaspar’s feet were exceptionally sensitive and he was unable to walk for more than a quarter of an hour without getting exhausted. In spite of his irritation, Blaimer felt sorry for Kaspar, had great sympathy for his plight and was convinced that he was not play-acting. 13 A few days after examining Kaspar, Dr Preu went for a five-week cure in Karlsbad, leaving the observation of the stranger in the hands of his colleague Dr Osterhausen. He felt that the wealth of new impressions was too much for someone who was said to have been locked away in a cellar for years. This was compounded by his obvious desire to learn. He was amazed how quickly Kaspar was able to remember the names of the various flowers which he showed him. Kaspar became increasingly nervous and irritable. His face twitched, his hands shook, his eyes were bloodshot and hurt whenever he concentrated on a particular object or tried to read. His hearing was so sensitive that a loud conversation caused him considerable pain, and he could no longer listen to music, even though he had previously enjoyed it so much. He had a poor appetite, complained of stomach pains and suffered from constipation. Osterhausen did not recommend the use of any drugs since Kaspar intensely disliked anything other than bread and water, and reacted violently to any other form of nourishment. Kaspar’s rapidly deteriorating condition became a matter of concern. There was a constant stream of visitors anxious to catch a glimpse of this strange youth. Feuerbach described him as living the life of ‘the

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kangaroo and the tame hyena in Herr van Aken’s famous menagerie’. 14 Dr Osterhausen was therefore delighted when he was handed over on 18 July to the care of a kindly but eccentric grammar school teacher who was on sick leave, Georg Friedrich Daumer, who lived with his mother and sister, and it was felt that these three compassionate people would give Kaspar the affection, the family life, and the education he so sadly lacked. Daumer had been introduced to Kaspar Hauser on 27 June by Baron Gottlieb von Tucher who was appointed the foundling’s legal guardian. Kaspar was moved into Daumer’s house on 18 July 1828. His preceptor was one of the leading figures in Nuremberg’s cultural life. Nuremberg was not a great intellectual or literary centre like Berlin, Königsberg, Heidelberg, Jena or Weimar and its intellectual life was distinctly provincial. Among the intellectual elite the dividing line was between rationalists and anti-rationalists and Daumer was considered to be the leading figure among the rationalists. He was born in Nuremberg on 5 March 1800. He was the third of six children of a furrier whose prosperous business had been bankrupted by the disruption to the German economy caused by Napoleon’s continental blockade. The family survived, although in abject poverty, thanks to the efforts of Georg Friedrich’s remarkable mother, to whom he was greatly attached. His father, Peter, was so shattered by his bankruptcy that he lost his reason. He spent most of his time chewing his nails to the bone and muttering: ‘When are we going to go home?’ This unhappy man died in 1826.15 Daumer was not only poor, he was also a sickly child, and remained throughout his life a self-pitying valetudinarian. He was a brilliant though dreadfully earnest pupil at the Aegidius grammar school and, as was typical for gifted children from a poor background, was destined for a career in the church. He had been G. W. F. Hegel’s pupil, for the great idealist philosopher was headmaster of this Nuremberg grammar school, having lost his professorship at Jena when the French closed the university. Hegel treated his pupils to a potted version of his immensely taxing Phenomenology of Mind, which was published in 1807. He continually contrasted his rational approach to the romantic and intuitional philosophy of Schelling which was then very much in vogue. At the age of 17 Daumer went to Erlangen to study Protestant theology. Erlangen was a centre of pietism and set store by excessive ascetic practices. Daumer fasted in the hope of having a divine vision, but abandoned the attempt after nine days without the desired result. A fellow student was even more avid in the pursuit of spiritual enlightenment that he castrated himself in an excess of religious zeal.

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Disillusioned with the grim rigour of Erlangen, and having lost his theological vocation, Daumer contemplated suicide but opted for classical studies at Leipzig university, a centre of rationalist philosophy. He soon found this approach equally unsatisfactory and condemned it as superficial. Having abandoned theology he studied languages and literature with a passionate enthusiasm, taking his degree in Munich in 1823. He returned to Nuremberg in 1823 to teach at the Melanchthon Grammar School. In 1826 Daumer fell foul of his headmaster, Karl Ludwig Roth, an appalling tyrant who managed actually to scare one of his pupils to death. In a speech written on the occasion of the school’s third centenary Daumer suggested that the Lutheran church should undergo a permanent reformation. Roth felt that this was a scandalous attempt to make Luther’s teaching of merely relative significance and cancelled the speech. Daumer thereupon had it published and was now in open conflict with Roth. Two years later he retired: his poor eyesight gave him the right to a pension at the age of 28. It took five years before the question of his pension was settled, and he was thus obliged to supplement his modest income by giving private lessons. He was therefore given the responsibility for educating Kaspar Hauser in the year that he was obliged to leave his teaching post. He continued to write pamphlets on philosophical topics and on his experiences with the famous foundling, and wrote a great deal of verse. He dabbled in homoeopathy and animal magnetism, which were popular fads of the day. Most of his writings are the derivative and superficial efforts of a dilettante, but Brahms saw fit to set 54 of his poems to music. In characteristic terms Karl Marx denounced Daumer in the Neue Rheinische Zeitung as a pathetic Nuremberg petit bourgeois, as a coward who was so scared by the historical tragedy of the 1848 revolution that he had taken refuge in a ridiculous idyllic agrarian vision, in order to hide his ‘female resignation’. 16 He was a prolific and erratic writer, a poet of modest talent and an indefatigable searcher for what he took to be religious truth. From 1827 to 1835 – roughly the time that Kaspar Hauser was in Nuremberg and Ansbach – he struggled with the absurdly ambitious project of writing a ‘speculative history of God, the spirit and the world’. He was forced to abandon this mammoth task having published four volumes on the subject. 17 His outspoken attacks on Christianity resulted in some of his works being seized by the police, but he had no sympathy for the atheism of Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach’s son Ludwig Feuerbach, by whom he was befriended during the Kaspar Hauser period. Karl Marx poured scorn on Daumer’s extremely far-fetched theory that Christianity

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was based on cannibalism, and that the Eucharist was an anthropophagous ceremony. 18 His ‘Hafis’ poems, which were mostly his own invention, or extremely loose translations from the Persian, enjoyed considerable popularity, not least for their steamy eroticism, which was all the more surprising since they sprang from the pen of a solitary and self-absorbed old maid. The leader of the anti-rationalists in Nuremberg was Kaspar Hauser’s legal guardian, Christoph Karl Gottlieb von Tucher, who came from a prominent patrician family which had made its money as brewers. The Tucher brewery still exists, but is no longer in the possession of the family. Tucher had also studied under Hegel and became his brother-in-law when the philosopher married his elder sister, Marie von Tucher, in 1811. He had visited Kaspar Hauser in an official capacity soon after his arrival in Nuremberg. 19 He thought him to be an utterly innocent child who did not know the difference between good and evil. His mind was a tabula rasa for he had, as Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach argued, lived a life analogous to that of an oyster in its shell with no idea of the outside world and no sensation but that of eating. He was highly receptive, so that it was easy to imagine that he was exceptionally gifted, but became increasingly nervous and mindless. This Tucher attributed either to the inappropriate treatment he had received in the first few weeks since his arrival in Nuremberg, or to the dramatic change in his circumstances. Tucher was overwhelmed by Kaspar Hauser’s ‘natural and unaffected purity and unselfconsciousness, which gave an exceptional insight into what mankind looked like before the Fall’. 20 Although the anti-rationalists called their opponents the ‘false prophets’ the distinctions between the two sides were not so very great. Daumer did not deny the role of personal feelings and subjectivity in theology, but felt that the idealism of those who called themselves ‘The Awakened’ went too far. Their philosophical differences had no influence on their attitudes towards Kaspar Hauser. Indeed the two were good friends, and Tucher had no second thoughts about entrusting Kaspar Hauser to Daumer’s care.21 Daumer was a bachelor and lived with his mother and unmarried sister. Between them they gave their ward his first taste of family life. Kaspar lived with the Daumers from 18 July, and on 11 September Daumer reported to the mayor’s office that his pupil had only just recovered from a bout of severe nervous tension which had made it impossible to continue with his lessons. While he had been in the tower Daumer, since he was unemployed, was able to visit him daily and managed to teach him the rudiments of reading, writing and

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arithmetic. Since there was a constant stream of visitors it was almost impossible for Kaspar to concentrate on his work for more than half an hour at a time. After about three weeks it was no longer possible to teach him because his nervous condition had become so acute. By the time Daumer took over the responsibility of looking after him, Kaspar could hardly stand up. His acute constipation improved somewhat but he still suffered from severe digestive problems, and was in such a nervous state that he could not bear to hear a single note on a piano, could not write, found the colour white insufferable, and his hands shook violently. He complained that his eyes hurt and he had frequent severe headaches. Two days after arriving in Daumer’s house Kaspar Hauser fell seriously ill and was unable to continue with his studies. Daumer encouraged him to do some handicrafts, to work in the garden and to play some simple games. The attempt to make him do some exercises was a failure, but he showed a considerable aptitude for riding in which he was instructed by an equerry, Wilhelm von Rumpler. Some sought to explain his remarkable equestrian abilities by suggesting that he must come from a nation of horsemen. Other less charitable folk claimed that he had escaped from a circus and was living it up at the expense of Nuremberg’s hard-pressed taxpayers.22 Kaspar’s physical condition improved rapidly so that he grew two inches within a month and was now able to walk for miles, when previously even a short stroll left him completely exhausted. His senses were exceptionally acute. He could detect the smallest drop of meat stock in his watery soup. He could distinguish the smell of different berries from a distance of 100 paces. He could see clearly in the dark and could read better at dusk without a lamp than during the day when the sunlight dazzled him. Daumer reported that in August his charge was for the first time able to distinguish between a serious statement and a joke. Kaspar remained in Dr Osterhausen’s care until Dr Preu took over the case on his return from Karlsbad. He was less concerned about Kaspar’s extremely nervous condition than was his colleague and attributed his gradual improvement to a change of diet whereby he reluctantly ate a certain amount of meat and animal products, and to the beneficial effects of his homoeopathic remedies.

3 Homoeopathic Experiments

Dr Paul Siegmund Karl Preu was an avid homoeopath and jumped at the opportunity to test the theories of Christian Friedrich Samuel Hahnemann, the founder of this science and the author of the Organon of the Rational Art of Healing, who was then living in retirement in Koethen having been forbidden to practise since 1821. Hahnemann’s fundamental principle, which he published in 1810, was summed up in the Latin tag similia similibus curantur (like can be cured by like). Cures could be effected by minute dilutions of substances which produced a similar effect as the disease to be cured. It was thus a method analogous to vaccination – a practice that was still not universally accepted by the medical profession. Indeed at the time that Hahnemann published his Organon the principles of a scientific medical practice had yet to be agreed upon. It was not until mid-century that Hahnemann’s teaching found a substantial following, and thus Dr Preu was one of his earliest disciples. He saw his experiments on Kaspar Hauser as a triumphant vindication of Hahnemann’s ideas. 1 The theory of Animal Magnetism, to which Daumer and Preu both subscribed with equal fervour, was much in vogue and was enthusiastically espoused by German natural philosophers and dabblers in the occult. The leading figures in the occult movement in the late eighteenth century were Swedenborg, Lavater, Basedow, Hamann, Hemsterhuis, Jung-Stilling, Cagliostro and the Count de Saint Germain who provided critical material for Goethe’s Faust. Mesmer’s theories of magnetism were a European-wide fad. By the time Kaspar Hauser arrived in Nuremberg animal magnetism and somnambulism were widely regarded as absurd. Daumer, however, took Justinus Kerner’s revelations about the ‘medium of Prevorst’ very seriously, and felt that they could be effectively combined with Hahnemann’s homoeopathy. He was in contact with 36

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such prominent contemporary practitioners of alternative medicine as Baron von Reichenbach, the advocate of positive pneumonology, Baron Ludwig von Güldenstubbe and Maximilian Petry. That Daumer should have been fascinated by occult phenomena is hardly surprising. After all Bacon, Descartes, Newton and Leibnitz were all influenced by the Rosicrucians, and some of Daumer’s contemporaries, including such philosophical heavyweight rivals as Hegel and Schopenhauer, supported such endeavours. In our own day a fascination with the paranormal is not restricted to credulous devotees of astrology and tarot cards, but is shared by scientists of – admittedly highly controversial – repute. Daumer, although a minor figure, was part of a tradition that went from the Romantics to Ludwig Klages’ philosophy of life to Freud and Jung. Daumer’s occult studies and his theory of the essential principle of a transcendental subject endowed with what he was pleased to call the ‘eidolo-magic power of the soul’, mostly published in the 1860s, long after Kaspar Hauser’s death, enjoyed a certain popularity. Although his was hardly a household name, he is mentioned in a novella by Theodor Storm, who assumed he needed no introduction to his well-educated readers.2 Apart from Kaspar Hauser the only object of Daumer’s homoeopathic and magnetic experiments was Mathilde Binder, the illegitimate daughter of the mayor of Nuremberg. Daumer encouraged her in her literary endeavours and she published a number of works of dubious quality under the pseudonym Amara George. ‘Amara’ reflected her bitterness at being rejected as an outsider by Nuremberg’s society, and ‘George’ was an expression of gratitude for the help given her by Daumer. 3 His experiments were not a great success. He was convinced that all he had managed to achieve was to transfer Mathilde’s lung disease to himself by the aid of magnetism. Friedrich Anton Mesmer, who claimed to have discovered this lifeforce, had a sensational career in Paris from 1778 until 1785 when two commissions, one of which included Benjamin Franklin, Jean Sylvan Bailly and Antoine Lavoisier, pronounced against him and he was eventually obliged to leave town.4 In 1793, when he returned to his native Vienna, Mesmer was arrested and spent some time in jail as a suspected Jacobin. In Paris mesmerism had been all the rage in fashionable society and was supported by those who hoped to discredit the establishment. Mesmer founded a club, the Order of Harmony, and similar clubs were formed in a number of French towns, many of which later became centres of Jacobinism. Alternative medicine, then as now, was both a self-indulgent fad and a cause taken up by those who felt that all

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was not right, not only with the medical profession but also with society at large. Mesmer’s ideas were based on a combination of Newton’s notion of the ‘ether’ which permeated space and matter with more recent discoveries in electricity and magnetism. He wished to establish a gravitas animalis analogous to Newton’s theory of gravity. He claimed that certain parts of the nervous system are affected by a phenomenon similar to light (materia luminosa) which can have an effect throughout the body. The Scottish doctor John Brown (1735–88) had suggested that there was a mysterious power which existed between bodies and that ‘asthenic’ diseases were caused by an abnormal excitability of the organs and could be cured with debilitating medicines. ‘Brunonians’ likewise insisted that ‘asthenic’ diseases were to be treated with stimulants. Their major contribution to contemporary medicine was that they condemned the practice of bloodletting. In Germany mesmerism, or animal magnetism, was more esoteric and conservative. Schelling’s On the World Spirit: A Hypothesis of Higher Physics on the Understanding of the Common Organism published in 1798 was the fundamental text and inspired much high-falutin’ claptrap. 5 Schelling, the high priest of the German romantics, rejected mechanical explanations of nature and argued that the natural world could only be understood in terms of a vital process, a process which had a purpose and whose main characteristic was polarity. The dialectical tensions whereby the unconscious determines the conscious and vice versa could only be overcome by artistic genius. The artist’s conscious activity reveals the unconscious and thus removes a polarity which otherwise could only end in infinity. 6 The objective world ranges from matter to light, from electricity to chemistry and physics to the organism as the highest, most ‘potent’ and most ‘spiritual’ aspect of nature. The subjective world extends from morality to knowledge and art, the last being the highest form of subjectivity. The universe as the perfect organism is also a perfect work of art. It is thus a manifestation of the absolute which Schelling was to call God. In the mystic harmony of the universe, spirit and nature, mind and body, are united. Schelling’s disciples took a holistic approach to medicine based on an intuitive understanding of the ‘life force’ and its polarities. The rational and the systematic were rejected as necessary keys to an understanding of the natural world. This could lead to some astonishing conclusions. There was a polarity between the liver and the spleen, also between iron and mercury, therefore mercury should be used to cure diseases of the

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spleen. Inanimate nature was potential life, the earliest stage of the spirit. Hence the fascination with electricity, magnetism and smells. It was an approach which prompted Hegel, in one of his more comprehensible utterances, to remark that heat was ‘the auto-restoration of material in its formlessness, its liquidity, the triumph of its abstract homogeneity over specific certainties’. 7 Schelling’s heady mixture of science and speculation, situated on the border between imaginative literature and natural science, was a typical product of Germany in the Biedermeier years of the first half of the nineteenth century. 8 It created the intellectual atmosphere in which the Kaspar Hauser affair would be discussed. Contemporaries were fascinated by the mythological aspects of the ‘Child of Europe’ and could place him within a distinct literary tradition of foundlings and wild children. Calderón’s Life as a Dream of 1634/5 where the heir to the throne is imprisoned in a tower and from which Feuerbach quoted in the introduction to his pamphlet on Kaspar Hauser, the affair of the Man in the Iron Mask, and Jean Paul’s The Invisible Lodge of 1793, in which the hero spends the first eight years of his life in an underground cave instructed by a member of the Moravian Brotherhood, did much to prepare the way for the reception of the Kaspar Hauser story. The gaps in the story of his life could be filled in with fictional material or speculation based on past cases. ‘Kaspar Hauser’ as a social construct was thus a curious blend of fact and fiction, of systematic inquiry and poetic imagination, of science and sentiment. He was not in the strict sense of the term a ‘wild child’, and most of those who wrote about him, from Anselm von Feuerbach to hack poets and provincial journalists, emphasized his innocence and goodness that was in sharp contrast to the behaviour of most wild children. He was a unique child whose fate poetically illuminated the nature of childhood. His childishness rather than his wildness was thus of primary interest, although both were fascinating because they were seen as states of emptiness, resulting in a total lack of understanding of the world, and an inability to distinguish between the self and the other. Further confusion was caused by the political dimension of the case when it was rumoured and widely believed that he was the legitimate heir to the grand duchy of Baden. Small wonder then that he remains as much a mystery today as he did when he arrived in Nuremberg in 1828. The natural philosophers with their emphasis on the irrational were the exact opposite of modern scientists who, in Max Weber’s words, seek the ‘de-mystification of the world’. Schelling had two devoted disciples in the two leading authorities on animal magnetism in

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Germany: Karl Alexander Ferdinand Kluge and Gotthilf Heinrich Schubert. Kluge was particularly interested in somnambulism and dreams. He distinguished between three forms of sleep: normal sleep, somnambulistic sleep and magnetic sleep. Schubert was even more extreme, examining what he was pleased to call ‘panpsychism’: the inter-relationship of spirit and nature, mind and body.9 Schelling’s own experiments with animal magnetism were hardly encouraging. He tried to heal Caroline Schlegel’s daughter with magnetism but without success. The unfortunate girl, who was also his stepdaughter, died. The humorist Jean Paul surprisingly had a far greater success and claimed to have cured his wife’s toothache using this new technique. Friedrich Schiller consulted a mesmerist, and one of Germany’s leading doctors, Christoph Wilhelm Hufeland, president of the medical college in Berlin and author of Makrobiotik, a treatise on the prolongation of life, was the most prominent convert to the new science. As in France, the German medical establishment moved to ban this rival therapy. In 1812 a commission was established to examine animal magnetism and recommend that it be outlawed. The Prussian king’s personal physician, Johann Ferdinand Koreff, who had persuaded the chancellor Hardenberg and the minister of education Wilhelm von Humboldt of the virtues of magnetism, was able to frustrate the establishment. It was agreed that full reports should be made of the therapeutic use of magnetism in an attempt to stop the more outrageous forms of quackery and charlatanism. It was also decreed that only qualified doctors could practise animal magnetism, but this proved impossible to enforce. Mesmer insisted that only a few people with special qualities were able to establish a magnetic rapport with a patient. This power could be transferred to other living objects, such as trees, or to water. Tubs filled with mesmerized water and pieces of iron were widely used, their therapeutic value highly rated. There thus attached a charisma to the mesmerists which could easily provoke the charge of charlatanism.10 Kluge, following the lead of the Marquis de Puségur and his Societé harmonique des amis réunis, sought to combine the physical approach to magnetism as practised by Mesmer and the psychic approach of the Chevalier Barbarin, who had a large following in Ostende and Lyon. Barbarin’s notion of a purely psychic power with no material basis was particularly attractive to Schelling and the natural philosophers. He claimed that somnambulists could distinguish colours and read unknown handwriting blindfolded, hence the experiments made with Kaspar Hauser’s night vision, the acuteness of which was attributed not

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only to his lengthy imprisonment in a dark room but also to his remarkable ‘magnetic’ powers. It was said that a magnetized person would sneeze when another took snuff, just as Kaspar Hauser was to appear drunk when a champagne bottle was opened in the same room. Such ideas were bound to appeal to romantic writers, particularly the importance accorded to dreams. E. T. A. Hoffmann was a friend of the magnetizer Johann Ferdinand Koreff and was fascinated by the subject. Two other friends, the Bamberg doctors Friedrich Marcus, a mesmerist with a national reputation, and Friedrich Speyer, gave him expert advice on the subject. He remained sceptical, feeling that most of these remarkable effects were due to hypnotism and autosuggestion, but found magnetism an ideal topic for his Gothic novellas.11 Hoffmann was particularly intrigued by the power that magnetizers had over their patients. Alban in ‘The Magnetiser’ says to a patient: ‘I am your god who can see into your inmost soul, and everything that you have or would like to hide there is clearly and vividly revealed to me.’ Hoffmann described Napoleon as a ‘political magnetizer’, a man who fully understood the dynamics of power, and of whose analogue Alban said: All existence is struggle and comes from struggle. The powerful achieves victory in an ever increasing climax, and the enslaved vassals increase his power . . . The struggle for such a power is the struggle for the godlike, and as the feeling of power increases so does a degree of bliss and in the same proportion. The claim to see into a person’s inmost secrets and to stimulate healing properties in the autonomic nervous system places the animal magnetizers within a therapeutic tradition which extends from clairvoyance, somnambulism and hypnotism to psychoanalysis and psychotherapy. Samuel Hahnemann’s homoeopathy was based on principles similar to those of the animal magnetists. Hahnemann was born in 1755, the son of a porcelain painter in the Meissen works.12 He studied medicine in Leipzig, Vienna and Erlangen and received his medical degree in 1779. For the next 15 years he travelled around Germany, unable to establish a viable practice, frequently reduced to abject poverty, but nonetheless establishing a reputation as a scholar and practitioner of note. He earned his living in part by translating medical books from the English. Among these was William Cullen’s Materia Medica which he translated in 1790. In this work Cullen describes the effect of cinchona (the Peruvian bark from which quinine is extracted) on intermittent fever which he ascribed to the

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‘strengthening power it exerts on the stomach’. Hahnemann found this a most unsatisfactory speculation and decided to experiment with the drug on himself. For several days he took a drachma twice daily. 13 He experienced cold in his hands and feet, became extremely tired and had tachychardia; his pulse became fast; his head ached; his cheeks became flushed; he was thirsty and overcome with a feeling of anxiety. In other words he experienced the various symptoms of intermittent fever in sequence, but without the high fever. From this he concluded that the effect of the drug was to suppress the intermittent fever by causing a short fever of its own. This experiment with cinchona gave Hahnemann the clue to his homoeopathic theory. To cure a disease the physician needed to prescribe a drug which caused a similar artificial disease. Such was the origin of the basic principle of this new therapy: similia similibus curantur. He argued that illness was caused by a clouding over of the life force which could be restored to its full vitality by the administration of dilutions of medicine with an effect analogous to that of the apparent disease. The degree of dilution varied with each specific patient. Drugs were tried out on perfectly healthy subjects to see what effects, however trivial, they had. They were then used to treat diseases which had similar symptoms. Edward Jenner’s successful experiments with vaccination in 1798 confirmed him in his belief that like cured like. Hahnemann published his findings in the Organon of Rational Medicine in 1810 in which he argued that drugs should be administered in infinitesimal doses. The book was also an outspoken attack on the medical establishment and Hahnemann saw himself as a latter-day Luther fighting against a corrupt orthodoxy. He opposed the current belief in the stimulation of vomiting and haemorrhaging and argued that this was merely encouraging the patient’s disordered ‘natural force’ and thus worsening his condition. Hahnemann insisted that attempting to cure a disease with a drug which had a contrary effect (contraria contraiis curantur), a practice which he called ‘allopathy’, in fact harmed the patient. In subsequent editions of the Organon the dosages became increasingly diluted. The juice of a medicinal plant was mixed with an equal amount of alcohol. Two drops of this mixture were then diluted in 98 drops of alcohol. The vial was shaken twice to ‘exalt its energy’. Two drops of this mixture was then mixed with 99 drops of alcohol. This process was repeated for a total of 30 times to reach what he called the ‘decillionth development of power’. It needed a quite extraordinary faith to believe that such dilutions of a drug could have any effect, since at the fourth dilution the ration of

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drug to solution was one to one hundred million. Allopaths ignored Hahnemann’s dire warnings of the effects of his medicines and took great delight in swallowing large quantities of the final dilution to prove that it had no effect. In 1828 Hahnemann gave the allopaths further occasion for ridicule. In his Chronic Diseases he claimed that with the exception of syphilis and a particular type of venereal wart, all maladies were caused by the itch and should be treated by antipsoric medicines. It is for this reason that Kaspar Hauser was diagnosed at times as suffering from ‘internal itch’. Hahnemann’s ideas were so extreme and so implausible that homoeopathy would almost certainly have disappeared were it not for the fact that many of his followers took their own individual approach and selected those aspects of his teaching which they found useful. He complained bitterly of such ‘mongrel homoeopaths’ and was angry that his views on psora were not always endorsed by the fraternity. The other reason for the continued interest in homoeopathy was that the approach at least did considerably less harm than did massive purgings and bleedings, and homoeopaths could show that the recovery rates for their patients stricken by the cholera epidemics of 1832 and 1848/9 were superior to those of the allopaths. Homoeopathy gradually faded away as advances in conventional medicine brought spectacular results, but has recently enjoyed a revival with the modish New Age fascination with alternative medicine. In June 1988 the highly regarded scientific magazine Nature published a sensational article by a team of scientists from Israel, Italy and Canada under the leadership of Jacques Benveniste from the Institut National de la Santé et de la Recherche Médicale (INSERM) at the Université Paris-Sud in which it was claimed that water can be imprinted with the memory of past solutes so that an antibody could retain its biological effectiveness even when diluted by factors as great as 10120 – a dilution so extreme that one of Nature’s correspondents argued that even if the entire universe were converted into water it would not be sufficient to dilute the contents of a 1 cm3 vial to such an extent.14 The publication of such an amazing hypothesis was met with widespread incredulity in the scientific community and suspicions were further aroused when it was pointed out that the salaries of two of Dr Benveniste’s associates were paid for under a contract with Boiron et Cie., a supplier of homoeopathic medicines. Since in France 15 per cent of all medicines are homoeopathic, much was at stake. Nature had agreed to publish the paper on the condition that it could investigate Dr Benveniste’s laboratory. The three-man team was made

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up of the magazine’s editor John Maddox, whose background is in theoretical physics, Walter W. Stewart, a specialist in detecting errors and inconsistencies in scientific papers with a particular interest in scientific misconduct, and James Randi, a professional magician who played an important role in exposing Uri Geller, and who had once worked as a laboratory assistant to Banting and Best in Toronto. Many French scientists saw the composition of the investigating team to be an example of Albion at its most perfidious, and there were loud protests from the homoeopathic industry, particularly from Boiron et Cie., but there was no serious challenge to their conclusions that there was no substantial basis for Dr Benveniste’s extravagant claims, that the experiments had been poorly conducted, and that the ‘climate of the laboratory (was) inimical to an objective evaluation of the exceptional data’. It was suggested that Dr Benveniste’s assistant, Dr Davenas, had manipulated the data to produce results pleasing to her superior. 15 Dr Beneveniste was given no further funding to continue his research in this area. This latest attempt to find scientific justification for a metaphysical conceit was a dismal failure, although some still believe that once again the establishment had silenced a courageous scientist whose ‘obviously positive results’ were silenced in a ‘crusade’ that used ‘fact twisting, errors omissions, misquotations and mistruths’ to suppress a revolutionary scientific discovery. 16 Homoeopathy was part of an attack prompted by the vitalist philosophy of Schelling and his epigones on empiricism, determinism and mechanics, and the belief that the human body was a suitable object of investigation for the natural sciences. The ‘natural philosophers’ took Newton to task for his empiricism and insisted that nature could only be understood by intuition and contemplation. Physicians, like Baron Ernst von Feuchtersleben in Vienna and Johann Nepomuk Ringseis in Munich, denounced ‘materialist’ medicine and called for an approach that combined prayer, the laying on of hands and meditation along with slightly more modern therapeutic practices. Proponents of empirical scientific investigation had a singularly hard struggle against these priestly doctors and poetic contemplators of the marvels of nature. Germany’s greatest contemporary scientist, Justus Liebig, bitterly protested against such mumbo-jumbo as ‘the plague of our century’. He continued: A person who kills another in a fit of madness is put in prison. Nowadays natural philosophy allows our doctors to be educated and to be taught their particular brand of madness, which allows them

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in good conscience and according to established principles to kill thousands. 17 The violent reaction against the natural philosophers by such as Liebig accounts in part for the triumph of the exact sciences in Germany, although it is only fair to point out, as has Thomas Kuhn, that the approach of the natural philosophers also brought significant progress in such modern disciplines as electromagnetism, embryology, morphology and the theory of evolution. 18 Georg Friedrich Daumer shared Dr Preu’s enthusiasm for Hahnemann’s theories and encouraged him to conduct a number of homoeopathic experiments on the hapless foundling. Daumer had long suffered from various complaints, but a number of doctors had been unable to improve his condition using allopathic medicine. For the last year he had been taking homoeopathic remedies under Dr Preu’s supervision and had studied the science diligently. Preu suggested that homoeopathic medicine would benefit Kaspar Hauser greatly. Dr Preu decided that since Kaspar Hauser had been confined for many years in the dark he was a ‘night person’ who was dominated by the ‘telluric principle’, the ‘solar sphere’ of the human personality having been suppressed. The fundamental cause of Kaspar Hauser’s problems was that he had been too rapidly forced to adjust to daytime life. The transition from the ‘telluric’ to the ‘solar’ had been too abrupt. Kaspar Hauser made remarkable progress under Daumer’s supervision while still in his room in the tower under Hiltel’s supervision. Within three weeks he had learnt the elements of reading and writing, counting, adding and subtracting, and could play a few tunes on the piano. Daumer noticed, however, that this also proved to be a great strain for him. Sweat would break out on his brow and he suffered from severe headaches. The nervous tic in his face grew worse and after these initial three weeks he was utterly exhausted. Given his extremely delicate constitution, it was decided to allow him time to relax. His studies stopped; he worked in the garden, cut out paper, and was given lukewarm baths, which he much enjoyed; and riding instruction proved a great success. After he had been in Nuremberg for about six weeks he grew an astonishing two inches within four weeks. But he still remained highly sensitive and nervous and his senses were remarkably acute. He could count the number of elderberries on a branch from a distance of 100 metres and could distinguish shades of colour at dusk. His power of sight was greater in the half-light than during the day.

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In August 1828 Daumer began his homoeopathic experiments on Kaspar Hauser and was assisted by Dr Osterhausen who had begun to study homoeopathy and was eager to try out various substances on such an apparently susceptible patient. Daumer placed a homoeopathic tincture in a glass which emitted a slight smell. This caused Kaspar Hauser to have severe convulsions. He developed a headache, his eyes hurt and he had a sensation which began in the eyes, ran down each cheek, both sides of the neck and joined together in his stomach. He asked to go out in the fresh air whereupon he began shivering and vomited twice. Preu remarked that had Daumer or Dr Osterhausen known anything about homoeopathy they would have administered nux vomica which, in its highest dilution, ‘would have worked wonders’. It took a long time to accustom Kaspar Hauser to eating meat. At first even a drop of broth in a watery soup caused his stomach to turn. By October 1828 he was able to digest single strands of meat. By the end of the year he could eat a small piece and then soon was able to eat meat normally. To Daumer’s delight Kaspar Hauser not only showed exceptional sensitivity to homoeopathic medicines and remarkable powers of animal magnetism but also had fascinating symbolic dreams. He could tell when Daumer stood behind him at a distance of 125 paces and pointed his hand in his direction. He could distinguish different metals that were hidden under a piece of paper. Thunderstorms caused him to shiver and shake, particularly on the left side of his body. He automatically closed his eyes and felt pressure on the chest. Lightning made his eyes hurt and caused his nose to bleed. He could tell by the temperature of his hands and feet how long a storm would last. These reactions to thunderstorms became less violent as time went by. He felt extremely uncomfortable under a full moon. He felt pressure on the chest, shivered and trembled – even in warm weather or in a well-heated room. Further evidence of his powers of animal magnetism was provided by the fact that he alone could play with Professor Daumer’s cat. Whereas this ferocious animal would not tolerate any other human being, it happily ate from his hand. When he began to eat meat regularly the cat was as aggressive towards him as it was to the rest of the household. Daumer attributed Kaspar Hauser’s extraordinary powers of perception and sensitivity to the fact that he had been kept prisoner for many years. He did not attribute them to any mystical or supernatural powers.19 He thought that the eventual loss of his extraordinary ‘magnetic and

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somnambulistic’ powers was due to the introduction of meat into his diet. This ‘dietary materialism’, which argued that a ‘transubstantiation’ of food took place, was a widely held belief in the nineteenth century, but was in marked contrast to Daumer’s anti-materialist philosophy. Anselm von Feuerbach’s son, the philosopher Ludwig Feuerbach, for example, believed that the revolution of 1848 had failed because the people had been rendered lazy and supine by an excess of potatoes in their diet. Their revolutionary fervour could only be aroused by eating more legumes. 20 Daumer’s dietary theories were less radical. He had serious reservations about ‘cadaverous foods’ and argued that ‘people who eat a lot of meat always become brutal and less receptive to higher things. This is not the way to reach the peaks of humanity and become fully cultured as all men should strive to be.’21 In December 1828 someone who had been suffering from scabies for several years breathed in Kaspar Hauser’s face. Blisters which itched and burnt, and which were full of a yellowish liquid, appeared on the side of his face which had been breathed upon. Another person suffering from an internal disease laughed in his face causing similar blisters. Quite by chance Kaspar Hauser got some sulphur on his hands and thus on his face. The itching lessened immediately and within three-quarters of an hour the blisters had disappeared, but he fell ill for several days. Sulphur diluted one million times was held under his nose. He claimed that it smelled like alum. His face began to burn where the blisters had been. Within ten minutes a blister appeared which immediately burst. A dilution of silica smelled to him first of spirits, then of sugar, and lastly had a smell he could not describe. He went very pale, broke out in a sweat and was sick. Ipecacuanha caused him to cough, gave him pains in the chest and shortness of breath. After a sleepless night he was violently sick, whereupon he was given a minute dilution of nux vomica. This made his tongue go white and skin peeled from it. He had a painfully sore throat and another sleepless night. He was ill for several days until Daumer held a piece of blotting paper with a drop of wine on it about one pace away from his head. This seemed to cause a noticeable improvement. After a few days the old symptoms reappeared. The next experiment was with an extreme dilution of sepia. After a quarter of an hour he had difficulties in speaking and soon had a fever. After five days he seemed to be perfectly well, but about three weeks later he banged his hip on a window sill and complained of pains in his back and neck and felt extremely hot. The stopper of a bottle in which a pellet which was soaked in an extreme dilution of arnica was kept was given to him to smell at arm’s length. He had such a violent

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reaction to this treatment that a bottle with a dilution of camphor was opened at some distance. This brought him some relief. The treatment was repeated and he began to get better after six days. On 18 August 1829, after seven months of homoeopathic experiments and almost continual indisposition, he was given the stopper of another bottle containing a minute amount of a dilution of lime to smell. This was designed to cause him to lose weight as he had a horror of fat people and he had grown somewhat corpulent. It caused him to cough and his breath smelled foul. Two days later he was delighted to discover that his clothes were noticeably looser. He lost his appetite and his hair began to fall out. Camphor was again used to relieve these symptoms. On 4 October he was given stoppers to smell on which there was either a drop of water or a drop of spirits. He was told that they were medicines but he could smell nothing. In the evening the stopper of a bottle containing a dilution of spirits was held at a considerable distance from his nose. It had an alarming effect on the patient which camphor, wine or coffee were unable to relieve. As a ‘half somnambulist’ he had a premonition that an attempt would be made on his life. When this actually happened on 17 October 1829 he was in a state of semi-consciousness for two days, was unable to open his eyes and had such violent paroxysms that several men were needed to hold him down. Dr Preu treated him first with a dilution of aconite. He had further convulsions and cried out: ‘It stinks, it stinks, why do you give me such ghastly stuff?!’ He quietened down after ten minutes and Preu got him to test various metals. His ability to distinguish between them was as acute as it had been when these experiments had first been carried out. One of Kaspar Hauser’s attendants was a strong and healthy man who was well disposed towards him. On 19 October he placed his hands on Kaspar Hauser’s arm. Even though Kaspar Hauser was wearing a woollen jacket he immediately felt better. When he repeated this action Kaspar Hauser fell asleep. On the following evening the result was that Kaspar Hauser was able to pass water without difficulty and then fall asleep. He had had considerable difficulties in urinating. Kaspar Hauser could only tolerate the attendant’s hands on his forearm. If they were placed anywhere else they caused considerable discomfort and headaches. Dr Preu listed other examples of Kaspar Hauser’s powers of animal magnetism. At times Kaspar was unable to tolerate the presence of Professor Daumer, and one visitor actually made him vomit. He was at first attracted to and then repelled by a cat. He was strongly attracted to

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his image in a mirror. When Dr Preu felt his pulse Kaspar Hauser felt pain throughout his entire body. He was unable to have a bowel movement for five days after the attack. Daumer then asked Kaspar Hauser’s favourite attendant to pass his hand over a cup of water and then hold it under Kaspar Hauser’s nose. Fifteen minutes later he was able to have a satisfactory bowel movement. As late as 19 November smelling ‘magnetized’ water acted as a powerful laxative. Kaspar Hauser’s condition worsened in the middle of November 1829. He felt weak, his eyes hurt, his urine was dark red and he had no sexual drive. Daumer then administered a minute dilution of lycopodium on Dr Preu’s advice. When Kaspar smelled the stopper of a bottle which contained the liquid he felt dizzy, his eyes stung and watered. This condition was relieved somewhat by camphor. In the afternoon he smelled some cinnamon by chance and this stopped the stinging sensation in the eyes but caused his nose to run. He had a painful sensation in the penis and on the following day he had his first erection. By 15 December he no longer experienced a burning itch in his penis before having an erection. He described the sensation of having an erection as pleasant, but he appeared not to have any sexual desire and felt that an erection was pointless and unnecessary.22 When Kaspar Hauser left Daumer’s care he was no longer treated with homoeopathic medicines, except when he felt ill. The treatment with lycopodium thus stopped and he ceased to have any sexual sensation. Further homoeopathic experiments showed that rhus was effective in relieving toothache. Nux vomica was used when he felt generally unwell, particularly after having had a vivid dream reminding him of his childhood. On 9 August 1830 the medicine was administered by placing a cloth over his mouth and nose and putting his finger in a bottle containing a few drops of the liquid. He had a burning sensation in his finger and then it went numb. It felt cold, his eyes began to run, but the headache disappeared. A less dramatic effect was achieved by asking him to touch the stopper on a closed bottle containing a minute amount of the medicine. When Kaspar Hauser hurt his arm exercising on the parallel bars the surgeon would not allow Dr Preu to use a homoeopathic remedy and placed a poultice on the injured spot made of vinegar, ammonia and ammonium chloride (salmiac). The smell gave Kaspar an acute headache and caused him to vomit. He felt so wretched that he imagined that he was about to die. The following day Dr Preu removed the poultice, washed the arm to remove the smell and made Kaspar Hauser hold his

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nose and mouth closed and place his right index finger over a glass containing a dilution of arnica. This caused violent spasms and he cried out in agony. After a quarter of an hour the pain disappeared and the arm only hurt when he moved it. In the summer of 1831, when Kaspar Hauser was feeling extremely run down, Professor Daumer decided to experiment with an extreme dilution of silica, in the hope that the unpleasant side effects would be minimal. The dilution was placed in an open window in a closed flask. Kaspar Hauser approached the flask with his finger pointing towards it. He reported a sensation in his arm before he even touched the flask. His body began to feel warm and after about an hour he had diarrhoea. On the second day he had four nose bleeds and his feet began to sweat – a sure sign to Dr Preu that the treatment was working. After a few days he had completely recovered and enjoyed excellent health for some time. Dr Preu gave Kaspar Hauser a dilution of opium to smell in order to test whether he had been drugged while in his cell. The dilution had a remarkable effect on him. He quickly became very drowsy and slept soundly on a sofa for an hour and a half. When he awoke he had a terrible thirst, exactly as he had had when he was confined in his cell. Dr Preu attributed his extreme irritability to the long-term effects of having been given so much opium. Dr Preu ended his report on homoeopathic experiments with Kaspar Hauser by saying that on one occasion he had opened his case containing a number of homoeopathic medicines in extreme dilutions in his presence. Kaspar Hauser froze and only when Dr Preu called his name several times did he come back to his senses. After a few minutes his nose started to bleed. The doctor repeated this action to test whether the medicines had caused this reaction, or whether it was due to other causes. The effects were identical. It is hardly surprising that Kaspar Hauser developed an intense dislike for doctors, having been subjected to such treatment. He was used as a guinea pig by cranks and amateurs who gained nothing from their experiments. He was so frightened of these experiments that it was impossible to tell whether the often violent reactions were caused by the homoeopathic medicines or by sheer terror. When he was ill the medicines he was given made him feel worse, and it seemed to him that the medical profession devoted its efforts towards torturing their unfortunate subjects and making the healthy sick. 23

4 The Search for Identity

On 4 and 7 June and 7 July 1828 the Mayor of Nuremberg, Jakob Friedrich Binder, in his capacity as head of the city’s police force, crossexamined Kaspar Hauser. No records survive of these interviews, but on 14 July the Mayor published an account of the Kaspar Hauser case, an affair which by now was widely discussed throughout Bavaria and beyond, which states what he had learnt from the foundling. Binder offered rich rewards for anyone who could shed any light on this mysterious affair. 1 The Mayor gave a detailed account of what had happened since Kaspar’s arrival in Nuremberg and pointed out the large number of ‘doctors, teachers, educators, psychologists, police officers, lawyers, the most acute observers from all classes, and the countless number of people who have taken a personal interest in his previously tragic fate’ all came to the conclusion that he was of sound mind and that his retarded behaviour was due solely to the circumstances of his youth. The Mayor said that Kaspar had been kept in a cellar with an earthen floor and a wooden roof. He had worn a loose shirt and leather breeches that opened at the back and which were held up by braces. His feet were bare. There were two small rectangular windows against which wood was piled so that sunlight never entered the cell. He had two wooden horses which were painted white, the larger one was not more than from 12 to 15 inches high. He also had a small white wooden dog. There was a container with a lid which served as a commode. He slept on a sack filled with straw. Since he could hardly walk he played with his wooden animals on the floor. There was a small door, bolted on the outside. The cellar was heated by a small, white, bee-hive shaped stove which was stoked from outside. When he woke up in the morning he found that bread and water had been placed in front of his bed, and 51

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that the commode had been emptied. He claimed that his hair and nails were cut and his shirt changed while he was asleep. One day a man appeared and announced that he was the person who brought him bread and water and had given him the horses. He said that he now had to learn to read and write and that he would then bring him to his father who was a cavalryman. His gaoler warned him that there was a heaven above in which lived a god who would get angry and punish him if he tried to escape. One night the gaoler came and told him they were to leave, dressed him, and they set off up a high mountain. The stranger had to teach him how to walk which he found very difficult, especially as he was barefoot. On the third day the stranger gave him a change of clothes and a pair of boots. During their journey he tried to teach Kaspar to say the rosary, but although he could remember the Lord’s Prayer he could not remember the other prayer. They slept in the open, in spite of the cold and the rain, and lived off bread and water. When they reached Nuremberg the stranger gave Kaspar a letter and told him to go into the city and show it to ‘a lad’. Kaspar was reluctant to set off on his own, but the stranger promised that he would follow him. He found his way to the city gate, walked on until he attracted the attention of the good cobbler Weickmann. The Mayor waxed eloquent in his description of Kaspar’s sufferings, his acute sensitivity to sounds, light and smells, his inability to eat anything other than bread or drink anything other than water, his extreme nervousness and a walk that was no better than a two-year-old’s. He praised his open and honest expression, his innocence (particularly in sexual matters), his gentleness, kindness to animals, warm-heartedness, eagerness to learn, love of order and cleanliness, and the purity of his spirit. He argued that Kaspar Hauser was a thoroughly admirable young man who had been denied a normal childhood by criminals who had taken him away from his home and from a family which he assumed was of the best. Kaspar had thus been robbed of a family and fortune, the privileges of his station and the innocent delights of childhood; and he had been denied a proper education and upbringing. He was thus the innocent victim of a monstrous crime. Binder insisted that the authorities should do everything in their power to uncover this crime and promised that the city of Nuremberg would protect and nurture him as providence ordained. The citizens of Nuremberg responded generously and Kaspar was swamped with toys, clothes and books from his many well-wishers. Appended to this notice was a reproduction of the two letters Kaspar had given to the Major, a description of the boy and of the clothes he

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was wearing when he arrived. It was noted that he spoke the Bavarian dialect of the area around Regensburg, Straubing and Landshut. His possessions were also listed. This highly unusual police notice was widely published and caused a lively reaction. Kaspar Hauser was soon known as ‘Europe’s Child’: his fate was the concern of an entire continent, not simply the city of Nuremberg.2 Kaspar had been in the tower under the protection of Hiltel for seven weeks when he was visited on 11 July by Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, president of the court of appeal in Ansbach. With Friedrich Karl von Savigny he was the most brilliant and original legal mind of his generation. Born in Jena in 1775 he fled from his father’s house in Frankfurt in 1792, unable to bear the tension between his father and his father’s mistress. He sought refuge with his relatives in Jena. He studied with the Kantian Professor Reinhold in Jena and was strongly influenced by Kant and Reinhold’s criticisms of natural law. While still a student he published On the Only Possible Proofs Against the Existence and Validity of Natural Law. His reputation was secured with the Critique of Natural Law (1796) and Anti-Hobbes (1798). He argued that there was no such thing as natural law, that laws are created by men, and further that there was a clear distinction between laws and morals. He insisted that judges had to apply the law with absolute objectivity and should discount all subjective factors. It was a curious point of view for a man who held radical political views and was highly strung and emotional, frequently given to violent outbursts of moral indignation. He married in 1798 and was therefore obliged to earn a living as a university lecturer. He was offered professorships at Jena, Greifswald, Erlangen, Landshut and Kiel in 1801 and opted for Kiel. Later that year he published a Handbook of Laws Concerning Life and Limb (Lehrbuch des gemeinen peinlichen Rechts) in which he appealed for a more humane approach to justice and which made him one of the most prominent proponents of the rigorist school of jurisprudence. Although a Protestant he went in 1803 to the Catholic university of Landshut, attracted by the tolerant reforming regime of King Maximilian Joseph during whose enlightened reign Bavaria was among the most progressive of German states. He joined the department of justice in Munich in 1805, having fallen foul of some of his colleagues in Landshut, and was the moving spirit behind the Bavarian penal code of 1813 which abolished torture, and which was regarded as a model of progressive legislation. Feuerbach did not share this view. He felt that it had been amended and changed beyond recognition, and convinced himself that his work had been to no avail.

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He then wrote a number of important criminological studies of the psychology of crime. His boldly stated progressive and democratic views were increasingly suspect to the authorities. It was rumoured that he was a member of the secret society The Association of the Virtuous (Tugendbund). The political pamphlets he published in 1813/14, although moderate in tone, were too much for his superiors and he was transferred to Bamberg as a punishment. In 1817 he was appointed president of the court of appeals in Ansbach. He had five sons, all of whom were exceptionally gifted. His son Ludwig became a famous philosopher, the object of Karl Marx’s scorn in his Theses on Feuerbach. Ludwig and his two brothers were arrested for their political activities which did nothing to further their father’s career. One of these two – Karl who was a brilliant young mathematician – died as a result of the ill treatment he had received in jail. Feuerbach senior died in Frankfurt in 1833, his last published work being an impassioned pamphlet on Kaspar Hauser. His son Eduard, a lawyer in Erlangen, was to carry on his father’s investigation of the Kaspar Hauser affair, but was to die suddenly in 1844. Ludwig took up where his brother left off and published his father’s papers and continued with his investigation of the case of Kaspar Hauser.3 Nuremberg came under the court of appeal of the Rezat district in Ansbach of which Feuerbach was the president. From the moment he first met Kaspar Hauser in July 1828 he was totally fascinated by the case, believing it to be ‘the most remarkable of remarkable criminal cases, the like of which is only likely to occur once in thousands of years’. 4 At the time he was involved in the publication of his book Documentary Representations of Remarkable Crimes: A Contribution to Legal and Human Science.5 It was a particularly unhappy time in his life. He suffered from bouts of profound depression and in 1827 he found it virtually impossible to read, write or even speak. His father died in March and his son Karl, who had twice tried to commit suicide, suffered an acute nervous breakdown.6 When the Bavarian government approached him to draft a new civil law he turned down the offer, in part because of his poor health, but primarily because he felt that his previous efforts had brought no positive results, and he saw no reason to believe that he would not be equally disappointed by the fruits of this new and Herculean labour. He likened the work to that of an architect who saw his building changed beyond recognition by self-willed builders and craftsmen. 7 For a while he thought that he might indeed return to his ‘youthful love’, but a fresh bout of his ‘habitual autumnal sickness’ forced him to change his mind once again. 8

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His first visit to Kaspar Hauser was in a private capacity. He was fascinated by the case and its human and legal implications. At first Feuerbach had no idea where Kaspar Hauser might have come from and doubted whether the mystery would ever be solved. He was enormously impressed by his thirst for knowledge and his extraordinary powers of memory. He was disgusted by the way that Kaspar Hauser had been treated when he first arrived in Nuremberg. He overlooked the fact that Andreas Hiltel was a thoroughly decent and sensitive man, and snobbishly objected that he had been looked after by a simple prison warder. He had more reason to protest that Kaspar had been exhibited to the people as if he were a wild animal, and had been taken around the city’s inns as an object of scurrilous curiosity. Feuerbach had objected to such treatment and saw to it that Kaspar Hauser was placed in Georg Friedrich Daumer’s care. Daumer was a friend of Feuerbach’s philosopher son, Ludwig, and a man for whom he had the highest respect, although he feared that the good schoolmaster was impractical, eccentric, too much under the influence of Hegel’s philosophy, and was likely to be seriously misled by Kaspar Hauser’s story.9 There was so much about Kaspar Hauser’s tale which Feuerbach found improbable, unlikely and untruthful, and he felt that the persistent rumour that Kaspar Hauser was of noble birth, which had been taken up in the magazine Hesperus, was a complete fantasy.10 Since Kaspar Hauser was virtually unable to speak and had no idea of the real world, his statements were of little value.11 Feuerbach’s health remained precarious and he showed every sign of a severe depression. In April 1829 he collapsed in court and remained in a state of semi-consciousness for four hours. Although it seemed that he had suffered a stroke, his doctors insisted that his indisposition had been caused by a nervous disorder. Having rested for a while at home he set off for Frankfurt to visit his sister and thence to Wiesbaden and Mainz where he took the Rhine steamer to Holland. Lack of funds and the fear of seasickness stopped him from continuing his journey on to England. He returned in excellent spirits to the ‘cultural backwater’ of Ansbach after an absence of seven weeks.12 In his report to King Ludwig I of Bavaria of 8 April 1830 he described the popular theory that Kaspar Hauser was the legitimate Grand Duke of Baden as belonging to ‘the many rumours, some ridiculous, some absolutely false, some absolutely impossible to examine legally’ that were circulating about Kaspar Hauser. They were nothing more than ‘romantic sagas’ that no court of law could take seriously.13

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In spite of these reservations Feuerbach was fascinated and charmed by Kaspar.14 He was amazed at the speed with which he learnt and at his hunger for knowledge. He got quite carried away, claiming that Kaspar Hauser was living proof of the fallacy of the doctrine of original sin. He was full of innocent virtue, even though he had no concept of good and evil. He believed that all men were essentially good, even the man who had kept him prisoner for years. He had no notion of God, and Feuerbach noted with satisfaction that he had been spared the company of priests and had not been subjected to church dogmas. He felt that Kaspar Hauser provided clear evidence that man has no innate idea of God, but learns of him either by the teachings of others or through the contemplation of nature. 15 Feuerbach’s son Ludwig, the atheist philosopher and Daumer’s friend, was also delighted to note that Kaspar Hauser had no concept of God.16 Professor Daumer, a man whose quest for the transcendental frequently took on curious forms, tried to explain the concept of God to his young pupil. He argued that there were phenomena which one knew existed, but which one could not see nor hear. Kaspar Hauser was fascinated by the fact that ideas and thoughts were without material substance. Daumer then suggested that God was a being made up of thoughts and ideas whose relationship with the world was analogous to that between the human body and the mind. Kaspar Hauser could move his arms and legs by the power of thought, just as God could move the world. A human being could move both arms and both legs, just as God was omnipresent and omnipotent. Kaspar Hauser was perplexed when he was told that God would not necessarily answer his prayers and that he had to bow to his divine purpose. Why would God not want to make his eyes better so that he could work harder and learn more? Surely that would be good for him? If God were indeed all-powerful and all good why did he not make time go backwards so that he could recover his lost childhood?17 Although he knew nothing of religion and did not want to know anything about Christianity, he was profoundly moral. When told the story of Joseph and his brothers he was shocked by Joseph’s cruelty towards his brothers. The attempt on his life in October 1829 caused a major change in his attitude. Whereas he had previously felt pity for his captor since he felt that he must have been in a state of permanent anxiety that he might be discovered, he now believed his assailant to be the same as his jailer and wished him dead. Daumer might have regretted this loss of his blind faith in the goodness of mankind, but insisted that this attack had the beneficial effect of causing him

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to recover some of the sensitivity to metals and his powers of animal magnetism that he had possessed before he had started to eat meat. His fear and loathing of men of the cloth was as intense as his dislike of doctors. He had been visited by four ministers when he was still in the care of the Nuremberg police and living in the tower under Hiltel’s supervision. They told him that God created the world out of nothing. When he asked how this was possible they started to squabble with one another and shouted at the top of their voices, making him so nervous that he asked them to leave. He felt most uncomfortable in church and found the crucifix an unbearable sight. He was horrified by the image of a man nailed to a cross who was so obviously suffering incredible pain. He hated the noise made by the congregation when they sang, and once said of a church service that when the congregation stopped screaming the minister began to yell.18 Feuerbach felt that much of what Kaspar had said about his imprisonment and his trip to Nuremberg was obviously untrue, but attributed this to the fact that he had to tell his story when he was barely able to speak, and he imagined that he was still terrified of his captor and mindful of his warnings not to say anything of his past. He hoped that some time in the future Kaspar would be able to give a full account of his life in the cellar. He was sharply critical of the mayor’s publication of his account of Kaspar Hauser’s arrival in Nuremberg, for this made him more than ever the object of general curiosity. He was paraded around the inns of the city, plied with wine which he could not tolerate, and was subjected to all manner of humiliations by an ignorant public to the point that his health became seriously affected. Feuerbach urged the chairman of the regional council (Regierungspresident), Arnold von Mieg, to go to Nuremberg and take appropriate action to save Kaspar. It was as a result of this initiative that Kaspar was placed in the care of Georg Friedrich Daumer. Feuerbach gave an account of his first visit to Kaspar Hauser on 11 July 1828 in his book published in 1832.19 He was fascinated by the story and, since there had been no official notice of the case, decided to visit the boy in a private capacity. Kaspar was still in the Vestner tower and the public were free to come and go as they pleased and to gaze at this latest curiosity. Feuerbach went to visit Kaspar in the company of a colonel, two ladies and two children and was delighted to find him alone. He was barefoot and clad in a pair of old trousers and a shirt. He had covered the walls with pictures which visitors had brought him and the floor

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was full of lead soldiers, wooden horses and dogs, along with other locally produced toys. He had been given clothes by the Nurembergers which he placed beneath his pillow and which he proudly showed the visitors. Various coins were lying on the floor, but he had no idea of their value or purpose, and Feuerbach was unable to make him understand their relative values. Kaspar appeared to be pleased to meet the visitors. He showed great delight in the colonel’s splendid uniform and golden helmet, as well as the colourful clothes of the two women. He showed no interest in Feuerbach, who was wearing a black tailcoat. He was careful to avoid the sunlight shining through the window. When it shone on his face he grimaced and was clearly in some pain. His eyes were inflamed and he frequently shook on the left side of his body, particularly his arm and hand. This was very pronounced when he was unable to understand what he was being told. When the shaking became particularly violent it suddenly stopped and he became completely rigid. His speech was very limited and often incomprehensible. He used certain words to cover all manner of objects. He used the word ‘mountain’ to describe any projecting or round object and thus referred to a fat man as ‘the man with the big mountain’. His favourite colour was red and he intensely disliked black, green and yellow. He was indifferent to white. He liked the red apples in a picture of an apple tree, but said that it would be much prettier if the leaves were also painted red. He had no sense of space and perspective and at first was unable to distinguish between an object and a picture of that object. When Daumer showed him the magnificent crucifix by Veit Stoß on the outside of the Sebaldus church he was horrified and cried out that the poor man should be brought down from the cross. He could not be persuaded that it was a carving and that the man was not real. He could not understand that distant objects appeared to be smaller than they were in fact. This phenomenon had already been discussed by Diderot in his tract on the blind.20 Kaspar Hauser was convinced that everything in nature was man made. Daumer gave him some seeds to plant and he watched them germinate with fascination. This simple experiment convinced him that he had been mistaken, but his view of nature was still very confused. When he saw a man with one eye he asked why he did not make himself another one. After all he had already made one. He could not understand why the cat did not walk on its hind legs, and was shocked that it did not use its paws to eat – in the manner of a human. When he

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saw some oxen lying in the street he asked why they did not go home to lie down. He was disgusted that a horse urinated in public. He found it difficult to understand that his ears were part of his body and not things that were attached to it and which could be removed. When a doctor held his head in both hands he begged him not to take his head off.21 Daumer felt that Kaspar Hauser was ‘the picture of the purest goodness’ which was ‘beyond all description’ when he first arrived in Nuremberg.22 He had an absolute horror of all forms of violence. He wept copiously when he saw a small child being punished. He did not even want to kill the fleas which caused him so much discomfort when he was in the tower. He could not bare to see caged animals and thought it needlessly cruel to kill animals for their meat. Kaspar Hauser spent his days trying to write, draw and to do the exercises which the schoolmaster Daumer set for him. He complained bitterly that the constant stream of visitors interrupted his work. He expressed his desire to return to his cellar and said that he had never suffered so many pains as he had since he had arrived in Nuremberg. He had to absorb too many new sensations and was subjected to continual questioning from visitors who tried all kinds of experiments on him. He said he was prepared to stay in Nuremberg until he had learnt as much as the mayor and Professor Daumer, then the mayor should take him home and he would show the ‘man with whom he always was’ how much he had learnt. When his visitors said that the man had done him a great deal of harm he protested, ‘Man not bad. Man do me no bad!’ It was only later, when he began to appreciate all that the world had to offer, and after the attempt on his life, that he showed any anger towards his gaoler. Wondering at the beauty of a starry night he burst into tears and said that ‘the man with who he always was’ should be locked away for a couple of days to show him how hard that is. He, after all, had never shown him any such things.23 Kaspar had a remarkable memory. He could recall all the names of the people who had given him pictures and toys. One group of visitors met Kaspar, who was on his way to visit the mayor, one hour after they had been together in the tower, and he could remember all their names and titles. Dr Osterhausen later told Feuerbach that he had shown Kaspar a bouquet of flowers and named each one of them. A week later he could remember all the names. However, as time went by his memory waned. Feuerbach assumed this was because it became overloaded. In spite of all these difficulties and setbacks within three months Kaspar Hauser was able to speak coherently and reasonably fluently. He could write letters, began to understand the difference between a joke

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and a serious statement, and started to play chess. By September he began to write the story of his life, but kept the manuscript hidden under his bed. During the first few months in Nuremberg his memory was phenomenal. A number of officials was soon involved in the Kaspar Hauser affair. Prominent among them were Jakob Friedrich Binder, the Mayor of Nuremberg, Arnold von Mieg, President of the district council, Josef Ludwig Count von Armansperg from the Bavarian ministry of the interior, August Alexander von Roeder from the district court, Feuerbach and his subordinates von Gruner and Johann Karl Friedrich Schumann from the court of appeal and Baron von Zentner of the ministry of justice. The affair was soon to excite the interest of King Ludwig of Bavaria. What at first had been a simple local police matter was now the concern of high government officials and was even reported in the international press. On 15 July 1828, the day after Binder had published his account of the affair, Feuerbach wrote to the district council’s department of the interior complaining that this precipitate action had seriously compromised criminal proceedings for unlawful imprisonment and the abandonment of a helpless person. Von Mieg replied on behalf of the district council that they had tried to stop the publication and had seized a number of copies of the two local papers in which it had appeared. He agreed to send Feuerbach the relevant papers on the case, but argued that criminal proceedings should not begin until Kaspar Hauser had been put in the care of a qualified educator and was able to give a coherent account of events. Mieg also wrote on the same day to the king, via the minister of the interior, giving a brief account of the affair and complaining about Binder’s publication. Count Joseph Ludwig von Armansperg, the Minister of the Interior, replied to this letter agreeing that the Mayor of Nuremberg had acted too hastily and requested to see the relevant documents. On 21 July the district council sent the documents to the court of appeal. They were returned the following day with comments by von Gruner. He argued that there were not yet sufficient grounds for a criminal investigation, and that the mayor had jumped to an over-hasty conclusion. The fact that Kaspar appeared to be healthy and his face had a good colour made it unlikely that he had spent 14 years in a cellar and had lived on bread and water alone. The doctor who examined him should be required to give a detailed account of how he had reached his conclusions. All who had been in contact with Kaspar, particularly the mayor, should make detailed statements. It should be ascertained whether Kaspar was now capable of being cross-examined. The district

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council agreed with these remarks and complained to the mayor’s office that the police work had been extremely sloppy, that Binder’s publication was riddled with contradictions and unsubstantiated charges, and had probably tipped off the guilty party or parties. It was also suggested that Kaspar Hauser might not be always telling the truth and that he could very well be concealing valuable information for fear of the consequences. 24 Armansperg reported to the king on 23 July that an unfortunate youth had turned up in Nuremberg who had been held prisoner for years and had been given nothing but bread and water. He pointed out that his inability to speak properly and his lack of understanding of the world around him was proof positive that he was absolutely genuine. He complained about Binder’s proclamation which he felt would make the police’s work more difficult, but hastened to add that the mayor of Nuremberg had acted out of the very best of motives. 25 The first reaction of the Nuremberg authorities had been to lock Kaspar Hauser away, subject him to cross-examinations by the police, and require Hiltel to observe him closely from a hidden place. It soon became apparent that this strategy of compulsory exclusion from society failed to provide any solution to the mystery of his origins, the solution of which the mayor had made a civic duty. Compulsory integration was the more promising route. Kaspar Hauser became the ‘son of Nuremberg’ and shortly even the ‘son of Europe’, the focal point of many dreams, hopes and fantasies. But he also remained for many the outsider, the unknown, the threatening, even the criminal, and thus should be excluded from normal, ‘decent’ society. In the few years which he spent in society Kaspar Hauser was constantly threatened by compulsory exclusion or compulsory inclusion. In either case he was the predicate of another subject. This was noted by Feuerbach who reported that he said ‘Kaspar very good’ rather than ‘I am very good’ and it was no good addressing him as ‘you’ (Du), since the word was applied to so many different people. He would only answer to his name. 26 Daumer also reported that Kaspar found it very hard to understand that the various parts of his body formed part of a whole. He did not know where he ceased to be and where the outside world began. Kaspar refused to distinguish between the self and the other. To use Jacques Lacan’s phrase, he refused to leave the world of being for the world of meaning. Daumer reported that it took a long time for him to understand the concept of self and to use the word ‘I’. Looking at his portrait he remarked ‘if the nose were not there Kaspar would not be in the picture’. 27

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Just as he struggled against being defined as a speaking subject he also refused to become a sexually defined subject. He much preferred women’s clothes and announced that he would like to be a girl. Feuerbach remarked that when he first met Kaspar Hauser he took no notice of him as he was wearing drab clothing. He admired the colonel who accompanied him because of his magnificent uniform with its gold braid, but he was most taken by the women in their brightly coloured dresses. When asked whom he would like to marry he replied ‘my cat’. He referred to both sexes as ‘lads’ (Bua) and never showed any interest in sex. Ludwig Feuerbach, Anselm’s philosopher son, pointed out to him that girls often had to perform tasks which got their clothes dirty. This promptly put him off the idea that a sex change would be desirable.28 Two years later he planned to get a job, earn some money and get married, but his notion of a wife was that of a housekeeper or maid whom he would dismiss if she put too much salt in the soup, did not mend his shirts properly, or failed to brush his clothes to his satisfaction. 29 All those who concerned themselves with his education saw him as a tabula rasa. They argued over what they wished to project upon this blank surface. They could believe, like Feuerbach, that it was ‘a mirror of childish innocence’, or in a more exuberant moment that was to open him to the charge of blasphemy by one reviewer: ‘as spotless and clean, the reflection of the eternal in the soul of an angel’. Others insisted, like the Ansbach teacher Meyer, that he was essentially evil. They all agreed, however, that their projections were directed upon an empty mind. Baron von Tucher said of him that ‘with his direct and natural purity and unselfconsciousness he provided the perfect picture of the first man in paradise before the fall’.30 Johann Jakob Schnerr, the Nuremberg bookbinder and magistrate, echoed Feuerbach when he said that there was no trace in him of original sin.31 Daumer found Kaspar Hauser an ideal subject for his own experiments in homoeopathy, magnetism and the occult, and conducted a number of experiments on his charge. Kaspar was able to distinguish between different metals that were hidden under sheets of paper. To make sure that the results were not due to chance Daumer, Dr Osterhausen and a visitor from Munich by the name of Brunner, tested him without there being any metal under the paper. He insisted that there was some metal at one point. He continued to insist that he was correct, even when the paper was removed. To general amazement it was revealed that there was a nail under the oilcloth that covered table at exactly the point that he had indicated. 32

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Kaspar Hauser claimed to feel electric impulses when anyone stretched a hand out in his direction. He would turn his back to Daumer who stood 125 paces away and could tell whenever he stretched out his hand in his direction. He got cold shudders whenever someone touched him. He could clearly distinguish between the effects of the north and south poles of a magnet when they were pointed at him. Kaspar Hauser used his right hand for these experiments because he complained that his left hand was too sensitive and the sensation was uncomfortable. Daumer noted that Friedericke Hauffe the ‘Clairvoyant of Prevorst’, a well-known neurasthenic and somnambulist of exceptional magnetic sensibility, used her left hand because that was the most receptive to magnetic impulses. 33 During the night of 30 to 31 August 1828 Kaspar had a remarkably detailed dream which fascinated Daumer. During a visit to the castle in Nuremberg on 14 September Kaspar was reminded of this dream. As they entered the castle he was particularly struck by a double door; he stopped and told Daumer that it reminded him of a door in a dream he had of a ‘big house’. He said that he had dreamt of similar steps, but that they were more beautiful. When they were in the picture gallery Kaspar suddenly stopped, was lost in thought and then exclaimed that he could remember a large courtyard with a fountain in the middle and rooms all around. He said that when one opened a door one could see into several adjoining rooms. One could walk through the rooms all around the courtyard. On the steps there was a statue of a knight with a sword in his hand. The sword had a lion’s head as a handle. Later he said that there were pillars around the courtyard decorated with carvings. Steps lead down from the courtyard to the entrance gates. He thought there were four or five gates, some of which were open, through which one had to pass before entering the building. At the bottom of the steps was a circular stone, as high as the banisters, on which was a statue of a bearded man wearing a ruff and holding a sword with the point resting on the ground. There were two stories in the courtyard. On the first floor one could walk all the way round and one could see the fountain from all the doors. Each room on the top floor had 12 chairs, 3 chests of drawers and two tables, 1 in the middle and the other against the wall. In the library there were no chests of drawers. The first room one entered was the largest, but the next was the prettiest. All the rooms had mirrors with golden frames. Four of the rooms had chandeliers. In the largest room there was an oval table. The chests of drawers had bow fronts in the old Frankish style and lion’s heads as handles on the drawers. There were 2 mirrors in the library as well as a large table. One room had

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a large collection of silver in cabinets with glass doors. Kaspar dreamt that he was lying on a bed in the largest room. A woman entered wearing a yellow hat with bushy feathers. She was followed by a man in a black tailcoat, wearing a hat. He had a rapier and a cross hanging from a blue ribbon around his neck. The woman approached the bed, the man behind her. Kaspar twice asked her what she wanted, but got no reply. She held a piece of white linen in her hand. The two then left. Daumer asked Kaspar whether he could remember a coat of arms in his first dream. He had no idea what a coat of arms was, but with further questioning remembered seeing something on the wall above a door. He made a simple sketch of this object which was clearly a coat of arms. The sketch showed some sort of animal and three triangular shapes. Daumer then showed him a picture of a coat of arms and asked him if it was similar to the one in his dream. Kaspar made a number of modifications to this picture in a second sketch. Kaspar had a further dream during the night of 10 to 11 November 1828. He was visited by his mother who wept copiously and called him Gottfried – a name which he claimed never to have heard before. 34 Shortly afterwards he began work on an autobiographical fragment. His verbal ability improved rapidly and once he began seriously to learn to read he no longer played with his toys. He was fascinated to learn about plant growth. As soon as Kaspar came to stay with him Daumer tried to vary his diet which hitherto had consisted solely of bread and water. First he tried a watery soup thickened with flour. The first eight attempts were unsuccessful, but at the ninth attempt Kaspar seemed to enjoy it. He ate it virtually cold, otherwise it caused him ‘to walk’ – his left arm shook violently and the little finger of his left hand twitched. Daumer remarked that a warm bath had a similar effect. The thirteenth time he was given this soup he ate it warm without having spasms and without suffering any abdominal pains. He had similar problems adapting to drinking chocolate. He drank it 20 times before becoming accustomed to it, then it gave him strength and helped him overcome his chronic tiredness. On 15 August he was given a milk pudding which he ate without any ill effects. Millet gruel had the best effect of all and seemed to give him more strength than rice pudding or semolina. He found gruel too sweet. He ate potatoes, but without salt which he could not tolerate unless it was in cooked foods. Daumer was determined to accustom Hauser to eating meat. At first a few drops of meat stock on a piece of bread, taken after meals, caused the spasms in his left arm. After a fortnight these spasms ceased, and

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after a month he was able to eat a dessert spoonful of soup. Soon he could eat three spoonfuls and the effects on his general health were remarkable. The mayor’s office and the court of appeal followed Kaspar’s progress with lively interest since they hoped that he would soon be able to give a coherent account of his past. At the beginning of October 1829 he finished the first part of his ‘autobiography’. The autobiography is an important part in Kaspar Hauser’s effort to become a coherent subject. He constantly revised it, tearing out whole pages, reinserting them, changing the emphasis or adding fresh information. The first version tells of his imprisonment, of eating and drinking, playing with his toys and the instruction which ‘the man’ gave him. It ends with him arriving in Nuremberg and walking through the streets. Later versions tell of his visit to the Major’s house, his examination by the police and his time in the tower. His memory was imperfect and, as Schmidt von Lübeck pointed out, at first he lacked the words to describe what had happened and when he had the words his memory was imperfect. 35 Desperate attempts were made to jog his memory by reciting foreign words, taking him to visit various castles, palaces and cellars, travels to Hungary and the analysis of his more vivid dreams. All of this was to no avail and the mystery of Kaspar Hauser was never solved. He had made great progress thanks to Daumer’s efforts and to the assistance of Emmerling, a teacher in a local girls’ school who instructed him in writing, mathematics and music, and Kirchner from the polytechnic who taught him to draw. Nevertheless progress on this work was painfully slow. Having completed the first part of his story he complained that his eyes were hurting and that he was unable to continue. A dramatic event then opened a new chapter in Kaspar Hauser’s life.

5 Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes against the Soul’

In the morning of 17 October 1829 Kaspar Hauser went to visit Dr Preu. He returned home at 11 o’clock and was greeted by Daumer’s 22-year-old sister Anna Katharina who was chatting with the neighbour’s daughter. Anna Katharina then went to clean the living room on the second floor. Her mother was busy in the kitchen. At 12 o’clock she went down to the courtyard to empty a bucket of water. On the first floor staircase she was shocked to see bloody footsteps coming from the direction of the lavatory which was under the stairs. She assumed that someone had had a nose bleed, but the neighbour’s daughter suggested that it might have come from a wounded cat. Anna Katharina did some preliminary cleaning and then went to complain to her mother about the mess. Both women wondered what had happened to Kaspar Hauser. Her mother, Elisabetha Daumer, went into his room and saw that his coat was hanging on the wall and his shirt, cravat and waistcoat were on the piano. Since he usually partially undressed before going to the lavatory she assumed that this was where he had been. They looked all over the house for him without success, and he was not to be found at the neighbour’s. Elisabetha saw bloodstains on the cellar steps and although she saw something white in the corner, she did not go into the cellar because there was too much water on the floor. When Anna Katharina brought a light she suggested that the neighbour’s maid, who had come to see what was going on in the Daumer household, should have a closer look. She went down into the cellar and called out that she had found Kaspar dead. The neighbour’s son, Friedrich Haubenstricker, arrived on the scene having heard the maid call out that Hauser was dead, and went down into the cellar with her to take a closer look. They carried him 66

Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes against the Soul’ 67

upstairs to his room. He asked him what had happened and Kaspar replied, ‘Man . . . hit!’ While Friedrich went off to get Dr Preu, Kaspar lay in bed muttering, ‘Black man hit me, rang, opened, black man like in the kitchen’, and, ‘Black man hit me, on the lavatory, wanted to go up and tell mother, couldn’t find the room, went down into the cellar and hid!’ Elizabetha Daumer said that the blood stains on the wall and the door of the lavatory indicated that Kaspar had been attacked there. She assumed that by ‘black man’ Kaspar meant the chimney sweep whom he found very frightening. She wiped the blood from his face and noticed a cut, about two inches long, on his forehead. At the court hearing into the incident both women said that there had been no visitors to the house that morning apart from the milk maid, the butcher’s boy, a baker’s girl and a maid who brought back the plates from a student for whom Elisabetha Daumer cooked every day. It was assumed that she might have left the door unlocked thus enabling the assailant to enter the house unnoticed. No one could remember seeing anyone who resembled the man described by Kaspar Hauser. He said he was of medium build, wearing a new suit of dark material, yellow leather gloves and polished boots. All the witnesses pointed out that Kaspar Hauser had frequent visitors who were curious to see such a famous person. Young Haubenstricker pointed out that many people bitterly resented the fact that Kaspar was living at the city’s expense and was even getting riding lessons. Dr Preu told the court that Kaspar’s wound came from an extremely sharp instrument, but that the blow had not been particularly hard since the skull had not been fractured. He had been unable to stitch the wound because Kaspar had made such an appalling fuss that it would have needed three people to hold him down. Preu and Dr Osterhausen both testified that the wound could not have been caused by a fall. Thus the widespread rumour that Kaspar had fallen over when drunk was malicious, the more so since he could not tolerate alcohol.1 On 19 October Feuerbach visited Kaspar who begged him to protect him from his assailant. Kaspar was convinced that the man would make another attempt on his life. He had had a premonition three days before the attack that he would be murdered. In his testimony before the court he claimed that his assailant had said, ‘You will die before you leave Nuremberg!’ Feuerbach believed that those who had been responsible for keeping him prisoner had become extremely nervous on hearing of Kaspar Hauser’s remarkable intellectual development since he had arrived in Nuremberg, and had read in the newspapers that he

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was writing the story of his imprisonment. They therefore had a powerful reason for wanting to have him removed. Further witnesses substantiated Kaspar’s story. A washerwoman, Barbara Maria Rupprecht, who lived opposite the Daumers, noticed two strangers coming from the professor’s house at about the time of the attack, although she admitted that neither exactly fitted the description given by Kaspar Hauser. Another woman, Christiane Übelhör, claimed to have seen a man who met the suspect’s description washing his hands at about 11.30 a.m. in a water container used by the fire brigade. A servant in the guest house Saint Peter, Johann Groß, claimed to have seen a stranger fitting the description published by the mayor’s office between 3 and 4 o’clock in the afternoon of 17 October. He appeared to be trying to avoid some soldiers who were following behind him. Lieutenant Baptist Klein of the 5th Infantry Regiment was out hunting on Monday 19 October and saw two suspicious looking characters ‘from the lower orders’ who stopped talking as soon as he approached them. One resembled the suspect. Lieutenant Hickel of the local police was ordered to search for the man described by Klein and Groß, but his efforts were to no avail. A blacksmith’s apprentice, Johann Pfauntsch, saw a powerfully built man, about 20 years old, wearing a dark overcoat and a cap, coming from the common entrance to Daumer’s and Haubenstricker’s house at about 11.15 on 17 October. Pfauntsch claimed that the man then went to visit a widowed washerwoman, Maria Margaretha Geiersberger. She told the court that this was not the case, but admitted meeting someone of a similar description that afternoon. He claimed to be a craftsman’s servant and asked for money. She gave him a penny. Margaretha Stenglin testified that she had met a stranger on 21 October as she was going to work who asked her whether a young man who had been attacked had died. She asked whom he had in mind, since she could not think what he was talking about. He replied that his name was Kaspar Hauser. She replied that as far as she knew Kaspar Hauser was still alive. He asked whether one could enter the city without being stopped at the gate, and whether there was a police poster about the attempt on Kaspar’s life. She replied that one was not stopped at the gate and that there was a notice pinned up there, but that she was unable to read. By this time they had reached the city gates. The stranger read the notice, and Margaretha went on her way to work. When she looked back she saw the man leaving the city hurriedly. The maid who came everyday to the Daumers to collect a midday meal testified that she sometimes left the door unlocked since she was

Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes against the Soul’ 69

only briefly in the house. As far as she could remember she had locked the door behind her on 17 October and she had not seen any strangers. Professor Daumer’s health, particularly his eyesight, was deteriorating rapidly. After the attack it was felt wise to find somewhere safer for Kaspar to live. Daumer’s house was also too small to accommodate the two police officers appointed by the king of Bavaria to guard Kaspar Hauser. On 17 December 1829 Kaspar Hauser was made the legal ward of Baron Gottlieb von Tucher, an official of the court who had taken particular interest in him since he had arrived in Nuremberg. Von Tucher would have liked to look after him but his mother did not want to have the policemen in the house. The city was complaining about the cost of looking after Kaspar Hauser, and Johann Christian Biberbach, a local merchant and magistrate, agreed to pay for Kaspar’s upkeep out of his own pocket. As a result of these factors he was placed in Biberbach’s care. The two policemen detailed to keep watch on him lived in Biberbach’s house. Although Kaspar Hauser was no longer living in his house Daumer continued to take a lively interest in his well-being and visited him regularly, but now he had more time to devote to his literary and philosophical pursuits. In 1850 he published the first three volumes of his Religion for a New Age, an incredible synthetic natural religion based on assiduous researches on the wilder shores of natural religion and mythology. Karl Marx poured his vitriolic scorn on the work in the Neuen Rheinischen Zeitung and there were few followers of this new religion. Daumer’s publisher, Campe, decided not to publish any further volumes of this Brobdingnagian work. In 1854 Daumer left Nuremberg, which he described as a ‘hell full of Philistines’ and moved to Frankfurt. He soon came into close contact with the city’s influential Jewish community. He toyed with the idea of converting to Judaism, but first wanted to modify the teachings concerning the Messiah and to free the religion from what he called ‘Molochism’, on which he believed the Christian blood sacrifice to be based. Hardly surprisingly his Jewish acquaintances showed little enthusiasm for these ideas which he published in book form. He soon looked for fresh fields to conquer. He now moved to a village in the Taunus hills and began contemplation of yet another new religion. This lead him to a re-examination of the life and teachings of Jesus. In 1858, on the feast of the assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, he was received into full communion in the Catholic Church in Mainz cathedral. He published a series of works on his new religion, but remained an eccentric whose works often had to

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be submitted to clerical censors. His speculations on the relationship between the Virgin Mary and the god Pan caused some concern but, although the Catholic Church was passing through a sternly conservative and authoritarian phase, its new disciple was on the whole treated with a certain indulgence. Echoes of Daumer’s confused ideas can be found among the practitioners of Lebensphilosophie, in Nietzsche and Rudolf Steiner, but he remains an obscure and minor figure. Ludwig Klages, himself both philosopher and psychologist, described him as a psychopath, and felt that his conversion to Catholicism was the result of a ‘male menopause’. This judgment may well be a trifle harsh, but Daumer was certainly a monomaniac whom his fellow-Nurembergers regarded as an ‘intelligent idiot’ whose uncritical excursions into the occult appeal principally to anthroposophists who also rate him highly because of the way he treated Kaspar Hauser whom they see as a man with a mystic mission. Daumer was obliged to defend himself against the attacks of the ‘antiHauserians’. In 1857 the Danish psychologist Daniel Friedrich Eschricht published a booklet in which he insisted that Kaspar Hauser was a simple idiot who had been educated by some strange characters in Nuremberg to the point that he was able to become a successful swindler. 2 Daumer decided to answer these insinuations and took this opportunity also to reply to Lord Stanhope’s attacks which had been published in 1835. Baron Karl von Reichenbach, the industrialist and chemist who invented paraffin and creosote, was eager to collaborate with Daumer in a book on Kaspar Hauser. He dabbled in such fashionable subjects as natural philosophy, the paranormal and magnetism and developed his own bizarre theories of ‘odian magnetism’ (odische Magnetismus), an intermediate force between electricity, magnetism, heat and light which only very sensitive persons could perceive. He felt the existence of such a force was triumphantly confirmed in Kaspar Hauser’s extraordinary initial perceptual abilities. Daumer wanted nothing to do with the Baron, believing that he simply wanted to use Kaspar Hauser to justify an esoteric theory which was too bizarre even for him.3 Meanwhile von Tucher had serious reservations about allowing his ward to live with Biberbach. He was on the city council and was totally absorbed in his commercial activities. His wife (who was over 40) was a moody creature and was reputed to be a nymphomaniac, and it was feared that she was likely to make improper advances towards the extremely bashful young man. Tucher objected to the idea vigorously in a letter to Feuerbach, pointing out Frau Biberbach’s dubious morals. 4

Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes against the Soul’ 71

The city fathers of Nuremberg who had come under considerable public criticism for their bountiful treatment of Kaspar Hauser were anxious to save money, so it was agreed he could stay with the Biberbachs. As von Tucher had predicted, Kaspar Hauser was alarmed and disgusted by Frau Biberbach’s salacious advances, and from the very beginning of his stay on 30 January 1830 relations between the two were extremely tense. In the 18 months since Kaspar had arrived in Nuremberg the police investigation into his origins had reached a dead end and the case was virtually closed. With this mysterious attack it was reopened. The police officer Hüftlein, who had questioned Kaspar Hauser on his arrival in Nuremberg, was called upon to write an official report on the incident. He went to Daumer’s house but was unable to speak to Kaspar who was suffering from paroxysms. Daumer’s mother showed him the bloodstains which he carefully noted. He then listed all the measures taken, ruefully noting that none had brought any results.5 The king of Bavaria was informed on 24 October 1829 that a murder attempt had been made on Kaspar Hauser, and that no clues had been found. The letter pointed out that he was making remarkable progress in his studies particularly in music and drawing. King Ludwig responded to this letter on 4 November by ordering that Kaspar should be given police protection since it was highly probable that yet another attempt would be made on his life. It was assumed that the criminals who had kept him prisoner were now determined to ensure that their whereabouts were not discovered.6 Shortly afterwards the king offered the extremely generous reward of 500 florins for anyone who produced information which led to the apprehension of the guilty party, and repeated that Kaspar had to be properly guarded to avoid another attempt on his life. Feuerbach and the court of appeal stressed the importance of the case, published an account of the crime, and repeated the king’s offer of a reward. 7 The investigation was in the hands of Baron von Roeder who questioned a large number of witnesses and who travelled many miles in the bitter Bavarian winter in search of information. The results were very disappointing. No clues were unearthed to indicate a possible assailant, and a re-examination of the witnesses to Kaspar’s arrival in Nuremberg spread further confusion. Many of them contradicted their earlier statements, a fact which was exploited by Lord Stanhope when he questioned them again in 1834 and, by using leading questions, provided further ammunition for his case that Kaspar Hauser was a fraud. Kaspar was cross-examined about his childhood on 6, 7 and 9 November 1829. 8 He said that he could only remember being in his cell.

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He described it as being 6 or 7 feet (Schuh) by 4 feet and 5 feet high. The floor was of beaten sand. Half of the floor was covered in straw which served as his bed. There was a receptacle with a lid and a removable earthenware pot inside, placed in a slight hollow in the ground, which served as a commode. There were two windows, 8 or 9 inches square. The walls were dark and probably made of sandstone. It was permanently dark, so that he was unable to distinguish between day and night and developed an unusual ability to see in the dark. He found daylight extremely bothersome when he was released from captivity. The temperature remained constant and caused him no problems. There was a small door which was fastened on the outside. He was given nothing but black rye bread and water. The bread, although often very hard, was at least plentiful, but he complained that he often did not get enough water. Sometimes the water tasted unpleasant and made him go to sleep. He wore short leather breeches, open at the back, woollen bracers and a shirt, and his legs were covered with a white woollen blanket. During his waking hours he played with his two wooden horses and his dog. Eight or nine days before he was taken to Nuremberg a stranger appeared three times, at about three-day intervals. The first time he had said nothing, but had tried to show Kaspar how to write the alphabet and his name. The second time he taught him the word for ‘horse’. He said, ‘Your father is in the big village. You will get a beautiful horse.’ Kaspar was also taught to say, ‘I wanna be a sixfer (sixth?) cavalryman like wot my father were.’ The third time the stranger came and told him that it was time to go. He carried him on his back with Kaspar’s hands tied together around his neck with a white cloth. It was still dark outside and Kaspar soon fell asleep. When he awoke he was lying on the ground. The man forced him to get up and tried to teach him to walk. This Kaspar found very painful and he complained bitterly of the pain. The man said that if he stopped walking he would not get a horse. He repeated the sentence ‘I wanna be a sixfer cavalryman like wot my father were’ over and over again so that he could remember it. He was told to look at the ground and to pay no heed to what was going on around him. They walked through the cold and the rain, but Kaspar was unable to say for how many days. He assumed that it was not very far, since he was barely able to walk. He could not remember having seen a river or a stream, nor a bridge or any form of water. They never went downhill. They walked all the time on footpaths and avoided the highway. One day the stranger gave Kaspar a change of clothes. He stood behind him while he changed so that he could not see him. He gave Kaspar a letter

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and told him he should take it ‘where it belonged’. Suddenly Kaspar found himself alone in the city. Then he met the shoemaker Weickmann. On further examination Kaspar said that he had never stood up in his cell and that he had only been visited on three occasions by the stranger. He had never seen anyone bring his food, empty the commode or change his clothes. Nor could he remember seeing anyone cut his hair or his nails, although he was regularly groomed. He was convinced that the man who had attacked him on 17 December 1829 was the same man who had brought him to Nuremberg 18 months before. Kaspar’s story was so fantastic that many people thought that he must be a fraud. Prominent among the earlier sceptics was Johann Friedrich Merker, a criminologist and journalist from Berlin, who had read about the case in the newspapers, but who had never met Kaspar. Another prominent sceptic was Georg Philipp Schmidt von Lübeck. Merker published an attack on Kaspar in 1830 and Schmidt von Lübeck followed suit in the following year.9 The court felt that the best way to deal with these rumours was to get detailed medical reports so that they had hard facts and did not have to rely solely on the subjective account given by Kaspar Hauser, made first when he could speak only a few words, and whose later testimony could very well have been influenced by those around him. Dr Preu’s report was presented on 3 December 1830. He described Kaspar as being 5 feet 4 inches tall (having been a mere 4 feet 9 inches when he first arrived) with blue eyes, light brown hair, a round flat face with a small nose, a delicate white skin and weak muscles. The scar from his attack was 1.75 inches long and there were a number of other scars caused by falls and by a pistol shot – the result of an accident in April. He had a vaccination mark on his right upper arm. His genitalia were fully developed and the pubic hair was abundant. He was uncircumcised. He had no idea about sex and when he was given powdered licopodium he awoke every morning with an erection. He found the sensation most unpleasant and complained about it to the schoolmaster Meyer, with whom he was now lodging. He was not consoled when told that this was a normal and healthy sign. His knee joints were somewhat deformed so that when sitting on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him the back of the knees touched the ground. While sitting in this position he could move his arms about freely without bending his back. He was unable to stand on one leg, since this caused him considerable pain in the hips. His feet began to hurt badly when he walked for more than three-quarters of an hour. Dr Preu noted that his sense of smell was unusually acute. He

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could see remarkably well in the dark and his hearing was so sensitive that loud noises, such as military music, caused him considerable pain. When thinking, or trying to remember something, the left side of his face and body began to twitch and he became oblivious to everything around him. The smell of diluted homoeopathic medicines from several paces caused him to break out in a sweat and to shiver, and caused numbness. He could not tolerate coffee, beer or wine and detested herbs and spices other than coriander, caraway, anise and fennel which had been mixed in the bread he had been given while in his cell. He was particularly fond of caraway. Dr Preu took all this as strong evidence that he had indeed spent a long time in a cell, been given an extremely primitive diet, had been denied normal stimuli to the senses, and had spent a long time sitting on the floor. Dr Preu insisted that Kaspar had a remarkable degree of ‘animal magnetism’ and that metals had a profound effect on his nervous system, even from a considerable distance. He was more affected by the terrestrial (tellurian) than the heavenly (sidereal). As soon as he began to eat meat he lost this sensitivity. Dr Osterhausen presented his report on 31 December 1830. It further substantiated Dr Preu’s description. He noted that Kaspar had been able to distinguish between various metals when they were covered by a piece of paper from a distance of two or three inches. Gold had the strongest effect on him and he found the sensation most unpleasant. When shaking hands he felt quite distinct sensations with different people. Most of the time he found this unpleasant. Once he started to eat meat these sensations ceased. He was able to wear a gold ring without noticing it and could shake hands without experiencing any discomfort. Dr Osterhausen assumed, on the basis of experiments conducted by a young officer, von Pirch, that Kaspar’s mother tongue was either Hungarian or Polish. If it had been German he felt that he would have been able to say more about his earliest childhood. The attempt on his life and the medical evidence caused Feuerbach to change his mind about Kaspar Hauser. Although he had been greatly attracted to the boy, he was initially sceptical about tales of his noble birth. He now became the most outspoken and enthusiastic partisan for the foundling’s cause. In his book on Kaspar Hauser, published in 1831, he hints that the foundling might be of noble birth. From the notes he made for the book it is clear that he thought that Kaspar Hauser was indeed the legitimate Grand Duke of Baden. 10 On 27 January 1832 he wrote to the queen dowager of Bavaria, Caroline, suggesting that Kaspar Hauser was the object of a crime against

Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes against the Soul’ 75

the crown.11 In February that year he wrote to the court preacher von Schmidt in Munich asking him to arrange an interview for Police Lieutenant Hickel with Queen Caroline so that he could give her a full account of his suspicions. 12 On 4 February he wrote a long letter to Lord Stanhope in which he answered some of the objections to the theory that Kaspar Hauser could be a prince of Baden. 13 Later that month he sent Queen Caroline his memoir on the Kaspar Hauser affair in which he insisted that circumstantial evidence pointed to him being the rightful Grand Duke. He was careful to point out that such circumstantial evidence, based on a number of reasonable assumptions, was not enough to convince a court of law, but pointed out that rumours (famam publicam) are used by lawyers as evidence of crimes, even though that evidence may well be circumstantial. He argued that Kaspar Hauser must have been a legitimate child since no one would go to such extraordinary lengths to hide an illegitimate birth. It could be safely assumed that those who were responsible for the crime had substantial means at their disposal. Three years of intensive search and the offer of a handsome reward had shed no light on the case. An attempt on Kaspar’s life had been made in broad daylight in the crowded city of Nuremberg without a single reliable witness coming forward. All this indicated that people of wealth and influence were behind the crime. It further seemed obvious that Kaspar Hauser was a person whose fate was of considerable importance, otherwise nobody would risk their lives by becoming involved in such a crime. It was not possible that either revenge or hatred were motives, but rather personal advantage. Kaspar Hauser had to be removed so that others should profit from his inheritance. The remarkable dreams which Kaspar Hauser had in Nuremberg were taken to be further indication that he must be of noble birth, since these dreams revived memories of his earliest youth. The castle or palace of which he dreamt was unlike anything he could have seen in Nuremberg, and Feuerbach insisted that the lions’ heads, or lions, in his dream were of particular significance. Kaspar Hauser’s cell was kept remarkably clean and he was kept well groomed. His food was very simple but adequate. He was provided with toys. His guardian could well have killed him with an overdose of opium had he so wished, and his simple food was dictated by the need not to cause any probing questions in the community. Kaspar Hauser always spoke kindly of ‘the man with whom he always was’. It could thus be safely assumed that the man was his saviour who hid him from those who wished him dead. Feuerbach thought that the fact that Kaspar Hauser had some

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religious pamphlets with him indicated that his captor was probably a Catholic priest or monk. Feuerbach now assumed that since there was no noble family from which a child had been kidnapped Kaspar Hauser had been exchanged in infancy for another baby which had died shortly afterwards. There was also indication that Kaspar Hauser had lived for a while in relatively normal circumstances, possibly in Hungary, before he was imprisoned. The motive for this imprisonment was to hide him from those who were determined to kill him. Feuerbach concluded that only ‘the house of B’ came in question. The two sons of the Grand Duke of Baden had died in infancy whereas the three daughters were perfectly healthy. Their death enabled another’s sons to be in the line of succession since females were excluded. The note which Kaspar Hauser brought with him to Nuremberg said that he had been born on 30 April 1812 and was given to the unknown person on 7 October that year. The oldest prince of Baden was born in 1812 and died on 16 October. The second prince of Baden was also born on 30 April. The differences in the October dates were hardly significant. Thus what Feuerbach had previously dismissed as a wild fantasy he now accepted as a likely truth. 14 Feuerbach had elaborated his ideas about admissible evidence in his classic Handbook of Laws Concerning Life and Limb (Lehrbuch des gemeinen peinlichen Rechts), the eleventh edition of which he published in 1832. According to him a legal judgment was based firstly on ‘grounds for suspicion’ (Vermutung) which included police reports and clues, and secondly on ‘grounds for judicial certainty’, based on clear evidence. He defined certainty as a situation in which ‘all those reasons are given which are needed in order to assume that an event really happened’. He distinguished, however, between ‘judicial’ certainty and ‘moral’ certainty. Judicial certainty is based on existing laws of evidence, whereas moral certainty rests on reason. Feuerbach assumed that judicial certainty could not exist without moral certainty, largely because the rules of evidence were so stringent. The Bavarian criminal law of 1813, which was largely Feuerbach’s work, demanded that before a witness’s testimony could be admitted in court it had to be corroborated by a second equally credible witness. 15 Thus although Feuerbach was convinced that Kaspar Hauser was the Grand Duke of Baden as a lawyer he knew he could not prove it. Feuerbach felt that circumstantial evidence could well form the basis of ‘judicial certainty’. Other contemporary jurists argued that circumstantial evidence could establish likelihood but never certainty. Feuerbach insisted that each individual piece of circumstantial evidence had to fit

Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes against the Soul’ 77

logically together for it to be admissible, but this was certainly not the case with his argument that Kaspar Hauser was the Grand Duke of Baden. The only pieces of circumstantial evidence that Feuerbach had were that the Hochberg family had an interest in removing the Grand Duke of Baden’s sons so that they might succeed to the throne, that Kaspar Hauser had had a dream that might be interpreted as indicating that he was of noble birth, and that he had been kept prisoner for a number of years. There was no evidence that the Grand Duke’s son had been exchanged for a dying infant and thus no reason to suppose that Kaspar Hauser was indeed his son. Feuerbach’s argument did not even meet the criteria he himself had laid down for admissible evidence. Paragraph 192 of the Bavarian criminal code made forcible restraint a criminal offence. Paragraph 193 provided for up to eight years of penal servitude (Arbeitshaus) as punishment if the victim was kept prisoner for four years. If the period of imprisonment exceeded four years the offender was to be sent to jail (Zuchthaus). Paragraph 194 called for corporal punishment if the victims had been physically mishandled.16 Feuerbach argued that paragraph 194 only dealt with physical mistreatment whereas the Kaspar Hauser case was one of ‘the denial of all means of intellectual development and education, the unnatural preservation of a human soul in a state of animal stupidity’. 17 The problem was that the Bavarian criminal code made no provision for psychological mistreatment or, to use Feuerbach’s term, ‘crimes against the soul’. Article 182 only considered ‘raving, madness, idiocy and similar psychological disorders’ as grounds for prosecution when these disorders were the result of physical mistreatment, which was to be punished accordingly.18 Punishment was to be based on the principle of reciprocity (Talionsprinzip). The victims had been forcibly restrained: the culprit would therefore be imprisoned. The victim had suffered physical mistreatment: the culprit would also suffer corporal punishment. Paragraphs 174 to 177 of the Bavarian criminal code deal with the abandonment of children. In most criminal codes only the parents were held responsible for the abandonment of their children (exposito infantum), but the Bavarian code was progressive in this respect in that paragraph 174 spoke not only of children but also of all those who were in need of care and who were abandoned by those who were responsible for them. The problem here was that it was not at all clear what obligations and responsibilities Kaspar Hauser’s keeper had towards his charge and therefore in what sense he had violated paragraph 174. Nor had there been any serious risk to his life as foreseen in paragraphs 175 to 177. The danger had been to what Feuerbach described as his ‘mental life’.

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Feuerbach had some difficulty in defining what he meant by a crime against the mental life of a victim. Kaspar Hauser had, after all, suffered no long-term disabilities. He was not cretinous, nor seriously disturbed, and had been able to make up much of the lost ground. Feuerbach was thus speaking of damage without a corpus delicti. He had to argue that Kaspar Hauser had been robbed of his childhood, and that was something that could not be given back to him. His real childhood began when he was already physically mature. It also meant that he had to be shown to be permanently retarded in his mental development, even though he was able to function adequately. The concept of ‘crimes against the soul’, or ‘mental crimes’, had first been adumbrated by Regnerius Engelhard in the eighteenth century. He was a pupil of one of the outstanding jurists of the day, Christian Wolff, and attempted to apply his teacher’s notions of natural law to criminal law. 19 Engelhardt included the spreading of ‘error’ and the publication of harmful books as crimes against the soul. Thus his concept of this misdemeanour was essentially religious. Carl August Tittmann, a Saxon contemporary of Feuerbach’s, argued in his De delictis in vires mentis humanae commissis of 1795 that crimes against the ‘mental powers’ (Geisteskräfte) were sui generis and had to be distinguished from physical injury or acts that were damaging to a victim’s health.20 Tittmann argued that mental powers should be protected by the law, in the same manner as such traditional notions as physical integrity and honour. An act which served to hinder the development of an individual’s intellectual abilities, or which harmed or impeded such abilities which were already fully developed, should be considered a crime. He expressly excluded Engelhard’s ‘crimes against the soul’ since he did not believe that a dubious book or a questionable doctrine could permanently damage the psyche. He argued that physical abuse, poison, the withholding of sensory perception, the separation of an individual from human contact, the refusal to teach a child to speak or the systematic ‘education in stupidity’ were as much crimes as the refusal to feed babies and small children. Tittmann argued that for there to be a ‘crime against the powers of the mind’ (Geisteskräfte) there had to be evidence either of idiocy (fatuitas) or of madness (delirium). The obvious problem was how to establish whether or not such severe disturbances were the result of a crime, but he argued that by including medical evidence it should be possible to establish the degree to which these disorders had been exacerbated by external causes. Since Tittmann regarded such crimes as a form of mental murder he argued that they should be punished with the death penalty.

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A number of commentators supported Tittmann, but others merely pointed out that since such a crime did not exist in German criminal codes laws concerning acts harmful to an individual’s health or poisoning would have to suffice. His critics pointed to the impossibility of establishing the degree to which a victim’s mental powers had been affected by the purported crime. It also had to be shown that there was no possibility of recovery, just as for a murder to have taken place the victim had to be shown to be truly dead.21 Salchow argued that if a mad person were no longer considered fully human, his human nature having been destroyed by the madness, then it was no more of a crime to kill a madman than to kill a horse or a dog. He still believed that ‘mental crime’ should be a capital offence, not because it amounted to murder, but because it was analogous to murder in that it robbed an individual of an inborn and irreplaceable gift.22 Feuerbach had hardly concerned himself with these problems before he was confronted with the case of Kaspar Hauser. In his Revision of the Fundamentals and Essential Ideas of the Positive Law of Life and Limb of 1800 he spoke of a right to the full use of one’s mental powers (Gemütskräfte) along with the right to health and physical freedom, but he made no attempt to define what he meant by this idea. 23 He also mentioned the concept in his textbook of 1832, but again only in passing, and in such a way as to suggest that he was in the camp of Tittmann’s critics. 24 Mental crimes were subsumed under bodily harm, and the emphasis was on the causes of any disturbance. This was very much in the spirit of the Prussian code of law in which madness, sickness or ‘unhappiness’ resulting from physical abuse or poisoning were regarded as serious crimes, in certain cases to be punished with death. Mental crimes were thus not seen as being in a separate category from bodily harm.25 The Saxon criminal code also contained similar provisions. The section on ‘crimes against health’, the ‘damaging of mental powers and hindering their development’, rendering permanently mad or hindering the intellectual development of a child states that the culprit could be punished with up to 20 years’ imprisonment.26 Once Feuerbach began to ponder the case of Kaspar Hauser he changed his views radically and found himself in broad agreement with Tittmann and Salchow. Whereas for Tittmann there had to be evidence of idiocy or madness, Feuerbach now felt that this was far too restrictive a definition. Kaspar Hauser, after all, was neither idiotic nor mad, but was obviously the victim of a crime that was far more serious than imprisonment. The crime that had been committed against him was

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that he had been robbed of his childhood, and that was something which could never be returned to him. Daumer did not subscribe to Feuerbach’s fanciful theory. Although he thought that Kaspar Hauser was almost certainly of noble birth – the circumstances of his arrival in Nuremberg and the attempt on his life suggested that this was the case – unlike Feuerbach he was not particularly interested in the question of his birth. He saw Kaspar Hauser as a fascinating example of natural man, and it was of little concern to him whether the ‘Myth of Franconia’ was the son of a prince or a pauper. He was, however, greatly concerned that he himself might become the target of assassins hired by a princely house anxious to cover its bloodstained tracks. Feuerbach said that it was ‘fear of poison and the dagger’ that stopped his friend Daumer from publishing a manuscript he had written on the Kaspar Hauser affair.27 Were this the case Daumer soon overcame any such fears and published his first piece on the Kaspar Hauser affair in 1832. 28

6 Philip Henry, Lord Stanhope

Kaspar stayed with Biberbach from January to July 1830. By now he was an international celebrity, his story published in newspapers in London, Paris, New York and Philadelphia. Inevitably there was a flood of rumours and ingenious theories as to his parentage. In April 1830 Feuerbach, on behalf of the court of appeal in Ansbach, reported to the king of Bavaria that a Hungarian priest claimed that he knew where and by whom Kaspar had been kept prisoner in Bavaria. On 27 March a Prussian guards’ officer, Otto von Pirch, arrived in Nuremberg, talked to Kaspar Hauser and claimed that he had evidence that he had spent some time in Hungary.1 Lieutenant von Pirch, who was on his way back to Potsdam where he was stationed, having visited Hungary and Italy, was cross-examined by the court on 30 March 1830. He said that he had become interested in the case having read about it in the Hungarian press. He had visited Kaspar on 27 March and asked him whether he recognized the words for ‘one’, ‘two’ and ‘three’ in Hungarian. Kaspar thought hard for a while and replied that he had heard them before ‘as if in a dream’. He then asked him if he recognized the word for ‘hundred’. He answered that it was a large number. When von Pirch swore ‘basmana remtete!’ Kaspar shrank in horror and said that ‘the man’ had said that twice when they were on their way to Nuremberg and once when he hit him. He recognized the Polish word ‘matka’ as mother and his face lit up. He also recognized ‘ociec’ as father, but added that he had not heard the word very often. He claimed to have heard the Polish expression ‘Buzirscz moi Kochan, buzirscz moi chlopek‘ (Come, my dear, come, my boy!) from his nursemaid. He was very shocked at ‘Boi foi mat!’ and said it was a very bad word. Although Tucher felt that Kaspar was far too excited after this experiment he eventually allowed Pirch and Binder to conduct one further 81

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test. They placed some corn on the cob on the table in front of him to see how he would react, since children in Hungary often played with corn. Kaspar said he could remember seeing corn in his earliest childhood and claimed that his nursemaid used to work with corn. Pirch asked Biberbach’s daughter Klara to bring two paving stones between which she placed a number of cobs and began to grind them. Kaspar exclaimed that that was the way they used to prepare corn while he was in his nursemaid’s arms. Von Pirch, who was a highly educated and charming man, made a considerable impression on the court and his testimony was corroborated by Johann Jakob Schnerr, a member of the town council and a book binder to whom Kaspar Hauser was briefly apprenticed and who had arranged the meeting with Kaspar Hauser. His legal guardian, Baron von Tucher, and Biberbach both verified Pirch’s statement. Kaspar took to him immediately and wept copiously when he took his leave. On 3 April Kaspar had another accident. He fell while climbing on a chair to reach some books on a shelf. As he fell he tried to grab the panelling but got hold of a pistol which was hanging loaded on the wall. The pistol went off and the ball scraped his head just above the right ear. He fell to the ground where he lay unconscious. The two policemen who had been designated to guard him were in the next room. Hearing the shot they hastened to his assistance. Kaspar was soon revived. The pistol was still hanging on the wall and the powder burns on the wall indicated that his account of this misfortune was absolutely accurate. By this time the Biberbachs were getting tired of Kaspar. They felt that since he had become the object of general attention, praise and flattery, particularly after he was attacked, he had become self-indulgent, ungrateful and a liar.2 Tucher became very disturbed at Kaspar’s worsening condition which he attributed to conditions in the Biberbach household. Biberbach was fully occupied with his business affairs and Kaspar’s education was being neglected. Klara Biberbach was hovering on the brink of insanity and was to end her life by hurling herself out of a window a few years later. Tucher was also fully aware of the tensions between the Biberbachs and their charge. On 15 July 1830 he decided to look after the boy himself in his house in the Burgstraße 5 for six or seven weeks. In fact Kaspar stayed for a year and a half. The city of Nuremberg provided 300 guilders for Kaspar Hauser, but this did not cover Tucher’s costs. Feuerbach, Tucher, Otto von Pirch and the jurist, colleague, friend and biographer of E. T. A. Hoffmann, Julius Eduard Hitzig, latched onto the idea of Kaspar Hauser as ‘Europe’s Child’ and planned a European subscription campaign to collect money

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for the foundling.3 Nothing came of the idea, in part because Merker’s pamphlet attacking Kaspar Hauser was widely read and the adverse publicity made a successful subscription campaign unlikely. On 9 August 1830 Tucher continued the language experiments which von Pirch had begun. He invited Dr Moritz Gottlieb Saphir to meet Kaspar Hauser. Saphir was a Hungarian-born writer of humorous sketches who lived in Munich and who had read of Pirch’s experiments. He came in the company of the bookseller Eichhorn, and tried to see whether Kaspar could understand Hungarian. Kaspar realized that he was speaking the same language as von Pirch. He then claimed that Saphir had asked whether he would like to go for a walk, adding that he used to ask his wooden horse the same question when he was in his cellar. He recognized another sentence as ‘do you want to go to papa?’ Saphir recited a list of Hungarian place names. Kaspar was particularly excited about Poschamba (Pressburg), and said that his nursemaid had often referred to the place and used to say ‘papa has gone to Poschamba’. He became so upset and pained that the meeting had to be brought to a halt. Saphir returned the following day for breakfast. Kaspar seemed exhausted after the previous day’s excitement and had a headache. He claimed to recognize some words and tried to speak a few words himself. Most were incomprehensible except for ‘Motschär’ which Saphir said did not exist in Hungarian, not even as a place name. 4 In the spring of 1831 the city fathers of Nuremberg ordered an officer of the Gendarmes, Lieutenant Joseph Hickel, to make a careful search for a likely place where Kaspar Hauser might have been hidden. Since he had said that the journey on foot had taken about three days it was assumed that he had been kept within a 40-kilometre radius of the city. Hickel was unable to find any clues and ended his search on 28 May. The experiments in Hungarian were reported in the press and excited considerable interest. A Hungarian professor suggested that Kaspar should make a trip to Hungary. Two trips were eventually financed by a strange Englishman who was to play a critical role in the life of Kaspar Hauser, Lord Stanhope, who arrived in Nuremberg on the same day that Lieutenant Hickel ended his search. Philip Henry, Lord Stanhope, was born on 7 December 1781. His father Charles was a brilliant but emotionally unstable man. His greatest achievement was the invention of an iron printing press, and a light twoor four-wheeled open carriage was named after him. He was a close friend of William Pitt the younger whose sister, Lady Hester Pitt, he married in 1774. Their first child was Lady Hester Stanhope, the delightfully dotty

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‘Queen of the Arabs’ who ended her days as an oriental despot, mystagogue and prophetess living on Mount Lebanon with two magnificent horses ready to ride with the Messiah to the Holy City. Charles’s wife died in 1780 at the age of 25 having borne him two further daughters. Shortly after her death Charles married her cousin Louisa Grenville. It was not a happy marriage. Louisa Stanhope was emotionally cold and stiff and brought out the worst in her husband. He became domineering, ill-tempered and brutal, and treated his children abominably. Louisa was seldom at home and devoted all her energies to London’s hectic social life. Her stepdaughter Lucy once remarked that if she met her in the street she doubted that she would recognize her. Louisa promptly bore Charles an heir nine months after their marriage. Philip had three younger brothers, Bank who died in the year of his birth, Charles Bank and James Hamilton. Charles’s godfather was Lord Chesterfield, the author of the egregious Letters to His Son, a work that caused no little amusement to those who knew that the son in question was in fact the product of a passionate liaison between his father’s fiancée, Petronella Melusine von Schulenburg, the illegitimate daughter of George I, and the captain of the ship in which she travelled from Holland to marry the 5th earl. Charles Stanhope became increasingly eccentric and difficult. His enthusiastic support for the French Revolution was treated with derision in the House of Lords and provided rich material for the caricaturists. Although a very rich man he imposed a harsh regime of austerity upon his household at Chevening in Kent. All luxury items were removed, his children were clad in the simplest of clothing, Lady Hester was required to tend the turkeys and the boys were apprenticed to the local blacksmith. The children’s tutor Jeremiah Joyce was chosen for his revolutionary enthusiasm rather than his pedagogic ability with the result that he was arrested for high treason in 1794 and spent 23 weeks in the Tower of London. His release was celebrated in Charles Stanhope’s progressive Masonic lodge at the Crown and Anchor. Joyce was succeeded by Dr Crawford, a foul-mouthed and violent Freemason who made Philip Henry’s life utterly miserable. Lady Hester managed to escape from the stifling atmosphere of Chevening and lived in her Prime Minister uncle’s exciting household. Philip Henry appealed to her for help. Pitt, Sir Francis Burdett, a fabulously wealthy radical politician who had married into the Coutts banking family and who had an enormous popular following, and Francis Jackson, a young member of the diplomatic service, appealed to the father to treat his son better. The effect of this well-intended intervention was

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that Philip Henry was placed virtually under house arrest with the dreadful Dr Crawford watching his every move. Flight now seemed the only way out of what all agreed was an intolerable situation. Lady Hester and her co-conspirators, the Prime Minister, Burdett and Jackson, agreed that Philip Henry should be sent to university in Erlangen, a small, socially exclusive and exacting seat of learning, in an attempt to make up for a woefully inadequate education. Erlangen was chosen because Karl Alexander, Margrave of Ansbach-Bayreuth, who had abdicated and lived in London, was well known to Pitt, and the widowed magravine was prepared to receive Philip Henry at her modest court. Francis Jackson provided Philip Henry with a forged passport in the name of Mackwell, Burdett put up the money to finance the flight, and a Mr Rice was chosen to accompany the fugitive. The escape was made to Hamburg by way of Harwich. Philip Henry bought a coach in Hamburg and set forth to Celle and Hanover and on to Leipzig. After a fortnight of travelling around Germany the party arrived in Erlangen and Philip Henry lodged with Professor Breyer who was awaiting his arrival. Philip Henry Viscount Mahon was then matriculated at the university. Although he wrote fulsomely of his determination to study assiduously and spoke warmly of Professor Breyer, there is little indication that he did much work, and after eight months he suddenly moved from Breyer’s house to the more congenial quarters of the widow Gelly. It was a move that shocked Professor Breyer and occasioned much gossip. Philip Henry was soon heavily in debt and his prospects of a handsome inheritance dwindled as his father tottered on the brink of bankruptcy. Lady Hester had no difficulty in persuading Pitt and Jackson that her half-brother badly needed a career. But what could he do? Jackson was impressed by Philip Henry’s vivid reports of life in Germany and suggested that he could be usefully employed as a political agent. For the time-being Philip Henry was not informed of these plans for his future, and alarming reports of his irresponsible behaviour must have caused some doubts as to whether he would ever be of much service to his country. In 1802 Lady Hester met her brother in Baden-Baden, which gave him his first and abiding taste for the world of fashion and court intrigue. Later that year they met in Lyon and began a tour of Italy. Relations between the two were strained. Lady Hester found her brother to be an insufferable know-all and was contemptuous of his absurdly dandified clothing and his tiresome little poodle which was his constant companion. Philip Henry was appalled at his sister’s lack of interest in art galleries and architecture, and found her fascination with the daily

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lives of ordinary Italians embarrassingly vulgar. Their ways soon parted. Lady Hester decided to winter in Italy, Philip Henry returned to England. In typical Stanhope fashion they soon became bitter enemies, Philip Henry referring to his sister as ‘my bitter and implacable enemy’. 5 Having been disowned by his father he pleaded with his uncle William Pitt for support. As Warden of the Cinque Ports, Pitt was able to provide him with the position of deputy warden of Dover Castle, an appointment which gave him an extremely modest income and a roof over his head. Shortly after his return to England Philip Henry married Catherine Lucy Smith, the fourth daughter of Robert Smith, 1st Baron Carrington. Lady Holland described her as ‘that odd, but lively, agreeable and good humoured wife of an odd but far from agreeable husband’. 6 Unable to provide adequately for his young bride he appealed to his father for help. He replied with effusive expressions of his love, affection and concern for his well-being, but insisted that as long he was so closely associated with his arch-enemy William Pitt there could be no reconciliation. Pitt installed Philip Henry in Walmer Castle and provided him with further sinecures, among them the Surveyorship of the Green Wax and the Keepership of the Records in the Birmingham Tower of Dublin Castle, which provided him with a comfortable income of £1000 per annum and no responsibilities. Lucy bore Philip Henry a son and heir in 1805 – Philip Henry who was to become a well-known historian – and two further children, George Joseph in 1806 and Catherine Lucy Wilhelmina in 1819. His youngest daughter became the Duchess of Cleveland and was the mother of the future prime minister and three times Derby winner Lord Roseberry. She also wrote a book defending her father’s role in the Kaspar Hauser affair. 7 George suffered from tuberculosis and was sent to Brazil in 1828 in the hope that his condition would improve. He died on the voyage and Stanhope was heartbroken. Since the birth of a grandchild did nothing to soften his father’s heart his son decided to sue in the Court of Chancery. The result of the action Mahon v. Stanhope was that relations between father and son were severed for good, and Philip Henry was now totally dependent on Pitt and on his father-in-law, Lord Carrington. In 1806 Mahon became Member of Parliament for Wendover. In 1807 he represented Hull until 1812 when he became MP for Midhurst. He was obliged to resign his seat in 1816 when he succeeded to the peerage. His political views were excentrically reactionary and he described himself as ‘an old Tory of Mr Pitt’s school’. He was a prophet of doom, warning of impending disasters and revolution on the contin-

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ental model. He strongly opposed Catholic emancipation arguing that: ‘In a country where all the institutions were decidedly Protestant no further powers can with safety be granted to them.’ He predictably opposed Puseyism as a ‘popish doctrine’. His opposition to industrialization and his defence of the old agricultural order made him the hero of the West London Anti-Enclosure Society, and he became patron to a society devoted to the improvement of poultry stock. He was strongly disapproving of the Great Exhibition of 1851 and refused an honour due to him as vice-president of the Society of Arts which sponsored the exhibition. His quixotic parliamentary career, both in the Commons and the Lords, brought him few friends and many enemies. He condemned industry as the cause of unemployment, was an outspoken agricultural protectionist and a fervent opponent of the repeal of the corn laws. He condemned the new poor laws for making poverty a crime and was outspoken in his opposition to the opium trade in China. The Duke of Wellington described him as a ‘madman’ for his denunciation of the Opium War. The Home Office, mistaking his eccentricities for subversion, intercepted his mail and destroyed much of it. By 1844 he had wearied of public life and wrote to his son-in-law: ‘It is my wish and intention to retire as much as possible from public life in which all my exertions have been utterly useless, except indeed for the satisfaction of my own conscience.’ Throughout his life he was fascinated with herbal medicine and was president of the Medico-Botanical Society. He was elected to the Royal Society in 1807, but his contributions to science were no more impressive than his political crusades. His enthusiastic support for W. H. Phillip’s exotic flying machine, the aerodiphros, proved to be an expensive mistake. As a perpetual traveller he was able to offer many suggestions for the improvement of John Murray’s best-selling Handbooks for Travellers. On his trips to Germany he dabbled in homoeopathy and animal magnetism, although there is no evidence that he showed any interest in Daumer’s experiments on Kaspar Hauser using these arcane sciences. In 1847 he told Lord Wilton that he had lost his faith in homoeopathy remarking that he had ‘long since passed the age at which everyone is said to be either a fool or a physician’. He claimed that he had ‘received no benefit from the “infiniment petits” which were given to me by a German physician’, and added, ‘I should think better of homoeopathy if it were entirely empirical and did not proceed upon a theory which seems to me quite erroneous.’8 He remained throughout his life a great believer in herbal remedies, many of them prescribed

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by one Dr Söst, and had a substantial collection of recipes. He also followed a strict if bizarre diet, consisting largely of thin soups, gruel and puddings, to which he was attached as much by its extreme cheapness as by its prophylactic qualities. He was also a dedicated teetotaller and was thus able to save further pennies. In 1812 Philip Henry felt obliged by his precarious financial situation to accept an invitation to undertake a political mission to Sicily. Ferdinand IV, King of the Two Sicilies, and his queen, Marie Caroline, Marie Antoinette’s sister, had been driven out of Naples which was now ruled by Napoleon’s brother-in-law Murat, and the couple lived in Palermo. Although they were completely dominated by the commander of the British forces in Sicily, Lord William Bentinck, the court was riven by political intrigue between the hawks, of whom the queen was a most enthusiastic supporter, and a smaller faction of doves. Philip Henry spent 16 months in Sicily during which time he established a close relationship with the queen. On his return Philip Henry did not stay long in England, and although he was in serious financial difficulties, to the point that he was advertising in the papers asking for loans in anticipation of his inheritance, he left again with his entire family to spend 17 months in Dresden. He arrived in November 1813, a few weeks after the king of Saxony had been taken prisoner by the victorious allies after the Battle of Leipzig. King Frederick August had nobly but imprudently refused Napoleon’s offer to abandon Saxony’s alliance with the French after his defeat, and Saxony was thus treated as a hostile power by the Coalition. The future of Saxony was to prove one of the most difficult issues addressed by the Congress of Vienna. The Prussians hoped to annex the country, while most of the other states were determined that this should not happen for fear that Prussia might become far too powerful. Philip Henry, who was fluent in German and who had proved his worth as a political agent in Sicily, was thus sent to Dresden to keep a close watch on developments in Saxony. His principal contact in Dresden was Karl August Böttiger, a classicist, feuillitonist and scandal monger. He was an object of derision to Goethe, Schiller, Jean Paul and Heinrich Heine for his questionable literary tastes and his prurient interest in the private lives of the famous, the details of which were meticulously recorded in more than 20,000 surviving letters. Böttiger was able to introduce Stanhope to the most influential men in Saxony including the king’s principal minister, Count Detlev von Einsiedel, Count von Loss, the head of the royal household, and Count Gottlieb Adolph Ernst von Nostritz und Jänkersdorf, a close

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confidant of the king. Among many other distinguished personalities Stanhope met Count Ludwig Siegfried Vitzthum, whose family had served the royal house of Saxony in leading positions for generations, and Baron Joseph Friedrich von Racknitz, who acted as a kind of minister for the arts and under whom the Dresden opera flourished. Philip Henry also met a number of important figures in the fashionable salon of Frau von Krock. The Saxon question was resolved in the Final Act of Vienna of 1816, so Philip Henry’s mission to Dresden was ended and he spent several months in Vienna, visiting Munich on the way. In December 1816 he returned to England via Mannheim and Paris to take up residence at Chevening, his father having died two weeks before his return. The 4th Earl Stanhope made a blistering attack on France in his maiden speech in the House of Lords. His suggestion that the peace of Europe could only be guaranteed if France were divided up caused a violent reaction in Paris. Lady Stanhope, who was visiting the French capital at the time, thought it prudent to return home immediately. Stanhope’s subsequent outrageous and often contradictory remarks in the House of Lords on such topics as Catholic emancipation and slavery were the cause of much mirth among the peers and prompted many biting replies. His father-in-law warned him that he was following in his father’s footsteps and would soon be the object of general derision. He made a further trip to Germany in 1817, delighting in the beauty of the Rhine, but he was disgusted with Dresden which only the year before he had so effusively praised. He returned via Paris, a city which he detested, and returned to England where he stayed for the next two years. He spent most of his time at Chevening where he lived in great splendour, redecorating the house, laying out new gardens and living according to German customs.9 He was a fervent admirer of all things German and the inveterate tattle-tale Greville wrote of him in 1830: ‘Lord Stanhope is amusing, so strange in his appearance, so ultra-Tory and anti-liberal in his politics, full of information, a good deal of drollery, and a good share of profligacy which he bottles up here and only uncorks in Germany.’ A German remarked: ‘Lord Stanhope was an Englishman, and like all English came to Germany on the look out for curiosities, and just as another Englishman might nowadays walk into Pichart’s curiosity shop in Nuremberg, Lord Stanhope went after Kaspar Hauser.’ 10 In 1821 Stanhope travelled to Mannheim where he stayed for a few days meeting prominent members of the Baden court. He returned to Mannheim, Karlsruhe and Baden-Baden a few months later and this

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time was presented to the Grand Duchess Stephanie. Having made these important contacts and having established a close relationship with Napoleon’s stepdaughter, the grand duchess, Stanhope returned to England via Paris. He returned to Mannheim in 1823, travelling via Frankfurt and Heidelberg. He spent 33 days in Frankfurt meeting representatives of the various German states who were attending the Federal Council (Bundesrat) which met in the city. He then moved on to Mannheim where he succeeded in being received into the intimate circle of the grand duchess’s friends. In 1824 he was back in Germany again travelling to Kassel, Eisenach, Erfurt, Dresden and Düsseldorf, visiting old acquaintances and extending his circle of influential contacts. In 1825 Stanhope was in Vienna where his friend Friedrich von Gentz introduced him to Metternich, in whose service he had been since 1810. There is no record of their conversation, but Stanhope told his son that Metternich had graciously allowed him to inspect his extraordinary collection of medals and decorations which he had been most anxious to see. He stayed in Vienna for some ten weeks before travelling to Nuremberg whence he made a brief trip to Erlangen. The margrave had died, his palace had burnt down, Professor Breyer had also died, and Stanhope found the place deeply depressing. He therefore decided to return to England. Stanhope returned to Germany the following year for a trip lasting more than six months, visiting all his old haunts and spending the month of August with Gentz in Vienna. Back in England he kept Gentz informed of political developments, particularly about proposed changes to the corn laws and the possibility of serious trouble if the government did not show the necessary combination of resolution and compromise. Gentz arranged for Stanhope to write articles for the Österreichischen Beobachter and kept him informed of political developments in Austria. In August 1827 Stanhope embarked on his tenth trip to Germany. While Stanhope was in Vienna Gentz, who had received many douceurs from foreign governments for his political services, asked Stanhope for a loan of £400 to be sent from London by the Rothschild Bank. He also requested a full account of his visit to Germany. Stanhope sent the money as soon as he returned and it was never repaid. It can thus be assumed that it was a payment for services rendered and had never been regarded by either party as a loan. A number of costly gifts followed as payment for lengthy political reports. Stanhope returned to Germany in 1829 travelling directly to Mannheim. After a brief visit he went to Vienna to confer with Gentz. Gentz

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introduced him to Baron Friedrich Karl von Tettenborn, Baden’s envoy in Vienna. Tettenborn had been the Russian envoy to the Congress of Vienna where he had met the Grand Duke Karl of Baden. Tettenborn, who was born in the county of Sponheim – the area of dispute between Baden and Bavaria and at that time in Baden’s possession – was persuaded to enter the grand duke’s service and had scored some remarkable diplomatic successes, notably at the Aachen congress. Having spent almost three months in Vienna Stanhope travelled to Bratislava, where he spent three weeks before moving on to Nuremberg where he arrived on 21 October, four days after the attack on Kaspar Hauser. On the following day he asked the Nuremberg banker Merkel to send him a full report on the attack, an account of how much the police knew of the incident, and a portrait of Kaspar Hauser. On 21 January 1830 the bankers Loedel and Merkel sent an account of the assassination attempt to Stanhope at Chevening in very strange English – in spite of the fact that Stanhope’s German was fluent – and enclosed a portrait of Kaspar Hauser.11 On 29 March 1831, Stanhope ordered his banker Merkel to pay 500 gulden to Binder for Kaspar Hauser’s support.12 Stanhope set out for Germany in April 1831, arriving in Frankfurt on 14 May, where he stayed for a week, and reaching Nuremberg on 26 May. He immediately asked his banker, Merkel, to arrange a meeting with Kaspar Hauser. Merkel replied promptly that the mayor of Nuremberg, Jakob Friedrich Binder, would receive him on the afternoon of 28 May and that Kaspar Hauser would be present. After his first meeting with Kaspar Hauser, Stanhope ordered Merkel on 2 June to give the mayor 500 guilders as a reward to anyone providing information about Kaspar Hauser, and a further 500 guilders were to be given so that Kaspar Hauser could have a modest capital sum at his disposal. On 1 June he gave Kaspar an expensive musical box. Among Stanhope’s papers is a letter addressed to ‘My Dear Friend’ written on 2 June in which he waxes eloquent on the subject of Kaspar Hauser’s sterling virtues, and added that his case was even more interesting than that of the Man in the Iron Mask. 13 Binder was most impressed by Stanhope’s generosity and enthusiastically supported his request to see the files on Kaspar Hauser. Stanhope had read Feuerbach’s publication Some Important Documents Concerning the unfortunate Foundling Kaspar Hauser and naturally assumed that there were other papers of interest. In an effusive letter to Anselm von Feuerbach, Binder praised Stanhope’s generosity and concern for Kaspar Hauser’s well-being, and said that Stanhope intended to raise money in England for his living expenses so that Kaspar Hauser would no longer

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be a drain on the tax payers of Nuremberg. Binder argued that it was only reasonable that Stanhope should be allowed to see all the relevant documents. On 4 June Stanhope travelled to Ansbach to visit Feuerbach and suggested that Baron Gottlieb von Tucher, who was responsible for Kaspar Hauser’s education, the police lieutenant Hickel and Kaspar Hauser should travel to Hungary at his expense in order to unearth Hauser’s past. To this end Stanhope advanced 2000 guilders for the expenses of the trip. Having spent eight days in Nuremberg and Ansbach Stanhope travelled on to Munich with Tucher in order to procure the necessary papers from the Bavarian authorities for the trip to Hungary. Tucher returned from Munich on 22 June and stayed with Feuerbach in Ansbach for two days before returning to Nuremberg. Kaspar Hauser spent three weeks in Feuerbach’s house before setting out for Hungary. In a letter to Stanhope in Munich Feuerbach was fulsome in his praises of Kaspar Hauser’s goodness, his affectionate nature, his gratitude and his generosity of spirit. Feuerbach reported that he had had to obtain the king of Bavaria’s permission to allow Hickel to undertake this trip. The king agreed, but added that the trip would have to remain a secret until it was over. Kaspar Hauser and Tucher were provided with travel papers under false names and the expedition had the king’s full support. Stanhope was unable to gain an audience either with the king in Munich or with the widowed queen, a princess of Baden, at her summer residence on the Tegernsee. Having spent more than 3000 guilders on Kaspar Hauser within a fortnight he was financially embarrassed and turned to the Karlsruhe banker Baron Moritz von Haber for a loan. The baron was an extremely dubious character who openly flaunted his liaison with the grand duchess Sophie of Baden, two of whose sons were most likely sired by this disreputable financier. Haber put up the money, the grand duchess guaranteed the loan, and Stanhope could once again play the generous English lord so that his chances of making Kaspar Hauser his ward were greatly enhanced. Stanhope recorded all the gifts he made to relatives, friends and acquaintances in an account book at Chevening. ‘Books for Mr Gentz’, an expensive clock for Metternich and lavish presents for one A. de Stahl, who seemed to share Stanhope’s enthusiasm for botany. By far the greatest sum was spent on Kaspar Hauser – a total of £34 15s 3d in 1831 and £24 7s 8d in 1832. The presents ceased in May 1832, but in April 1833 he paid 14s 6d for drawing paper for Kaspar Hauser. Whereas Stanhope paid 12s for a parasol for his wife, he spent 17s 3d for Kaspar

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Hauser’s umbrella. At this time Stanhope spent an average of about £30 per annum on charities, a sum which increased to £179 11s 0d in 1836 and which was reduced somewhat to £139 7s 0d in the following year. When Kaspar Hauser fell from grace Lieutenant and Mrs Hickel were the principal beneficiaries of Stanhope’s largesse. They received a total of £26 0s 1d in presents in 1834. This considerable sum was perhaps designed to compensate for the termination on 16 January 1834 of the monthly payment of 50 guilders per month which Stanhope had paid Hickel since 7 December 1831.14 He showed less generosity towards his son to whom he allowed £100 per annum while he was up at Oxford. A friend pointed out that a young man of similar background could expect an allowance of £300. The party left Nuremberg for Hungary on 4 July, reached Linz two days later and on 8 July arrived in Vienna. On 8 July Baron Tucher, travelling under the assumed name of Gustav von Taufsetten so as to keep the purpose of the trip secret, wrote to Stanhope, saying that cholera had broken out in Erlau and that the trip should be abandoned. The Bavarian legation in Vienna had informed him that cholera had broken out in Hungary, but the Austrian officials later said that it would be safe to travel to Pressburg. On the following day Stanhope was told that the cholera epidemic was not serious and that the trip could go ahead.15 As soon as the party reached Pressburg they were told that Hungary was in quarantine and they were obliged to return to Vienna. It is truly extraordinary that the trip went ahead. News of the cholera outbreak was widespread and the British envoy in Stuttgart reported that ‘epidemical diseases are unfortunately extremely prevalent at this moment throughout the country and a more unhealthy season was never known’. The French closed the frontier with Germany for fear that the disease might spread and it was debated whether the quarantine should be extended to Bavaria and Württemberg. 16 They thus returned empty-handed to Nuremberg, Lieutenant Hickel having sent a report on the aborted mission to Feuerbach on 16 July. Kaspar Hauser had been sick throughout the journey. He frequently vomited, suffered splitting headaches and sundry aches and pains, had numerous and copious nose bleeds and was alarmingly weak. He had been given doses of homoeopathic medicine which seemed to provide some relief.17 On 13 September 1831 the court decided to stop any further investigations into the Kaspar Hauser affair. On 5 September 1831 Stanhope was back in Nuremberg. He took Kaspar Hauser to Ansbach where J. F. C. Kreul painted his portrait in pastels. He was given an expensive umbrella, a memory game, water

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colours, tickets for the fireworks and a golden watch. Stanhope paid for painting lessons and for further materials. Kaspar Hauser soon showed considerable talent as a watercolourist. Stanhope told Kaspar Hauser that he was probably a Hungarian magnate of great wealth and continued to shower him with gifts. A tailor was ordered to make him an elegant jacket and waistcoat with long white trousers in the latest Parisian style. Two pairs of boots were made for him, and Stanhope gave him another waistcoat, more painting materials, two prayer books and 100 guilders pocket money. Tucher was appalled at this extravagance and felt that it was bound to have an unfortunate effect on his ward. He therefore demanded that he hand over the 100 guilders to his safe keeping. This led to a bitter scene between Kaspar Hauser and his guardian which Kaspar reported to Stanhope in graphic terms. Stanhope replied by heaping further extravagant gifts on Kaspar Hauser in order to distance him from Baron von Tucher. Kaspar was now convinced that he was indeed a Hungarian nobleman, an attitude which Tucher found intolerable and which he rightly attributed to Stanhope’s baneful influence on the boy.18 Tucher became increasingly concerned about the effects of Stanhope’s treatment of Kaspar Hauser. On 11 November 1831 he wrote a long letter to Stanhope pointing out that the boy had the mental age of a child of 10 or 12 and that by treating him as a mature adult Stanhope, without mischievous intent, had made him feel unhappy, oppressed, persecuted and misunderstood, thus causing such harm that no psychiatrist could cure. By treating this child as a confidant and friend Stanhope had made the boy even more vain. When Tucher took the 100 guilders away from him he had cried throughout the night and had become hostile and cold in manner. His earlier unfortunate tendency to mendacity had returned, and he now seemed virtually incapable of telling the truth. Tucher suggested that there were three courses of action open to Stanhope: either he could accept full responsibility for Kaspar Hauser, or he could pay the costs of a suitable tutor, or he could agree to leave him with Tucher in which case he should have nothing whatsoever to do with him for several years. Tucher hastened to added that he did not feel that Stanhope was in any way to blame for this state of affairs, but he described Stanhope’s attitude towards Kaspar Hauser as ‘blind adoration’ (Affenliebe) and Daumer was also upset by the intensity of the expressions of affection which Stanhope showed to Kaspar Hauser, even in public. He was also shocked by the way Kaspar Hauser kissed and caressed the Englishman and was clearly concerned that their relationship might well be homosexual.19

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Stanhope replied that since relations between Kaspar Hauser and his guardian were so strained it would be best if he took over responsibility for the boy. Tucher resisted this suggestion for he felt that Stanhope had a thoroughly bad influence on Kaspar. In the month’s before Stanhope arrived on the scene Hauser had made great progress and Tucher had had no cause for complaint. He appeared to be largely cured of his habit of untruthfulness which he had developed of late, and his only major problem was that he studied so hard that he was damaging his health. Tucher said that if Stanhope did not stop having such a bad influence on Kaspar he would be forced to cease being his guardian. Stanhope wrote an effusive letter to the court in Nuremberg on 21 November pointing out that Kaspar Hauser was a burden on the city, that the money for his education was dependent on the whim of those temporarily in office, whereas he, Stanhope, as a rich man could ensure that he was given an appropriate education were it to be shown that he was of noble blood, failing which he would be trained so as to be able to earn a modest living. He argued that Tucher had alienated the boy, that there was no love between them, and that Tucher’s influence was harmful. By contrast he believed that he had established a close and affectionate relationship with Kaspar. On 24 November the court heard Kaspar Hauser’s testimony. He had been completely seduced by Stanhope’s gifts, his flattery and his promises of a glittering life in England. With tears in his eyes he told the court that he regarded Stanhope as a true father and eagerly accepted his offer to accept full responsibility for his future. He painted a grim picture of his life in Nuremberg. He was miserable in the Tucher household. Tucher no longer showed him much affection. He was confined to his room much of the time and did not share in the family life. Tucher insisted that he should become a bookbinder while he wanted to be a watchmaker or merchant. He could not move around freely for fear of another attempt on his life, and the permanent police guard was irksome. Tucher was also required to make a statement to the court. In his written declaration he rejected Stanhope’s charges against him. He pointed out that before Kaspar Hauser came into his care he had shown alarming signs of vanity, untruthfulness, falsity and hypocrisy. He had managed to cure him of these unattractive attributes in the 18 months that he had lived in his house, but Stanhope’s influence had rendered all this effort vain. Tucher therefore asked to be relieved of the frustrating responsibilities of a guardian.

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Schumann, a councillor at the Ansbach court, told Tucher that Stanhope had found his letter wounding and insulting whereupon Tucher wrote to Stanhope expressing the hope that this was not the case. 20 On 2 December the court made Stanhope responsible for Kaspar Hauser’s education, board and lodging. Stanhope was required to make a progress report to the mayor at least once a year, a report which was also to be shown to Tucher. King Ludwig of Bavaria was informed of Stanhope’s interest in Kaspar Hauser and wrote in his experimental English thanking him for his concern: This act of generosity bestowed upon an individual remarquable (sic) through the singularity of his fate certainly not born to the obscurity, he was kept by his enemies, this benefit was done to, probably one of my subjects, deserves my greatest satisfaction and full acknowledgment, which I cannot forbear expressing to your lordship. On Christmas Eve Stanhope sent a gushing reply to the king singing the praises of his ward: ‘Kaspar Hauser whose singular fate and unmerited misfortunes excite universal interest and whose amiable and excellent qualities have inspired me with real friendship and esteem’. He sincerely hoped that ‘Providence should restore him to the high station of which he has been deprived without any fault of his own and with equal cruelty and injustice.’ Stanhope further insisted that It appears almost impossible to doubt that he passed his earliest childhood in a foreign country, that his origin is very illustrious, and that he is the heir of a splendid inheritance, and perhaps even one superior to that of a subject.21 On 22 December Stanhope wrote to the Grand Duchess Stephanie of Baden in French saying that the Nuremberg court had made him responsible for Kaspar Hauser’s education and suggesting that she might wish to meet him. He told the grand duchess that he was convinced that Kaspar Hauser came from an illustrious family with a considerable fortune and was fulsome in the expression of his deep affection for his fosterchild. Stanhope entrusted the letter to the ‘excellent’ Lieutenant Hickel and suggested that the grand duchess might wish to discuss the affair with him. Stanhope also corresponded with the king of Bavaria, strengthening him in his belief that Kaspar Hauser was of noble birth and that by treating him generously Bavaria would gain a friend when he was restored to his rights. He sent Ludwig a leather-bound copy of

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Feuerbach’s book on Kaspar Hauser and spoke warmly of Feuerbach’s affection for Kaspar Hauser. On 30 January 1832 the king thanked him for this gift, but since he said that it was Stanhope’s English translation of the book, which had not yet even been begun, it seems reasonable to assume that the king did not read the book at this time. There is no evidence to suggest that Stanhope believed the theory that Kaspar Hauser might be the Grand Duchess Stephanie’s first-born son, a suggestion which Feuerbach first presented to Stanhope in a letter dated 4 February 1832. Tucher had no further contact with Kaspar Hauser who left his house on 29 November 1831. On 1 December he travelled to Ansbach with Stanhope and stayed for ten days with Feuerbach. On the following day Stanhope formally accepted full responsibility for Kaspar Hauser’s financial needs. He was then boarded at Stanhope’s expense with the schoolmaster and organist Johann Georg Meyer. 22 The city fathers of Nuremberg were delighted that an English lord had agreed to take over the responsibility and the costs of looking after Kaspar Hauser. Stanhope had won his battle with Tucher. Kaspar Hauser delighted in the company of his generous patron. Feuerbach could keep a close watch on a boy for whom he had such compassion and affection. It seemed that all had turned out for the best, but dramatic changes for the worse in Kaspar Hauser’s life were soon to occur.

7 Kaspar Hauser in Ansbach

Ansbach is a delightful small town in Franconia with a magnificent eighteenth-century margraval residence and park and with a number of fine buildings from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Its population in 1830 was about 13,000. The town grew around a Benedictine monastery founded in the eighth century. In 1331 Count von Öttingen, the patron of the monastery, sold the town to the Hohenzollern who, a century later, as electors of Brandenburg made Ansbach one of their residences. In 1474 the elector Albert Achilles of Brandenburg gave Ansbach to his son Frederick and thus founded the Frankonian line of the Hohenzollerns. When the Bayreuth line died out in 1769 the principalities of Ansbach and Bayreuth were combined into a margravate. In 1792 the margrave of Ansbach-Bayreuth, who had no heirs and no desire to rule, ceded his small state to his cousin the king of Prussia in return for an annuity. The Hanovarian statesman and later principal minister in Prussia, Count Hardenberg, was appointed governor and modernized and reformed the new province, thus setting the example for later reforms in Prussia. These fortunate times were not to last for long. In 1805 Napoleon, in violation of the treaty of neutrality with Prussia, handed AnsbachBayreuth to Bavaria, thus confining Prussia north of the Main and compensating Bavaria for the loss of territory on the left bank of the Rhine. In 1806 General Bernadotte, who had been ennobled as Count of Pontecorvo for his outstanding efforts in the battle of Austerlitz, established his headquarters in Ansbach. He hoped to create a personal principality in Ansbach-Bayreuth and included Nuremberg to its greater glory. Although he ruled wisely, Napoleon put an end to his dreams. He was always deeply suspicious of Bernadotte and the duchies were returned to Bavaria as part of his policy of strengthening the South German states 98

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while ensuring that they remained dependent on France. Bernadotte was heir to the Swedish throne and became king of Sweden in 1818 as Charles XIV. He died in 1844 after a successful and popular reign. Ansbach remained part of Bavaria after Napoleon’s defeat, somewhat to the regret of the people who looked back with affection to the days when they were citizens of the margravate, or of a semi-autonomous and enlightened Prussian province wisely governed by a statesman of genius. Johann Georg Meyer, with whom Kaspar Hauser stayed in Ansbach for the rest of his brief life, was only 32 years old and had recently married a young woman who was about the same age as their new guest. Although he was still a young man Meyer was already a caricature of a humourless, pedantic and bigoted schoolmaster who was incapable of giving Kaspar the discipline tempered with affection which he received from Daumer and Tucher. Kaspar Hauser’s previous tutors had been far from ideal. Daumer was stranded on the wilder shores of pedagogy. Daumer was stiff and earnest. But both treated Kaspar fairly. The same cannot be said of Meyer whose suspiciousness bordered on the pathological and whose self-righteous moralizing would have been intolerable even to less sensitive souls than Kaspar Hauser. Meyer was a typical representative of a restorative spirit in education in Biedermeier Germany, while Daumer belonged to an early time. As part of the reaction to the upheavals of the French revolutionary wars and Napoleonic occupation an ambitious programme for educational reform was halted. Maintaining a hierarchical social order was of greater concern than catering for the needs of individual talent. Social inequality was reflected in the differences of educational opportunity. The purpose of education was training for a trade or profession, not to realize the abstract ideals of universal education. Education was no longer seen as a means of unleashing the power of the people to strengthen the state, but as a form of social control by which the individual would be reconciled with his place in society. 1 There were more practical reasons for the failure of the educational reform movement in Germany. The provision of equal educational opportunities for all was a cripplingly expensive project that the state and local governments could ill afford and which was resisted by hard-pressed taxpayers. Most parents wanted their children to learn a trade, not to spend their school years in the impractical pursuit of abstract knowledge. The educational system in the Biedermeier period was thus a reasonably accurate reflection of the reality and aspirations of German society and was no longer an ambitious attempt to mould and change the social order. The notion that education should encourage the development of

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critical individuals who could think for themselves and challenge old shibboleths seemed altogether too dangerous in an age of conservative reaction. The intellectuals, and even the half-educated, were a disgruntled lot who resented the narrow-minded monotony of Metternich’s Germany and dreamt of utopian alternatives, or drew up reasoned plans for systematic reform. Governments had no interest in widening the circle of the disaffected and concentrated on educating a loyal elite in the grammar schools (Gymnasien). The reformers made a virtue out of necessity and argued that under existing circumstances a well-educated elite that entered the civil service provided the best chances for further reform. By the time Kaspar Hauser appeared in Nuremberg Bavaria had reformed the grammar schools and, as a result of the efforts of Friedrich Immanuel Niethammer in 1808 and Friedrich Thiersch in 1829, had a considerable number of schools specializing in the classical humanities (humanistische Gymnasien). They were pretty grim establishments in which a vast amount of knowledge was forced into the rigorously regimented pupils. There was no place for relaxation, enjoyment or individualism in such a system, and no sense of community apart from a certain snobbish pride in belonging to an elite and looking down on the miserable wretches from the lower orders who toiled away in the secondary schools (Volksschulen). Little remained of the spirit of Wilhelm von Humboldt and the ideals of a humanistic education for an open meritocracy. Meyer’s house in the Pfarrstraße was opposite the old chancellery dating from 1594, a magnificent example of German Renaissance architecture in which Montgelas had written his suggestions for fundamental reforms in Bavaria to meet the challenge posed by revolutionary France in the Ansbach mémoire. The house was rented from a pastry-cook named Vogel. The bookbinder Schindler had his workshop on the ground floor, above which was a shoemaker with his apprentices. Also on the ground floor there was a confectionery. For the first few weeks Stanhope stayed in Ansbach and saw his foster son daily. Meyer’s wife Jette was appalled at the ‘exaggeratedly friendly manner’ in which Kaspar kissed and stroked Stanhope, but assumed that it was done simply to win his favour. 2 It was understood that Kaspar would go back to England with Stanhope. Although Stanhope promised Kaspar Hauser that he would soon take him home, and bought him a German-English dictionary so that he could learn some rudimentary English before coming to Chevening, he made no mention at all of Kaspar Hauser, to say nothing of his intention to bring him home, in his letters to his wife and children.

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Feuerbach, who had just completed his book on Kaspar Hauser, also took a keen interest in his well-being, as did Johann Ludwig Klüber, another distinguished lawyer, civil servant and publicist who lived in Frankfurt and whose ideas were distinctly democratic. Klüber did not share his friend’s belief that Kaspar Hauser was a Zähringer but he was convinced that he was the unfortunate victim of a terrible crime. With Feuerbach he was Kaspar Hauser’s strongest and most convincing advocate. Stanhope left Ansbach on 19 January 1832 travelling home via Mannheim to visit the Grand Duchess Stephanie. On the same day he wrote a passionate letter to Kaspar Hauser in German. I miss you, my beloved foster son, every day and almost every hour, and I never see anything new, beautiful or interesting, without ardently longing that you were with me. I never enjoy anything without being saddened that you do not share it with me . . . May divine providence in whose hands we rest, deepen your happiness and allow me to continue as the instrument to that end, and to lead you safely and at the right moment to the goal of our ardent wishes . . . I am absolutely certain that I shall always enjoy your love and friendship which sweeten my life so very much, and that I shall never cease to be worthy of them and that your happiness will always increase mine, especially when, as I eagerly wish, I am witness to it.3 He told Feuerbach that the Grand Duchess Stephanie did not seem to be particularly interested in the Kaspar Hauser affair and that she left the copy of Feuerbach’s book, which he had given her, on the dinner table. She glanced at Kaspar Hauser’s portrait in the book and remarked that he looked like a peasant and that he seemed good natured. The grand duchess later read the book with great interest and let Stanhope know that she would like to meet Kaspar Hauser. She gave the book to her daughter to read and it rapidly became the principal topic of conversation at court. Soon the grand duchess was told of the rumours, which were widely reported in the press, that Kaspar Hauser was in fact her son. Count Jenison told Stanhope that when told of this theory she had sighed and said, ‘I wish I could believe it!’ Stephanie’s major domo, von Robbenbach, told Stanhope that her first child had been damaged on the right side of the head by forceps, and that a number of ladies-inwaiting, among them the Countess Walsch and Miss von Reck, had seen the child after its death. 4

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On 5 February Stanhope left Mannheim and travelled to Mainz, from thence to Bonn, Aachen and home via Calais. He gave Kaspar Hauser a detailed account of his travels in amusingly trivial letters. At the end of February he was back in Chevening after a tour that had lasted more than ten months. He wrote long and passionate letters to his foster-son. On 19 April 1832 he wrote: ‘I am absolutely certain that I shall always enjoy your love and friendship which do so much to sweeten my life. I shall never stop being worthy of them, and your happiness will always enhance mine.’5 Stanhope had ordered Lieutenant Hickel to make another trip to Hungary to see if he could find out more about Kaspar Hauser. The gendarme travelled via Munich and took with him a memorandum for the widowed queen Caroline in which Feuerbach put forward his theory that Kaspar Hauser was in all likelihood her nephew. Hickel gave Queen Caroline the memorandum on 19 February and on the following day she wrote to her daughter Elizabeth, who was married to the future Frederick William IV of Prussia, telling her of the two audiences she had granted Hickel and how affected she had been by them. She reported that Hickel was on his way to Hungary and she hoped that the trip would throw some light on the mysterious affair of Kaspar Hauser who, she said, was to join Stanhope in England in July.6 Elizabeth then wrote to her sister Amalie of Saxony that she had read Feuerbach’s book, saying that the author had suggested that Kaspar Hauser was their uncle Karl’s son. She remarked that the portrait of Kaspar Hauser in the book made him look remarkably like their uncle. Elizabeth asked her mother what she felt of the true identity of Kaspar Hauser. Caroline replied on 12 March 1832 that most people thought he was her brother’s son. She was convinced that one of her nephews had not died a natural death but felt that ‘the crime had been fully carried out’ (‘daß das Verbrechen voll ausgeführt worden ist’). Elizabeth then asked her mother whether the Grand Duchess Stephanie knew of these rumours. Caroline replied on 26 March that Stephanie had spoken about Kaspar Hauser to a number of people and had asked detailed questions of August Leuchtenberg, the son of Eugène Beauharnais, the Empress Josephine’s son, about his visit to Ansbach where he had met Kaspar Hauser. In May 1832 Queen Caroline visited her mother the Grand Duchess Stephanie in Karlsruhe and it would seem likely that they discussed Kaspar Hauser during the two weeks of her visit. It is hardly surprising that Hickel returned from his second trip to Hungary with empty hands. On 24 May Stanhope wrote to Hickel expressing his bitter disappointment that the journey had been a failure

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and saying that it was clear that one could not count on Kaspar Hauser’s powers of memory – a phrase which he took from Feuerbach’s book which he had translated into English. 7 This letter signals a marked change in Stanhope’s attitude towards his ‘beloved foster son’ and his ardent love was soon to change into an intense dislike. On 31 May 1832 Stanhope wrote to Feuerbach praising Hickel’s thorough-going researches in Hungary and saying that he felt that Kaspar Hauser had misled them. He had professed to understand the phrase in Hungarian ‘Istvan is going to Szalagusz’. Hickel had followed up this clue and made extensive investigations in Szalagusz and environs from which it was clear that he had never been near the place. Stanhope was convinced that Kaspar Hauser had simply pretended to understand a few phrases in Hungarian, and now insisted that this was further evidence that he could not be trusted. He was now clearly distancing himself from his foster-son, to whom he had written an effusively loving letter only a month before. It is difficult to surmise the true reasons for Stanhope’s sudden change of heart. Lieutenant Hickel’s second trip to Hungary in February 1832 was a disappointment. His family complained that he was spending too much money on Kaspar and he cut the allowance he made to the Meyers down to the minimum. Even when the Reform Bill was passed and he felt free to travel he still saw no reason to return to Germany immediately. On 22 July Stanhope wrote to Feuerbach’s friend Klüber that he no longer believed that Feuerbach’s booklet on Kaspar Hauser was based on fact, and that he therefore did not see fit to publish his English translation of a work he had previously so much admired. Feuerbach, who may have feared that Stanhope might cancel the monthly payment of 60 guilders for Kaspar’s upkeep, employed Kaspar as an apprentice clerk in the court of appeal, which was close to Meyer’s house, so that he could earn a little pocket money and in the hope that he would be able to look after himself in future. He began this tedious employment on 1 December 1832. Kaspar’s hopes for a comfortable life as an English aristocrat rapidly faded and he was unable to reconcile himself to the prospect of spending the remainder of his days as a humble clerk. In October 1832 Kaspar began a confirmation class with a minister, Johann Simon Heinrich Fuhrmann, with whom he established a friendly, happy and harmonious relationship. Fuhrmann was very much a family man. He was 36 years old and had eight children. Although Kaspar Hauser had arrived in Nuremberg with Catholic devotional materials, there was no question in a solidly Protestant town like Ansbach that he

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should be received into full membership of the evangelical church. This happened on 20 May 1833 in a moving ceremony in Saint Gumpertus’s church. Fuhrmann was convinced that his confirmand was fully aware of the gravity and significance of the event. It would seem that Fuhrmann was able to overcome Kaspar Hauser’s violent antipathy towards churchmen, and that he became religious without superstition or an irrational fear of the supernatural. He still felt deeply resentful of the wrong that had been done to him and was fearful of those who were out to do him harm, but was otherwise a normal and unexceptional young man. His exceptional powers of sensual perception had dwindled and all that remained was his extraordinary night vision, although he could no longer read in the dark. His memory was no longer phenomenal and there was nothing unusual about him except his amazing past and, to those who were fond of him, his goodness and kind-heartedness.8 Others, like Meyer, felt, not wholly without good cause, that he was mendacious, ridiculously self-important, devious and irredeemably childish. Stanhope was obliged to make an annual report to the authorities on Kaspar’s progress. Short notes in January 1832 and February 1833 expressed his satisfaction at his foster-child’s progress, at his industry and determination and at Meyer’s efforts on his behalf. In July 1833 Meyer told a very different story. He had lost all sympathy for the boy. He had never wanted to look after him and had finally agreed because it was assumed he would only stay for a short while. In a lengthy report for Stanhope he said that Kaspar was a thoroughly mediocre child and that those who had imagined when he first arrived in Nuremberg that he was exceptionally gifted were totally mistaken. He scoffed at the suggestion that because he had quickly learnt a considerable vocabulary that this was indication of an exceptional talent. Between 26 May 1828 and 17 October 1829 – the day of the mysterious attempt on his life – he had learnt to read, write and do arithmetic as well as a normally gifted seven-year-old who had spent one year in an elementary school. When he came under Meyer’s care he had had three and a half years of tuition, had reached the standard of an average nine-year-old and made gross mistakes in grammar, spelling and arithmetic. Feuerbach felt that it was a great mistake to send him to the local high school (Gymnasium), where he was completely out of his depth among children of his own age who had had a very different upbringing, instead of giving him special tuition to meet his special needs. Once again he became a prisoner, tortured by the reading of Cornelius Nepos and Caesar’s de bello Gallico, the purpose of which he failed to understand.

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When given the conventional answer by a teacher that one studied Latin in order better to speak German, he asked whether the Romans had studied German in order better to speak Latin.9 Such remarks did not endear him to his teachers. Kaspar showed no enthusiasm for his studies and made little effort to improve. He refused to take drawing lessons saying that they were a waste of time. He had done a number of drawings with which he had charmed Ansbach’s fashionable ladies, but as soon as there was no immediate advantage to be gained from a particular activity he abandoned it. He lacked the patience to overcome his weaknesses, was incapable of sustained effort, and soon lost interest in a subject. His German was so poor that his letters to his foster-father had to be corrected, at Feuerbach’s suggestion. The fact that he was such a celebrity had made him vain and an attention seeker. Although he was often egotistical he was highly emotional and shared the worries and joys of the Meyer family. His appetite was modest, and he made no complaint when he was given simpler food when Stanhope reduced the amount he paid for his keep. His educational level was that of an eleven- or twelve-year-old, and given that his earlier mistreatment had had a harmful effect on his physical development Meyer felt that he was unsuited to learn a trade. He suggested that he should stick to the clerical job which Feuerbach had given him in the hope that he could eventually find full-time employment in the court. 10 Stanhope began to translate Feuerbach’s book into English and on rereading it was struck by Dr Osterhausen’s description of the abnormalities in Kaspar’s joints. He wrote to a London doctor with whom he was friendly asking whether Kaspar could have been born with such abnormalities, or whether they came from being forced to sit for a long time. He was also curious to know whether someone who had been forced to sit for years on end would be able to walk without a great deal of practice.11 At this time Stanhope received a number of letters from Baron Johann von Wessenberg, the Austrian envoy to London from 1830 to 1834, in which he announced that he had ample evidence that Kaspar Hauser was the son of a Bavarian officer and ‘some cheery Bavarian girl’ (irgendeiner fröhlichen Bayerin). He added that Johann Ludwig von Klüber, whom he introduced as a retired councillor of state in Baden and later in Prussia, a confidant of the Countess Hochberg, a man known to be privy to many of Baden’s court secrets and in whom von Wessenberg had every confidence, was convinced that it was all ‘a mystification’ and that Kaspar Hauser was a fraud.12

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Stanhope thereupon wrote to Klüber on 22 July, repeating what he had said to Feuerbach, adding that he had become so suspicious of Kaspar Hauser that he did not intend to finish his translation of Feuerbach’s book until he was in full possession of the facts. Klüber was very shocked by this letter. He did not believe that Kaspar Hauser was a Zähringer, but he was more convinced than ever that he was not a fraud. He insisted that his childishness, his refusal at first to consume anything other than bread and water, and his inability to move his limbs properly were all clear indications that he had indeed been kept prisoner under intolerable conditions. The attempt on his life, which could not be explained away as a self-inflicted wound, was further evidence that a serious crime had been committed against him. Klüber could see no reason for claiming that Kaspar Hauser had caused the wild-goose chase in Hungary and pointed out that someone who had suffered as much as he had was likely to be prone to delusions. It was two months before Stanhope replied to Klüber’s letter. He cautiously argued that although he did not accuse Kaspar Hauser of having invented his entire story he did not think that he had always told the truth. He did not believe that he could have been forced to remain in a seated position for years on end. Nor did he believe that the cellar in which he had lived could have been so effectively soundproof as he claimed, nor could someone who had been locked away in a dark cellar for years have been able to tolerate the light as he had been able to do. Stanhope found it highly improbable that he could remember nothing about the beginning of his imprisonment. He expressed his irritation about the Hungarian episode and regretted Kaspar Hauser’s arrogance, hypocritically assuring Klüber that he had always tried to teach him modesty and to make him understand that he should not count on what the future might bring. It was Stanhope who had filled Kaspar Hauser’s head with the idea that he was of noble birth, and had told him that he would have to learn to treat the common people with the consideration and affection appropriate to someone of his exalted station. Stanhope suddenly stopped writing to his foster-son. Kaspar Hauser was naturally extremely upset at this unexpected change. Feuerbach tried his best to reassure him, but to no avail. Having had no word from his foster-parent for seven months Kaspar Hauser wrote to the British chargé in Frankfurt expressing his concern that something terrible might have happened to him. Gradually he began to realize that he had been dropped and became increasingly bitter towards a man who had broken his word. Stanhope eventually resumed the correspondence but adopted a very cool tone. Kaspar Hauser had to wait six months for the

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first letter, seven months for the next, and the last was sent after Stanhope heard of his death. It is hardly surprising that Kaspar Hauser found it difficult to even read the letters of a man by whom he felt betrayed. Although he had agreed to a number of binding obligations towards Kaspar Hauser, Stanhope now tried to lessen the burden he had freely taken upon himself. He tried hard to persuade Klüber that since Kaspar Hauser was obviously not of noble birth he did not need a special education and that henceforth he should attend an ordinary school. Klüber could not agree and insisted that Stanhope should honour his legal obligations. In a further letter to the earl he pointed out that his grounds for doubting Kaspar Hauser’s testimony were highly dubious. To say that he had talked to three people on his arrival in Nuremberg did not mean anything unless one knew what, how and how much he said in their presence. That he could not hear thunder in his cellar was hardly surprising. That he could tolerate the daylight was also quite unexceptional. The cellar had not been completely dark and, as Klüber pointedly remarked, Kaspar Hauser was a human being and not an owl. His concluding argument was that since the story of Kaspar Hauser was known throughout Germany had not only a very small group of people known of his imprisonment people would have come forward with information in order to collect the reward money that Stanhope had advanced. Stanhope received a polite but stern letter from Friedrich Schumann, the official in charge of the Kaspar Hauser case in the Ansbach court. He argued cogently that there was no reason to suspect that Kaspar Hauser was a fraud and warned that were Stanhope to withdraw the support and affection which he had so generously and selflessly afforded to his foster-son it would have as shattering an effect on him as his earlier imprisonment. In spite of the forceful arguments of Feuerbach, Klüber and Schumann, Stanhope remained unmoved and continued to question the veracity of Kaspar Hauser’s testimony and sought wherever possible to undermine his credibility. In April 1833 Stanhope still believed that Kaspar Hauser had been imprisoned, but insisted that it could not have been under the circumstances which he had described. He was now convinced that there was ‘great reason to suspect imposition’.13 Kaspar Hauser’s supporters in Germany were becoming increasingly concerned about his future. Since it seemed unlikely that he would be able to earn a living by his own efforts it was important that Stanhope should respect the commitments he had made to his foster-son and

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guarantee an adequate income. Schumann let him know, in the most respectful and polite terms possible, that if he did not do so the court would feel itself obliged to take action against him. Klüber went even further and took the unusual step of placing an advertisement in the Frankfurter Journal on 8 May 1833 in which he denounced Stanhope for his treatment of Kaspar Hauser. Stanhope returned to Germany a few days after this advertisement appeared, and almost immediately after he was apprised of it. On 9 June he arrived in Frankfurt to confront Klüber. Shortly before, on 29 May, Feuerbach had died near Frankfurt whence he had gone to discuss the Kaspar Hauser affair with Klüber. As early as 29 March 1832 Feuerbach had written to his son telling him that for the last two months he had hardly been able to get out of bed or leave his bedroom. He complained that his memory was fading so that he could not even remember the names of familiar objects. It had taken him three months to write the pamphlet on Kaspar Hauser and he had been obliged to make it as simple as possible, sticking to the known facts and avoiding any speculation. Such speculation was contained in the ‘Mémoire on Kaspar Hauser’ which he sent to Queen Caroline of Bavaria in February 1832 in which he suggested that Kaspar Hauser might be the legitimate Grand Duke of Baden.14 On Whit Monday, exactly five years to the day since Kaspar Hauser arrived in Nuremberg, Feuerbach went on an outing with the Welcker family to Königstein in the Taunus hills just outside Frankfurt am Main. Welcker was a Baden representative in the Federal Diet (Bundestag) in Frankfurt. They had a picnic breakfast at 10 a.m. in a field by the roadside. Feuerbach was in the best of spirits, ate bread and sausage and drank two glasses of wine. The party went on to Königstein and visited the ruined castle which had been destroyed by the French in 1796. On the way back to the town he began to feel unwell. He lay down in an inn and drank some soup. He then was driven back to Frankfurt. On the way he became paralysed on the left side and was unable to speak. He was able to write and suggested that he had been poisoned. He died in great pain on Wednesday, 40 hours after his picnic.15 The doctors diagnosed a stroke. Although many family members believed that he had been poisoned, and pointed out that Stanhope was staying in Frankfurt at the time, there is no compelling reason to doubt the doctors’ judgment. Supporters of a conspiracy theory were quick to point out a number of curious coincidences. Feuerbach’s son Eduard also died in very mysterious circumstances in April 1843 at the age of 40. His other son, Anselm, was also rumoured to have been poisoned in 1851, aged 53. Was it also

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purely by chance that so many people involved in the Kaspar Hauser case died suspiciously young? By 1835 Binder, Dr Preu, Dr Osterhausen and Dr Albert, Feuerbach’s family doctor, were all dead. Stanhope’s eldest son, Lord Mahon, sent his father a clipping from The Times which suggested that Feuerbach had been murdered. Although Stanhope was convinced that Kaspar Hauser was a fraud and wanted to have nothing more to do with him he decided that it was prudent to play the role of the loving and concerned foster-father. Klüber was completely taken in by this master of deception. He was convinced that Stanhope’s assurances that he had provided Kaspar Hauser with an adequate allowance, and that he would be remembered in his will, were made in good faith. From Frankfurt Stanhope travelled to Heidelberg and on 30 June he arrived in Karlsruhe. He made no attempt to visit Kaspar Hauser in Ansbach, even though it was only a few hours away. From 16 to 22 June the Grand Duchess Sophie was in Ansbach to observe Kaspar Hauser, possibly to see whether he posed any threat to her husband’s throne. She was prompted to make this trip because on 26 May a watchmaker by the name of Karl Wilhelm Naundorf arrived in Paris and announced that he was Louis XVII. He soon gathered a large number of supporters around him who pointed out his striking resemblance to Louis XVI. Louis Philippe began to worry that his throne might be in danger. That Kaspar Hauser bore a striking resemblance to the Grand Duke Karl was a well-known fact, but there is no evidence to show that the grand duchess thought him to be a potential challenger for her husband’s throne. Stanhope’s strategy was now to bring Kaspar Hauser under the control of the house of Baden by securing him an appointment in Karlsruhe as an equerry. He made this suggestion in a letter to Klüber on 15 July. Klüber, whose son was in the service of the grand duke of Baden and with whom Stanhope had spoken, made some enquiries and told Stanhope that no such position was available. He suggested that Kaspar Hauser might be trained for a senior position in the Ansbach court. At the end of July Stanhope stayed in Konstanz and visited Hortense Beauharnais’ castle at Arenberg on Lake Constance. The castle was the centre of the Napoleonic movement of which Hortense’s son, Louis Napoleon, the future emperor, was the leader, the emperor’s son, the Duke of Reichstadt, having died in 1832. Stanhope then travelled to Milan and Venice complaining the while that the country was filthy, boring, humourless and uncomfortable. Moving north to Austria he arrived in Vienna on 8 November. Gentz had died in 1832 and Vienna was not as exciting for Stanhope without

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him. However, he met Metternich on a number of occasions and spent much of the time in the company of the youthful Count Bernhard von Rechberg, a Bavarian diplomat in Metternich’s service. His father, Count Alois von Rechberg, the Bavarian envoy to the Congress of Vienna, had been dismissed by King Ludwig for subordinating Bavaria’s national interest to Metternich’s priorities. Bernhard von Rechberg had served in Berlin and London, where he met Stanhope and his future wife. He was very close to Metternich, followed him into exile at a time when most of his friends had abandoned him, and was returned to high office under Schwarzenberg. In August 1833 Kaspar returned to Nuremberg on the occasion of the eighth national festival as the guest of mayor Binder in whose house he stayed for several weeks. On 27 August he visited the royal marquee where he was presented to King Ludwig I and Queen Therese of Bavaria, along with the king’s mother Queen Caroline, and presented the royal family with one of his watercolours. Although Queen Caroline had received Feuerbach’s memoire which suggested that Kaspar Hauser might be her nephew neither she, nor the royal couple, showed any unusual interest in Kaspar Hauser, in spite of the fact that he had appealed to the queen to announce that no harm would come to those who had kept him prisoner. This, he said, was the only way to prevent him from being murdered. They did not react to this request, although they treated him very well. Later their future son-in-law, who was there when Kaspar Hauser was presented to the royal couple, remarked that his eyes were strikingly similar to a member of the House of Baden, although the colour was different. 16 Kaspar Hauser was also presented to the Princess Auguste von Liegnitz, the morganatic wife of Frederick William III of Prussia, who promised him that if Stanhope no longer wished to look after him she would accept full responsibility for his well-being. He told her that he was afraid for his life and she showed every sign of being concerned for his well-being. While in Nuremberg he met Frau Binder’s sister, Caroline Kannewurf, almost daily. She was 33 years old, married to a bank employee, and lived in Vienna. The two became close friends and there followed an exchange of letters in which Kaspar expressed his affection in awkward and childish terms. He returned to Ansbach in mid-September. The cold and unfriendly atmosphere in the Meyer household seemed all the more pronounced after he had enjoyed Caroline’s affectionate company for a whole month. His tendency to withdraw into himself and to live a world of fantasy and deception became more pronounced. The

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relationship between Kaspar and Meyer became increasingly strained, Meyer constantly accusing his pupil of lying. Hours would be spent arguing about such matters as to whether Kaspar’s statement that Councillor (Regierungsrat) Fließen had 11 grandchildren was true or false. Meyer claimed that Kaspar simply made such remarks to show how familiar he was with the leading families in Ansbach and to show off to Governor (Generalkommisär) von Stichaner and his circle. Stichaner is remembered, if at all, as the man who opened Germany’s first railway in 1835. It ran from Nuremberg to Fürth and was thus in his administrative district. Kaspar was a welcome guest at the governor’s mansion where he played chess and practised handicrafts with his daughter and where his skill as a dancer was greatly appreciated. Meyer was extremely jealous of Kaspar’s social success and constantly complained that it ruined his character. Kaspar reacted by becoming more and more secretive and his appetite, never very great, waned to the point that even Frau Meyer became concerned about his health.

8 The Death of Kaspar Hauser

On Saturday 14 December 1833 Kaspar got up as usual shortly before 8 o’clock and set off to Fuhrmann’s house for his weekly hour of religious instruction. He remarked on some cardboard boxes in Fuhrmann’s study and the minister said that he had made them to keep some pictures he had cut out to make Christmas presents for his children, adding that he found it very difficult to work with cardboard. Kaspar replied that he would be very happy to help him as he had learnt how to work with cardboard from the bookbinder and casemaker Schnerr in Nuremberg with whom he had been apprenticed for seven weeks. Fuhrmann thanked him for his kind offer, but pointed out that they now had to concentrate on the task at hand. Kaspar asked if he could return after lunch and Fuhrmann said he would be delighted. The lesson lasted about one hour and ended at about 9.15. Kaspar then went to work in the court of appeal and went home for lunch at 11.30. At about 12.45 Kaspar returned to Fuhrmann’s house to help him make cardboard boxes. Since Fuhrmann did not have any cardboard of requisite thickness, Kaspar went to the widow Loschge’s in the New Town and came back remarkably quickly with two sheets of suitable material. He then showed Fuhrmann how to make the boxes. Shortly before 2.30 Fuhrmann excused himself, saying that he had to go to church to see whether anyone wished to make a confession. He added that it was extremely unlikely that there would be anyone in the church and suggested that Kaspar should wait for him to return. Kaspar replied that he had to go since he had promised to do some work for von Stichaner’s daughter Lilla. The two left the house together, Kaspar in a relaxed and happy state of mind. They parted company in the New Town.1 Instead of going to visit Lilla, Kaspar went into the palace gardens. He was seen in the street, walking in that direction, by a minister’s widow 112

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by the name of Scholler and her daughter Lisette who assumed that he was going to von Stichaner’s house. Since the weather was very bad there were very few people in the streets at the time.2 He was seen going into the palace gardens at about 2.30 by a weaver’s wife, Anna Katharina Weigel, a poor woman to whom he had often given money and who had also managed to extract half a crown from Stanhope whom she had heard was a kindly gentleman. He was also seen by a washerwoman, Justina Barbara Seitz, and by a postman to whom he had also often given money. All these witnesses testified that he was alone. Frau Seitz, who had seen Kaspar Hauser being helped back home by Meyer, also said she had seen a tall, fat stranger who was about 48 years old with a ruddy complexion, without a beard and wearing a blue overcoat. He had watched Kaspar Hauser the second time that he was led back to the palace gardens by Meyer. Josef Leich, who worked in a salt storeroom, testified that shortly after he heard the clock strike four he saw two men, at about 30 paces distance, walking rapidly towards the palace gardens. He clearly recognized one as Kaspar. The other man was very tall, probably in his midforties, and wearing a hat and a long dark blue overcoat of expensive material. He had seen the stranger earlier in the day and described him as having dark skin and a moustache. He could not think why they should be going for a walk in the palace gardens in such bad weather. When he returned some three-quarters of an hour later he found a large number of people in the palace square in a state of great agitation at the news that Kaspar had been stabbed. There is no reason to doubt Leich’s testimony except that he was probably mistaken about the time. He was on his way to visit a cooper, Nikolaus Pfaffenberger, and his wife Johanna, both of whom testified that he came at about three o’clock. Leich insisted that he came one hour later, but the court was persuaded that he was mistaken. Pfaffenberger testified that Leich was said to have seen Kaspar Hauser on Saturday afternoon in the company of a tall man walking in the direction of the palace gardens. He further mentioned that he had heard that a farmer from Oberreichenbach by the name of Konrad Sturm had told the innkeeper Stark that there must have been a fight since he saw a man with a blood-stained hand walking through the palace gardens. Someone had also told the gunsmith Hamann that he had seen a man walking from the palace gardens. Apart from all this hearsay evidence, Pfaffenberger said that he had seen Kaspar Hauser at 2.30 and that he seemed to be his usual cheerful and friendly self.

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In a further cross-examination Leich stated that on that Saturday morning at about 10 o’clock he had seen a stranger who was about six feet tall, with a dark complexion and a thin moustache, wearing a blue overcoat and a black hat. It was only later that he realized that this was the same man whom he had seen with Kaspar Hauser later in the day. A man matching this description of the stranger was also seen by a policeman, Johann Leonhard Erb, but he was unable to give any further details. The blue-coated man with the round black hat was also spotted in the palace gardens by the school teacher Johann Georg Seiz. Since he was acting in a strange manner he took a closer look at him through a spy glass, but he was too far away for him to be able see his features clearly.3 The man in the blue coat was also seen by a forestry worker, Friedrich Pausch, walking rapidly with his face hidden in his collar, between three and half past three, in the direction of the palace gardens. Pausch thought this behaviour very strange as it was neither raining nor snowing and turned round to take another look at the stranger as he hurried on his way. He noticed that he had a ruddy complexion and a dark brown or black moustache, but did not see whether he had side-whiskers. He estimated the man to be in his late thirties. Friedrich Helzel, however, a locksmith, who also saw the stranger emerging from the palace gardens, testified that it was snowing in gusts. There was general agreement about the man’s appearance, except that the policeman said his face was pale and Helzel thought he was wearing a cap. Louise Dürrbeck, a 32-year-old seamstress with an illegitimate child, gave a detailed disposition in a pretentious German which seemed all the more bizarre given her singularly stupid appearance. She had seen Kaspar Hauser walking on Meyer’s arm and muttering the word ‘stabbed’. She had seen a stranger greet Meyer, who returned the greeting, but when she asked him what was wrong with Kaspar Hauser he did not reply and hurried on his way. She described him as being about 29 years old, tall, pale, with side-whiskers but no moustache and with dark hair. He wore a blue overcoat and a green cap. She claimed that he reminded her of a man with whom she had travelled in a post-coach in 1828 who also appeared to be about 29 years old. When asked why she had twice given the age as 29 even though there was an interval of 5 years between to two incidents, she replied that it was impossible to judge an age accurately when one only saw a person for a brief moment. She then said that she had seen another stranger on that Friday and again on Saturday whom she recognized as a retired Württemberg officer whom she had seen three and a half years before in Schwäbisch-Hall.

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He was at least six feet tall, had a dark complexion with black side-whiskers and moustache and wore a long blue overcoat and a round black hat. A gardener, Georg Friedrich, who was working in the orangerie saw someone walking past shortly after three o’clock who was wearing a grey overcoat, and heard two people talking nearby. Susanna Weiß, a seamstress, and Johann Stadi, a labourer, who were in the courtyard of the house where Susanna lived, noticed a man matching the stranger’s description walking very rapidly in the palace gardens, obviously trying to find a way out in unfamiliar surroundings, at about four o’clock. He was wearing a blue overcoat with a round black hat. Their testimony was corroborated by the policeman Herrlein who traced the stranger’s footsteps. Helzel was on his way to Baron von Freyberg’s house and had told the baron’s servants that he had seen a suspicious-looking man pacing up and down by the palace wall. Neither the baron, nor anyone in his family, had seen anything unusual that day. A soldier, Heinrich Frosch, who was standing guard outside the house of Colonel von Hetzendorf between two and four that afternoon, said that he had seen up to five men walking by in blue overcoats and black hats, but was unable to say if any of them had a moustache. A man meeting the stranger’s description had been seen in the inn Zum Falken in Nuremberg whose owner Johann Leonhard Hahnenberg said that the stranger spoke high German with a Bavarian accent. He sat alone and spoke to no one, even though the inn was packed. The innkeeper asked him where he came from, at which he hastily replied that he had to go to Ansbach. Hahnenberg’s sister Lisette said that the man appeared to be well educated, had a dark complexion and side-whiskers. He also told her that he had to go to Ansbach and complained of the bad weather. The serving boy, Johann Eisener, had been far too busy to notice the stranger.4 The Ansbach court discounted these witnesses on the grounds that the innkeeper said the man was 36 or 38 years old, his sister said he was about 29, but Kaspar Hauser had said that his assailant was 50 to 54. Furthermore the fact that he did not speak to anyone and only drank one glass of beer was not in itself suspicious. A furtive stranger was also seen in the post office in Nuremberg by Johann Zahn, drum major in the Hereditary Grand Duke of HessenDarmstadt’s 5th Infantry Regiment. He sent two letters to Ansbach, but the police were unable to discover to whom they were addressed. He drew Zahn’s attention because although he was wearing spurs he carried a heavy walking stick. When paying for his post Zahn noticed that he was carrying a considerable amount of money. When he told

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his colonel about the incident the latter replied that he had also seen the man, as had a fellow soldier, Johann Abraham Kronauer, who had been on guard at the New Gate. He had noticed the man because he was unusually tall and was looking anxiously about in a somewhat suspicious manner. The Stadelmanns, who kept the coaching inn Zum Zirkel in Ansbach, also reported having seen a man in his late thirties with a dark complexion, moustache and side-whiskers and with a blue overcoat in their establishment at about 2 p.m. on Saturday 14 December. He asked the boy about a trip to Nördlingen. When he was told that the coach had not yet come and was asked where he was staying he replied that he would come back later. He never reappeared. Kaspar was seen returning from the palace gardens by an Ansbacher flour merchant, Karl Brechtelsbauer, who noticed nothing strange in his behaviour. A landowner, Johann Konrad Sturm, saw someone looking like Kaspar, with his arms hanging down and with blood on his right hand. He assumed that he must have been in a fight. Dr Albert answered all questions unequivocally.5 He was convinced that Meyer returned home at about 3.30 and shortly afterwards the bell rang frantically and Kaspar rushed into the house making strange movements, his face distorted and pointing first to his left side and then to the street. Meyer then noticed that he was wounded on the left side of his chest. Kaspar grabbed his arm and indicated that he should come with him to the palace gardens. As they walked Meyer noticed that he was in considerable pain and he was clearly becoming weak. Meyer asked him if he had been wounded in the palace gardens, and Kaspar nodded and feebly muttered ‘yes’. Meyer was getting increasingly impatient with Kaspar for not talking since he did not seem to be so weak. After further stern proddings he eventually mumbled, ‘Went into palace gardens . . . man . . . had knife . . . gave purse . . . stabbed . . . I walk as I could . . . purse still lying there.’ By this time Meyer felt that Kaspar was in no state to go all the way to the palace gardens and decided to turn back. In typically schoolmasterly terms he demanded what he thought he was doing in the palace gardens in such bad weather. Kaspar replied, ‘Man . . . told me . . . morning . . . municipal court . . . should come to palace garden at 2.30 . . . show me something.’ He then collapsed. Meyer told him to pull himself together, not to make such an exhibition of himself, and walk back home. This was clearly not possible, so Meyer helped him into the nearest house. When he said that he was going to send for the police Kaspar said that he would be able to walk home. He fell unconscious as soon as he got

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home so that his landlord Vogel and son Ernst helped Meyer carry Kaspar up to his room. Kaspar then said that a man had approached him at the court of appeal and had asked him whether he often went for walks in the palace gardens. He replied in the affirmative. One of the gardeners who worked in the palace gardens was also present. He told Kaspar that if he wished to see the different sorts of clay in the artesian well he would be happy to show him. They should therefore meet at the well. He found no one there so then went to the statue of the local eighteenth-century poet Johann Peter Uz, the leader of the ‘Anakreontic’ school of poets who wrote light-hearted verses in praise of women and wine. Near the monument he saw a tall man with a dark moustache who gave him a purse. The man stabbed him as Kaspar took the purse.6 The story of the artesian well was highly improbable since the man responsible for work on the well, Johann Matthäus Bachmann, testified that he had shown Kaspar Hauser the different sorts of clay in the well, along with Meyer and his wife, in April 1833 and that work on the well had ended in June. Kaspar Hauser knew that Bachmann was the person in charge of the project and he also knew that work on the well was finished.7 Meyer’s mother-in-law, Anna Emma Kitzinger, was asked to come and help nurse Kaspar since she was much loved by him and he called her ‘mother’. He told her that he was sure he was going to die because he had been stabbed in the heart. When asked who had done this he whispered, ‘A man in the palace gardens with a moustache and sidewhiskers and an overcoat – gave a purse – dropped for fright, send in, bring back!’ Dr Heidenreich then appeared on the scene and ordered Kaspar to be undressed and put in bed. Meyer had gone off to fetch the police and had met the doctor on his way and therefore asked him to go and have a look at Kaspar. Having examined his patient he pronounced the wound mortal. He asked a young man who was present on the scene to go and get his bleeding equipment. 8 This proved unnecessary since two further doctors, Horlacher and Albert, advised against bleeding since there was no inflammation: they had no idea how much internal bleeding had occurred, and it was obvious that Kaspar was already far too weak safely to lose any more blood. Friedrich Donner, a civil servant with responsibilities for the palace gardens, testified that he had been approached by a labourer, Simon Wörlein, who asked whether he could go to the palace gardens and look for the knife or dagger with which Kaspar Hauser had been stabbed. Donner was somewhat taken aback by this request and asked who had

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put the idea in Wörlein’s head. He replied that it was a police inspector. Donner then sent two of his own men to search the area. The search proved fruitless. A policeman, Johann Konrad Herrlein, was ordered to search the spot where Kaspar had been attacked to see whether he could find the purse Kaspar mentioned. He noticed footprints going from the orangerie to the Uz monument and then for about 12 paces away from the monument until they disappeared. After a careful search he discovered a lilaccoloured silk purse with a green and white lining in which there was a piece of paper. Herrlein’s examination of the scene was extremely perfunctory. On finding the purse he abandoned the search, and the next day he was unable to tell whether the footprints were of one person or two. The note in the purse was written in mirror writing and read: Hauser will tell you exactly what I look like and where I come from. To spare Hauser the trouble I will tell you myself where I come from. I come from — on the Bavarian frontier — on the river — I will even tell you the name M.L.Ö. 9 The governor, von Stichaner and a police captain, von Imhoff, paid a brief visit to Kaspar’s bedside. At 9.30 Christian Lorenz, whose profession was making silk ties, was asked to stay with Kaspar during the night. He was alone with Kaspar from 10.30 until 5.00 the next morning. Kaspar slept little and was clearly in considerable pain. He often asked for water and pointed to his neck and chest muttering ‘hard’. When the maid came at 5.00 to tend the fire he asked anxiously whether the police were looking for the man who had stabbed him. He appeared relieved when he was told that this was indeed the case. Lorenz’s wife Karoline took over the nursing duties that morning. Kaspar collapsed again when sitting on the chamber pot and the Vogels, father and son, had to carry him back into his bed. He murmured, ‘Oh God, I shall die in shame and mockery!’ When Dr Heidenreich returned he said, ‘Help me! You are not helping me!’ Dr Horlacher, the official physician of the Ansbach court, examined Kaspar shortly after he had been stabbed, and testified that he found him undressed in bed, his face pale, his pulse weak, his breath short. The wound was two inches below the nipple and four inches from the breast bone. It was three-quarters of an inch wide, and had clearly been caused by a blow from above by a pointed, two edged blade. Dr Heidenreich told Dr Horlacher that the wound was a least one inch

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deep, since he had put his finger in it. Dr Horlacher assumed that since Kaspar had been able to walk a distance of 1000 metres three times, all but the last 200 metres before he got home the second time, plus the fact that he was able to talk, indicated that there had been no serious damage to the heart and lungs. Having waited for two hours and witnessing no apparent deterioration of his condition Dr Horlacher said that it would be quite alright to take a statement from Kaspar, but added that he should not be over-taxed and not be placed under oath. At 8 o’clock next morning Dr Horlacher found his patient’s condition largely unchanged. He had passed a largely sleepless night and had vomited. He complained of stomach pains, of pain on both sides of the neck – especially when he swallowed. He was terribly thirsty. At 12.00 he looked very pale, complained of pains in the chest and his thirst had not been quenched. At 3.00 he looked much better and his pulse was stronger, but he still complained of chest pains and continuing thirst. To avoid an inflammation it was decided to bleed him of eight ounces of blood from the left arm. By 7.00 p.m. the chest pains and thirst had diminished. He had another restless night and next morning at 8.00 his skin looked yellow, his urine was unhealthy, and he complained of pains in the stomach and liver. His pulse was weak and quick, his breath short and he was again very thirsty. The wound was covered with a scar. He was able to eat a little gruel and prunes during the day and his condition seemed to improve somewhat. At 8.00 p.m. he was given an enema which produced the expected results at 3.00 and 7.00 a.m. He was able to sleep a little that night. His skin got increasingly yellow, the stomach and liver pains had got considerably worse and the pulse was very weak. Nevertheless Dr Horlacher permitted Kaspar to be questioned between 10.00 and 12.00. Lieutenant Hickel asked him if he had anything to tell Lord Stanhope. He replied that he should not depart from the paths of righteousness, that he had a lot to learn on this journey and would probably have a lot more to learn, even though he had done him a lot of good. 10 This questioning did not lead to any worsening of his condition, although he complained that the medicine he had been given had caused him to cough. He was therefore given another prescription. Shortly after 6 p.m. Frau Kitzinger returned to his bedside having been told that he was dead. In fact he had only lost consciousness and was revived when Dr Heidenreich ordered a mustard bath for his feet. Kaspar Hauser muttered something to the effect that ‘too many cats are

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death to the mouse’. He added that he was very tired and had written a lot in pencil. He could possibly have said that he had a lot to write in pencil. His voice was too faint clearly to distinguish his words. By 6.30 p.m. his condition had worsened significantly, he was ice cold and sweating profusely and he had developed gangrene. It was now clear that he would soon die. At 7.00 he fell unconscious when attempting to reach the commode. Meyer’s maid was sent to ask Fuhrmann to come immediately. At about 8.00 p.m. on 17 December the minister Fuhrmann was called to Kaspar’s bedside as it was assumed that he did not have long to live. He asked Kaspar how he felt. He replied that he felt alright, only that he was rather tired. Fuhrmann then asked how he felt spiritually. Kaspar replied that he had asked all the people he knew for forgiveness and therefore had no reason to feel anything other than well. He added that there was no reason for him to feel any resentment as no one had done him any harm. Fuhrmann found this remark very curious as he had been fatally wounded by a stranger in the park, but assumed that this was an expression of genuine Christian forgiveness and humility. When asked whether he would like to pray he said that he was too tired. He was able to say ‘amen’ after the prayers which Fuhrmann said on his behalf. 11 Many of the things that Kaspar said in the last couple of hours could not be understood since he spoke haltingly and his words were drowned by the weeping of those at his bedside. None could make any sense of such remarks as: ‘The monster – bigger than I’. He was clearly concerned to forgive and be forgiven. He said that Stanhope had done many wicked things, but that they would be forgiven since he had done much good. When Meyer asked him to say that he knew that he had always been well intentioned towards him, he took Meyer’s hand and expressed his thanks for everything that he and his wife had done for him. He died peacefully at 10.00 that night, 78 hours after the attack. An autopsy was performed by Dr Albert and Dr Koppen on 19 December, two days after his death. Dr Horlacher, who had tended him on behalf of the court, was excluded from the autopsy, but was questioned by the court along with his two colleagues. They were asked four questions. Was Kaspar the victim of a violent death? Was the wound such that it would be deadly in any circumstances? Could Kaspar have inflicted the wound himself? What did the murder weapon look like? Dr Albert and Dr Koppen concluded that Kaspar had died a violent death, that such a wound would have been mortal under any circumstances and that the wound had been inflicted by a pointed, two-edged blade. The blade was ¾ inch wide and had penetrated 4 inches deep.

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It had gone through the intercostal muscle, had cut through the bottom of the heart, gone through the meaty part of the diaphragm, penetrated the liver and punctured the stomach. Their main reason for believing that he had been murdered was that it would be virtually impossible for anyone, whether right- or left-handed, to inflict such a wound on themselves at this angle. Nothing about Kaspar’s recent behaviour suggested that he might be contemplating suicide and the wound was so severe that it could not have been an attempted suicide to draw attention to himself. Dr Horlacher did not agree with his two colleagues. He told the court that the wound could very well have been self-inflicted, particularly since Kaspar was said to do many things left-handed. On the basis of considerable experience of suicides and murders he felt that he had committed suicide. In his experience suicidal types were introverted and were indifferent to the outcome of their wounds. Kaspar had behaved precisely in this manner.12 On the same day as the autopsy was performed an obituary appeared in the local newspaper, the Nürnberger Korrespondent, placed by Binder, the mayor of Nuremberg. It read: My beloved ward Kaspar Hauser is no more. He died yesterday evening in Ansbach at 10.00 p.m. as a result of an assassin’s wound delivered on the 14th of the month. He was the victim of the ghastly and unnatural nature of his parents. The puzzle of the destiny of his tragic existence is now solved. A just God will fully compensate him with an everlasting Spring in another world for the lost joys of childhood, the denial of youth’s strength and the ending of a life which only five years ago had reached the level of human consciousness. The funeral was held on 20 December in Ansbach. A vast crowd filled the churchyard. Flowers were sent by sympathizers from near and far. They were piled on the hearse and covered his grave. Many found the ceremony deeply moving and wept copiously. Stanhope did not join in the mourning. He left Vienna on 18 December, the day after Kaspar Hauser’s death, and travelled to Munich at a very leisurely pace, even though in the letter he wrote to his foster-son from Vienna he said he had to go ‘without delay’ (unverzuglich) to attend to some important business to do with a letter he had just received from his wife. He did not arrive in Munich until 25 December, and thus was obviously in no hurry even though the news of Kaspar Hauser’s death was in all South German newspapers. When he arrived in Munich he

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reacted to the news of Kaspar Hauser’s death by visiting various ministries and Queen Caroline, arguing that he was a fraud and that he had obviously committed suicide. These tirades seemed to have little effect. The Queen thought it absurd to suggest that the fatal wound was selfinflicted. King Ludwig thought it possible that Kaspar Hauser was indeed the hereditary prince of Baden. Queen Caroline noted that Stanhope was in a terrible state and appeared to be suffering from a violent fever. On 29 December he wrote to his son, Lord Mahon: This catastrophe has alas! confirmed the opinions which I expressed as to the great importance of Kaspar’s life and which, as you may remember, were treated with ridicule by those who knew little or nothing of the case which I had carefully studied. But on 7 January he told Mahon that he was convinced that Kaspar Hauser’s wound was self-inflicted. He believed that Kaspar Hauser had made an attempt on his own life in order to convince him to take him to England, and that the fatal outcome was not what he had intended. Stanhope added that Merker’s book, in which he argued that Kaspar Hauser was a swindler was ‘a model of acute and accurate reasoning and a complete refutation of Feuerbach’s work’. 13 The Ansbach police were extremely sloppy in their investigation of the case, and the situation was made worse by Meyer’s extraordinary behaviour. He had forced the seriously wounded boy to walk back to the scene of the crime and then to walk back again, threatening that if he did not he would call the police. There was thus an unnecessary delay in reporting the crime. No effort was made to seal off the site where Kaspar had been stabbed, nor was any serious attempt made to make an immediate search for a stranger that met his description. The Ansbach court official responsible for the case, Heinrich Theodor von Kohlhagen, conducted a very perfunctory inquiry, and hinted that Kaspar had probably committed suicide. On 26 December 1833 the Bavarian minister of the interior, Prince von Öttingen-Wallerstein, wrote to von Stichaner saying that his ministry and the foreign ministry intended to conduct their own investigations. He announced that he was sending Baron von Schrenk to Ansbach to collect all the papers relating to the case for examination in Munich. Stanhope had arrived in Munich on 25 December and hypocritically announced that he was too upset by his ward’s death to go to Ansbach. Prince von Öttingen-Wallerstein felt that he would be able to shed considerable light on the case and thus ordered Hickel to come to

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Munich with von Schrenk and the papers. He also asked von Stichaner to get hold of Kaspar’s diary which seemed to have been ignored by the police. Von Stichaner was asked to find the answers to a number of questions. Who had written an article in the newspaper suggesting that Kaspar Hauser had committed suicide? Why it was that for a number of years he had been accused of being a fraud? Who had first suggested that his parents were of humble birth and that his father was a Franciscan? Why was it that Kaspar had come to believe that the authorities had deliberately concealed the identity of his parents? Was this the reason why he accepted the invitation of a complete stranger to meet in the palace gardens, in spite of the fact that he was terrified that another attempt would be made on his life? The note ended somewhat testily by suggesting that it was surely not particularly difficult to find out which strangers had visited Ansbach about the time of the murder.14 Von Stichaner replied on 28 December that he doubted that the diary would reveal much of interest since Kaspar visited his house virtually every day and clearly had no idea about his early life. He enclosed a magistrate’s report which shifted the blame for the failure of the police investigation onto Meyer for the delay in reporting the incident, and on the vague description of the assailant which could apply to so many people. Von Stichaner suggested that a generous reward should be given for information leading to a clarification of the case.15 The king agreed that the handsome sum of 10,000 florins should be put aside for such a purpose. On 28 December von Schrenk reported from Ansbach that Meyer doubted that Kaspar had kept a diary, since he did not believe a word he said. When challenged he showed him the place where he had kept his diary and said that he had burnt it. The rumour that Kaspar had committed suicide sprang from the belief that he was a fraud – a view which had been put forward forcefully in Johann Friedrich Karl Merker’s pamphlet: Kaspar Hauser, Most Probably a Swindler, published in 1830 and which had excited considerable interest. Furthermore Kaspar’s story sounded so incredible that it was hard to believe, and there were no traces left by the alleged murderer. Von Schrenk assumed that the article had been written on the basis of these rumours, but added that since Kaspar had died it was no longer widely believed that he had staged the performance in order to attract attention to himself.16 Von Schrenk was obviously affected by the scepticisim of the Ansbach authorities. In a further memorandum to his minister on Kaspar Hauser’s death he claimed that Kaspar’s insistence on the importance of retrieving the purse had wasted valuable time, and that he had driven himself

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to the point of collapse in order to get this important piece of evidence. The fact that it was Meyer who had forced Kaspar to go back to the scene of the crime seems to have been overlooked. He suggested that Kaspar had known a great deal more about his place of imprisonment and the person who brought him to Nuremberg than he had been prepared to divulge. Von Schrenk soon tended to agree with those who suggested that Kaspar had committed suicide. People were losing interest in him since nothing had happened since the attack three years ago. He had thus made a suicide attempt in order to attract attention and to persuade Stanhope to take him to England. Since he regularly visited the palace gardens, Kaspar should have known that no work was being done at the artesian well. Why should the murderer assume that Kaspar would agree to meet him and why did he not fear that Kaspar might tell someone else? The murderer had chosen a remarkably exposed spot to commit the deed rather than the artesian well which was much more concealed. He then left an important piece of evidence at the scene of the crime, and there seemed to be no reason why the note in the purse should have been written in mirror writing. How was it possible that the murderer could spend at least two days in Ansbach without being spotted? When he found no one at the artesian well why did Kaspar choose the longest way home in bad weather through the muddiest part of the palace gardens? Why was he so anxious to retrieve the purse? Why was his testimony so sparse and why, on his deathbed, did he say that no one had done him any harm? He pointed out that Kaspar was well known to be untruthful. For the last fortnight he had locked himself up in his room, closed the curtains and had behaved in an unusually strange manner. The arguments of those who believed he had been murdered were less convincing. He did not need to go to such extremes in order to win sympathy. He lacked the cunning to carry out such a plan. He was far too fearful to inflict even a slight wound on himself, and lacked the strength to drive a knife so deep. If he had inflicted the wound himself the knife would have been found. That his testimony was somewhat confused is hardly surprising considering that he was about to die. There are a number of obvious objections that can be raised to von Schrenk’s speculations. Kaspar Hauser had frequently said that he had no desire to go to England. He had told Frau Hickel that a stranger had asked him to meet him the day before the murder, and on that occasion she had persuaded him to go to a ball instead. Since the weather was bad there was no one about in the palace gardens so that the murderer had no fear that there would be witnesses. A number of people had seen

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a stranger matching the description given by Kaspar at about the time of the murder. On 3 January Stanhope was cross-examined in Munich on behalf of the Ansbach court. Stanhope spoke at length about the diary which Kaspar Hauser was said to have kept. He had refused to show it either to him or to Meyer, and Stanhope sanctimoniously claimed that both he and Meyer fully respected Kaspar Hauser’s right to privacy. When Lieutenant Hickel had said that he would have to take it by force in order to show to Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser claimed that he had already burnt it. Stanhope’s main concern was to show that Kaspar Hauser was a liar, possibly because he feared that the diary might be discovered and that it might contain some compromising information that might damage his reputation. To this end he admitted that Kaspar Hauser had probably been kept prisoner, but almost certainly not in the way he described. He suggested that his captors had threatened him with death if he said anything that might give a clue as to their identity. Mayor Binder and others had managed to extract enough of the truth out of him to cause them to worry that they might be discovered. Furthermore it was rumoured that he was writing the story of his imprisonment. Nevertheless the story of the murder attempt in Nuremberg seemed highly improbable to Stanhope and he argued that it conveniently served the purpose of making Kaspar seem important, and providing further evidence that he came from a distinguished family. Stanhope was also not impressed by the story of the attack in Ansbach. Some of the more dubious points he made he later retracted, but he continued to argue that there was no reason for the ‘murderer’ to write the note that was later discovered. No one in the palace gardens had heard Kaspar cry out, as he must have done had he been suddenly stabbed. Stanhope thus ignored the fact, to which there was ample testimony, that there was no one near the scene of the crime. Kaspar Hauser had been unable to give a detailed description of his assailant and could not remember the colour of his coat, even though he was known to have had exceptional powers of observation. Stanhope also claimed, without any foundation, that Kaspar Hauser had twice changed the description of his murderer. That he often locked himself up in his room seemed very suspicious to Stanhope, who ignored the fact that Kaspar Hauser desperately needed to avoid Meyer’s constant prying. He found it suspicious that he had destroyed some private letters shortly before his death. Stanhope did not mention that Meyer and his wife had read these letters, from Frau Kannewurf and Frau Binder, and found it suspicious that Kaspar had destroyed them shortly afterwards. Stanhope

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further made the erroneous claims that the weapon used was too thin to cause a serious wound and that a professional killer would have done a better job. Stanhope’s main argument was that Meyer, a man who knew Kaspar Hauser as well as anybody, believed that he had stabbed himself, as did Schumann, an official of the Ansbach court who unfortunately was never cross-examined. In addition to this testimony Stanhope gave the court a list of questions designed to undermine Kaspar Hauser’s credibility. They included such questions as how could Kaspar Hauser have arrived on foot in Nuremberg during a holiday without anyone having seen him? Was it not remarkable that he was able to speak to the shoemakers and to Major von Wessenig’s servant even though he had been locked away for years on end? How was it that he could not give any details of his journey, but was able meticulously to describe what happened after he arrived in Nuremberg? Could he have learnt so many phrases in a brief journey from his place of imprisonment to Nuremberg? Could he have learnt as much as he did in only three weeks after his arrival in the city? Does one have to believe everything that Daumer said, knowing him to be credulous, lacking in common sense and overly effusive? Were Kaspar Hauser’s remarkably heightened senses the result of sickness or of a lengthy imprisonment? If he had been imprisoned for years in the dark would he have been able to see at all in the daylight? Were his deformed knees genetically determined, or caused by being forced to sit for many years? Would Kaspar Hauser have been able to walk at all if he had been forced to sit for so long? Why did he not have any sores if he had indeed been retained in a sitting position for years? Why did he not turn to look at the man who held his hand and taught him the rudiments of writing? How could Kaspar Hauser claim that the ‘man with whom he was’ told him that he should always do what he was told if he never spoke to him the whole time he was imprisoned? Did Kaspar Hauser really understand any Hungarian, for he was unable to translate a single word. Why had no one claimed him if he were a missing child? Three days later, on 3 January 1834, Stanhope was again questioned by the court. He took back some of the more outrageous accusations he had made against Kaspar Hauser, but added some further unsubstantiated claims. He insisted that the purse which Kaspar Hauser claimed had been given to him by his assailant actually belonged to him and that he had written the note it contained. As evidence for this he pointed out that Frau Meyer was ‘shocked’ when she noticed that it was folded in the same manner as Kaspar Hauser folded his letters. Stanhope further argued that a real murderer would have killed Kaspar Hauser on the spot.

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He suggested that Kaspar Hauser had inflicted the wound himself in order that he might be taken to England to save him from any further attempts on his life. The only reason why anyone should wish to murder Kaspar Hauser was that he was of distinguished or wealthy birth. No evidence had yet been produced that suggested that either was the case, in spite of intensive investigations and the wide publicity given the case. He did not believe Kaspar Hauser’s version of his meeting with the stranger nor his reasons for not wearing an overcoat, in spite of the bad weather. He also found it hard to believe that Kaspar Hauser would have agreed to meet a complete stranger in an isolated spot after the attack in Nuremberg. Stanhope urged the court to take notice of Merker’s writings on Kaspar Hauser, which he claimed were absolutely accurate. On 11 January Stanhope wrote to Lilly Cartwright, née Countess Sandizell, the wife of the British envoy in Frankfurt, to tell her that the Grand Duchess Stephanie did not believe that Kaspar Hauser’s wound was self-inflicted. 17 On 13 January Stanhope was again questioned. He now suggested that were Kaspar Hauser the heir to a distinguished title or a great fortune it would have been more sensible to kill those who knew of the affair, rather than commit a crime which was bound to cause a sensation. Stanhope repeated a number of previous accusations made against his ward and suggested that he had probably wounded himself with a bookbinder’s knife. In fact a bookbinder, Georg Joseph Koschwitz, was to testify on 28 January before the court in Ansbach that such a knife could not possibly have caused such a wound. Stanhope also handed over to the court a letter from a servant who signed himself Louis Dittmeyer who claimed, without producing any evidence, that Kaspar Hauser was the son of Napoleon and Marie Luise who had been hidden when his father fell from power. Dittmeyer rejected the theory out of hand that Kaspar Hauser was the heir to the grand duchy of Baden since he had been in service in Karlsruhe at the time and had witnessed the great joy shown by the grand duke Karl and the grand duchess Stephanie at the birth of their son. The court did not see fit to take any action with regard to this extraordinary letter which seemed specifically to be designed to cast doubt on the theory that Kaspar Hauser was the grand duke of Baden. On 12 January 1834 the Ansbach district court reported to the ministry of justice that it was very doubtful whether Kaspar had been murdered. It was pointed out that Meyer had said under oath that he was incapable of telling the truth, and that Lieutenant Hickel testified that he was badly brought up, thoroughly spoiled, vain, childish and a liar. Stanhope

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had testified in Munich that the trip to Hungary had convinced him that Kaspar was untruthful and lived in a world of fantasy. He had come to believe that his entire story was a fabrication. The report continued with a highly dubious account of Kaspar’s testimony which was designed to show that it was full of inconsistencies. It was argued that Kaspar had been terrified of a repetition of the attack in Nuremberg in 1829 and was thus unlikely to agree to meet a complete stranger in the palace grounds in particularly bad weather. Kaspar had already visited the artesian well and was perfectly aware that work had ceased there in June. It was highly improbable that having not met the stranger at the artesian well that he would have chosen by chance to walk 300 yards out of his way to the Uz memorial and find the stranger waiting for him. Further spurious arguments were used to bolster their case that Kaspar had committed suicide. They also offered the lame excuse that they had not pursued any examination of the murder scene because they had not finished questioning Kaspar until 9 in the evening and the next day it was snowing so they assumed that they would not find any traces of the supposed murderer. It was assumed that the weapon had been thrown away, probably in the river Rezat, but no real effort was made to search for it.18 Further reports from the court to Munich repeated these assertions. The Ansbach court under its director Heinrich Theodor von Kohlhagen and the investigators Michael Waltenmair and Schmid were so swayed by Meyer’s testimony as to Kaspar’s character and by Stanhope’s vindictive description of his ward that they assumed he was a swindler and had committed suicide. Since he was known to have often told a lie, it was assumed that he was incapable of telling the truth. Von Stichaner, who knew Kaspar well, did not share this dubious line of argument and was convinced that he had been murdered. Basing his judgment almost entirely on the documentary evidence, Prince von Öttingen also believed he had been murdered, and this view was shared by the king. On 7 March 1834, Dr Horlacher presented his written report on the affair. Having studied the files he pointed out that Daumer had noted a marked change in Kaspar’s character in October 1829 in that he had started to tell lies. Lieutenant von Pirch had also noticed a striking change from an open and friendly to a fearful, suspicious and introspective person. Biberbach and Meyer both confirmed these assessments and Lieutenant Hickel had nothing good to say about him. Kaspar was often deeply depressed and tired of life. Dr Horlacher was unable to say whether his regrettable disposition was caused by his faulty education, or had a deeper cause, but suggested that the fact that he had an

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exceptionally large liver may have contributed to a worsening of his condition. He cited Professor Friedrich’s highly regarded work on the diagnosis of psychological illnesses in which he stressed that an abnormality of the liver could cause severe psychological problems. Dr Horlacher pointed out that Kaspar Hauser had behaved in a particularly strange manner in the last two weeks of his life, according to Meyer’s testimony. He had been reluctant to go to work and had often left an hour early, claiming that he had lessons. He had lied to Fuhrmann when he said that he was going to visit von Stichaner’s daughter. Instead he had gone to the palace gardens. He went to the artesian well, even though he knew that work had ceased there. He then showed no fear in meeting a stranger by the Uz monument, even though they were alone. The stranger apparently did not say a word, handed him a purse and stabbed him. Horlacher suggested that Kaspar had deliberately stabbed himself through a jacket, waistcoat, a starched shirt, an undershirt, the reinforced top of his trousers and underpants in order to simulate a murder. He insisted that if the murderer were taller than Kaspar the wound would have been at a different angle, and if there had been a murderer he would have stabbed him several times to make sure he was dead. He took the remarks Kaspar made to young Vogel ‘Oh God, I shall die in shame and mockery!’ and to Fuhrmann that no one had done him any harm, as evidence that it was suicide. Dr Horlacher’s is a remarkable document. He only studied a few of the documents, quoted them out of context and came to some staggering conclusions. He was clearly so swayed by Meyer’s hostile attitude towards Kaspar that he was able to convince himself that Kaspar had master-minded an extraordinary suicide that had fooled Dr Albert and Dr Koppen, to say nothing of the authorities in Munich. There remained the question of the note in the purse which the murderer had handed to Kaspar. Philipp Steinhauser, a bookbinder and stationer, testified on 10 January 1834 that the paper was of a high quality, but that he had no such paper in his shop. He added that in his opinion it was identical to the paper in some of Kaspar’s exercise books, as well as with some paper found in his waste-paper basket.19 Aloys Klein, another stationer, said three days later that although he was not absolutely certain, he nevertheless believed that the paper in the exercise book was different from that used in the note, but that the note and the pieces of paper in the waste-paper basket were probably identical. Yet another stationer by the name of Rosenberg, who was cross examined on the same day, was even more hesitant to offer an opinion. He testified that the piece of paper used for the note was too

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small and dirty to be clearly identified, but he felt that it was probably of foreign provenance. He saw some similarity between it and one of Kaspar’s exercise books. 20 Three expert witnesses were also called on 20 January 1834 to examine the handwriting in the note. A headmaster, Strobel, saw little similarity between Kaspar’s handwriting and that in the note. Kaspar’s was stiff and awkward, whereas the note was written in a much more fluid hand. The note was written in a somewhat old-fashioned style, it contained none of Kaspar’s characteristics and was obviously not deliberately distorted to disguise the author. A teacher by the name of Gellinger agreed that it had almost certainly not been written by Kaspar. He also felt that the writing was finer, more confident and somewhat old-fashioned. A lithographer, Georg Schwarz, was confident that Kaspar had not written it and agreed that it was written by a more mature person, possibly someone used to writing business letters.21 In 1930 a Swiss graphologist examined the evidence and concluded that the note had not been written by Kaspar and that there was no evidence that the note was written on the same paper as the note books.22 It is thus safe to say that the note was not written by Kaspar and the fact whether or not the paper was the same as some used by him is irrelevant. The writer of the note could very well have bought the paper from the same source. A bookbinder, Georg Joseph Koschwitz, was called as a witness to determine whether Kaspar had stabbed himself with one of the bookbinder’s knives he used to make cardboard boxes. Koschwitz said that bookbinders only used one sort of double-edged knife, but that had a blunt tip and was flexible.23 Kaspar owned three pocket knives, but none of these could have inflicted such a wound. It was hardly possible for someone so well known to have bought a double-edged pointed knife without having been noticed. The court sent a further report on 11 February. There had been a number of anonymous letters offering information about Kaspar’s murderer and his origins, but most were clearly frivolous. One such letter claimed that he was a prince of Baden – a rumour that had been widely circulated. The court asked the Baden minister von Hacke to make a statement and General Tettenborn in Vienna had been asked to comment. Their replies were not forthcoming. One Konrad Senig in Hanover reported that Countess Tattenbach’s child had been stolen and that this had been reported to the authorities in Nuremberg. The court said that nothing had come of a previous investigation and therefore this report could be ignored. A Martha Schlatterer reported that a child of a huntsman named Caspar, who had

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since died, had had an orphan in his care. Investigation showed that the child would have been about 13 years old, so it clearly was not Kaspar Hauser. All other leads proved to be equally fruitless. The court announced that technicians had said that a search of the river for the murder weapon would not be too expensive and they intended to conduct a search before long. Nothing in fact was done. 24 A report dated 17 March stated that the Baden minister von Hacke refused to make a statement and had announced that he intended to register a formal complaint. The court also gave an account of a claim that Kaspar was the illegitimate son of Baron von Guttenberg, and pointed out that the child in question was long since dead. 25 On 28 April the court reported that von Hacke had died. A vagrant had claimed to be the assassin, but it could be shown that he was in Wolfenbüttel at the time of the murder. Katharina Bader from Munich claimed that Kaspar was her son who had disappeared at the age of eight, but she was unable to provide any convincing evidence in support of this contention.26 On 11 September the court wrote that the case was closed. Among Stanhope’s papers at Chevening is a clipping from an Ansbach paper stating that the chairman of the regional council (Regierungspräsident) Arnold von Mieg had taken all the papers relating to the case to Vienna for a ministerial conference, and that these papers had never been brought back to Ansbach. The committee of investigation into the case was also disbanded. A few further incidents were reported. A gendarme from Augsburg reported that he was on a patrol in the woods near Lauterbach when he heard a well-dressed man talking in an agitated manner. He crept close to him and heard him say: I wish Kaspar Hauser were still alive. I don’t want to know about the money which I got for his death. Nuremberg with all its money can go to hell – I can’t go back to my parents. But what will they think when their Karl doesn’t come home? I will never be able to be free, even though I recently escaped danger. The best thing would be to kill myself. He then took something out of his pocket. The gendarme rushed forward, but the young man managed to escape. The court assumed that this was a deliberate attempt to mislead the police. An attempt was made to find the young man, but without success. The court heard that Stanhope had interviewed a number of people in Nuremberg who had witnessed Kaspar’s arrival in the city, and it was

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decided to follow this up by cross-examining them once again. The two shoemakers, Weickmann and Beck, to whom Kaspar had first spoken, altered their testimony significantly in that they now claimed that he walked perfectly normally and did not appear to be exhausted. Weickmann further claimed that Kaspar had said that he came from Regensburg. When Kaspar was confronted with Weickmann in court ten days later he had claimed that he had never seen him before. The Ansbach court argued that this fresh testimony showed that Kaspar’s story that he had only just learnt to walk was clearly a fabrication and that his ability to speak was far more developed than had previously been assumed. He was able to say that he came from Regensburg. He understood the term ‘New Gate’. He could follow the directions he was given to get to Major von Wessenig’s house. He took off his hat to the policeman in the police station thus showing that he had been taught some manners, even though he had left his hat on when speaking to Weickmann and Beck. He told another policeman that he had been told not to say where he came from. Major von Wessenig said that Kaspar had been told not to give his name, but simply to raise his hat and say, ‘Your Grace!’ The major also noted that Kaspar had bowed to him – further evidence of a rudimentary training in social graces. The court concluded by claiming that the attack in Nuremberg was self-inflicted, that he had been exposed by Meyer as a fraud, that Stanhope had begun to realize this, that he was lazy, feared that further investigations would expose him and thus took his own life. Since the note in the purse was written in very naive language it was assumed that he must have written it himself, the more so since the grammatical errors were the same as Kaspar’s habitual mistakes. 27 Although the Ansbach court was clearly fed up with the whole affair and had convinced themselves that Kaspar was a fraud and a suicide, the investigations continued for years to come. In spite of all these efforts and the offer of a handsome reward no progress was made. This confirmed all parties in their beliefs. Those who believed he had committed suicide were hardly surprised. Those who were convinced he was of noble birth saw it as further evidence that powerful forces were at work.

9 Kaspar Hauser and the Grand Duchy of Baden

As early as July 1828 Mayor Binder received an anonymous letter claiming that Kaspar Hauser was a member of the grand ducal family of Baden, the Zähringer. On 27 November 1829 an article entitled ‘Conjectures about Kaspar Hauser’ appeared in the Munich newspaper Das Inland: Ein Tageblatt für das öffentliche Leben in Deutschland, mit vorzuglicher Rücksicht auf Bayern. It was a serious publication from the distinguished publishing house, Cotta, which was founded in 1640 and which published the works of Goethe, Schiller, Herder, Fichte, Schelling, Jean Paul and the Humboldts.1 The article suggested that Kaspar Hauser must have been kept in captivity because he stood in the way of a third person. This implied that he must come from the upper class, since the middle and lower classes would not have such an interest in removing a pretender. The lower classes with their coarseness and brutality, their lack of refinement and education, would not have hesitated to murder an unwanted family member. Likely motives were either to hide the product of an illicit love affair, or to remove an heir. Since it was very easy to dispose of the unwanted child of an irregular liaison it would seem that Kaspar Hauser was most probably an heir. The article suggested that all cases where an heir had either died or disappeared some time before the supposed date of Kaspar’s imprisonment should be carefully examined. On 13 December of the same year the paper published another article, similar in tone to the anonymous letter that had been sent to the mayor of Nuremberg 18 months before, suggesting that Kaspar came from the house of Baden. Feuerbach commented on this theory in his report of 8 April 1830 that it was ‘a romantic legend without any legal or factual basis’. 133

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Feuerbach was later to change his mind. His diary entry for 4 January 1832 reads: ‘I discover Kaspar Hauser’s probable origin as a prince of the house of B(aden) and send the Queen (mother) of Bavaria at her request (under a princely oath of confidentiality) a memorandum which contains the dreadful secret.’2 In this memorandum Feuerbach insisted that he was speculating, that the evidence was circumstantial and would not stand up in a court of law. The fact that Kaspar had been kept captive for years was indication that he was a legitimate child. Illegitimate children could be hidden far more easily, and ordinary people would not lightly commit a serious offence such as this, risking discovery for more than 16 years. It was argued that those responsible for the crime had considerable funds at their disposal. They had been able to make an attack on Kaspar in a crowded city like Nuremberg, in the middle of the day, and leave no traces whatsoever. In spite of a reward of 1000 florins and an intensive police investigation no clues were found as to the assailant’s identity. No one would risk the death penalty to murder some insignificant foundling. He had been kept captive to keep him out of the way so that others could benefit from his inheritance, and had to be murdered to secure that inheritance. Feuerbach suggested that Kaspar Hauser’s dream of the castle was further evidence of his noble birth. At the time he had had these dreams he could hardly speak, his ideas were still extremely primitive, and he had not seen any similar building in Nuremberg. He could not possibly have imagined a palace with family portraits, suits of armour, coats of arms, a library and a room full of silver, without having been in such a place. Feuerbach further believed that Kaspar had been kept prisoner in order to save his life. The fact that he had never been ill suggested that the cell must have been impeccably clean and free from insects and rodents. He was kept clean and his linen frequently changed. He was fed regularly with bread and water and had a toy horse and dog to amuse him. Had his captors wished to kill him they could easily have done so. Kaspar always spoke well of his gaoler and never complained of his treatment. 3 On the basis of this reasoning Feuerbach concluded that Kaspar Hauser had been swapped with another baby, which was either dead or about to die, and had then probably been taken to Hungary where he lived relatively freely. When his life was endangered he was hidden in the cellar. Feuerbach was now convinced that the theory that Kaspar was a prince of Baden was correct. The male line of the house of Zähringen died out

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in a remarkably strange manner and the inheritance passed on to the children of a morganatic marriage with the Countess Hochberg. The Grand Duke Karl and the Grand Duchess Stephanie, Kaspar Hauser’s parents according to this theory, had a large family; but whereas their two sons died in infancy their daughters all enjoyed the very best of health. The princesses Luise and Josephine were perfectly healthy, but their baby brother, who was born between the two, died on 16 October 1812 when he was only a few days old. A second son, Prince Alexander, died on 8 May 1817 a the age of one, but Princess Marie, who was born after him, was as healthy as her two older sisters. The rumour that Kaspar was the true prince of Baden and that the Hochbergs were usurpers had circulated widely and had already appeared in newspapers in Augsburg and Stuttgart. Rumours, Feuerbach concluded, were only rumours, but they were often based on fact. With so much smoke there could very well be a fire.4 The grand duchy of Baden had played a key role in the Confederation of the Rhine, Napoleon’s new order in Southern Germany which the Prussian patriot E. M. Arndt described as that ‘corrupt and cowardly nest of vipers’. 5 Fundamental reforms were carried out in an attempt to realize the teachings of the Enlightenment paying scant attention to the claims of tradition – an approach which was anathema to people of a conservative bent, such as Arndt. No state within the Confederation of the Rhine underwent such profound changes as Baden. It was given more new territory than any other, and these annexations formed a richly varied patchwork of distinct elements. They included parts of Austria which had been profoundly affected by the reforms of Joseph II, the imperial abbies of Salem and Petershausen which had not been touched by the spirit of rational reform, the estates of great nobles like the Fürstenbergs and the Löwensteins, imperial cities and the lands of imperial knights, the territories of the the dioceses of Basle, Strasburg and Speyer, and the Palatinate. Baden had already undergone some farreaching reforms under the margrave Carl Friedrich, an outstanding example of an enlightened absolutist who made Baden into the most tolerant and open state in Germany. 6 He ascended the throne in 1738 at the age of ten. He reached his majority in 1746 and ruled for a further 65 years. The object of the reforms was to create a unified state out of such heterogeneous elements. The margrave Carl Friedrich carried out the necessary reforms in the tradition of the Enlightenment, but he was well aware that this was not enough to create a genuinely unified state. Like Baron vom Stein in Prussia he realized that the people had to be

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involved in one way or another in public affairs for there to be any real sense of national unity. The people could only identify with a state in which they participated, however remote and indirect that participation might be, and however vague the definition of what constituted the people. The consent of the people would strengthen the state. The throne would have to abandon some of its power in order that the state could become more powerful. This was the spirit behind the Baden constitution of 1818. For all its many shortcomings it remained the most progressive constitution in Germany throughout the nineteenth century, and in no other state were democratic rights more firmly established or the power of the throne more circumscribed. Much of the impetus for reform came from France, but there were also powerful local interests at stake. Only a united Baden could hope to resist the determined efforts of Bavaria and Austria to regain the territory they had lost in the Napoleonic reordering of the map of Germany. Only by fundamental reform was it possible to meet the horrendous costs of war and the reforms themselves. These efforts were remarkably succesful. Baden became a unified state, the model for progressive reformers, with a constitution that was the envy of liberal Germans. The finances were placed on a sound footing, the bureaucracy rendered more effective, the economy prospered. The legal system was reformed, torture forbidden, the schools improved, and Karlsruhe became a great cultural centre visited by Voltaire, Goethe, Herder, Wieland, Klopstock and many other prominent intellectuals. In most things Carl Friedrich was true to his motto: ‘Moderation and Reason’. But there remained the fundamental contradiction that whereas the reforms were carried out largely in the spirit of the enlightened absolutism of the eighteenth century, the constitution of 1818, which came into effect seven years after Carl Friedrich’s death, was a work of nineteenth-century liberalism – absolutism’s principal opponent. 7 The representative body foreseen in the new constitution was a powerful advocate of further reform and had the legislative power and budgetary veto rights to frustrate the reactionaries. This was the price the grand dukes had to pay for Carl Friedrich’s decision to follow the advice of his chief minister, Baron Sigismund von Reitzenstein, to ally with France in order to frustrate Austria’s territorial ambitions against Baden. It was a difficult task for Reitzenstein to persuade the grand duke of the necessity of making peace with France, but the peace treaty of 22 August 1796 soon paid rich dividends. The Congress of Rastatt, the Franco-Russian convention of June 1802, the redrawing of the map of Germany in 1803 (Reichsdeputationshauptschluß), and the

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Confederation of the Rhine of 1806 resulted in substantial territorial gains for Baden.8 Reitzenstein’s domestic reforms were as dramatic in their consequences as were the effects of his foreign policy. The Organisational Edict of 26 November 1809 marked a radical rejection of the earlier efforts to preserve as many of the local traditions as possible in the new territories. The grand duchy was now divided up into ten roughly equal districts, along the lines of the French departments, with a district director (Kreisdirektor) playing a role analagous to that of a French prefect. The district directors were directly answerable to the cabinet, made up of five specialized ministries headed by Reitzenstein as ‘Cabinet Minister’ (Kabinettsminister). Reitzenstein believed that there should be a clear distinction between the state and its subjects, and he did not share Baron vom Stein’s conviction that the removal of this distinction would strengthen the state. Stein’s argument was self-evident to Carl Friedrich Nebenius and Ludwig Winter, the bourgeois officials who drafted the constitution of 1818, which was modelled closely on the French Charte of 1814.9 The upper chamber, the Assembly of the Estates (Ständeversammlung), was made up of the princes, the nobility, representatives of the Catholic and Protestant churches and the universities. The elected chamber (Landtag) put forward a series of liberal demands – the abolition of special rights, the end of socage and tithes, the independence of the judiciary, trial by jury and free trade. The government was unwilling and, given the political climate in the German Confederation under Metternich, unable to make such concessions. The chamber and the state were thus locked in a conflict which the greatest theoretician of southern German liberalism, Karl von Rotteck, felt guaranteed the rights of the people and protected them against a Jacobin democracy where there were no restraints on the sovereign power of the people and where, in the name of liberty, equality and fraternity, a brutal dictatorship ran amok. The frustrations of a deadlock were felt to be less painful than the effects of an unbridled tyranny – be it grand ducal or democratic. The well-educated and wealthy bourgeoisie was the dominant class in the chamber. Only those who paid a modest amount of taxes were given the vote, the towns were over-represented, and elections were indirect. In the first elected chamber civil servants formed the largest single group. On the one hand only 17 per cent of the population had the right to vote or to stand for election. On the other hand 36 per cent of men had the vote and about 80 per cent of the heads of families. 10 Only men of substantial wealth could stand for elections so that only

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0.5 per cent of the population qualified. The majority of deputies favoured constitutional reform along French lines. They were regarded as the ‘true’ representatives of the people. The other group, known as the ‘Standstill’ supported the government. Neither factions were remotely like political parties, but were simply groupings of like-minded men without a political programme. It was a system which allowed deputies to change sides when they thought it prudent, and thus encouraged opportunism and an unprincipled pursuit of influence. The liberal faction was further weakened by the conflict of local interests which the government skillfully exploited to prevent combined efforts for reform. Deputies expressed their individual opinions and tried to further the interests of their constituencies; they did not follow a coherent political line and thus could not work together in pursuit of common goals. Carl Friedrich had many impressive achievements to his credit but, for all his statesmanlike qualities, was not without his shortcomings. His greatest weakness, typical of the Zähringer, was his indiscriminately demanding libido such that the Strasburg historian Johann Daniel Schöplin, author of a massive seven-volume Historia Zaringo-Badensis regretted that nature was undecided whether to make of him an Amor or a Hercules. Perhaps it was this that led him as a widower at the age of 59 into an unsuitable marriage with a 19-year old lady-in-waiting, Luise Geyer von Geyersberg. She was said to have been a great beauty in her youth, but her portraits painted in later years depict a plump, doublechinned, bulbous-nosed matron with an air of coarse vulgarity. Whereas the margrave Carl Friedrich was a highly regarded ruler, his grandson Karl who succeeded him was a feeble creature of questionable morals. In 1804 Karl became engaged to Princess Auguste, the daughter of Maximilian Josef, elector of Bavaria. Karl’s mother, Amalie of HessenDarmstadt, had used her considerable diplomatic skills to bring about the betrothal which necessitated Auguste breaking off her engagement to the hereditary prince of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, a move which had greatly annoyed the Prussians since Queen Luise of Prussia was the sister of the former fiancé. Napoleon objected strongly to the proposed marriage and virtually ordered the margrave Carl Friedrich to break off the engagement. The margrave, having first consulted Maximilian Josef, and certain of his support, ordered Reitzenstein to write to Napoleon pointing out that the engagement could not now be broken off. Napoleon did not reply to Reitzenstein’s masterly letter and preferred to let the matter rest for a while. But Carl Friedrich also dragged his feet. Not wishing to anger the French emperor he postponed the official announcement of the engagement and the drafting of a marriage

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agreement, so that the Bavarian court became increasingly annoyed with his high-handed attitude. In 1805 Napoleon sent an envoy to Karlsruhe on an unofficial mission to try and persuade the Zähringer to break off the engagement to the Wittelsbach princess. He told Carl Friedrich that the French government would then recognize the full rights to the succession of the ‘Hochberg children’ – the male offspring of Carl Friedrich’s second and morganatic marriage. The margrave then told Maximilian Josef that if he wished his daughter to marry Eugene Beauharnais he would be prepared to allow her to break off the engagement to his grandson Karl. Karl, who showed no enthusiasm for the opposite sex, was indifferent to whomever he married. His mother, however, was furious at her father-in-law, Carl Friedrich, for his supine attitude towards the French and was horrified at the prospect of having Napoleon’s adopted daughter as a member of her immediate family. With Napoleon victorious against Austria, Maximilian Josef saw the obvious advantages of an alliance with France, cemented by a suitable marriage, which was likely to bring Bavaria substantial territorial gains. The major difficulty was to persuade Auguste to accept Eugene. She reluctantly accepted her fate. In a pathetic letter to her father she wrote that she would take comfort in the fact that ‘I have sacrificed myself for my father, my family and my fatherland. Your child goes down on her knees and begs your blessing. It will help me to accept my sad fate with resignation.’ 11 The marriage took place in January 1806, two weeks after Bavaria became a kingdom. Tyrol was handed over to Bavaria by a grateful Napoleon. He was oblivious, however, to the enormity of Auguste’s sacrifice. Napoleon now suggested that Karl, the hereditary prince of Baden, should marry Stephanie Beauharnais, his niece by marriage whom he had adopted as his daughter and who was given the titles ‘Fille de France’ and ‘Imperial Majesty’ to overcome her future mother-in-law’s objections to what she considered to be a misalliance. Stephanie was only 16 at the time. She came from an ancient aristocratic family, the daughter of Claude Beauharnais, a senator under Napoleon and a cousin of Napoleon’s wife’s former husband. Karl’s uncle Prince Ludwig and the Countess von Hochberg played an important part in arranging the marriage betweem Karl and Stephanie. The countess feared that Princess Auguste of Bavaria might prove to be a dangerous rival. Stephanie was less of a threat, and perhaps Napoleon’s star might wane and the Hochberg profit from his fall. Karl was known to be dissolute, a bully and totally self-indulgent. History does not record whether Auguste of Bavaria

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would have prefered this creature to Eugene. Either way she was unlikely to have found much happiness. That Karl should marry Stephanie had a great deal to be said for it, as Reitzenstein pointed out to his master. Bavaria and Württemberg had both profited greatly from the French, and Baden was now placed in a comparatively weak position. Support from France would provide a comforting guarantee against the territorial ambitions of Baden’s neighbours. Karl’s mother could not bear the thought of her son marrying into such a wretched family and remained adamant in her opposition. Karl had no objection to the proposed marriage, the elector was enthusiastic, and with Karl’s erstwhile fiancée now married to Eugene Beauharnais there was little that Amalie could do. Reitzenstein was sent to Paris in February 1806 to work out the details of the marriage contract. His excessive territorial ambitions for Baden, which included the annexation of Switzerland, proved totally unrealistic, but he placed the blame for the failure of these grandiose schemes on Karl whom he asked to come to Paris and who did not make a great impression. Although only 20 years old he was fat, indolent, taciturn and frequently fell asleep. Stephanie was a shy 16 year-old who was equally silent. Their daily meetings were a torture for both of the young people. Josephine found Karl’s outmoded powdered ponytail tied in a black bow utterly ridiculous, but when he cut his hair à la Titus she found it even more absurd.12 It is hardly surprising that the marriage, which was celebrated in Paris on 7 April 1806, was not a success. Stephanie felt no affection for her unattractive and indifferent husband, and flirted openly with her fosterfather during the wedding festivities, provoking Josephine to lecture both her husband and her niece on behaviour appropriate to a young bride and her legal father. Stephanie promised to try to win Karl’s affection, but soon abandoned this hopeless task. Henceforth they lived separate lives. Karl had an affair with the daughter of his valet and stilled his homoerotic yearnings with one Lieutenant Holtzing with whom he was said to indulge in sodomitic orgies with the younger members of the palace staff. Varnhagen von Ense, the Prussian envoy in Karlsruhe, and an astute diarist, remarked: ‘He pursued his secret pleasures in the darkness of the pheasant-house with a few trusted favourites, who made no demands of him; but they seldom brought him pleasure.’13 The people of Baden welcomed the marriage and greeted the newlyweds warmly. The ailing Carl Friedrich, now confined to a wheelchair, was well disposed towards Stephanie, but her mother-in-law remained hostile. Although Stephanie adjusted well to life in Mannheim the

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marriage did not improve. A miscarriage was not followed by a further pregnancy and Stephanie reacted to her husband’s total indifference by becoming increasingly flirtatious. By 1807, when she suffered a nervous breakdown, they lived apart. The marriage was indeed miserable: Stephanie was given to having hysterical fits and fevers, and burst into floods of tears at the slightest provocation. Napoleon was outraged by Karl’s treatment of his wife and on 6 January 1808 he wrote him a stern note threatening to take his step-daughter back if he did not mend his ways. Karl impertinently replied that the marriage was a purely political act whereby Baden had hoped to make significant territorial gains – by which he meant Switzerland – and thus implied that he had no responsibility for his wife’s emotional well-being given that Napoleon had not kept his side of the bargain. This argument made Napoleon even more angry. He complained that Amalie treated her daughter-in-law abominably, that Karl’s uncle Ludwig had debauched his nephew, had destroyed his marriage and was ruining the country. The emperor also warned that if the Countess Hochberg did not mend her scandalous ways and stop her intrigues on behalf of her three sons he would have her locked up in a nunnery. It seems that Karl made some effort to improve after this blistering attack, but he soon relapsed into his bad old ways.14 Ludwig was banished to the recently acquired castle at Salem at the beginning of 1808, but he did not stop meddling in the affairs of state and prodded the Countess von Hochberg into further devious action. In 1810 Karl and Stephanie accompanied Marie Louise of Austria on her way to Paris where she was to marry Napoleon. Reitzenstein travelled with the party and warned Karl that he had to behave himself and at least pretend that he had some affection for his wife when they were in Napoleon’s presence. The visit to the French capital passed without any serious incident between the pair, and, although their relationship did not improve, a daughter was born in June 1811. Shortly afterwards the grand duke Carl Friedrich died at the age of 83 and Karl succeeded his grandfather. The grand ducal pair decided that for the sake of appearances they should live together in the residential palace in Karlsruhe. Napoleon urged his adopted daughter to be a little more pleasant towards her husband and to use her feminine charms, with which she was well endowed, to win him over. Gradually the two grew closer and on 29 September 1812 Stephanie gave birth to a son. It was a difficult birth which nearly cost her her life and the child died two weeks later. In October the following year she had a healthy daughter.

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When Baden joined the coalition against Napoleon in the autumn of 1813 Stephanie lost the support of her adoptive father, support which had already been weakened when he divorced Josephine Beauharnais. She tactfully stood aside and made no effort to persuade her husband to remain allied with the French. She skilfully organized a women’s group which tended to the needs of Baden’s soldiers. Her relationship with her husband improved greatly. In February the empress of Russia, Karl’s sister Luise, arrived in Baden for a lengthy stay with her mother. She detested Stephanie, partly because she came from a hated family and partly because the tsar was rather partial to her. She urged her brother to divorce his wife, but for once in his life Karl showed some backbone and angrily rejected the suggestion. Repeated efforts by the empress to the same effect were energetically resisted. Karl’s mother, the Margravine Amalie, still detested Stephanie for her humble birth and was impervious to her beauty, modesty and graceful charm. When Napoleon fell she mounted a massive campaign against her daughter-in-law and also insisted that Karl should divorce her. Karl, who had at first ignored his young wife and treated her so shabbily, now defended her in defiance of his mother. But he was still far from being an ideal husband. He was an idle, debauched and vulgar ruler, surrounded by sychophants who pandered to his basest instincts. Stephanie remained as cheerful and delightful as ever, seeking solice in the Catholic faith and in intellectual pursuits, and was much loved by all who knew her. Stephanie made no attempt to deny her background and managed to secure asylum in Baden for her adoptive sister, Hortense, the former queen of Holland, in spite of the German Confederation’s refusal to allow her to live in Germany. Hortense was to buy Arenenberg castle across the Swiss border on Lake Constance which was to be a centre of Napoleonic intrigue and where Stephanie was a frequent guest. After Karl’s death in 1818 Stephanie lived in Mannheim. She died in 1860 a much-respected figure, genuinely mourned by the people and by her large circle of friends. 15 At the time of the Congress of Vienna Baden was in a pitiful state. The Grand Duke Karl’s wife was Napoleon’s adopted daughter. His ministers were indecisive, mostly from outside Baden and, like their master, were respected neither at home nor abroad. Baden had been richly rewarded by Napoleon and had been late in abandoning the emperor. Many of those who had lost their privileges and sovereignty with the creation of a greatly enlarged centralized state under French supervision were eager to recover their former independence. Austria, Bavaria and

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Württemberg looked hungrily at what Napoleon had mockingly described as ‘the state with the slim waist’ and hoped to expand at Baden’s expense. In such a situation the granting of a constitution was designed to unify the state and strengthen it against these outside threats. The consitutional question was closely linked to that of the succession. The Grand Duke Karl’s father, Karl Ludwig, died in 1801 when his horse-drawn sledge overturned while on a visit to the Swedish court. Karl succeeded his grandfather Carl Friedrich in 1811. He was a weak creature, heavily under the influence of his uncle Ludwig, a man who was rumoured to be the lover of his step-mother the Countess von Hochberg. Karl and his uncle Ludwig patronized the local whores, debauched low-class girls and got drunk with lackeys and grooms with whom they enjoyed more intimate relations. His two sons had died in infancy and his three daughters were excluded from the succesion which went through the male line. Karl had six sisters but no brothers. The next in line was therefore his uncle, Ludwig I, who was 55 and seemed highly unlikely to produce an heir. By 1817 in all probability the Zähringer would soon die out since Karl, exhausted by his debauchery, clearly did not have much longer to live. The ‘Hochberg children’ were now the closest to the throne. Karl’s grandfather, Carl Friedrich, had married twice. His first wife Caroline Luise von Hessen Darmstadt, bore him three sons and died in 1783. In 1787 he married Luise Geyer von Geyersberg, whom the emperor made an imperial countess in 1796 with title of Countess Hochberg, thus granting Carl Friedrich’s insistent request. Since she was not of sufficiently noble birth the marriage was morganatic. The emperor agreed, however, that should the male line of the Zähringer die out her children should be allowed to succeed to the grand ducal throne. She also bore her husband three sons, the oldest of whom, Count Leopold von Hochberg, was born in 1790. Karl now realized that if the ‘Hochberg children’, the oldest of whom was 28, were still excluded from the succession the Zähringer line would end. That Carl Friedrich’s children with the Countess Hochberg should succeed to the throne was strongly opposed by the Bavarians for this would frustrate their aim of winning back the Palatinate on the right bank of the Rhine. Since the heir to the throne Ludwig was unlikely to produce an heir, a law of 4 October 1817 formally secured the succession through the Hochberg line. The three Hochberg sons were elevated to the rank of grand ducal princes and margraves. At the same time the statute insisted that the state of Baden was indivisible and that Bavarian claims to the Palatinate were therefore invalid. The Grand Duke Karl

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had been persuaded to make this move by his ministers Reitzenstein and Tettenborn who were concerned to preserve the territorial integrity of the state by avoiding a disputed succession and by frustrating the territorial ambitions of Austria and Bavaria. The Austrian and Bavarian governments were angered by this move. The Württemberg envoy was recalled. Berstett, who had succeeded the loathsome Hacke, and most of the grand duke’s ministers felt that he had gone too far and that the new law was needlessly provocative, but Reitzenstein and Tettenborn stiffened his will and persuaded him to accept a constitution which they hoped would unite the country. The constitution, drafted by the constitutional lawyer Friedrich Nebenius and championed by Reitzenstein, Tettenborn and a less enthusistic Berstett, was signed by the grand duke on 22 August 1818. It had the desired effect. The new constitution, the most progressive in Germany, was greeted with enthusiasm. Even towns like Freiburg and Mannheim, traditionally suspicious of Karlsruhe, were delighted. Only among the aristocracy, to whom liberty was a dangerous word and who resented the loss of their monopoly of power, were there murmerings of discontent. The constitution was thus in part designed to ensure the succession and Baden’s existing borders. By delegating part of his sovereign powers to the diet the grand duke won the people’s consent to the continuation of his dynasty and the unity of the state. On Karl’s death in 1818 his uncle Ludwig succeeded to the throne. He died on 30 March 1830 and the oldest of the ‘Hochberg children’, Leopold, ascended the throne. Ludwig was unpopular, autocratic, unimaginative and opposed to reform. Leopold, fearful that his claim to the throne might be challenged and mindful of the July revolution in France in 1830, posed as a champion of the people and restructured the cabinet.16 Reitzenstein’s comfortable existence as a professor at Heidelberg ended when he was recalled as principal minister, in spite of the fragile state of his health. Leopold’s new minister of the interior was Ludwig Georg Winter, a highly regarded bourgeois who enjoyed the support of the assembly. In July 1831 Baron Johann von Türckheim was appointed foreign minister. He was a reactionary and Winter’s opponent in the first assembly, but he was not a forceful personality and served the government loyally if not very effectively. The Austrian ambassador to Baden, Count von Buol, said of him: ‘He shows no energy, little tact and a great deal of nervousness and plays a thoroughly secondary role.’17 Much the same could be said of the grand duke, but the unpopularity of his predecessor and the dismissal of unpopular ministers was enough for the succession to pass smoothly and give him a certain popularity.

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The Kaspar Hauser affair played no role at all in the political life of Baden at the time for there were questions of far greater concern to be addressed, among them the attitude of the country towards the Prussian customs union (Zollverein) and the frontier dispute with Bavaria. Winter was the leading figure in the administration. He pursued a policy of compromise and economic growth which suited most deputies and silenced the minute opposition. Thus when Ludwig died in 1830 the grand duchy passed smoothly on to the Hochbergs under the terms of the ‘House and Family Statute’ of 1817. Luise von Hochberg did not live to witness her triumph. She died in 1820, but it was widely rumoured that she had used foul means to make her son’s succession possible. It was even suggested that Prince Ludwig of Baden was the father of her children and for this reason he had had no legitimate children of his own. It was widely believed that the Grand Duke Karl’s oldest son had been swapped and had reappeared as Kaspar Hauser, and that the second son had been poisoned. Both crimes were purported to have been committed by the Countess von Hochberg. That these rumours were widely believed was due in large part to the Countess von Hochberg’s unattractive character. Luise Geyer von Geyersberg was a ruthlessly ambitious young woman of 19 when she married the margrave who was 40 years older. His older son Karl Ludwig was 32, Prince Friedrich was 31. Prince Ludwig, her supposed lover, was 24. The old margrave’s daughter-in-law, Princess Amalie, was initially in favour of his morganatic marriage. She had paid for Fräulein von Geyer’s education and she became her lady-in-waiting. She therefore assumed that she would be subservient to her and present no threat to the succession as a bride of equal status might have done. Fräulein von Geyer soon made it quite clear that she had no intention of deferring to her erstwhile sponsor. The marriage took place on 24 November 1787 and that day the margrave’s sons signed a document granting his bride the title of Baroness von Hochberg and guaranteeing their right of succession. On 20 February 1796 the margrave and his wife signed a ‘Disposition’ in which he said that if the line of succession died out his sons by his second marriage should succeed. Five days later he wrote a declaration explaining that he had taken this step in order to preserve the inheritance. On 27 March 1802 the Disposition was confirmed. On 10 September 1806 an Act of Succession to this effect was signed by his two surviving sons and by his grandson Karl. 18 Napoleon had agreed to the Act of Succession, as had the German emperor, but that did not satisfy the Countess Hochberg because it had

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yet to be accepted by other German states. Since Bavaria was certain not to approve because of its claim to the Palatinate and Württemberg’s consent was highly unlikely, the document was of questionable value. The countess now cooked up the hare-brained scheme that the senile grand duke should abdicate and that the grand duchy should be divided up among the sons of both his marriages. The countess, whom Stephanie cruelly and understandably described as looking more like a grenadier than a lady, completely dominated her husband. In late 1808 she decided to take over control, get the state to pay off the grand duke’s debts, and change the law of succession in favour of her sons, the law to then be submitted to a plebiscite. Her schemes were soon discovered, and, since it was obvious that the grand duke was no longer fully in command of his faculties, important legislation had to be henceforth counter-signed by the hereditary Grand Duke Karl. Prince Ludwig continued with his intrigues until Napoleon lost patience and ordered him to be exiled. Baden’s principal minister, the reformer von Reitzenstein, managed to patch up the marriage between Karl and Stephanie, and Napoleon, who had marital problems of his own with his marriage to the Archduchess Marie Louise of Austria, professed to be satisfied. On 5 June 1811 Stephanie gave birth to her first child, a daughter Luise. Five days later the grand duke died. There seemed little likelihood that Count Leopold von Hochberg would ever succeed to the grandy duchy. His oldest step-brother, Carl Friedrich, had died in 1801 at the age of 50. He had a number of daughters, one of whom became Queen Caroline of Bavaria, to whom on 27 January 1832 Feuerbach sent his memorandum on Kaspar Hauser as the possible heir to the grand duchy. Carl Friedrich’s son, who was now the grand duke, was born in 1786 and his two younger brothers, Prince Friedrich and Prince Ludwig, Karl’s uncles, were still alive. Should Karl and Stephanie fail to produce a male heir then Karl’s uncles would be the next in succession. With the death of her husband the Countess Hochberg’s influence declined dramatically and her son’s prospects diminished still further. One of Karl’s first acts as grand duke was to send the Countess Hochberg away to a small isolated castle to signify that she no longer had any influence at court. The following year, on 29 September, the Grand Duchess Stephanie gave birth to a son who died on 16 October. This child is thought by some to be none other than Kaspar Hauser who reappeared 16 years later in Nuremberg. The birth of a succesor to the throne was greeted rapturously. Throughout Baden church services, festivals and parades were enthusiastically attended. The court theatre put on a free performance of Mozart’s

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Titus where the performance was constantly interrupted by the festive crowd. A play, The Flower Fairy, was specially written for the young prince, in which the fairy planted a rose bush in his honour. The music was written by the distinguished court composer Heinz Danzi. Mother and child were in the best of health. On 7 October the offical medical bulletin on their condition was stopped. Dr Weichmann, the obstetrician who had attended the grand duchess, returned home to Mainz. Suddenly, on 16 October a matinee performance of Molière’s The Miser with the Iffland, Germany’s greatest actor, in the title role, was interrupted with the news that the prince was mortally ill. The public was stunned. Their recent joy at his birth was soon to turn into profound grief. On 19 October 1812, three days after the prince’s death, the margravine Amalie wrote to her daughter, Caroline queen of Bavaria that the child had been perfectly happy until 10 p.m. on 15 October. He then began to cry, had a swollen stomach and convulsions of the head. Dr Kramer, the grand duchess’s personal physician, was called and Karl, not the most considerate of fathers, spent the night with the baby. The margravine saw the child again next morning at 11 when he seemed to be much better. When she returned at 2 p.m. she realized that he was in grave danger. At 4 p.m. Karl told her that the baby had a cerebral haemorrhage and was suffocating. The grandmother went immediately to the nursery and stayed until the child died at 8 p.m. Everyone present was devasted by the baby’s death, and none dared to tell the mother that she had lost her son. When she was eventually told she completely broke down and her misery knew no bounds. The margravine Amalie had just been to see the dead child and remarked how beautiful he looked. Four people present had fainted at the sight. The baby’s aunt, Queen Caroline of Bavaria, replied with the obvious question whether the mother had asked to see her child and inquired who the four people were who had been present when he died. The margravine replied that she had once asked to see the dead child, but that she did not insist when she was told that the child was no longer in his room. It is somewhat curious that Stephanie did not visit her child during this final illness and her reason for not seeing him after his death is equally strange. According to the testimony of two courtiers, the Marquis von Montperny and the lord chamberlain Baron von Gayling, von Gayling was asked to call the court preacher Walz to come and baptize the child who was clearly about to die. The child’s condition worsened significantly and as the preacher had not yet arrived the midwife, Frau Horst from

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Mannheim, baptized the baby in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit at about five in the afternoon. The child died three hours later. It is noticeable that the Grand Duchess Stephanie, a devout woman who paid meticulous attention to her religious duties was not present at the ceremony. Nor, according to the list of those present, was the Margravine Amalie, even though she had told her daughter that she had never left the baby’s side in the final hours of his short life. An autopsy was performed on 18 October by eight doctors, attended by several officials of the court. It was clear that the child had died from a massive cerebral haemmorhage. The brain was full of blood, the rest of the baby’s body was perfectly normal. There was no trace of poison so that the suspicions of the French envoy that the child had been poisoned at the instigation of the Countess Hochberg were clearly unfounded. The coffin was then taken in a funeral procession for some 90 kilometres through the country, the people paying their last respects to the infant hereditary prince. The procession ended at the palace at Pforzheim and the baby was buried in the palace chapel with full pomp and ceremony. Stephanie gave birth to a second son on 1 May 1816. It was a weak baby and died a year later on 8 May in much the same way as his brother. The parents were shattered at the loss of an heir, and Karl’s two childless brothers were now in the direct line of descent. There were renewed rumours that the child had been poisoned, and the common people delighted in lurid tales of murder in high places. The grand duke was convinced that his son had been poisoned by one of his servants who had then, troubled by a guilty conscience, committed suicide. His duchess, who compensated for her apparent lack of concern over her first male child by seldom leaving the child’s side during his illness, did not believe that this was possible, and was profoundly troubled by the loss of two sons. The Margrave Friedrich, Karl’s uncle and the next in line of succession, died shortly after the second baby heir. His death caused little stir since he was a man of the utmost insignificance. His marriage was childless. His brother Ludwig was unmarried, although he had fathered several bastards. A marriage befitting his rank could well produce an heir. He showed no signs of wishing to do so, and he clearly hoped to outlive his even more debauched nephew and rule himself. Ludwig had been a general in the Prussian army, and was fond of pouring scorn on the Baden officers who had served under the French. They countered these spiteful attacks by suggesting that Ludwig’s military career had been far from glorious. His Borrusophilia caused him to

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heartily dislike Stephanie as a leading representative of Napoleonic France. He was rumoured to be the Countess Hochberg’s lover and the father of some, if not all, of her sons. Ludwig had hoped to have some influence over his nephew and had sought to ally with Karl’s mother the Margravine Amalie to this effect. The attempt failed and Karl shook himself loose from his uncle’s influence but remained ever suspicious of his continual intrigues with disaffected courtiers who fed him with malicious gossip. Karl spent hours gazing out of the window watching his uncle’s house to see who came and went, while his ministers waited impatiently for him to attend to the affairs of state. Stephanie tolerated her husband’s increasingly neurotic behaviour without complaint and devoted herself to her children and two close female friends she had known since childhood. The Countess Hochberg and her children were ignored. The Margravine Amalie held her own small court, but it was cold and unfriendly. Baden might have had an admirable constitution but the grand ducal court at Karlsruhe was an appalling collection of flunkies, hangers-on and exhibitionists and was a virtual caricature of a small German court. The minister von Hacke was fat, incompetent and crude, but amused the grand duke with his infantile jokes. Karl’s condition grew steadily worse. He suffered from tightness in the chest and bouts of cramp. He was deeply depressed and unable to attend to the affairs of state. His doctors diagnosed a degeneration of the spinal cord. He was convinced that he had been poisoned as his son had been. He died 8 December 1818 at the age of 32 and his widow, his sister Elizabeth of Russia and his mother Amalie agreed that he had been poisoned and suspected that Ludwig and probably the Countess Hochberg were implicated in the murder. 19 Karl’s death once again raised the question of the frontier dispute between Bavaria and Baden, a complex issue which was to dominate southern German politics in the 1820s and 1830s. The area north and south of the river Neckar, around Mannheim and Heidelberg, and west of the Rhine became an integral part of Bavaria in 1777 when the great music patron the Elector Palatine Karl Theodor moved from Mannheim to Munich because the direct Bavarian line had died out. The Palatinate was separated geographically from the rest of the country and Bavaria’s hopes that the Palatinate would be joined to Bavaria when Napoleon began to redraw the map of Germany were frustrated. The larger part, to the west of the Rhine went to France, the remainder, which included Heidelberg and Mannheim, was given to Baden as compensation for territory that had been lost to France in the west. Baden did exceptionally

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well out of the deal – it received six times more territory than it lost. Nor was the loss of this territory a matter of grave concern to the Bavarian government, largely because they received ample territorial compensation under the terms of the treaties of Pressburg and Vienna, and the Bavarian elector was made a king. Bavaria received the margravate of Ansbach-Bayreuth and 20 imperial cities, including Nuremberg, and the prince-bishoprics of Würzburg, Bamberg, Regensburg, Passau and Eichstätt, along with all manner of sundry territories. When Bavaria joined the anti-French coalition in October 1813 it was guaranteed the restoration of all the territories it had possessed before the onset of hostilities, and was determined to get back the Palatinate. Bavaria was supported in this claim by Austria, in large part because in a secret clause of the Treaty of Ried of 1813 the Bavarians had agreed that the Tyrol and Vorarlberg, which Napoleon had given to Bavaria, should revert to Austria. At the Congress of Vienna neither the Prussians nor the Russians wished to see Bavaria strengthened to this extent and they were able to ensure that most of the Bavarian Palatinate remained in Baden. Bavaria was given that part of the Palatinate on the left bank of the Rhine which had been under French occupation, and in a secret clause in the protocol of 23 April 1815 it was agreed that if there were no direct male heir in Baden the remainder of the Palatinate which was under Baden’s control should revert to Bavaria. Although this treaty was never ratified, it did give the Bavarians reason to hope that one day they might once again be in possession of the entire Palatinate. The Bavarians were determined to pursue this policy, with slight modifications, when the Vienna Congress resumed its deliberations after the Hundred Days when Napoleon returned from exile. 20 They thus had every reason to hope that the direct male line of the Zähringer should die out. Baden was in no mind to abandon an area which had made it possible for the the Zähringer to become electors and grand dukes. The fact that the Baden ruling house had no direct male heirs was the major obstacle. The right to succession of the Hochbergs might have been asserted in the decrees of 1796 and 1806, in a law of October 1817 and in the Baden constitution of August 1818, but this had yet to be accepted by the German states and the European powers. In the Aachen Protocol of November 1818 the four powers – England, Russia, Austria and Prussia – finally confirmed the rights of the Hochbergs to the inheritance. The Baden envoy, Berstett, put on a superbly histrionic performance, tearfully explaining the validity of Baden’s claims and dramatically insisting how vital the Palatinate was for Baden’s continued existence.

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Karl’s physical and mental condition in the last few months of his reign were such that he could not attend to the pressing question of Bavaria and Austria’s territorial claims against Baden which were discussed at the Congress of Aachen. Berstett realized that the best hope for Baden was to win the support of the Tsar Alexander who was married to Princess Luise of Baden. At first Berstett received an icy reply that Austria and Bavaria’s claims were based on sacred treaties, but the tsar began to melt when Berstett tearfully pleaded that the Grand Duke Karl was on his deathbed and that he could not be allowed to die in the knowledge that his state was to be carved up. The minister put on such a moving performance that the tsar in desperation assured him that he would agree to the Hochberg succession, the new constitution and the indivisibility of the state of Baden. Berstett flung himself on his knees before the tsar, kissed his hand and swore his eternal gratitude. He then complacently informed Austria and Prussia of Alexander’s decision. The tsar travelled from Aachen to Karlsruhe where he was given an ecstatic welcome by the crowd who greeted him as Baden’s saviour. The Bavarians grudgingly accepted the modest compensation that was offered, but continued to protest against the Aachen treaty which was confirmed by the four powers in the Frankfurt territorial commisssion in July 1819. On Karl’s death Ludwig succeeded to the throne without difficulty, but he seemed unequal to the task. Although he had been first in line of succesion for many years he was unprepared for the office and found it difficult to come to terms with the fact that he was no longer in a subordinate position. The forceful margravine mother, the widowed Grand Duchess Stephanie, ministers and courtiers were now his subjects and dependent upon him. Karl, however, had been such a grossly incompetent ruler that most officials were favourably disposed to his uncle from whom they could reasonably expect a firmer leadership. On Karl’s death a number of rooms were opened which he had kept locked for years. In them were found piles of jewelry and cash valued at the immense sum of 300,000 thalers. The grand duke had been given to borrowing paltry sums at 16 per cent interest while this vast horde gathered dust. These rooms also contained important state documents, title deeds, unanswered requests, children’s toys, sealed letters, maps, paintings, clothes, fancy dress costumes and all manner of bric à brac. When one room was full to bursting Karl would lock it carefully and start filling another.21 Although the autopsy showed that he had died of dropsy and that there was not a trace of poison, nearest relatives remained convinced

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that he had been murdered and refused to accept Ludwig as a legitimate heir. Only his mother, although shattered by the death of her son at the age of 32, accepted Ludwig as a member of the family and showed him considerable kindness. Although an improvement on his seriously disturbed nephew, Ludwig was not a great success. He led a crude bachelor existence surrounded by his cronies, chief among them his favourite Hennenhofer, a man of spectacular ugliness and cynical wit, and an accomplished flatterer. He was the son of a boatsman, and had been an assistant in a bookshop and a sergeant in the army before he rose to become the most powerful man in the state, responsible not only for the grand duke’s private correspondence which he peppered with quotations from Tristram Shandy, but also for his debaucheries which made Karlsruhe rival Munich as the most dissipated town in Germany. In September 1812 when Hennendofer was only 19 he had been sent in the company of Ludwig von Haynau, the illegitimate and profligate son of the margrave of Hessen-Kassel, who was the grand duke’s chamberlain, to announce the birth of Stephanie’s son to Napoleon. Napoleon, however, was in Moscow. The messengers eventually were able to meet the French emperor in Vilna, his army having been decimated after the retreat from Moscow and the catastrophic crossing of the Beresina. By this time Haynau could only give the emperor the sad news that his adopted daughter’s baby boy had died. Hennenhofer also attended the grand duke during the Congress of Vienna and did him valuable service. In 1816 he was promoted to the rank of major. The Bavarian king Max Joseph was a placid character who did not think that it was wise to alienate the powers over the question of the Palatinate. His son and successor, Ludwig, was of a different cast of mind. He was deeply attached to the Palatinate and was determined that it should be returned to Bavaria. When he heard that his father had died in the night of 12 to 13 October 1825 he wrote in his diary: ‘My first thought is rebuilding – winning back the Palatinate (the Electoral Palatinate on the right bank of the Rhine).’22 This remained an obsession throughout his reign and, after he had been forced to abdicate because of his scandalous affair with the Irish courtesan Lola Montez, he proclaimed that winning back the Palatinate had been the ‘central theme’ of his reign. He was deeply attached to the Palatinate where he had spent much of his youth, and was given to writing cloyingly romantic poems in praise of its landscape. His sentiments were shared by his sister, Charlotte, who was married to the Austrian emperor whom she tried to win over to their side.

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When Ludwig ascended the throne of Bavaria in 1825 he was determined to pursue an active policy over the Palatinate and drew up plans for an invasion of Baden on the death of the grand duke, along the lines of Frederick the Great’s attack on Silesia in 1740 when Maria Theresea’s claim to the throne was also open to question. It seemed to be a propitious time. In December 1825 Tsar Alexander died. He was married to Princess Luise of Baden and had strongly supported Baden’s position over the Palatinate. The Austrians and Prussians had upheld Baden’s position but perhaps they could be persuaded to change their minds. France had little influence, Britain no interest in this obscure dispute, and thus Russia had been Baden’s principal backer. Grand Duke Ludwig saw the possible threat and sent Leopold, the oldest of the Hochbergs, to congratulate the new tsar. The Bavarian king countered by sending his confidant Prince Wrede to Russia. He was a distinguished soldier and an accomplished diplomat, and was generally considered to be of better pedigree than the Hochbergs. Tsar Nicholas was not unsympathetic, but had too many problems of his own, what with the Decembrists at home and the Turks abroad, to become involved in the complex territorial squabbles of minor states. He expressed his sympathy for Bavaria, but said that he had to respect international treaties. Wrede also came back empty handed from a visit to Berlin. Bernstorff, the Prussian king’s first minister, announced that he saw no reason why the powers should change their minds. The Bavarian ambassador in London, Baron von Cetto, approached Canning about the matter but merely received a note acknowledging receipt of his memorandum. Austria also showed no interest in supporting the Bavarian claims to the Palatinate and King Ludwig therefore tried another tack. To the west of the Palatinate was the small county of Sponheim, nestling between the rivers Rhine, Mosel and Nahe. The area’s chief claim to fame was that Johannes Trithemius, the abbot of the monastery of Sponheim between 1442 and 1516, wrote an influential four-volume work on witchcraft, Antipalus maleficiorum, which was both a diatribe against the evils of witchcraft and a handbook on how Christians could counter the devil’s work. The book was completed some 30 years after the better known Malleus maleficarum of Jakob Springer and Heinrich Institoris and is testimony to how belief in witches was deeply imbedded in contemporary Christian faith. 23 Under the terms of the Treaty of Bernheim in 1425 Sponheim was divided between the Wittelsbachers of Bavaria and the Zähringer of Baden. Should one family die out the other was to inherit the entire duchy. This independent imperial county was seized by the French, along with other territories west of the

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Rhine in 1796 and Baden renounced any future claim to the Bavarian portion of Sponheim. In 1799 the ruling family in Sponheim died out and the territory was claimed by the Bavarian Wittelsbachs. Baden was amply compensated for the loss of its Sponheim portion in the reorganization of the German states under the French in the Reichsdeputationshauptschluß of 1803, but Sponheim was not mentioned among the lands lost by Bavaria. Bavaria thus put forward a claim for compensation for the loss of Sponheim, and when the direct line of the Zähringer died out in 1830 it demanded substantial terriorial gains as a ‘surrogate’. Further complications were caused by the fact that many of the Sponheim deeds had been lost during the French occupation. It was thus unclear exactly where the frontiers lay or how large was the population. It was in any case a minute territory with not more than 30,000 inhabitants. In the course of complex diplomatic initiatives in Vienna, Saint Petersburg and Berlin it became clear that Bavaria’s claim to Sponheim was merely an excuse to open up the question of the Palatinate. If Baden were to lose the Palatinate when the grand duke Ludwig died it was unlikely that the German states would recognize the Hochberg succession. Other territorial claims were likely to follow, particularly from Austria, and the country would be partitioned. Prinz Gustav of Sweden’s claim to the grand duchy, which had some support in Bavaria, might well be successful. He was the son of a Baden princess and the last male in the older line of descent from Carl Friedrich through his first wife. That all this upheaval might be caused by a treaty that was 400 years old seemed to most statesmen absurd. Furthermore, none of the European states had any desire to see Baden disappear and Bavaria become a dominant power in southern Germany that might challenge Prussia and Austria. As a result of some vigorous diplomatic activity Baden was able to gain support in Paris and London. The Austrians were more sympathetic to the Bavarian position, but Metternich cautioned Count Otto von Bray, the Bavarian ambassador in Vienna, not to press the Bavarian case too vigorously as restraint would win more sympathy. Bray knew that Metternich’s advice was motivated by his concern not to become openly involved in this tendentious issue. After several proddings he managed to get the Austrian chancellor to issue a statement that the Sponheim affair was a legal issue which was not connected with the question of the Hochberg sucession. Bray imagined that he had scored a great success with this declaration, but it soon transpired that it was without substance. No further support was forthcoming from Austria. Bavaria therefore turned to Prussia which it hoped would take a firmer stand.

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The results of this initiative were equally disappointing. The Prussians were anxious that Baden should eventually join the Zollverein and felt that the Bavarians should abandon their claims in order to facilitate a customs union with Baden.24 The Bavarian king was determined to get hold of Carl Friedrich’s marriage contract with the Countess Hochberg in order to prove that their offspring had no legal claims to the throne. To this end he authorized the payment, via a disgruntled civil servant in Baden by the name of Vohwinkel, of an astronomic bribe to some ill-paid archivists in order to steal the original. The civil servants who were approached in this matter dutifully reported this dastardly scheme to the grand duke who promptly ordered Vohwinkel’s arrest. The Baden government did not wish to make too much political capital out of this incident for fear of starting an open discussion of Carl Friedrich’s misalliance. Vohwinkel’s trial dragged on for 18 months and he was given a ten-year prison sentence. Due to pressure from Bavaria he was soon pardoned and spent the rest of his life in Bavaria with a state pension.

10 Who Was Kaspar Hauser?

If Kaspar Hauser was indeed the crown prince of Baden, who then lay buried in the coffin at Pforzheim whose silver gilt plaque read: ‘The Hereditary Prince of Baden, son of his Royal Highness the Grand Duke Karl, born on 29 September and died, after an emergency baptism, on 16 October 1812’? Those who believe that the young crown prince was exchanged in his cradle for a mortally ill child are also convinced that the baby’s name was Ernst Jakob Blochmann. The father, Christoph Blochmann, worked in a factory belonging to the Countess Hochberg. He was given a promotion and a better apartment at the time of the hereditary prince’s birth. He died at the age of 69, in 1847, with a pension from the grand ducal court. His first wife, who died in 1815 at the age of 34, gave birth to a baby boy on 26 September 1812. In the Protestant registry of deaths in Karlsruhe there is an entry recording the death of one Kaspar Ernst Blochmann, son of Christoph Blochmann, an employee of the Baden court. Kaspar Ernst was said to have died in a military hospital in Munich and had been a soldier in the Royal Greek Army Corps. King Ludwig of Bavaria’s second son, Otto, became king of Greece in 1832, and Bavaria was thus closely involved in Greek affairs. The death is also recorded in the Protestant parish in Munich. But here the name is simply Ernst Bl., soldier in the 4th Grenadier Company of the Royal Greek Army Corps, born in Karlsruhe, died of gangrene of the abdomen, aged 21. His grave is registered under the name Ernst Blokmann. According to Fritz Klee, who first suggested this theory, by 1833 Ernst Blochmann would have been eligible for military service and the authorities might well have started asking awkward questions.1 The Royal Greek Army Corps, for which many outside Bavaria had volunteered, 156

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offered an excellent opportunity for the conspirators to solve the problem. A few modest bribes were enough to settle the matter. The only mistake they made was to use the Christian name Kaspar in the Karlsruhe registry, so that Ernst’s death was not recorded. Klee also failed to find any mention of a Blochmann in the Bavarian army list or in any lists of those in Bavarian government service at home or abroad. As Prince Adalbert of Bavaria wrote in 1951, the theory that the babies were swapped a few hours before the substituted baby died is an extremely daring thesis. How could one find a baby the same age and of similar appearance? How would it be possible to poison a child to make it look like a cerebral haemorrhage and to get the timing exactly right. Even if all those present had been bribed there was the grandmother who was watching carefully over her precious grandchild?2 The proponents of the crown prince theory are not perturbed by such objections. According to them baby Blochmann was already mortally ill and the parents therefore readily agreed to exchange him for a relatively healthy child. Another theory was postulated by Anselm von Feuerbach, a grandson of the famous jurist and a medical doctor. He claimed that the description given in autopsy was consistent with the Blochmann child having been held upside down by the ankles and having been given a sharp blow across the back of the neck with the side of the hand – in much the same manner in which one kills a rabbit. The crown prince fell ill at 10 p.m. on 15 October and was the object of general attention, even from the normally indifferent father. By 11 the next morning the situation had improved. The wet nurse, Josefa Schindler, returned to the town to feed her own baby. The grand duke went to rest after a sleepless night. The conspirators took this opportunity to swap the babies. When the grandmother returned at 2 p.m. and noticed that the child was in danger, it was now the Blochmann child, the face distorted so that it was no longer clearly identifiable. When Josefa returned to the palace she was told that the prince was seriously ill and she was denied access to him. She insisted that a sick child should be fed, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. She then asked to see the grand duchess but was told that she was also unwell and could not receive any visitors. She was not even allowed to see the dead child to whom she was obviously attached. The crown prince, according to this theory, was brought up with the other Blochmann children until 1815 when Frau Blochmann died and awkward questions might be asked. It thus became imperative to remove him to a safer spot. Accordingly Kaspar was taken by Anna Dalbonne, who had been an attendant to Stephanie at the court of Karlsruhe, to Schloß Beuggen, a castle some 15 kilometres from Basle.

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Anna Dalbonne was born in Trieste, and had borne the child of a French major who was said to have died in the Russian campaign of 1812. The move was organized by the sinister Hennenhofer who, it is claimed, arranged the exchange of babies and possibly murdered the Blochmann child. There is not a shred of evidence for this beyond the fact that Hennenhofer was known to be capable of anything, and that Anna Dalbonne was a lady with a past. Beuggen castle had been given to the Countess Hochberg by the grand duke as part of her marriage portion. It had been used as a hospital during a typhus epidemic and was thus avoided by the locals. It was now occupied by the parish priest, his predecessor having died of typhus. The priest’s subsequent successful career is taken by the Hauserians as clear evidence that he knew that the hereditary prince was living under his roof. Karl Eschenbach, who was born in 1784, remained in Beuggen until 1826 when he was appointed a councillor for Catholic affairs. In 1851 he was ennobled and ten years later was made a commander of the lion order, the highest award in Baden. It has even been suggested that Eschenbach, who had been an assistant for classical languages at the university of Freiburg before he went to Beuggen, was the author of the message in the bottle. He had skillfully written the message in bad Latin and in the first person singular so as to disguise the identity of the author.3 The evidence that Kaspar had lived at Schloß Beuggen is somewhat meagre. Rumours persisted in the region that a young prince had been kept captive there, attended by a foreign lady. The coat of arms above the main door, and elsewhere in the castle, bear a vague resemblance to the coat of arms of which Kaspar dreamt and of which he made a hasty sketch. The fact that Kaspar recognized the word motschär is explained by suggesting that he mistook the word for ‘mon cher’, as Anna Dalbonne might have addressed him. He also recognized corn on the cob, a particular speciality of the region. A mysterious letter in the bottle referred to an underground cellar, on the Rhine near Laufenburg. This also points to Beuggen. There were also rumours that locals heard a child crying in a cottage in the garden. Were this the case then Kaspar was not imprisoned in carcare but in more salubrious surroundings. On 6 November 1816 the Parisian newspaper Le Moniteur Universel published an unusual text. On 22 October, at about 4 p.m., a ferryman at Gross-Kemps (Gran-Kemps) on the upper Rhine found a message in a bottle. The message was written in Latin. The ferryman, Max Keller, thought that it was probably a prescription since it was placed in a medicine bottle. He was unable to read and therefore took it to Louis Heitz, a retired captain from the Salm-Salm Regiment, who also had difficulty

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in reading the message. He in turn took it to a local landowner and retired magistrate, one Monsieur Roussel, who was on his way to Colmar and decided to take the letter with him. He gave it to a local newspaper, L’ami du bon sens, but asked them not to publish the name with which it was signed. The young editor of the newspaper had deciphered the name as ‘Hoeres Francioe’, but Roussel did not agree with this reading. The prefecture in Colmar sent the message to the police ministry in Paris who permitted the text to be published, with a French translation, in Le Moniteur Universel on 5 November 1816. It read: Cuicumque qui hanc epistolam inveniet: Sum captivus in carcere, apud Lauffenburg, juxta Rheni flumen: meum carcer est subterraneum, nec novit locum ille qui nunc folio meo potitus est. Non plus possum scibere, quia sedulo et crudeliter custoditus sum. S. HANES SPRANCIO Whoever finds this letter: I am captive in a prison, near Lauffenburg, on the Rhine. My prison is below ground, and the place is unknown to whomever is now reading my letter. I cannot write more, because I am carefully and cruelly watched. S. HANES SPRANCIO The translation made little sense. Obviously the person who read the letter would not know where the writer was imprisoned. It was soon suggested that the translator had mistaken the ‘s’ written in the old style German writing for an ‘f’. If that were the case ‘folio’ would read ‘solio’ and the meaning would change to ‘the place is unknown to whomever is sitting on my throne’. This again is a very far-fetched argument, since the letter ‘s’ appears no less than 17 times in the letter, although some are capitals which are written quite differently. In the hand-written copy of the message made in the Préfecture of the Upper Rhine it clearly appears as ‘Solio’. That it was a printer’s error seems equally unlikely. In 1926 the then police director in Nuremberg began to puzzle about the curious name. A young school teacher and a doctor puzzled over the problem and suggested that the name S. HANES SPRANCIO was an anagram for ‘Sein Sohn Caspar’ (his son Kaspar). 4 Although the letter in the bottle was printed in the Berlin newspaper Vossische Zeitung on 16 November 1816, 11 days after it first appeared in Paris, with ‘folio’ corrected to ‘solio’, it aroused little attention. It was not

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until 19 February 1834 that the story was revived in a Hamburg newspaper. The Berlin article had been discovered by a Herr Cuno in 1831 while he had been flipping through back numbers of the newspaper. He had told the newspaper about the article, and had also sent it to Feuerbach in Ansbach with the suggestion that it might have something to do with the Kaspar Hauser case. Von Stichaner ordered an investigation to see whether Feuerbach had followed up the case. The Ansbach court concluded that there was no reason for any further investigation of the story. Classicists who saw the note shook their heads at the many grammatical errors. Carcer is masculine, Rehni flumen should be Rhenum flumen. Verbs are often in the wrong tenses. Those who were fascinated by the name returned to the copy made in the Préfecture in Colmar by Monsieur Dietrich. Here the name appears as HARES SPRAUIA or HARES SPRANIA, since his writing does not distinguish between a ‘u’ and an ‘n’. If the copyist had made a mistake transcribing a ‘c’ for an ‘i’ then the name could be HARES SPRAUCA, which is an anagram of Caspar Hauser. Proponents of the hereditary prince theory argue that it must have been at about this time that Kaspar Hauser was given a name. But why these two? The baby prince had been baptized but had not been given a name, but it was well known that Stephanie wished to call her child Gaspard after Gaspard Lezay-Marnesier, her uncle on her mother’s side. Kaspar was also a popular name in the region around Beuggen. None of these ingenious folk point out that Kasperl is also the name for a clown, fool or Mr Punch. With the name Hauser they have even greater problems. The common suggestion is that it indicated someone who was locked up in a house. But in German the word Hauser means a male housekeeper or janitor. 5 Assuming that the letter in the bottle was not just a schoolboy prank, probably planted near the dock, which would seem the most likely explanation, given the extraordinary juggling acts that have to be performed to make it fit the Kaspar Hauser case, why was the letter sent? Obviously it could not have been sent by Kaspar Hauser himself. Adherents of the prince of Baden theory suggest that it might have been sent as a hint or a warning, part of a blackmail attempt by a person or persons cognizant of the kidnapping. If that were the case then Kaspar had now to be moved to an even more remote spot. There was a further reason to want to move him in 1816. That year another hereditary prince, Alexander, was born, and perhaps the conspirators were already planning his murder, and therefore could not run the risk of his older brother being discovered. For some reason they were apparently still reluctant to have him murdered.

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According to the proponents of the crown prince theory he was now taken to Schloß Pilsach, some 450 kilometres distant from Schloß Beuggen and about 40 kilometres from Nuremberg. Anna Dalbonne was left behind and the journey was once again organized by the ubiquitous Hennenhofer. In 1808 the castle was enfeoffed to Baron Griesenbeck, an officer in the Bavarian army. At the time that Kaspar Hauser was supposed to have been moved to Pilsach, Griesenbeck was a company commander in Passau. He visited the property once a year in August to discuss affairs with his agent who lived in a hunter’s lodge near the castle. The evidence for this theory is also meagre. The locals say ‘woiß nit’ for ‘I donno’ just as Kaspar did when he arrived in Nuremberg in 1828. Pilsach was described as being ‘on the Bavarian frontier’ since until 1806 the frontier between the free city of Nuremberg and Bavaria ran near Pilsach. The shirt which Kaspar Hauser was wearing when he arrived in Nuremberg was embroidered with the letter ‘G’ which is assumed to indicate that it had belonged to Griesenbeck. The major, whose career had been unspectacular, suddenly was shown great favour by the king. He was appointed a court chamberlain (Kämmerer) in 1817, King Ludwig I became his son’s godfather, and in 1821 he was posted to the King’s Life Guards in Munich, became the head of the Bavarian Cadet Corps and promoted to the rank of Major General. He retired in 1848. In 1924 a writer by the name of Klara Hofer (her real name was Höffner) bought the property and in the course of renovation discovered a cellar which had been filled in in 1864 and which approximated to that described by Kaspar Hauser. It was larger than he said, the windows were different, the roof was not vaulted, but among the rubble was found a wooden horse. Attempts to explain the discrepancies between Kaspar’s description of his cell and the Pilsach cellar stretch the imagination beyond the limits which most would find acceptable. That Kaspar Hauser painted a picture of a plant that was somewhat similar in shape to the iron grille in the window of the cellar is hardly convincing evidence, especially as he made no mention of the grille in his detailed description of the cellar where he had been kept prisoner for so many years. The only reason the Hauserianer can find why it was decided to set Kaspar Hauser free in 1828 is that in February of that year the wife of the castle’s caretaker, Franz Richter, died. It was felt too risky to employ anyone in her stead and it was therefore decided to release the prisoner. That the Grand Duke Ludwig had a stroke in 1827 is an even less convincing explanation for his release.

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In 1828 Baron Griesenbeck took the unusual step of applying to go on leave at Whitsun, not in August as was his habit. It was at Whitsun in 1828 that Kaspar was taken to Nuremberg. The castle was isolated, virtually uninhabited, and Baron Griesenbeck had patrimonial legal rights over the property and could punish thieves, poachers and the like in his own court and imprison them in the castle. Thus he could keep a prisoner on bread and water without too many questions being asked. Major von Wessenig had been stationed previously in Neumarkt, the nearest town to the castle, and it may be for this reason that the Kaspar’s letter was addressed to him.6 The seal on the letter bore the initials JFR. Franz Richter’s father’s name was Johann Ferdinand Richter. It has therefore been concluded that he was the author of the letter of introduction that Kaspar Hauser held in his hand when he appeared in the Unschlittplatz in Nuremberg. Further leads in the case came in January 1834 when the Ansbach court received an anonymous letter claiming that Kaspar Hauser was a prince of Baden and that the Baden minister Hacke and General von Tettenborn in Vienna could provide further details. The court suggested that, although the author of the letter was unknown, both men should be required to make statements. Von Schrenk replied on behalf of the Baden ministry of justice that since General von Tettenborn was the Baden envoy in Vienna he enjoyed extra-territoriality and could thus not be required to make a statement before an Austrian court. Von Hacke, however, was cross-examined on 16 February 1834, but refused to answer any questions, and would not even give his name, on the grounds that the denunciation was anonymous. He added that he had no intention of answering any questions about the Kaspar Hauser affair in future. The Ansbach court insisted that he should appear in court again, but von Hacke died of pneumonia on 3 April. Among his papers was found a declaration to the effect that he knew nothing of the whole affair, found it tedious, and had seldom bothered to read any of the newspaper articles concerning it.7 The speculations about who murdered Kaspar Hauser and for what motive are as wild as those about his origins. According to Edmond Babst, the French envoy in Karlsruhe, Count de Nicolay, had a lengthy discussion with the Grand Duke Karl on 1 April 1812 in which the latter pressed for the recognition of the Hochberg children. On 16 October, the day of the prince’s death, Nicolay wrote to the French foreign minister, the Duke of Bassano, saying that he immediately demanded that an autopsy be performed. The implication is that he suspected foul play which would have benefited the Hochbergs and frustrated Napoleon’s dynastic policies.8

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It is suggested, on the most slender of evidence, that Kaspar Hauser was moved to Pilsach in Bavaria in 1816 and thus became a pawn in the hands of the Bavarians. Ludwig I, who ascended the throne in 1825, was without question determined to win back the Palatinate where he had spent his youth and to which he was profoundly attached, but he was unable to do so either diplomatically or militarily. Although there is not the slightest evidence to suggest that he, or any of his ministers, supposed that Kaspar Hauser was the legitimate grand duke of Baden, it is now suggested that the Bavarian government decided to send him to Nuremberg in order to have a means of blackmailing the Hochbergs and winning territorial concessions from them.9 That Ludwig I suggested to Baron von Giese that it might be possible to exploit the murder of Kaspar Hauser in order to gain some advantage in the Sponheim affair is no proof that he was behind Kaspar Hauser’s move to Nuremberg. The Bavarian government could not possibly use the murder of Kaspar Hauser to their advantage. They would have to prove that Kaspar Hauser was indeed the legitimate grand duke, in which case their claim to Sponheim, which depended on the male Zähringer line dying out, would be valid, but suspicions that they were behind the murder would be aroused. Since the Zähringer line had already officially died out this would have been an exercise in futility.10 King Ludwig’s principal opponent in Baden was the mysterious and unattractive Major Hennenhofer who, in the year that Kaspar Hauser arrived in Nuremberg, was appointed director of the diplomatic section of the Baden foreign office. Based on Kaspar Hauser’s testimony that the man who assaulted him on 17 October 1829 was unusually dark, it is claimed that this was none other than Hennenhofer – whose complexion was exceptionally swarthy. 11 Since the Bavarians were allowing rumours to circulate that the Nuremberg foundling was the legitimate heir to the grand duchy it was decided that he had to be removed. There was, after all, the unpleasant possibility that this wretched boy might cause the Grand Duke Ludwig to lose his throne. It is suggested that Kaspar Hauser’s visit to Gotha in 1832 to meet Dorothea Königsheim, in yet another futile attempt to solve the mystery of his origins, gave his pursuers cause for alarm. Since there was no death certificate made out for her son the military authorities drafted him for military service. Since she believed that Kaspar Hauser might be her long-lost child the military authorities began to ask a number of pointed questions which his kidnappers felt might have dangerous consequences. They began to fear, according to this theory, that Ernst Jakob Blochmann, the baby that was exchanged for the hereditary

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prince of Baden, would also be drafted for military service since there was no death certificate made out in his name. The conspirators therefore made their way to Munich to forge the documents, in their haste registering his name as Kaspar, and then recording this information in Karlsruhe. A student who was sitting by the roadside near the Ansbach post house waiting for a change of horses on the afternoon of 14 December 1833 noticed a man walking hastily down the road. When he noticed the young man his expression altered and he immediately changed direction. The student felt that he recognized the stranger, but could not remember who it was. The student was Baron Carl von Varnbühler von und zu Hemmingen. When he read about the murder and began to think about the suspicious behaviour of the stranger he thought that he recognized him as Major Hennenhofer whom he had met briefly at the court in Karlsruhe. It should be added that this story was recounted to Count Eulenburg by von Varnbühler’s son and he repeated it in his memoirs published in 1934. 12 A story at third hand of a man who was not recognized at first, who was widely believed to be a murderer, who was mobbed in 1848, and whose grave in Freiburg was constantly smeared with the word ‘murderer’, is hardly a convincing piece of evidence. 13 It is also curious that Varnbühler did not see fit to tell his tale to the police. The theory that Kaspar Hauser was the legitimate grand duke of Baden found support in radical circles keen to discredit the ruling houses of Germany. The affair happened at a time when there was a mounting tide of radicalism, nationalism and liberalism. German nationalists embraced the notion of the citizen (Staatsbürger) which was current in Europe in the late eighteenth century, and which was central to the political discourse of the French Revolution. It implied a nation state in which crass differences of region and estate were abolished, in which fundamental rights were guaranteed, and whose members had a say in the affairs of state through the franchise. German nationalism was thus essentially liberal and democratic, although there was a powerful admixture of heady romantic notions of the state as an organism and a natural community which often took the form of an extravagant enthusiasm for a mythologized Christian and German past and not infrequently was outspokenly xenophobic. The educated and propertied bourgeoisie espoused these ideas for they were powerful weapons to use against the hide-bound and backward little states of the German Federation which maintained outmoded privileges, stood in the way of economic progress, and were determined to extirpate the dangerous ideas of 1789. Radical nationalism was

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strongest in the south-west where the influence of the French Revolution was greatest and where there was close contact with émigré groups in Switzerland and Alsace. The greater the repression by a federation dominated by Metternich the stronger was the appeal of radical republicanism. In the years immediately after the Congress of Vienna the two most important nationalist movements were the gymnastic association of the Turnvater Friedrich Ludwig Jahn and the student fraternities (Burschenschaften) founded in Jena in 1815.14 Jahn was given to outbursts of excessive nationalism and to a crude hatred of everything foreign. The student groups were a very mixed bag of varying shades of conservatism and radicalism, united in their desire for national unification and, unlike Jahn, opposed to the idea that Prussia should play a leading role in this process. Both the gymnasts and the student fraternities adopted the black, red and gold flag of Major Adolf Ludwig von Lützow’s Free Corps, in which some of the students had served, as the national colours of a united Germany. Henceforth it was the flag of German liberalism. The first great nationalist demonstration was held by students from all over Germany at the Wartburg in 1817, ostensibly to celebrate the third centenary of the Reformation and the fifth anniversary of the battle of Leipzig. In the course of the celebrations some outspoken attacks were made on the German Federation and some rousing nationalist speeches were made. Karl August of Saxony-Weimar, who had permitted the meeting, and whose state was the only one to introduce a constitution as was required by article 13 of the Federal Act of Vienna, came under attack from Austria and Prussia for encouraging Jacobinism. The student fraternities were banned in Prussia and the gymnasts placed under close supervision, but it was not until 1819 when a hot-headed theology student, Karl Ludwig Sand, murdered August von Kotzebue, a minor playwright who had mocked the student movement, had written reports on German affairs for the tsar and whose books had been ceremoniously burned at the Wartburg, that the persecution of ‘demagogues’ began in earnest. The Karlsbad Decrees of 1819, resulting from a secret meeting of the major German states, were a constitutionally inadmissible attempt to put a stop to radical nationalism and republicanism and marked the beginning of a period of increased repression throughout the German Federation.15 Given the loose structure of the federation and widely different political cultures among its members they were applied with varying degrees of rigour in the different states. Metternich’s conservatism was complex, pragmatic and often surprisingly tolerant. The Austrian

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chancellor was no purblind reactionary. Contrary to many contemporary conservatives he believed that existing constitutions should be upheld, and for this reason at federal meetings in Vienna in 1819 and 1820 he stopped Baden’s attempts to overthrow its constitution. Leopold became grand duke of Baden in the spring of 1830 and in the following year he dismissed the conservative, pro-Austrian ministry of Wilhelm von Berstett and appointed a moderately liberal cabinet in its place. Free elections were held that year which returned a substantial liberal majority to the lower house of parliament. A new press law sponsored by Karl Theodor Welcker was passed which lifted the censorship on the discussion of domestic politics. This legislation caused a sensation throughout Germany and made Baden the freest of the German states. Welcker’s attempt to guarantee freedom of the press throughout Germany by a petition to the federal parliament (Bundestag) failed, but liberals looked towards Baden for leadership. In May 1832 representatives from the Palatinate, Hessen-Darmstadt, Electoral Hessen and Frankfurt joined with their Baden allies to celebrate freedom of the press in Baden. In spite of vigilant police supervision the fraternities continued their subversive work. Since 1827 the radical student group the Germanen was gaining ground on the moderate Arminen. At the Burschenschaft meeting in Frankfurt in 1831 they secured a majority for their programme which called for ‘The preparation and implementation of a free and just society based on national unity by means of moral, scientific and physical training in the universities.’ It was further agreed that ‘in the event of an uprising every Burschenschaftler is, under certain circumstances, obliged to seek unity by violence and to take part in the national revolution which is striving for this end’. Those who took part in the Hambach Festival in May 1832 called for the unification of the free German states and a federal and republican Europe. 16 The meeting, which was attended by from 20,000 to 30,000 people, was organized by the recently formed Patriotic Association in Support of the Free Press (Vaterlandsverein zur Unterstutzung der freien Presse) and was an impressive demonstration in favour of national unity based on democratic principles. Metternich was highly alarmed and prompted the king of Bavaria to declare a state of emergency. Troops under the command of an elderly field-marshal rounded up some radicals and dug up the trees of liberty which they had provocatively planted. In the summer of 1832 federal decrees imposed further restrictions on free speech and the budgetary rights of the states. A special commission was established to make sure that these decrees were respected.

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In January 1833 violence broke out in Jena, the centre of the Burschenschaft movement, and the army had to be called in to separate the Germanen and the Arminen. Thereupon all student organizations of a political nature were forbidden and the Germanen and Arminen were forced to disband. In the evening of 3 April 1833 a group of students, peasants and outside agitators stormed the main police station in Frankfurt am Main. The army was called in and the insurgents were soon subdued. The Federal Diet established a special investigating commission based in Mainz to uncover what they believed to be a national conspiracy. 17 Over one thousand suspects were arrested and many were given harsh sentences. Some were condemned to death, although the reasons were never given. Frederick William III of Prussia spared their lives but many of the sentences were converted into 30 years of prison for having worn the national colours and for having once dreamt of a united Germany. In his autobiography Bismarck mentions the Kaspar Hauser affair in the context of the ‘revolutionary’ Hambach festival, rapid territorial expansion under the Confederation of the Rhine, Karl’s marriage to a Beauharnais, and the questionable private behaviour of the last of the Zähringer as reasons for Baden’s difficulties. 18 The Kaspar Hauser affair was indeed a major political problem – whatever the foundling’s true identity. Among the many writers and intellectuals who left Germany at this time was Joseph Heinrich Garnier who with heavy irony described himself as the ‘Ravaillac of Rastatt’, after Henri IV’s assassin. The humourless Treitschke, who took his nickname with deadly seriousness, described him as a ‘good-for-nothing demagogue’ and felt that his pamphlet on Kaspar Hauser was typical of the ‘ultramontane and radical’ efforts to discredit the ruling houses of Germany. 19 Garnier, who was born in 1800, like so many other radicals, studied theology before going to Paris as a language instructor and journalist. He had given an after-dinner speech at the Hambach festival. Shortly afterwards he returned to Germany and was arrested in 1833, but the charges against him as a revolutionary propagandist were dropped. His pamphlet on Kaspar Hauser, in which he argued that he was the heir to the grand duchy of Baden and that he had been murdered by Major Hennenhofer was banned by the authorities in Baden, but was published throughout Germany and enjoyed considerable popular success. 20 The Baden government offered Garnier’s publisher, Schuler, a considerable sum of money to stop the further publication of the pamphlet, but this was refused for the publisher hoped that the more the authorities

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wanted to stop the publication of the pamphlet the better it was likely to sell. Garnier wrote nothing more on the case. Garnier’s interest in writing about the Kaspar Hauser case was awoken in Strasbourg where he had met one Dr Singer in an inn. The latter had fallen foul of the law over a piece he had published on Major Hennenhofer and Councillor (Geheime Rat) Engesser. Engesser had been a parish priest who had won the confidence of the Grand Duke Ludwig and although Ludwig was a Protestant he had given Engesser a cabinet appointment and showered great wealth upon him. Garnier told him his theory about the foundling and Singer, who listened to the story with great interest, suggested that he might publish the story in The Lower Rhine Courier (Niederrheinishen Kurier). Garnier wrote the story, but it was too long for publication in the newspaper. He therefore decided to publish it as a pamphlet. Garnier’s lunch-time conversation with Singer in the Gasthaus zum Rebstock was overheard by an informant of the Baden government. Singer had been warned by a friend not to cross the Rhine into Baden for he would be arrested for conspiring to overthrow the grand duke. Garnier prudently removed himself to London where he edited the journal German Life, Art and Poetry (Deutsches Leben, Kunst und Poesie), to which Heinrich Heine and Ludwig Börne contributed, and which the Baden government tried to have banned throughout the German Confederation. In the second edition of this journal Garnier published a further article on the Kaspar Hauser affair. His publisher refused to print it as a separate pamphlet on the grounds that no one was interested any longer in the work of the ‘Young Germany’ movement. Ferdinand Sailer, a somewhat dubious character who was employed by an apothecary in Kippenheim in Baden, knew Garnier and was sent copies of his pamphlet on Kaspar Hauser to distribute. Major Hennenhofer was informed of this by the post office in Kippenheim and told Sailer that if he cooperated in tracking down the source of this pamphlet he would avoid prosecution for possessing seditious literature. Sailer decided it would be prudent to leave Baden and therefore told Hennenhofer that he would go to Strasbourg to find out exactly what was going on. Once in Strasbourg he contacted Garnier who cautioned him not to go back to Baden. Garnier then left for Paris and Sailer wrote to Hennenhofer telling him that he was convinced that Garnier’s pamphlet contained the truth and that he could not accept the major’s objections. Sailer’s employer, the apothecary Dung, wrote to him begging him to return and promising him that nothing would happen to him. When

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Sailer refused this offer Hennenhofer wrote a number of letters to him promising him that no action would be taken against him and that he was even prepared to support him. Advised by his friends in Strasbourg not to break with Hennenhofer, Sailer remained in contact. When Garnier’s second Kaspar Hauser pamphlet was published Sailer undertook to buy all the copies destined for Germany. Shortly afterwards he was arrested by the French police and deported to Baden. After a while, presumably because of Hennenhofer’s influence, he was set free whereupon he returned to Strasbourg. Sailer returned to Germany when Hennenhofer guaranteed that nothing would happen to him. He was immediately arrested and the police paid no attention to the papers which Hennenhofer had sent him. He managed to escape while being taken to Hohen-Asperg and made his way to Switzerland. He settled in Zurich were he continued to act as Hennenhofer’s agent, although he claimed that he passed on false information in order to protect his radical émigré friends. Sailer’s correspondence with Hennenhofer came to light during the trial of another agent, Zacharias Aldinger, alias Baron von Eyb, who was accused of murdering a radical Prussian student near Zurich. Sailer had placed the letters in safe keeping, but a false friend told the police where they were hidden. They contained nothing that incriminated Sailer who was not involved in the murder, and had only been questioned as part of a routine investigation of all German radicals resident in Zurich. Sailer and Hennenhofer’s involvement in the Kaspar Hauser affair and their efforts to stop the distribution of Garnier’s pamphlet attacking the ruling house of Baden were published by Dr Joseph Schauberg, a German émigré who successfully defended Aldinger who was acquitted for lack of evidence. 21 The connection between Hennenhofer and Sailer – two very dubious characters – has led some imaginative detectives to suggest that Hennenhofer employed Sailer to murder Kaspar Hauser. 22 Hennenhofer was living in retirement but was a confidant of the Grand Duke Ludwig and was married to the sister of the grand duke’s mistress, an actress who had been given the title of Countess Langenstein. The questionable talents of a jailbird by the name of Johann Jakob Friedrich Müller, who was in the employ of the countess, greatly impressed Hennenhofer who promoted his career in the service of the Baden government. Although he earned a handsome salary he ran up excessive debts and this, it has been suggested, enabled Hennenhofer to bribe him to assist Sailer in Kaspar Hauser’s murder. That there was a certain resemblance between Kaspar Hauser’s description of his murderer and Müller is taken as sufficient

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evidence that they were identical. It has also been suggested that the initials M.L.Ö on the note handed to Kaspar Hauser by the murderer stand for Müller: the ‘ö’ being pronounced as ‘err’.23 In addition to Sailer and Müller, Hennenhofer employed Friedrich Horn, the valet of Count Karl von Spaur, a diplomat in the Baden service. The trio lodged in the Ansbach inn Drechselgarten, named after Count Karl Josef von Drechsel, and which Horn’s wife, Regine Beyerlein, had brought as her dowry. Horn sold the inn to his brother-in-law in 1832. Sailer’s task was to establish contact with Kaspar Hauser, Horn’s to lure him into the palace gardens, and Müller’s was to kill him. It has been suggested that it was Müller whom Baron Carl von Varnbühler saw walking down the road near the inn Zur Windmühle. He mistook him for Hennenhofer because both were of similar height and had swarthy complexions. Hennenhofer was at home in Mahlberg at the time of the murder and spent the evening drinking with some acquaintances in his local Zur Sonne. The Baden government took similar action against a booklet about Kaspar Hauser by the socialist writer Sebastian Seiler.24 The Baden envoy in Zurich, Baron von Rüdt, was shown a copy of the pamphlet and immediately informed his government. There followed a flood of complaints from Karlsruhe and an official was sent to buy the entire stock of pamphlets. He managed to get Seiler expelled from the Canton Aargau and stopped him publishing anything in his defence in the local newspaper – the Aargauer Volksboten. The pamphlet was partially copied from Garnier’s work and contained some daringly original theories. Seiler argued that Kaspar Hauser had been murdered by Hennenhofer, that Stanhope had been involved in the plot and that Merker had been used to put the authorities onto a false scent. The most remarkable of Kaspar Hauser’s radical supporters was Georg Friedrich Kolb. He became editor of a prominent liberal newspaper, the Speyerer Zeitung, on the death of his father in 1827 who was the founder of the paper. Although Kolb was only 19 he proved to be a highly successful editor and his was the most influential paper in the Palatinate. He played a prominent role in the Hambach festival of 1832 and was arrested when he published an outspoken attack on the government for its harsh treatment of those who had taken part in the meeting. He was acquitted, but continued to criticize the measures taken by the federal government against the liberals. He had a distinguished career as a radical journalist and as a politician in the Frankfurt parliament in 1848 and later in the Bavarian diet. In 1884 he was the first person to be cremated in Bavaria and many leading liberals attended his funeral.

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Among those who suspected that Kaspar Hauser might be the heir to the grand duchy of Baden were many of the crowned heads of Europe. The king of Bavaria had his doubts, but was uncertain how to use the foundling to his advantage in his struggle with Baden. Napoleon III felt that his murder might be part of an anti-Bonapartist conspiracy. Queen Victoria was horrified when she heard that the future king of Prussia and German emperor, the father of her son-in-law, had agreed that his daughter Luise should marry the grand duke Frederick of Baden. She found it far from amusing that a relative, however distant, should marry into a family with such a dubious reputation. The Russian grand duke Nicolai Michaelovitch, the son of Princess Cecilia of Baden, collected a dossier of papers on Kaspar Hauser and was convinced that he was the grand ducal heir, even though the director of the Nuremberg archives, whom he pestered for more documents, told him emphatically that Kaspar Hauser could not possibly have been the son of the grand duke Karl. Nicolai was strengthened in his conviction when Prince Max von Baden, the last chancellor of imperial Germany, told him that he would like to see Kaspar Hauser’s remains interred in the family tomb in Pforzheim. The grand duke and his papers vanished during the Bolshevik revolution. Suspicions were also harboured in the Swedish royal house into which Stephanie’s daughter Luise married, and also the grand ducal house of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen since Luise’s younger sister Josephine married the grand duke Karl Anton. Josephine’s children, despite her Napoleonic name and blood, married into the Portuguese and Romanian royal families. Luise’s daughter became queen of Saxony. The grand dukes of Baden thought that the notion that Kaspar Hauser was one of their own was utterly preposterous. As the grand duke Frederick I pointed out in the 1880s it was absurd to suggest that the prince, who died in the presence of his father and of his grandmother, the latter who never left him from the moment he fell ill, could have been exchanged for another baby. Stephanie’s daughter Marie wisely pointed out that it was impossible to tell who Kaspar Hauser really was, and that the whole affair had been manipulated by republicans and the enemies of the throne. The Zähringer unfortunately decided to destroy most of the papers dealing with the affair, and until 1919 imposed a strict censorship on all publications that touched upon it. Even today, when Maximilian von Baden is in dire financial straits, he denies access to the family archives in Salem and has threatened to seal the family vault. This behaviour has merely served to convince the Kaspar Hauser faction that the royal family of Baden has something very nasty to hide.

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At the present time the strongest advocates of the crown prince theory are associated with the anthroposophical movement of Rudolf Steiner. 25 He managed to convince himself that Kaspar Hauser was not only the heir to the grand duchy of Baden, but that he was also a messianic figure whose divine mission was frustrated by a conspiracy involving Freemasons and Jesuits.26 Such is the attraction of conspiracy theories and such the industry of the proponents of the crown prince hypothesis that there was a general agreement that Kaspar Hauser was indeed the heir to the grand ducal throne. In 1994 the high-minded liberal weekly Die Zeit published a lengthy review of Ferdinand Mehle’s sloppily researched book on the affair in which it was asserted that there could be no doubt that Kaspar Hauser was the heir to the throne of Baden and that the house of Baden was responsible for his murder.27 Professor Hermann Pies had done the spade work, Fritz Klee had shown how the infant grand duke had been swapped with a mortally sick child, Adolf Barting solved the mystery of his murder and Edmond Babst had provided some important new material on Kaspar Hauser’s mother, the grand duchess Stephanie. It seemed that the case was closed. A mere 18 months after this article was published another German weekly, Der Spiegel, produced conclusive evidence that Kaspar Hauser could not have been Stephanie’s son. 28 His blood-stained underwear had been preserved in the museum in Ansbach. Two of Stephanie’s direct female descendants were prepared to offer blood samples for a comparative DNA test. Stephanie von Zallinger-Stillendorf traces her descent through Stephanie’s daughter Josephine’s marriage to the grand duke of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. The other, who wishes to remain anonymous, is a direct descendent through Stephanie’s younger daughter’s marriage to William Douglas, Duke of Hamilton. The samples were then examined in the Institute for Legal Medicine in Munich and the Home Office’s Forensic Science Service in Birmingham. The Birmingham team, led by John Bark, came to the conclusion that the blood stain could not possibly be from a son of Stephanie de Beauharnais. The Munich scientists were able to extract substantially more data from the blood sample and Wolfgang Eisenmenger’s laboratory concluded that Kaspar Hauser was definitely not related to either of the blood donors. Those who had a vested interest in maintaining the crown prince myth mocked the whole procedure. A local newspaper, the Fränkische Landeszeitung claimed that when she was a young girl in the 1920s an elderly lady from Ansbach had seen the museum’s caretaker pour ox’s

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blood on Kaspar Hauser’s underwear so that the blood stain looked more impressive. The popular tabloid Bild gleefully repeated this story. A banner headline read: ‘Blood not that of a prince but of an Ox?’ The popular press merely demonstrated its total ignorance of DNA testing. John Bark, who had worked on the remains of the tsar’s family, stated that he had never had to work with such an old sample, but his results were conclusive. The blood definitely came from a male Caucasian. The underpants, made of bleached linen and cut in the style of the day, were kept under lock and key in the possession of the court. In 1888 they were given to the Ansbach Historical Association and they were again locked away in the palace. They were not shown in public until 1926. During the war they were placed in safe keeping and afterwards handed over to the Margraval Museum in whose possession they remain. There can be now no doubt that Kaspar Hauser was not the heir to the grand duchy of Baden, and the evidence that he was indeed of such illustrious birth was never more than circumstantial, and belief in this theory required an extraordinary act of faith. The same is true of all the other fanciful suggestions as to his provenance. It has been claimed that he was a bastard son of Napoleon, a grand-child of Maria Theresea, the son of a Hungarian magnate, a Polish countess, or a Napoleonic marshal. The most recent suggestion has been made by Dr Günther Hesse, a psychiatrist from Karlsruhe.29 He claims that on the ample evidence we have it is ‘absolutely ridiculous’ to suppose that Kaspar Hauser was locked away in a dark cellar for years on end. The symptoms he displayed are identical with the hereditary disease epidermolysis bullosa. In addition to this chronic skin disease he suffered from muscular and brain abnormalities and epileptic fits. Furthermore the word ‘motschär’ is said to be Tyrolian dialect for an idiot. This disease existed in the Tyrol over several generations. In Kaspar Hauser’s time the Tyrol was part of Bavaria and the 6th Chevauléger Regiment, the Schwolischen to whom he was sent as an improbable recruit, were stationed there as part of the army of occupation. Furthermore the Bavarian authorities introduced compulsory vaccination against smallpox in the Tyrol, so that Kaspar Hauser’s vaccination mark was in no sense a sign of noble or privileged birth. According to Dr Hesse’s theory Kaspar Hauser suffered from this disease and was treated as an idiot. He was therefore sent across the ‘Bavarian frontier’, as the letter he took with him claimed, and foisted upon the city fathers of Nuremberg. There was a real Kaspar Hauser who

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was killed in 1809 while defending Kufstein against the Bavarian invaders. His name is engraved on a war memorial in Reith near Kitzbühel. Could it be that the name Kaspar Hauser was a cruel joke played on the Bavarians and that the Tyrolese dumped an idiot on the Bavarians in exchange for a hero they had taken from them?

11 Literary Representations of Kaspar Hauser

The Kaspar Hauser affair provided rich material for popular writers and versifiers who titillated their readers with horrifying accounts of this grim story and edifying verses on his spiritual journey from cellar to altar.1 More serious authors also turned their attention to the case. The great romantic poet Joseph von Eichendorff referred to it in a letter to Theodor von Schön, written on 10 January 1834, in which he sent his new year’s greetings. For Eichendorff the Kaspar Hauser affair was symptomatic of the wretchedness of the times. He had been deeply touched by the news of Kaspar Hauser’s death and was outraged at the suggestion that he might have been a fraud and that he had committed suicide as an attention-seeking device. He referred to Baron von Lang’s article in the Brockhausschen Blättern für literarische Unterhaltung of 4 January 1834 in which Lang presented this argument. Eichendorff frequently met Hitzig at his Sunday literary soirées and was sad to report that such was Hitzig’s respect for Lang that he had decided to suspend judgment on the Kaspar Hauser case until further evidence was available. Hitzig had previously been enormously impressed by Feuerbach’s pamphlet and showed a considerable interest in the case and published a considerable amount of material on it in his criminological journal. Eichendorff argued that if Lang were to be proven correct then the times were even more out of joint than he thought. 2 Ludwig Georg Friedrich Seybold prudently published his polemic on the Kaspar Hauser affair anonymously. 3 He had already spent some time in jail for his political views, and it was an experience which he did not wish to repeat. Seybold painted a grim picture of Baden with the evil grand duke relentlessly in pursuit of yet another innocent maid to ravish while the heir to the throne languishes in his wretched cellar. 175

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On Ludwig’s death Leopold, the first of the Hochberg’s, improbably demands that justice should be done and those who had denied Kaspar Hauser his rights should be punished. Leopold’s noble scheme is frustrated by a wicked servant who points out the disastrous consequences for Baden’s reputation should the truth of the case be known. Kaspar Hauser’s story was exploited to the full in the trivial literature of the day. It was used to attack the corruption of the small German states or the greed of the Catholic Church. It provided ample material for homilies and for ballad singers. He was the victim of princes, monks and aristocrats; the favourite of the pious, the radicals and the enthusiastic readers of penny dreadfuls. William Thomas Moncrieff’s Caspar Hauser, or the Wild Boy of Bavaria opened at the Theatre Royal in Edinburgh in 1837. Anicet Bourgeois and Adolphe Philippe (under the pseudonym Ad. Dennery) presented their Gaspard Hauser in Paris in the following year. Theatregoers in New York were treated to a play on the subject in 1842. P. T. Barnum put ‘Caspar Hauser’ on show at Peale’s New York Museum in the same year. This ‘half man half monkey, possessed of the power of speech, yet walking on all fours’ shared top billing with the ingeniously name ‘Fud-ge Mermaid’ (made by stitching a monkey’s torso to a fish’s tail), the Southern Minstrels with their ‘banjo melodies and Ethiopian extravaganzas’, Miss Adair the charming songstress and La Petite Cerito the graceful danseuse. 4 None of these early works paid much attention to the person of Kaspar Hauser. He was merely seen as the pathetic victim of his princely or priestly tormentors. It was not until 1870 that he became the subject of a half-way serious literary work: Karl Gutzkow’s Pestalozzi’s Sons.5 Gutzkow had written an enthusiastic review of Daumer’s Notes on Kaspar Hauser in 1832 in which he exclaimed how happy Herder would have been had he lived to have witnessed this epiphany.6 Gutzkow enjoyed a certain notoriety as the author of Wally the Sceptic, published in 1835, which earned him a jail sentence for a ‘despicable representation of the faith of the Christian community’ and which led to an attack on the ‘Young Germany’ movement of radical writers, among them Heine and Börne, whose works were banned and who were forced into exile. Wally the Sceptic is a passionate plea for the emancipation of women and for free love as well as attacking Christianity by echoing the arguments of David Friedrich Strauss whose Life of Jesus was published in the same year, and arguing the case for religious scepticism. Pestalozzi’s Sons is also a highly polemical novel of even more dubious literary merit. Its theme is education rather than religion. Kaspar Hauser is here the son of a Silesian countess who hides the child so that she can marry her

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lover who would then inherit the fortune that otherwise would have gone to her son. She ordered her servant Hennenhöft – a barely disguised Hennenhofer – to take the child to America, but he keeps him prisoner in order to blackmail the countess. After his death the child, now called Theodor Waldner, is placed in the care of one Lienhard Nesselborn – in other words Daumer. The name Lienhard was that of the hero of his father’s favourite novel – Pestalozzi’s novel Lienhard und Gertrud – in which his educational theories are exhaustively discussed. Nesselborn is anxious to prove Pestalozzi’s theories on the foundling but fails miserably. He rejoices in finding a youth whose mind is like ‘a slate on which the muddled runes of life have not yet been scribbled’. Here is a spirit which was not been poisoned by ‘life, school, state, church, home or society’. He promises his father to educate the child in the spirit of ‘our masters Sirach (Ecclesiastes), Socrates, Christ, Bacon, Rousseau and Pestalozzi’. These lofty ideals cannot be realized in the real world, however, but the failure of this noble experiment was no great loss for the pupil. Waldner survives an attempt on his life, succeeds to his rightful title, marries and lives happily ever after. His mother goes mad, his stepfather also suffers a terrible fate: he emigrates to the United States. Paul Verlaine was the first major writer to be inspired by the story of Kaspar Hauser and his short poem ‘Gaspard Hauser chante’ inspired a number of other works and was translated by poets as diverse as Stefan George and Wolf Biermann. 7 Verlaine’s poem was written while he was languishing in jail in Brussels having taken a pot shot at Arthur Rimbaud in July 1873. He knew of the story from the French translation of Feuerbach’s pamphlet and from Michael Masson’s collection of tales of famous children. 8 It is a deeply moving poem written in deceptively simple language, a cry from the heart of a simple soul. 9 Apart from Feuerbach’s pamphlet, which is a literary masterpiece, Verlaine’s poem is the first work of literature to present Kaspar Hauser as a tragic individual rather than as an excuse for a political diatribe or a sermon. Stefan George’s translation is uncharacteristically straightforward and is remarkably true to the original. Wolf Biermann’s voice is gruffer and much of the disarming naïveté of the original is lost. In 1913, one year before he committed suicide, the Austrian expressionist poet Georg Trakl wrote a variation on Verlaine’s poem which he also called ‘Kaspar Hauser’s Song’ and which he dedicated to Bessie, the wife of the famous Austrian architect Adolf Loos.10 His Kaspar Hauser leaves the delights and simplicity of nature which he enjoys on his way to the city where in the darkness and the autumn – this pessimistic poet’s favoured season – the murderer seeks him out. Kaspar Hauser’s

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journey to Nuremberg is presented as the martyrdom of a blameless youth, a metaphor for a suffering world, a grim vision of lost innocence. Trakl, who was given to bouts of maudlin self-pity, once wrote to a friend: I never for a moment thought that at a time which is especially difficult for me that I should find myself living in the most brutal and vulgar town that exists in this entire burdened and cursed world . . . At last I shall remain for ever a poor Kaspar Hauser.11 The poet was clearly influenced by Jakob Wassermann’s novel on Kaspar Hauser, and much of the imagery in this poem is taken directly from that source. Alfred Henschke, who wrote under the pseudonym Klabund, and who with Joachim Ringelnatz and Walter Mehring founded the provocative Berlin cabaret Sound and Smoke (Schall und Rauch) also wrote a ballad on the Kaspar Hauser theme with echoes of Verlaine’s poem. His ‘poor Kaspar’ is hopelessly lost, alone and knowing not whence he came nor whither he is going. 12 Thomas Mann’s oldest son Klaus was greatly impressed by Verlaine’s poem and by Wassermann’s novel. Among his earliest writings were the ‘Kaspar Hauser Legends’ in which Kaspar Hauser is seen as a saintly figure in poems and prose pieces in which homoerotic and religious themes are presented with the cloying sentiment of a self-pitying adolescent. 13 It is hardly surprising that Klaus Mann included a bleakly sentimental poem about Kaspar Hauser by Bernhard Trinius in his anthology of recent poetry, published in 1927.14 Klaus Mann’s younger brother Golo read Wassermann’s novel when he was 16. It brought tears to his eyes and he was so impressed by the book that he read it twice in a row, and also read it aloud to his schoolmates in the dormitory of his boarding school. No doubt the story of an abandoned child had a particular poignancy for the inmates of such an institution.15 Many years later Marcia Southwick expressed her anguish at being sent away to boarding school at the age of 13, and thus being separated from her parents, in a poem on Kaspar Hauser which she wrote 15 years later.16 For many years Verlaine’s ‘Gaspard Hauser chante’ remained an isolated piece of poetry among mounds of improving tracts and blood-curdling Gothic tales on the Kaspar Hauser theme. Most of these popular works assumed that Kaspar Hauser was indeed the heir to the grand duchy of Baden and little attempt was made to conceal the names of the principal protagonists. Thus the Countess Hochberg appears as ‘Countess

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Niederberg’, the Grand Duke Karl as ‘Kornelius’, Stephanie as ‘Jeanne’, Leopold as ‘Ludolf’, Hennenhofer as ‘Hahnenhofen’ and Stanhope simply as ‘the lord’. 17 In all these popular works the bad were truly diabolical, the good were untarnished innocents. The moral of this grim tale was that princes should fear God and live moral lives according to his law and the laws of the land. Pious works insisted that the true horror was that Kaspar Hauser in his cell had not been baptized and had been denied the comforts of the Christian faith. 18 Most of these stories stuck to the generally accepted view that he was heir to the throne of Baden since this provided the best material for melodrama, but there were variations on the theme. In one version Kaspar Hauser, who was a capable horseman, disappeared from von Tucher’s house and joined a circus.19 In another version he is set on leading a revolt in Baden in order to win back the throne to which he believes himself to be entitled. His well-meaning stepfather, Lord Stanhope, tries to stop him but he persists and is murdered by a stranger who is determined to save Baden from civil war.20 Sophie Hoechstetter, who wrote a number of cloyingly sentimental stories and poems about Kaspar Hauser, suggested that Stephanie and Stanhope were lovers, Kaspar Hauser the fruit of their illicit liaison. The grand duke’s doctor had the child removed to save the family’s honour.21 Rainer Maria Rilke’s poem ‘The Boy’, written at the beginning of the century, also deals with Kaspar Hauser.22 The poet takes Kaspar’s remark ‘I wanna be a sixth cavalryman like wot my father were’ to be a pubescent dream, and the boy imagines galloping through the night at the head of ten men striking terror into the hearts of the townspeople as they race through the streets. The poem was written at much the same time as ‘The Manner of Cornet Christoph Rilke’s Love and Death’ and both paint a romantic picture of a heroic band of death-defying men riding through the night. Rilke had been utterly miserable in the military academy from which he had been removed because of his frail health, and hated the military, but he was fascinated by the vision of an elite group of soldiers, heedless of danger, elegant in the pursuit of adventure, death-obsessed and homoerotically bonded. It was a fin de siècle vision that was to lose much of its appeal after the horrors of a world war, but was to live on in the cult of the young men who were sacrificed in the murderous attack on Langemarck. By far the most important literary work on Kaspar Hauser is Jakob Wassermann’s novel, published in 1908. 23 It is a historical novel, based on the presumed facts of the case and most of the characters are given their own names. Wassermann believed that Kaspar Hauser was

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a prince of Baden, and was much attacked for supporting this view; but rather than treating his readers to a titillating tale of court intrigue he concentrates on his hero’s personality and tragic fate. The subtitle of the novel – ‘lethargy of the heart’ – is the clue to the novel. Kaspar Hauser was destroyed as much by a heartlessness and the egotism of society as he was by the assassin’s dagger. All those into whose care he was entrusted simply saw in him a confirmation of their prejudices and pet theories. Daumer, the Biberbachs (who are given the name Behold in the novel), Tucher, Stanhope and the Ansbach schoolmaster Meyer (renamed Quandt), all treat Kaspar Hauser as an object of inquiry, curiosity, desire and sensation, never as a subject with rights and needs. Even Feuerbach, his greatest champion, saw him as a useful example for his criminological reflections on crimes against the soul, rather than a human being desperately in need of love and affection. Wassermann thus attacks the narrow-minded, sensation-hungry, emotionally deprived, unimaginative and prejudiced bourgeois society of Biedermeier Germany, and by implication the same shortcomings in contemporary Wilhelmine society. The villains of his piece are not scheming princes and their corrupt lackeys and minions, but the solid self-satisfied bourgeois who, even when they acted for the best of motives, were selfish and unloving. Balladeers and the purveyors of cheap fiction emphasized the wickedness of the courtly houses; poets, novelists and psychiatrists concentrated on the personality of Kaspar Hauser. There is one striking exception to this generalization. Rudolf Steiner, the founder of ‘anthroposophy’ – a heady mixture of eastern mysticism, spiritualism, idealist philosophy, the occult and pseudo-science – saw Kaspar Hauser as a messianic figure of immense significance. When ‘Europe’s child’ arrived in Nuremberg he was unable to read, to write, or to count. Although he had had no education whatsoever he had a phenomenal memory and yet as soon as Daumer began to teach him he lost this memory. Furthermore he was at first absolutely truthful. The longer he stayed in Nuremberg the quicker this virtue disappeared. This had nothing to do with Daumer’s pedagogic abilities, for he was very much a man after Steiner’s own heart. He believed that Kaspar Hauser had unique powers to tame unruly animals, even though this is denied by ‘scholarly people’. Steiner’s ‘spiritual science’ made it possible to explain such apparently inexplicable powers. Since they were spiritual in origin they could only be explained by a science of the spirit. 24 Steiner believed that the truth about Kaspar Hauser had been hidden by a monstrous conspiracy of the western lodges of the Freemasons and the Jesuits, a deadly alliance which dated from 1802. 25 ‘Kaspar Hauser’

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was a malicious experiment by these two sinister organizations to create an ego-less human being without a trace of individuality. The ego (Ichheit) would not enter the body but would exist in an intermediary zone between the worlds of the spirit and the earthly. This extraordinary experiment failed, and thus Kaspar Hauser had to die. In spite of all their efforts an ego was formed within Kaspar Hauser’s body, an ego which became aware of its karma and of reincarnation. Southern Germany was destined to become a new castle of the Holy Grail, the cradle of a new age. The way had already been prepared by Goethe, Schiller, Hölderlin and Herder. Kaspar Hauser was destined to surround himself with all those who lived in this spiritual space. This presented a deadly danger to the Freemasons and Jesuits. They had already been terrified by Goethe and Napoleon, the dominant spirits of the age, who had forced them to make an alliance the aim of which was to achieve world domination both in the economic and the intellectual spheres. The Jesuits were to concentrate on the intellectual and spiritual, the Freemasons on the economic and material. The clash between this alliance of Jesuits and Freemasons and the spirit behind Kaspar Hauser resulted in the triumph of the ‘black and white’ principle dear to lawyers and which Bismarck incorporated. He was able to create a federal state, but his Germany lacked a constructive idea which would have given it life and legitimacy. The spirit of Goethe and Kaspar Hauser could have given Southern Germany this vital spirit had he lived, and it could then have permeated the new Germany. The tragedy of Kaspar Hauser was thus the tragedy of a great nation and a disaster for European civilization. Steiner was once asked by one of his followers: who had been the previous incarnation of Kaspar Hauser, and in whom had he been reincarnated. After lengthy reflection on the places of his birth and of his death he announced that Kaspar Hauser’s soul was unique. He was a higher being who had a unique mission on earth. 26 On 17 June 1908 Steiner told his audience in Nuremberg: ‘Had Kaspar Hauser not lived and died all contact between the earth and the spiritual world would have been completely broken off.’ Steiner told another of his followers, Count Ludwig Polzer-Hoditz, that there were three outstanding questions of major importance that had to be answered. First: the question of the ‘two Johns’. Steiner believed that John the Baptist had helped write both the Gospel according to Saint John and the book of Revelation. He also believed that both books were written by the same John. Secondly: the identity of the ‘False Dmitri’ who was crowned tsar and murdered in 1606, Ivan the Terrible’s youngest son Dmitri having been murdered by Boris Godunov. Steiner believed

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that the ‘False Dmitri’ had a spiritual mission similar to that of Kaspar Hauser. Thirdly: where did Kaspar Hauser come from? He had a clear answer to the third of these questions. Kaspar Hauser was the son of the Grand Duke Karl and Stefanie de Beauharnais. He was filled with the spirit which had informed the Rosicrucians and had an important esoteric Christian mission to fulfil. The question was thus not who Kaspar Hauser, Dmitri or the two Johns were, but what was demanded of them. Their mission and not their personalities was what was really important.27 These extraordinary notions and rambling reflections have had an extraordinary effect on the literature on Kaspar Hauser. Most of the recent work has been written by disciples of Rudolf Steiner and published by the anthroposophists’ own publishing house. 28 Although the authenticity of some of the wilder remarks attributed to Steiner on the topic have been challenged by his more cautious disciples, there can be no doubt that he saw Kaspar Hauser as a Christlike figure, a man with a profound spiritual mission, whose Golgotha was in the palace gardens in Ansbach. He also had no doubt whatsoever that he was the son of the grand duke of Baden. These certainties have led even the most skilful and assiduous researchers to grasp at the slimmest straws of circumstantial evidence to support the master’s exotic theories and to load the story of Kaspar Hauser with a weight of esoteric significance which it is unable to sustain.29 One such disciple has claimed that ‘Hauser’s fatal stabbing in 1833 was an omen of what Hitler was to do to the German people one hundred years later’.30 Another wrote: ‘Kaspar Hauser was a great initiate of Atlantis. He was to play a significant role in the introduction of the esoteric age of Michael.’31 Emma Krell-Werth, a devoted disciple of Rudolf Steiner wrote a number of devotional poems on Kaspar Hauser.32 He is the ‘Whitsun spirit’ that ‘loosens the tongues of the silent sufferers’ and ‘binds the tongues of the garrulous’. His story points the way for those who search for esoteric truths.33 He appears as a truly Christlike figure in a nursery rhyme. His cellar, like Christ’s tomb, is empty. The children pray that he should come again, for he loves little children. Echoing Matthew 18:20 they hope that he will join in their game.34 Many writers saw Kaspar Hauser as a religious figure, although none got quite so carried away as was Rudolf Steiner. Many works reflect popular devotional literature in their depictions of Kaspar Hauser as a martyred innocent. The five and a half years he spent in society showed up the miserly, mean-spirited, selfish and heartless nature of the human condition. Klaus Mann stressed the similarity between Kaspar Hauser and ‘the Nazarene’. Herbert Lewandowski spoke of the

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parallels between his life and that of the ‘humiliated and suffering rabbi in Palastine’ with their messages of ‘humility, virtue and brotherly love’.35 Writers of a more secular turn of mind saw the story of Kaspar Hauser as an allegory for the uncertainties, rootlessness and despair of the masses in the aftermath of the Great War with its severe economic dislocations. 36 Others use the story as an example of a callous disregard for the sufferings of others and a lack of solidarity in the face of brutality.37 Steiner’s fantastic anthroposophical musings are worlds apart from the caustic satire of Kurt Tucholsky, and the only point they had in common was an interest in Kaspar Hauser. Tucholsky was one of many writers who used Kaspar Hauser as a pseudonym, Frank Wedekind being the best known. Tucholsky decided to use this alias in 1918 in a poem entitled ‘Name Change’. The poem begins with the lines: ‘I must give myself a new name./Good Lord who doesn’t change in such great times!’ He chooses the name Kaspar Hauser because he too ‘lived so far from the world’, but he reassures his readers that although one can change one’s name the heart remains the same and warns that ‘reactionary politics are old – the phrases new’. Tucholsky soon tired of his new pseudonym which he found too anodyne. In April 1920 he wrote: ‘I can once again call myself Theo Tiger. The mask is removed: I am no longer a Nuremberg child.’ Hugo von Hofmannsthal was inspired by Calderón’s, La Vida es sueño to write his tragedy The Tower about an imprisoned prince. In Calderón’s play, written in 1634/5, the king of Poland has his son locked away in a tower because an astrologer had predicted that he would be a cruel ruler and would also humiliate his father. The king then decided to give his son a chance to show whether he was fit to rule and that the astrological prediction was therefore wrong. The prince is drugged and brought to the palace. He proves to be hungry for power, ill-tempered and with an uninhibited libido. Once again he is drugged and taken back to the tower where he is persuaded that the interlude in the palace was all a dream. He is then released by the mob which is determined that all his rights should be restored. Once again he is put to the test. This time he succeeds, thanks to the help of a young Muskovite, Rosaura, who is able to explain to him the difference between dreams and reality, the need to control one’s passions and the necessity of appropriate behaviour. Feuerbach had been struck by the parallels between Life Is a Dream and the story of Kaspar Hauser, and Hofmannsthal had studied both works. The tragic failure of the prince to mediate between tradition and revolution is an allegory for the crisis in European civilization and the

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collapse of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Prince Sigismund refuses to be reconciled with his father when he is first released from his prison. He hurls him to the ground, but does not kill him. As in Calderón’s play he is returned to the tower and is then released by the mob. Seeing reality as a dream Sigismund attempts to combine the spiritual with the political but is poisoned by a power-hungry soldier and a soothsaying whore. In the play’s unconvincing conclusion Sigismund’s utopian vision is realized after his death in a world of everlasting peace. In a second version of the play, which was first performed in Hamburg in 1928, all traces of this optimism are removed. The prince no longer leaves his tower. His spirit is free in the tower, but can have no influence on the harsh and spiritless world of politics. The legislator is helpless in the face of the all-powerful forces of history. Imagination, creativity and power are irreconcilable, the ivory tower the only place where freedom can be found. The artist abandons all hope of helping to create a better world and gives himself up to a resigned fatalism. It is interesting to note that the original optimistic version of the play was first performed in Vienna’s Burgtheater in 1948. It was a clear sign from Austria’s most famous theatre that the new republic should not repeat the mistakes of its predecessor and had to become the master of its own fate. With the abolition of the German monarchies after World War I the way was open for research into the Kaspar Hauser mystery without fear of censorship. In 1925 Hermann Pies published the first of his source books on the affair which aroused considerable interest.38 Two years later Erich Ebermayer’s play Kaspar Hauser – a Dramatic Legend in Ten Scenes opened in Munich. One day later it opened in Hamburg with Germany’s greatest actor Gustav Gründgens in the title role. Both productions were a great success at the box office and Gründgens’s brilliant performance was a critical triumph. The play is grossly sentimental, melodramatic and without any redeeming literary merit. Kaspar Hauser is fully aware of his noble birth but gradually loses hope of having his rights restored. Lord Stanhope is the villain of the piece. He, along with his accomplice Lieutenant Hickel, is responsible for his murder, winning Kaspar Hauser’s confidence by claiming to be a messenger from his mother. The Dadaists and surrealists found Kaspar Hauser an attractive subject, in part because Kasperl is the German equivalent of Mr Punch and Kasperletheater is the Punch and Judy show. The Alsatian sculptor and poet Hans Arp wrote six different versions of a poem on the theme ‘Kaspar Hauser Is Dead’, the first in 1919, the final version in 1953. 39 Arp also made an abstract sculpture entitled A Clown’s Head Called Kaspar in 1930. The Kaspar poems have no clear meaning and no obvious association

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with the historical Kaspar Hauser. They are ‘word dreams’ which conjure up all manner of associations. They are a parody on a lament for the dead, a condemnation of violence, a lighthearted play on words, evocative rhythmic abstractions. In 1977 the socialist poet Erich Fried wrote a witty poetic commentary on Arp’s poem.40 In asking the question ‘what was the cause of Kaspar’s death’ he warns of the dangers of sophistry and violent solutions and thus rejects the ossified ideology of Marxism-Leninism. The surrealist painter and sculptor Meret Oppenheim, best known for her fur cup and saucer which is often attributed to Marcel Duchamp and which has inspired more than its fair share of critical vacuity, wrote a prose piece Kaspar Hauser or the Golden Freedom, circa 1942.41 Meret Oppenheim, who was a talented photographer, wrote the piece as a screenplay, but the film was never made. She revised the text in 1970 and it was published in 1987, two years after her death, illustrated with some of her drawings and photographs. It is a surrealistic fairy tale with very little connection with the story of Kaspar Hauser except that it begins with him as a prisoner (in a stall in an old farm house) and ends with his murder (he is shot while walking in a forest). Walter Höllerer’s poem ‘Gaspard’, written in 1955, is inspired both by Verlaine and Arp. ‘Priez pour le pauvre Gaspard’, the opening line of Verlaine’s poem, is quoted beneath the title, but Arp is the stronger influence. This Gaspard is the eternal wanderer in the world of the imagination, of chimeras, rocs, dolphins and caravels. Peter Härtling was also inspired by Verlaine and Arp to write a number of poems about Kaspar Hauser.42 ‘Kasper’ and ‘News about Kasper’ are brilliant verbal fantasies in the manner of Hans Arp with jingling echoes of nursery rhymes. ‘Kaspar Hauser’ is a touching evocation of Kaspar Hauser’s need for love. The most remarkable modern literary work about Kaspar Hauser is Peter Handke’s Kaspar, first produced in 1968. The author states in his introduction that he is not concerned to tell the tale of Kaspar Hauser but to show ‘what is possible with someone’. There are, however, a number of references to the historical figure as in Kaspar’s first proper sentence: ‘When I was away I never had such a pain in my head, and I was never so mistreated as I am now.’ The main theme is how ‘someone can be made to speak through speaking’. The play is thus a form of ‘speech torture’.43 Kaspar appears on the stage as a strange mythical figure, a Frankenstein monster or a King Kong, lost in an unfamiliar and threatening world of the theatre, the orchestra pit a dangerous chasm, the furniture mute and menacing objects with which he is unable to communicate. All he

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is able to say is, ‘I would like to be like another once was’. He repeats this sentence in all manner of different ways, desperately searching for meaning. The world around him refuses to respond. Loudspeakers teach him new sentences, mostly platitudes and popular prejudices, many of which have authoritarian overtones. The voice intones: ‘Untidiness causes outrage in all decent people.’ ‘Everyone learns self-discipline through work.’ ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss.’ ‘You are what you have.’ ‘People become lazier the further south you travel.’ As he acquires language he enters into a new relationship with himself and with his environment. The off-stage voice says: ‘With this sentence all objects belong to you.’ Kaspar says: ‘Since I am able to speak I can put everything in order.’ But language is a straitjacket. The off-stage voice says: ‘When you begin to speak you will begin to think what you speak, even if you want to think something else.’ Kaspar’s world is hardly in order before five new Kaspars appear on the stage. He now begins to play the same role as the off-stage voices. He had begun to discover his own identity only to become a programmed ‘speech torturer’ aping the loudspeakers. Words become meaningless. Kaspar says: ‘Jeder Satz ist für die Katz (all sentences are rubbish).’ Handke was uncertain whether this bleak Foucaultian vision could be relieved. Kaspar says towards the end of the play, ‘I am only myself by chance’, thus leaving open the possibility of the contingent within a determined world. The pessimistic view of the noble savage ruined by an evil world is echoed in the short prose works of Guntram Vesper. In this version when he arrived in Nuremberg Kaspar Hauser had acute sensual perception, his ideas were refreshingly original, his emotions direct. Having come in contact with society and its proscriptions and prohibitions he learnt how to conduct himself among his fellow men, but he lost his powers of understanding and was left with qualities which only sufficed for him to obtain a position as a humble clerk.44 Kaspar Hauser appears in Chapter 9 of Vesper’s novel North of Love and South of Hate as a tragic figure destroyed by society, by the childminders, educators, interpreters of dreams, lawyers and detectives. Portentously the Kaspar Hauser figure appears following a description of General Halder flying over the bleak wastes of the future battlefields in the east, and von Manstein alone on a verandah in East Prussia on 21 June 1941 gazing into the summer night. The passage ends with Kaspar Hauser as representative of the sensitive souls destroyed by an insensitive world, and finally with the author identifying himself with the murdered Kaspar Hauser.

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The story of Kaspar Hauser has provided the material for a number of films. The first of a number of indifferent films on the subject was a silent film produced in 1915 entitled The Tragedy of Kaspar Hauser.45 It was not until 1974 when Werner Herzog made Each for Himself and God against All that a Kaspar Hauser film reached an international audience.46 Werner Herzog’s film stays close to the known facts of the case, although many scenes are highly imaginative reconstructions. Thus Herzog shows that Kaspar was the object of public curiosity by making him appear in a freak show with a dwarf who is said to be the King of Punt, a 17-year-old ‘Mozart’ who had learnt all of Mozart’s works by heart by the age of 5 and had stopped speaking, and an idiot Indian called Hombrecito who played the pipes of pan for fear that if he ever stopped all the people in the town would die. Kaspar Hauser appears on stage as he first appeared in Nuremberg. He stands in an awkward posture, his hand outstretched and holding a letter. Kaspar Hauser also has a number of remarkable dreams. On his death bed he dreams of a caravan in the desert led by a blind man, the mountains in the distance a mirage. The film avoids any discussion of Kaspar Hauser’s real identity and concentrates on the fate of its poignant hero. The most remarkable aspect of the film is the performance of Bruno S. in the title role. When he was chosen for the part he was a homeless street singer in Berlin. He was born in 1932, so was 42 years old when he played the part of a teenager. His mother put her illegitimate child into a psychiatric home at the age of three. He made frequent attempts to escape and was finally released in 1958. His life thus has some similarities with that of Kaspar Hauser. Werner Herzog’s film aroused an interest in Kaspar Hauser outside Germany and inspired a number of writers. The Scotsman Robin Fulton wrote ‘The Story of Kaspar Hauser’ in 1983 in which Kaspar Hauser is represented as an unsolvable enigma. 47 The New Zealander Bill Sewell sees him as simple minded but capable of extraordinary insight, his life cut short before he could understand these glimpses into the transcendental. 48 The most touching poem on this theme is by the singer Suzanne Vega in which Kaspar Hauser sings of his wooden horse. ‘And when I am dead,/If you could tell them this:/That what was wood became alive,/What was wood became alive’ is the haunting refrain.49 In 1993 Bavarian television produced a lavish two-part film on Kaspar Hauser which was later released as a motion picture. It was directed by Peter Sehr, who also wrote the screenplay. This version, based on the work of Johannes Meyer and Peter Tradowsky, faithfully presents the

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crown prince theory as if it were incontrovertible historical truth.50 The entire plot is masterminded by the Countess Hochberg and her loathsome confidant Hennenhofer. The result is a dreadfully confusing tale which is totally incomprehensible to the uninitiated viewer. The complexities of the line of succession in Baden are never made clear, and it is thus far from obvious why the infant crown prince has to be removed. The Bavarian claim to the Palatinate is never explained and Bavarian policy in the affair appears hopelessly contradictory. The film emphasizes dynastic policies and Kaspar Hauser is represented as a thoroughly tiresome youth. At times it sinks to the level of the preposterous as when Hennenhofer pours a bottle of urine on the Grand Duke Ludwig’s head. The homosexual relationship between Stanhope and Kaspar Hauser is so steamy that Stanhope hopes that the withdrawal of his affection will cause the boy’s death. Should that fail working as a clerk in the court without either his or Feuerbach’s protection should do the trick. Since the complex political issues are never explained, and since the film is 139 minutes long, the splendid baroque interiors and elegant Biedermeier costumes are not enough to sustain the audience’s interest. The record would thus suggest that the story of Kaspar Hauser only inspires works of value when the artist concentrates on his personal fate, or uses the tale as the starting point for flights of imaginative fancy. The story of a crown prince robbed of his inheritance is all too likely to descend into tear-jerking sentimentality, political diatribe or obtuse metaphysical speculation.

Conclusion

In the palace gardens in Ansbach there is a gloomy corner surrounded by high shrubbery in which stands a somewhat bedraggled monument which marks the spot where Kaspar Hauser was murdered. On it is carved the following inscription: HIC OCCULTUS OCCULTO OCCISUS EST XIV DEC: MDCCCXXXIII (An unknown person died here in a mysterious way) The cemetery lies not far away from the palace, and it is here that Kaspar Hauser lies buried. The inscription on his simple grave reads: HIC JACET CASPARUS HAUSER AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS IGNOTA NATIVITAS OCCULTA MORS MDCCCXXXIII (Here lies Kaspar Hauser, an enigma in his own time, his origins unknown, his death mysterious. 1833) In spite of the efforts of numerous skilled researchers there is still no reason why either inscription should be revised. The story of Kaspar Hauser 189

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remains a mystery and it is exceedingly unlikely that it will ever be solved. That it became such a mystery is the result of the fate of an unfortunate foundling being used by all manner of different people for their own purposes. He became a pawn in the political struggles and intellectual debates of pre-March Germany, and in the process an insignificant and harmless creature became a celebrity and even a possible danger that some might have wished to see removed. The Kaspar Hauser affair was a powerful stimulant for the politically disaffected who are ever keen to detect a conspiracy. It is an attitude of mind deliciously satirized by George Farquhar in his play The Beaux Stratagem of 1707 in which one of the characters exclaims: First, it must be a plot because there’s a Woman in’t; secondly, it must be a plot because there’s a Priest in’t; thirdly, it must be a plot because there’s French Gold in’t; and fourthly, it must be a Plot, because I don’t know what to make on’t. A strange child whom none knew whence he came presented a mystery which aroused the imaginations of all those who sought complex explanations for this phenomenon. For Feuerbach and his supporters the Kaspar Hauser affair was a petty conspiracy involving a monstrous crime committed by members of the aristocracy. It was a conspiracy theory which was irresistibly attractive, even though it demanded some extraordinary leaps of faith for it to be believed. Here was a prince denied his inheritance, imprisoned by evil aristocrats, the victim of a mysterious murder. There were letters in bottles, prophetic dreams, and evidence of supernatural powers. Such a heady mixture was hard to refuse. For others, like Rudolf Steiner, the affair was the result of a world conspiracy involving Jesuits and Freemasons – two favourites of the devotees of conspiracy theories.1 This version has proved to be less digestible, even by devout anthroposophists. They prefer the more melodramatic version of the story first thought up by Feuerbach. Kaspar Hauser has lent his name to a syndrome of child abuse and neglect, of lack of human contact and affection, of a denial of a normal childhood.2 What evidence speaks against the belief that Kaspar Hauser was indeed locked away in a tiny cellar for years on end and fed on nothing but bread and water? The first remarkable fact is that he showed no fear of human contact when first he arrived in Nuremberg. He went straight up to the two shoemakers and asked the way without any sign of embarrassment or timidity. Although he had a very limited vocabulary he spoke to

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everyone and appeared to understand most of what was said to him. Daumer later admitted that he was ‘not nearly as much without speech’ when he first appeared in Nuremberg as had often been assumed.3 He seemed to be well fed and his general state of health was perfectly normal. His face had a healthy colour and there was no evidence of either vitamin or protein deficiency. Nor was there any evidence of opium addiction; on the contrary, he loathed the drug. All those who were involved in his education during the early part of his stay in Nuremberg were enormously impressed by the speed with which he was able to absorb new material, remarking on his phenomenal memory, his ability to adapt to his surroundings and his open and friendly disposition. This early promise did not last for long and he soon began to suffer learning disorders, his powers of memory weakened, and he showed signs of serious psychological disturbance. He seemed to be incapable of telling the truth, was opinionated and self-satisfied, and his vanity knew no bounds. He was a servile flatterer of his superiors and haughtily dismissive of those he mistakenly believed to be his inferiors. He had unrealistic expectations for his future and exotic fantasies about his origins. From the moment of his arrival in Nuremberg his doctors remarked on the frequently recurring nervous tic on the left side of his face which sometimes affected the entire left side of his body. He was singularly affected by light and sound. He often complained of unpleasant smells. This hypersensitivity triggered off fevers, cramps, violent shuddering, particularly on the left side of the body, profuse sweats and fainting spells. His physicians, enthusiastic homoeopathists and magnetists attributed this to his somnambulistic susceptibility and his exceptional receptivity to homoeopathic treatments. Modern physicians would be more inclined to attribute such symptoms to epilepsy. For a passionate amateur homoeopath and magnetist like Friedrich Daumer, with his mystical longings and his craving for respect and admiration, Kaspar Hauser was a perfect subject. Daumer found himself in distinguished company with his fascination with alternative medicine and the occult. The Prussian chancellor Hardenberg cultivated a female mystic, Frau Hähnel. The philosopher Schleiermacher was inspired by a religious fanatic Frau Fischer. Tsar Alexander I was devoted to the Baroness von Krüdener, a prominent visionary who in turn was inspired by an epileptic, Marie Gottliebin Kummer. Hegel saw fit to pontificate on animal magnetism. The miraculous healing powers of von Hohenlohe-Waldenburg-Schillingsfürst, who was both a prince and a priest, held fashionable society in thrall. Justus Kerner was fascinated

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by the ‘Visionary of Prevorst’. Clemens von Brentano, himself a deranged mystic, recorded the visionary musings of Anna Katharina Emmerick. The distinguished oculist from Karlsruhe, Jung-Stilling, commanded widespread respect with his predictions of an imminent apocalypse. In such a heady atmosphere Daumer, with his burning ambition to found a new religion, saw in Kaspar Hauser further proof of the validity of the exciting new medical science and an exciting opportunity for further romantic speculation into the fundamental nature of mankind. Doctors are now less likely to attribute such behaviour to the paranormal and are inclined to see it as characteristic of epilepsy. The shivering, the rolling of the eyes, the delusions and the lengthy periods of recuperation are typical of epileptic attacks. The autopsy report which describes the abnormalities in his brain are consistent with this diagnosis. Could it also be that the attack made on him in Nuremberg in 1829 and his fatal wounding in Ansbach in 1833 were both selfinflicted in epileptic seizures, the ‘men in black’ delusions conjured up during such a crisis? Kaspar Hauser was not a Zähringer prince. It had always required an astonishing degree of credulity to believe in this tale of court intrigue and baby-swapping, but now the myth has finally been laid to rest with a thorough examination of the DNA evidence. But if he was not a prince then who was he? The most probable answer is that he was an epileptic and mentally retarded child whose parents or guardians had decided to rid themselves of a tiresome burden. Michel Foucault to the contrary, there was in early nineteenth-century Germany, or elsewhere for that matter, no ‘grand confinement’ of the insane in asylums which had supposedly been built in the seventeenth century in order to strengthen the absolutist centralizing state and to discipline the recalcitrant to bend to the exigencies of capitalism. 4 There were a number of small nightmarish ‘mad houses’ (Tollhäuser) throughout the German Confederation, but only a minuscule percentage of the population had the misfortune to spend their days amid the filth and squalor of such grim places of confinement. Few of the insane were locked away in anything that remotely resembled Foucault’s fantasy vision of the asylum. Most were incarcerated in dungeons, cellars and towers, often where once upon a time witches had been held captive and tortured, and they were the objects of public derision and amusement. At the time of Kaspar Hauser’s birth it is remarkable that there was virtually no psychiatry in Germany, although in the course of the century the country was to dominate the field. Bavaria was particularly backward in this respect. Prussia was to lead the field. 5

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Pinel’s ideas were spread in Germany by Johann Christian Reil, the man who invented the word ‘psychiatry’. A professor of medicine in Halle, Reil rhapsodized in his ivory tower about the ideal treatment of the insane, but was unable to put most of his fanciful ideas into practice. 6 His distinguished contemporary Ernst Horn was appointed associate director of the Charité hospital in Berlin in 1806. This was a famous military teaching hospital and Horn was an army doctor. It is thus perhaps not entirely surprising that he emphasized the importance of order, discipline and routine for the treatment of the mentally ill. The patients’ days were spent in religious and secular instruction, occupational therapy, manual labour, military drill and, on clement summer evenings, lawn bowling. It is reported that he had some successes with this sternly Prussian therapy. 7 The vast majority of the mentally ill were not confined in public institutions or in the cellars of the local jail: their fate was in the hands of their families. The treatment of these unfortunates was often horrendous. Disturbed family members were chained to the wall, confined in pigsties, hidden in cellars and lofts, or in the corner of a stable. This was no halcyon age for the mentally ill before they were shovelled into the hellish factories of madness of Foucault’s fantasy. This was a fate far worse than life in the Charité for all its rigour, and it was one that outraged sensitive souls like Reil. 8 If Kaspar Hauser was indeed submitted to confinement in a cellar for years on end it was typical treatment meted out to the mentally ill. Under the circumstances of the day he can even have been considered fortunate that he was kept clean and relatively healthy and that upon release from his place of imprisonment he was on the whole treated with care and consideration, at least during his Nuremberg years. There remains the question of where he came from. We can assume from the letters he brought with him to Nuremberg that his father served with the 4th squadron of the Bavarian 6th Royal Light Cavalry (Cheveauxlegers) Regiment. We also know that at the approximate time of Kaspar Hauser’s birth the regiment was stationed in Tyrol.9 Foundlings were modestly supported by the Bavarian state until the age of 16, thus those who were caring for him would now have to rely entirely on their own resources and had at least a financial motive to wish to be rid of him. He was after all incapable of earning a living until he had been given some rudimentary education by some highly professional people. Much was made of the fact that Kaspar Hauser had been vaccinated, but Bavaria was the first German state to introduce compulsory vaccination

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in 1807, and since the Bavarians occupied Tyrol at this time all children were vaccinated. It is most unlikely that we shall ever know the identity of this unfortunate child who was to be used by insensitive charlatans and frustrated radicals for their own often dubious purposes. Kaspar Hauser thus remains a many-faceted figure, invested with the attributes that observers afforded him. He was prince or swindler, innocent or vain, honest or mendacious, ruined by a corrupt society or inherently wicked, the victim of monstrous crimes or a publicity-hungry egotist. Poor Kaspar hardly seems to have existed apart from the fantasies of others. He was the mirror that reflected the world around him, the point of intersection of so many fads, ideologies and prejudices, the mythical product of an age. It is precisely for these reasons that this pathetic figure was very much a child of his times.

Notes

1

Feral man

1 Étienne Bonnot de Condillac, Traité des sensations, 1754. Christian Wolff, Psychologia rationalis, 1734. 2 Samuel von Pufendorf, Acht Bücher vom Natur- und Völker-Recht, 1711 (first published in Latin in 1672). 3 Heinrich Conrad Koenig, Schediasma de Hominum inter Feras Educatorum Statu Naturali Solitario, 1730. 4 August Rauber, Homo Sapiens Ferus oder die Zustände der erwildeten und ihre Bedeutung für die Wissenschaft, Politik und Schule, Leipzig 1885. 5 Johann Christian Daniel von Schreber, Die Säugetiere in Abbildungen nach der Natur mit Beschreibungen, vol. 1, Erlangen 1775. Michael Wagner, Beiträge zur philosophischen Anthropologie und den damit verwandten Wisenschaften, Vienna 1794. 6 Claude Lévi-Strauss (trans. John and Doreen Weightman), Tristes Tropiques, New York 1974. 7 Jean-Marc Gaspard Itard, De l’éducation d’un homme sauvage ou des premiers développements physiques et moraux du jeune sauvage de l’Aveyron, Paris 1801. Rapport fait à S. E. le ministre de l’Intérieur sur les nombreux développements et l’état actuel du sauvage de l’Aveyron, Paris 1807. Harlan Lane, The Wild Boy of Aveyron, Cambridge, Mass., 1976. Thierry Gineste, Victor de l’Aveyron: Dernier enfant sauvage, premier enfant fou, Paris 1993. 8 Johann Kanold, Sammlung von Natur- und Medicin-, wie auch hiezugehörigen Kunst- und Literatur-Geschichten so sich in Schlesien und anderen Ländern begeben von einigen Breslauischen Medicis, Breslau 1722, pp. 437–44. 9 August Gottlieb Spangenberg, Leben des Herrn Nicolaus Ludwig Grafen und Herrn von Zinzendorf und Pottendorf (no place of publication or date), part 2, pp. 380ff. Zinzendorf invited the persecuted Moravian Brotherhood to his estates in Lusatia where he founded the Herrnhut (The Lord’s keeping) colony. He was exiled from Saxony from 1736 to 1748 for his political activities and travelled to England and America. He was ordained and became bishop of the Moravian Brethren. He wrote more than 100 books. He died in 1760 at the age of 60. 10 It is possible that the piece was written by Arbuthnot himself. It appears in Swift’s Miscellanies in Prose. Arbuthnot had no personal literary ambitions and wrote most of the brilliant Memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus which was published under the name of another great friend, Pope, in 1741. 11 James Burnett Lord Monboddo, Ancient Metaphysics, 1779–99, 3 vols, New York 1977, pp. 57–68. Monboddo wrote a six-volume treatise on the origin of language in which he stressed the affinity between men and monkeys. This caused no little amusement at the time, but in the post-Darwinian age the proposition seems less bizarre. By treating man as an animal he was one of the founding fathers of anthropology. 195

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12 Johann Freidrich Blumenbach, ‘Vom HOMO sapiens ferus LINN. und namentlich vom Hamelschen wilden Peter’, in Beyträge zur Naturgeschichte von Joh. Fr. Blumenbach Prof. zu Göttingen, Zweyter Theil, Göttingen 1812, pp. 11–44. 13 Her case excited the interest of the explorer and propogandist for inoculation, Charles Marie de La Condamine, whose Histoire d’une jeune fille sauvage, trouvée dans les bois à l’âge de dix ans appeared in 1755. 14 Anon., Ausführliches Leben und besondere Schiksale eines wilden Knaben von zwölf Jahren der zu Barra einer Schottländischen Insel von zweyen beruhmten Aertzten gefangen und auferzogen worden, Frankfurt 1759. This is a German translation of an English original. The pamphlet was also translated into French. 15 Lane, Wild Boy of Aveyron. 16 Pierre-Joseph Bonnaterre, Notice historique sur le sauvage de l’Aveyron et sur quelques autres individus qu’on a trouvé dans les forêts à différentes époques, Paris 1800. 17 Lane, Wild Boy of Aveyron, p. 38. 18 Philippe Pinel, Traité medico-philosophique sur l’aliénation mentale, Paris 1801. 19 Julien Offray de la Mettrie, Les animaux plus que machines, Paris 1750. For Arnobius the Elder, see his tract on Christianity written when a recent and enthusiastic convert in about 300: Arnobius, Sieben Bücher gegen die Heiden, Trier 1858 (English translation in vol. 19 of the Ante-Nicene Library). Hans Blumenberg, Höhlenausgänge, Frankfurt 1989, devotes an entire chapter to Arnobius’ ‘cave child’. 20 A. Bosquet, ‘Éloge historique d’Itard’, Mémoires de L’Academie de Médicine, vol. 8, Paris 1840. 21 Jean-Etienne-Dominique Esquirol, ‘Idiotisme’, in Dictionnaire des sciences médicales, vol. 23, Paris 1818, and Les maladies mentales, Paris 1838. 22 The case was first reported in the New York Times on 23 October 1926 and again on 26 December. In the following year the paper published two further pieces on 30 January and 6 April. Time mentioned the case on 1 November 1926. J. C. Squires published a note on the case in the American Journal of Psychology, 38, 1927, pp. 313–15. 23 J. A. L. Singh and R. M. Zingg, Wolf Children and Feral Man, New York 1942. 24 Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson, Lost Prince: The Unsolved Mystery of Kaspar Hauser, New York 1996, p. 206, quoting Genetic Psychology Monographs, 60, 1959, pp. 117–93. 25 Charles Maclean, Wolf Children, New York 1978, p. 300. 26 William Henry Sleeman, A Journey through the Kingdom of Oude, 2 vols, London 1858. 27 John Lockwood Kipling, Beast and Man in India: A Popular Sketch of Indian Animals in Their Relations with the People, London, 1904. 28 Gerd Gemünden, Die hermeneutische Wende: Disziplin und Sprachlosigkeit nach 1800, New York 1989, p. 79. 29 This notion is taken from Michel Foucault (ed.), Moi, Pierre Rivière, ayant égorgé ma mère, ma soeur et mon frère, Paris 1973, p. 11. 30 Gemünden, Die hermeneutische Wende, p. 10. 31 Freud’s biographer, Peter Gay, seems unaware of Feuerbach’s pamphlet on Kaspar Hauser and claims that the expression ‘soul murder’ was a ‘Schreberism’

Notes, pp. 9–15

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33

34 35

36

37 38 39 40 41 42

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and that Freud, Jung, Abraham and Ferenczi thought the expression was a huge joke. Peter Gay, Freud: A Life for Our Time, New York 1988, p. 279. His father, Daniel Gottlob Moritz Schreber, was a distinguished orthopaedist and a pioneer of therapeutic gymnastics, but is best known in Germany for encouraging cities to set aside plots of land so that the urban poor could cultivate small gardens and thus benefit from exercise and fresh air. The German word for an allotment is thus Schrebergarten. He was an appalling domestic tyrant who invented a ‘head straightening machine’ (Kopfzusammenschnürungsmachine) to improve his children’s posture. Dr Schreber’s first chronic episode occurred in 1885 and was conveniently diagnosed as ‘hypochondria’. In his subsequent paranoid delusions he imagined that he was the victim of horrendous homosexual attacks by Professor Fleschsig, who was at times aided and abetted by God himself. Schreber had spent 15 months of fruitless treatment in Fleschsig’s Leipzig clinic. Freud reached the hasty conclusion that the Schreber case was evidence that Paranoia was caused by supressed homosexuality. Differences over the interpretation of the case were the first real signs of an impending break between Freud and his disciples Jung and Ferenczi. Freud later emphasized that Schreber was suffering a male menopause (he was 53 at the time of his first serious attack) and resented the fact that his wife had been unable to bear him any children. Sigmund Freud, ‘Der Familienroman der neurotiker’, Studienausgabe, vol. 10, Bildene Kunst und Literatur (eds A. Mitscherlich et al.), Frankfurt 1969, pp. 222–6. This essay has inspired much psychoanalytical writing on literature in general and the Kaspar Hauser story in particular. See: Walter Schönau, Einführung in die psychoanalytische Literaturwissenschaft, Stuttgart 1991; Birgit Gottschalk, Das Kind von Europa: Zur Rezeption des Kaspar Hauser-Stoffes in der Literatur, Wiesbaden 1995. Freud, ‘Der Familienroman der neurotiker’, p. 225. Alexander Mitscherlich, ‘Ödipus und Kaspar Hauser: Tiefenpsychologisches Probleme in der Gegenwart’, Der Monat, 3, 1950; Alexander Mitscherlich, Society without the Father, New York 1973. His views on ‘soul murder’ are endorsed by Leonard Shengold in two articles: ‘Soul Murder: A Study of Deprivation’, International Journal of Psycho-analytical Psychotherapy, 3, 1975, and ‘Kaspar Hauser and Soul Murder’, International Review of Psycho-anlaysis, 5, 4, 1978, pp. 457–76. Russ Rymer, Genie: an Abused Child’s Flight from Silence, New York 1993. Russ Rymer, ‘A Silent Childhood’, New Yorker, 13 and 20 April 1992. Secret of the Wild Child, VHS video cassette, Boston, NOVA Star of Science Television/ WGBH 1994. Susan Curtiss, Genie: a Psycholinguistic Study of a Modern-Day ‘Wild Child’, New York 1977. Herodotus, The History, Chicago 1987, pp. 131–2. Paul Watzlawick, Die Möglichkeit des Andersseins, Bern 1977, pp. 10–11. Gebhard Friedrich August Wendeborn, Vorlesungen über die Geschichte des Menschen und seine natürliche Bestimmung, Hamburg 1807. Susan Curtiss, Working Papers in Cognitive Linguistics, 1981. Berthold Weckmann, Kaspar Hauser: die Geschichte und ihre Geschichten, Würzburg 1993, p. 170. Hoxie Neale Fairchild, The Noble Savage: a Study in Romantic Naturalism, New York 1961.

198

Notes, pp. 15–23

43 Hinrich Fink-Eitel, Die Philosophie und die Wilden: Über die Bedeutung des Fremden für die europäische Geistesgeschichte, Hamburg 1994, examines this process in detail. 44 For an introduction to the following, see Hugh Honour, The New Golden Land: European Images of America from the Discoveries to the Present Time, London 1976. 45 Bartolomé de las Casas, Historia de las Indias, published 1875–6, and Brevissima Relación de la destrucción de las Indias occidentales, 1552. See: Lewis Hanke, Bartolomé de las Casas: an Interpretation of His Life and Writings, Den Haag 1951, and Bartolomé de las Casas, In Defence of the Indians, Dekalb 1974. Fernandez de Oviedo y Valdés, Historia General y Natural des Las Indias, 1535–57, and Sumario de la natural historia de las Indias, Madrid 1986. 46 John Hale, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Europe, New York 1994, pp. 48–9. In a delightful engraving of 1589 Johannes Stradan shows a somewhat shocked Vespucci eying a lubricious, corpulent and naked Indian queen in a hammock. While exotic animals roam around, a group of Indians eagerly roast a human leg on a spit. 47 Bernardino de Sahagún, Historia de las Cosas de la Nueva España. The book was first published in Mexico in 1827 in a country anxious to discover its cultural foundations. E. R. Monegal, ‘Die neue Welt: ein Dialog zwischen Kulturen’, in E. R. Monegal (ed.), Die Neue Welt: Chroniken Lateinamerikas von Kolumbus bis zu den Unabhängigkeitskriegen, Frankfurt am Main 1982, p. 25. 48 Michel de Montaigne, ‘Des cannibales’, Essais, vol. 1, Paris 1965, pp. 230–47. 49 Michel de Montaigne, ‘Des coches’, Essais, vol. 2, Geneva, p. 344. Montaigne’s reflections on the effects of European colonization were based on his reading of Lopez de Gomara’s Histoire générale des Indes and the Italian translation of the same author’s Istoria di don Fernando Cortez, Venice 1576. 50 J. R. Mulryne and Margaret Shewring (eds), War, Literature and the Arts in Sixteenth-Century Europe, London 1989, p. 132. 51 Jean Baptiste Du Tetre, Histoire générale des isles Christophe de la Guadaloupe, de la Martinique, et autres dans l’Amérique, Paris 1654; Jean Baptiste Labat, Nouveau voyage aux isles de l’Amérique, Paris 1742. 52 Louis-Armand de Lon d’Arce Baron de Lahontan, Nouveaux voyages de Mr. le Baron de Lahontan dans l’Amérique septentrionale; Mémoires de l’Amérique septentrionale, Paris 1741; Conversations de l’auteur de ces voyages avec Adario, sauvage distingué (ed. J. Edmund Roy), Montreal 1974. 53 Voltaire, L’ingenu, 1767. 54 Diderot, Supplément au voyage de Bougainville, 1775. 55 ‘Barbarus hic sum, quia non intelligor illis.’ Rousseau quotes this in a letter dated 17 January 1742, in a collection of his poetry, at the beginning of the First Discourse on the Arts and Sciences, 1750, and in Rousseau Judges Jean-Jacques, 1776.

2 1 2 3 4

Kaspar Hauser appears in Nuremberg Jane Campbell Hutchinson, Albrecht Dürer: A Biography, Princeton 1990, p. 7. Hale, Civilization of Europe in the Renaissance, pp. 139–40. Gerhard Pfeiffer, Nürnberg: Geschichte einer europäischen Stadt, Munich 1971. ‘Ein zusammengelaufenes Gesindel aus Schustern, Schneidern und Leinewebern’: Pfeiffer, Nürnberg, p. 361.

Notes, pp. 24–34

199

5 The ‘pre-March’ is the term given to the period in German history prior to the revolution of 1848 which broke out in March. 6 Details of Kaspar Hauser’s arrival in Nuremberg are to be found in ‘Zeugenverhör in der Untersuchung wegen widerrechtlicher Gefangenhaltung des Kaspar Hauser, Nürnberg, abgehalten den 4. November 1829, in Gegenwart des königl. Kreis- und Stadtgerichtsrats Roeder und des Diurnisten Pritting als ad criminalia verpfichteteten Aktuars’, reprinted in Hermann Pies, Die Wahrheit über Kaspar Hausers Auftauchen und erste Nürnberger Zeit: Augenzeugenberichte, Selbstzeugnisse, amtliche Aktenstücke, Fälschungen und Tendenzberichte, Saarbrücken 1956. 7 Cross-examination of Merk, 29 December 1829. The court noted that Merk was of feeble intellect and appeared unreliable. There would seem no reason, however, to question the veracity of his testimony. 8 Cross-examination of Hiltel, 3 November 1829. 9 Pies, Wahrheit über Kaspar Hausers Auftauchen, pp. 35–6. ‘Kunst die verlorene Zeit und übel zugebrachten Jahren zu ersetzen etc. . . . etc. . . . (no date). 10 Hermann Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, Ansbach 1966, p. 12. 11 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser: Beispiel eines Verbrechens am Seelenleben eines Menschen, Stuttgart 1988, pp. 19 and 25. 12 Preu described his first examination of Kaspar Hauser in Archiv für homöopatische Heilkunst, 3, Leipzig 1832. 13 Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 20–1. 14 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 34. 15 On Daumer, see Hans Kern, ‘Georg Friedrich Daumer: der Kämpfer für eine deutsche Lebensreligion: das Leben’, in Eine Schriftenreihe biozentrischer Forschung, ed. Hans Eggert Schröder, Berlin 1936; Kern, ‘Die Seelenkunde der Romantik: das Deutsche Leben’, in Eine Schriftenreihe biozentrischer Forschung, ed. Hans Eggert Schröder, 2, vol. 3, Berlin 1937; Kern, Von Paracelsus bis Klages: Studien zur Philosophie des Lebens, Berlin 1942; Michael Birkenbuhl, ‘Georg Friedrich Daumer: Beiträge zur Geschichte seines Lebens und seiner westöstlichen Dichtungen’, Munich dissertation, 1902; Hans Effelberger, ‘Georg Friedrich Daumer und westöstliche Dichtung’, Marburg dissertation, 1923; Agnes Kühne, ‘Der Religionsphilosoph Georg Friedrich Daumer: Wege und Wirkungen seiner Entwicklung’, Bonn dissertation, 1936; Wilhelm Eckman, ‘Georg Friedrich Daumer und der Gestalt seiner Madonna’, Munich dissertation, 1954; Wilhelm Kunze, Georg Friedrich Daumer und die Fortführung der Reformation, Nuremberg 1933; Karlhans Klunker, Georg Friedrich Daumer: Leben und Werk 1800–1875, Bonn 1984. 16 Karl Marx, Neue Rheinische Zeitung, February 1850, in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Werke, vol. 7, Berlin 1969, pp. 198–203. 17 Georg Friedrich Daumer, Urgeschichte des Menschengeistes, 1827; Andeutungen eines Systems speculativer Philosophie, 1831; Philosophie, Religion und Altherthum, 1833; Züge zu einer neuen Philosophie der Religion und Religionsgeschichte, 1835. 18 Karl Marx, Das Kapital, vol. 1, in Marx and Engels, Werke, vol. 23, Berlin 1973, p. 304. 19 Testimony of Baron Gottlieb von Tucher, 28 January 1834, to the court in Ansbach, in Pies, Wahrheit über Kaspar Hausers Auftauchen, pp. 63ff. 20 Johannes Meyer and Peter Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser: das Kind von Europa, Stuttgart 1984, p. 65.

200

Notes, pp. 34–41

21 Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser, p. 63. 22 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 50.

3

Homoeopathic experiments

1 Samuel Hahnemann, Organon of Medicine, tr. Jost Kunzli, Alain Naude and Peter Pendleton, Los Angeles and Boston 1982; Robert Jütte, Geschichte der Alternativen Medizin: Von der Volksmedizin zu den unkonventionellen Therapien von heute, Munich 1996; Martin Dinges (ed.), Weltgeschichte der Homöopathie: Länder – Schulen – Heilkundige, Munich 1996. 2 Theodor Storm, Ein Bekenntnis, 1887. 3 For further details of ‘Amara George’, see Kunze, Georg Friedrich Daumer und die Fortführung der Reformation, pp. 39–49. 4 Friedrich Anton Mesmer, Mesmerism: a Translation of the Original Scientific and Medical Writings of F. A. Mesmer, Los Atlas, California, 1980; Robert Darnton, Mesmerism and the End of the Enlightenment in France, Cambridge, Mass., 1968; Ernst Benz, F. A. Mesmer und die philosophischen Grundlagen des ‘animalischen Magnetismus’, Wiesbaden 1977. 5 Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling, Von der Weltseele: Eine Hypothese der höheren Physik zur Erklärung des allgemeinen Organismus, Hamburg 1798. 6 R. Toellner, ‘Randbedingungen zu Schellings Konzeption der Medizin als Wissenschaft’, in L. Hasler (ed.), Schelling: Seine Bedeutung für eine Philosophie der Natur und der Geschichte, Canstatt 1981. 7 Quoted in Thomas Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte 1800–1866, Munich 1985, p. 485. 8 Biedermeier is a composite of two philistine characters – Biedermann and Bummelmaier – who figured in the magazine Fliegende Blätter in 1848. 9 Karl Alexander Ferdinand Kluges, Versuch einer Darstellung des animalischen Magnetismus als Heilmittel, Berlin 1811. Gotthild Heinrich Schubert, Ansichten von der Nachtseite der Naturwissenschaft, Dresden 1808. 10 Mesmer’s methods are described in Friedrich Anton Mesmer, Mesmerismus oder das System der Wechselwirkungen, ed. K. C. Wohlfart, Berlin 1814. 11 E. T. A. Hoffmann, ‘Der Magnitaseur’, Fantasie Stücke in Callots Manier, and ‘Das öde Haus’, Die Serapionsbrüder, Munich 1966. The subject is also treated in Der unheimliche Gast (1818) and Der Elimentargeist (1821). Other contemporary German writers dealt with similiar themes, among them Heinrich Kleist, Das Käthchen von Heilbronn, and Novalis, Heinrich von Ofterdingen and Die Lehrlinge zu Saïs. Schopenhauer saw animal magnetism and magic as ‘powerful empirical evidence for my theory that the metaphysical, that which exists beyond that which can be imagined, the thingin-itself of the world, is nothing other than that which we call will’. As a sceptic he rejected Mesmer’s theories and saw the effects of mesmerism and witchcraft as psychosomatic consequences of the willpower of magnetists and witches. Schopenhauer, ‘Über den Willen in der Natur’, Werke in fünf Banden, vol. 3, Zurich 1988, p. 295. He was also impressed by Plotinus’ speculations about somnambulism and the existence of a ‘world soul’: ‘Neuplatoniker’, Parega und Paralipomena, Werke in fünf Banden, vol. 4, p. 65.

Notes, pp. 41–53

201

12 William Ameke, History of Homeopathy, London 1885; Lester S. King, The Medical World of the Eigtheenth Century, Chicago 1958; Martin Gumpert, Hahnemann: the Adventurous Career of a Medical Rebel, New York 1945; Hahnemann, Organon of Medicine; W. F. Bynum and Roy Porter (eds), Medical Fringe and Medical Orthodoxy, 1750–1850, London 1987; Roger Cooter (ed.), Studies in the History of Alternative Medicine, London 1988. 13 A drachma equals 60 grains or 1/8 ounce apothecaries’ weight. 14 E. Davenas, F. Beauvais, J. Amara, M. Oberbaum, B. Robinzon, A. Miadonna, A. Tedeschi, B. Pomeranz, P. Fortner, P. Belon, J. Sainte-Laudy, B. Poitevin and J. Beneviste, ‘Human Basophil Degranulation Triggered by very Dilute Antiserum against IgE’, Nature, 333, 30 June 1988. The calculation of his critique is based on the assumption that there are 1077 baryons (protons and neutrons ) in the universe. See also: Michel Schiff, Das Gedächnis des Wassers, Frankfurt 1997. 15 ‘High-Dilution Experiments a Delusion’, Nature. 334, 28 July 1988. ‘Waves Caused by Extreme Dilution’, Nature 335, 27 October 1988. 16 The quotations are from Beneveniste’s article ‘Beneveniste on the Beneveniste Affair’, Nature 335, 27 October 1988. 17 Quoted in Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte, p. 488. 18 Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, Chicago 1962. 19 This was in marked contrast to currently popular ideas. Justinus Kerner’s study of the mystic Friederike Hauffe, Die Seherin von Prevorst: Eröffnungen über das innere Leben des Menschen und über das Hereinragen einer Geisterwelt in die unsere, Stuttgart 1829, enjoyed considerable popularity at the time. 20 Ludwig Feuerbach, ‘Die Naturwissenschaft und die Revolution’, Blätter für literarische Unterhaltung, 268–71, 1850, p. 1082ff. Ludwig Feuerbach’s materialism was savagely attacked by Karl Marx in his ‘Theses on Feuerbach’, in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Selected Works, Moscow 1977. 21 Daumer to his niece in 1853, in Süddeutsche Monatshefte, 11, Munich 1913, p. 53. His views on vegetarianism can be found in his essay ‘Mein Verhältnis zum Vegetarismus’, Westermanns Jahrbuch der illustrierten deutschen Monatshefte, Brunswick 1871, vol. 29, p. 509ff. 22 Queen Anne’s doctor, John Arbuthnot, reported that his charge, Peter of Hamlin, was somewhat less inhibited: ‘His age is only to be guessed at by his stature and countenance, and appeareth to be about twelve or thirteen. His being so young was the ocasion of the great disappointment of the ladies, who came to the drawing-room in full expectation of some attempt upon their chastity: so far is true, that he endeavoured to kiss the young lady Walpole, who for that reason is become the envy of the circle; this being a declaration of nature in favour of her superior beauty.’ Jonathan Swift, It Cannot Rain But It Pours, Or London Strewed With Rarities, 1726. 23 Ludwig Feuerbach, ‘Naturwissenschaft’, p. 57.

4

The search for identity

1 Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 25ff. 2 See the letter from Otto von Pirch to G. von Tucher, 4 April 1830, in Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser, p. 407.

202

Notes, pp. 54–7

3 For the anti-Feuerbach voices, see Johann Friedrich Karl Merker, Caspar Hauser nicht unwahrscheinlich ein Betrüger, Berlin 1830; Pies, Wahrheit über Kaspar Hausers Auftauchen, p. 141ff., and Kaspar Hauser: Fälschungen, Falschmeldungen und Tendenzberichte, Ansbach 1973, p.15ff. On Merker, see Armin Forker in: Merker, Handbuch für Polizey-Beamte im ausübenden Dienste, Erfurt 1818, reprinted with notes by Armin Forker, Leipzig/Heidelberg 1984; Roderich Stintzing and Ernst Landsberg, Geschichte der Deutschen Rechtswissenschaft, Abt. III. 2, Munich and Leipzig 1910, text p. 134, notes p. 66; Heinrich von Treitschke, Deutsche Geschichte im 19. Jahrhundert, vol. 4, Berlin 1879–94, p. 352; Eberhard Kipper, Johann Paul Anselm von Feuerbach: Sein Leben als Denker, Gesetzgeber und Richter, Cologne 1989, p. 168ff. 4 Feuerbach to Julius Eduard Hickel, 15 May 1830, reprinted in Hitzigs Annalen, 7, 1830, p. 434. 5 Aktenmäßige Darstellung merkwürdiger Verbrechen, Beiträge zur Rechts- und Menschenkunde, 2 vols, Gießen 1828 and 1829. 6 Otto Zwengel, Paul Johann Anselm von Feuerbachs Leben und Wirken, Bad Homburg no date. 7 Feuerbach to Herrn von Spies, Ansbach, 27 October 1828, in Ludwig Feuerbach, Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Biographischer Nachlaß, veröffentlicht von seinem Sohne Ludwig Feuerbach, 2 vols, Leipzig 1853, vol. 2, p. 282. 8 Feuerbach, 30 November 1828 and 6 December 1828, in Ludwig Feuerbach (ed.), Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Leben und Wirken, Berlin 1976, pp. 544–7. 9 Feuerbach to Elsa von der Recke, 20 September 1928, in Ludwig Feuerbach (ed.), Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Leben und Wirken, p. 529. 10 Feuerbach to Elsa von der Recke, 13 October 1828, in Ludwig Feuerbach (ed.), Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Leben und Wirken, p. 534. 11 Feuerbach to Elisa von der Recke, 13 October 1828, in Ludwig Feuerbach, Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Biographischer Nachlaß, vol. 2, p. 276. 12 Feuerbach to Elisa von der Recke, 18 July 1829, in Ludwig Feuerbach (ed.), Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Leben und Wirken, pp. 547–50. 13 Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser, p. 17. 14 Anselm von Feuerbach to Countess Elise von der Recke, 20 September 1828, in Pies, Wahrheit über Kaspar Hausers Auftauchen, p. 53ff. 15 Schopenhauer wrote that Kaspar Hauser’s inability to understand the precepts of natural theology was proof to him that he was genuine and that the notion that the fundamental precepts of theology were self-evident was an ‘impertinent assertion’: ‘Fragmente zur Geschichte der Philosophie’, Schopenhauer, Parerga und Paralipomena, vol. 1, p. 120, Werke in fünf Bänden, vol. 4. Schopenhauer was delighted when his disciple, the lawyer Friedrich Ludwig Andreas Dorguth, compared him with Kaspar Hauser – a man who had been hidden away for 40 years, unnoticed, unable to claim his own, who had suddenly appeared and whom some regarded as a prince of philosophy. Werke in fünf Bänden, vol. 3, pp. 173 and 186, vol. 4, p. 137. 16 Georg Friedrich Daumer, Kaspar Hauser: Sein Wesen, seine Unschuld, ed. Peter Tradowsky, Dornach 1984, p. 160ff. 17 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, pp. 55–7. 18 Ibid., p. 58. 19 Ibid., p. 34.

Notes, pp. 58–70 20 21 22 23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

5

203

Denis Diderot, Lettre sur les aveugles à l’usage de ceux qui voient, Paris 1749. Daumer, Kaspar Hauser, p. 133. Ibid., p. 139. Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 48. The wild boy Peter of Hamlin was also fascinated by the stars. The Scottish judge and anthropologist Lord Monboddo, whose views on the affinity between man and the apes reported that ‘He is very much pleased with the appearance of the moon and the stars. He will sometimes stand out in the warmth of the sun, with his face thrown up to it, in a very difficult and strained attitude; and likes to be out in a starry night, if it be not cold. Upon hearing this a person would naturally inquire, whether he has, or appears to have, any idea of the great Author of all these wonders? Indeed, I thought it a question of so much curiosity, that, when I had left Broadway for several miles, I rode back to inquire whether he had at any time betrayed the least sense of a Superior Being. They told me that, when he came into that part of the country first of all, he was sent to school for some time, and different methods were employed to teach him to read, and with it the principles of religion; but all in vain: he learnt nothing; nor did he ever show any consciousness of a God from his own feelings.’ James Burnett Lord Monboddo, Ancient Metaphysics, 6 vols New York 1977 (reprint of the 1779–99 edition which was published anonymously). Pies, Wahrheit über Kaspar Hausers Auftauchen, pp 69–78. Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 163. Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 37. ‘Wenn die Nase nicht wäre, so wäre gar nichts von Kaspar in dem Bild.’ Daumer, Kaspar Hauser, ed. Tradowsky, p. 160ff. Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 69. Daumer, Kaspar Hauser, ed. Tradowski, p. 159. Weckmann, Kaspar Hauser, p. 161. Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 54. On the Clairvoyant of Prevorst, see Kerner, Die Seherin von Prevorst. See Daumer, Kaspar Hauser, ed. Tradowski. Jochen Hörisch, Ich möchte ein solcher werden wie . . . Materialien zur Sprachlosigkeit des Kaspar Hauser, Frankfurt 1979, p. 235.

Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach and ‘Crimes against the Soul’

1 Elisabetha and Ann Katharina Daumer gave their testimony on 17 October to the mayor’s office and on 21 October to the court in Nuremberg. Georg Friedrich Daumer appeared before the court on 26 October as did Johann Gottfried Bernhard Wilhem Haubenstricker (whom Anna Katharina called Friedrich). The doctor’s testimony was given on 12 November 1829. See Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 57–66. 2 Daniel Friedrich Eschricht, Unverstand und schlechte Erziehung: Vier populäre Vorlesungen über Kaspar Hauser, translated from the Danish by Rhyno Quehl, Berlin 1857.

204

Notes, pp. 70–80

3 Letter to his niece reprinted in Süddeutsche Monatshefte XI/1, Munich 1914, pp. 492–3. 4 Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser, pp. 98–9. 5 Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 164–6. 6 Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 167. 7 A proclamation in the name of His Majesty the King of Bavaria was published in Ansbach on 18 November 1829 in the Königlich Bayerisches Intelligenzblatt für den Rezat-Kreis. 8 Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 174–80. 9 Johann Friedrich Karl Merker, Caspar Hauser. Georg Philipp Schmidt von Lübeck, Über Kaspar Hauser, vol. 1, Altona 1831, vol. 2, Altona 1832. 10 Merker, Caspar Hauser, p. 170. The notes read: ‘Born 30 April 1812. Buried 7 October. When did the last Grand Duke die? When were the Hochbergs recognized? Stephanie’s husband died in December 1818.’ These dates are very confused. Prince Alexander, Stephanie’s second son, was born on 1 May 1816 and died on 8 May 1817. His older brother was born on 29 September 1812 and died on 16 October. Feuerbach assumed that Alexander was born on 30 April. Kaspar Hauser, according to the note he brought with him to Nuremberg, was handed over ‘to another’ on 7 October. 11 Ludwig Feuerbach, Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Biographischer Nachlaß, vol. 2, p. 316. 12 Ibid., p. 318. 13 Johannes M. Meyer, Stanhope, Stuttgart 1988, pp. 404–8. 14 ‘Memoire über Kaspar Hauser’, in Ludwig Feuerbach (ed.), Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbachs Leben und Wirken, pp. 567–78. 15 Wilfried Küper, Das Verbrechen am Seelenleben: Feuerbach und der Fall Kaspar Hauser in strafrechtlicher Betrachtung, Heidelberg 1991, p. 35. 16 Corporal punishment was abolished in Bavaria in 1848. 17 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 30. 18 ‘Raserei, Wahnsinn, Blödsinn und andere ähnliche Gemütskrankheiten’. 19 Regnerius Engelhard, Versuch eines allgemeinen peinlichen Rechts aus der Grundsätzen der Weltweisheit, und besonders des Rechtes der Natur hergeleitet, Frankfurt 1756. 20 Küper, Das Verbrechen am Seelenleben, p. 114. 21 Ibid., p. 125–39. 22 Johann Christian Salchow, ‘Review of Carl August Tittmann, “De delictis in vires mentis humanae commissis”, Leipzig 1795’, Archiv für Freunde der Philosophie des Rechts und der positiven Jurisprudenz, vol. 1, Jena/Leipzig 1805, pp. 56–8. 23 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Revision der Grundsätze und Grundbegriffe des positiven peinlichen Rechts, Chemnitz 1800. 24 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Lehrbuch des gemeinen in Deutschland gültigen peinlichen Rechts, 11th edn, Gießen 1832. 25 Küper, Das Verbrechen am Seelenleben, pp. 158–9. 26 Ibid., p. 180. 27 Ludwig Feuerbach to Christian Kapp, 14 January 1835, in Wilhelm Bolin (ed.), Ausgewählte Briefe von und an Ludwig Feuerbach: Zum Säkulärgedächnis seiner Geburt, vol. 1, Leipzig 1904, p. 285. 28 Georg Friedrich Daumer, Mitteilungen über Kaspar Hauser, Nuremberg 1832, reprinted and edited by Peter Tradowsky, Dornach 1983.

Notes, pp. 81–99

6

205

Philip Henry, Lord Stanhope

1 Feuerbach to the King, 8 April 1830. Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 77. 2 Klara Biberbach, the daughter of the house, wrote to this effect to Henrietta Magdalena Meyer on 19 February 1832: Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 85. 3 Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser, pp. 107–10. 4 Saphir testified to the court on 13 August 1830: Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 91. 5 Aubrey Newman, The Stanhopes of Chevening: a Family Biography, London 1969, p. 249. 6 Quoted in Newman, The Stanhopes of Chevening, p. 248. 7 Catherine Lucy Wilhelmine Powlett, Duchess of Cleveland, The True Story of Kaspar Hauser From Official Documents, London 1893. 8 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C187/1–2. Stanhope to Lord Wilton, 8 November 1847. 9 Hermann von Pückler-Muskau, Briefe eines Verstorbenen: ein fragmentarisches Tagebuch aus England, Wales, Irland und Frankreich, Stuttgart 1830. 10 Newman, The Stanhopes of Chevening, p. 232. 11 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. 12 Ibid., for a copy of Stanhope’s letter to his Nuremberg bankers dated 29 March 1831. 13 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. 14 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12, for the account books. Stanhope to Merkel in Nuremberg, 16 January 1834. 15 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. 16 PRO FO82–25, report dated 21 July 1831. 17 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. Letter from Tucher to Stanhope, 30 July 1831. 18 Hickel’s report on the trip in Hermann Pies, Kaspar Hauser: Fälschungen, Falschmeldungen und Tendenzberichte, Ansbach 1973, pp. 279–80. 19 Meyer, Stanhope, pp. 369–73. 20 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. Letter from Tucher to Stanhope, 19 November 1831. 21 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/1–6. Ludwig (signed ‘Lewis’) to Stanhope, 8 December 1831. 22 Sworn statement by Tucher, 8 February 1834, in Stuttgart, in Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 94–100. Stanhope’s request of 21 November 1831 and Kaspar Hauser’s statement of 24 November 1831, in Pies, Wahrheit über Kaspar Hausers Auftauchen, pp. 176–8.

7

Kaspar Hauser in Ansbach

1 On education in Germany in this period see: Thomas Nipperdey, ‘Mass Education and Modernization: The Case of Germany 1780–1850’, Royal Historical Society Transactions, 5, 27, 1977; E. Keiner and H.-E. Tenorth, ‘Schulmänner – Volkslehrer – Unterrichtsbeamter’, Internationales Archiv für Sozialgeschichte der

206

Notes, pp. 99–120

16

deutschen Literatur, 6, 1981; G. Petrat, Schulunterricht: Seine Sozialgeschichte in Deutschland 1750–1918, Frankfurt 1984. Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 107. Antonius von der Linde, Kaspar Hauser: Eine neugeschichtliche Legende, 2 vols, Wiesbaden 1887, vol. 1, p. 251. Meyer, Stanhope, p. 403. Letter reprinted in Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser, pp. 164–8. Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 106. Prinz Adalbert von Bayern, ‘Königin Caroline von Bayern und Kaspar Hauser’, Der Zwiebelturm, Monatsschrift für das bayerische Volk und seine Freunde, 6 Jahrgang, 1951, Heft 5 and 6. Meyer, Stanhope, p. 96. Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 73. Ibid., p. 71. Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 111–17. Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. Letter to Sir Henry (surname unknown), 25 June 1832. Meyer, Stanhope, p. 423. Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. 7 April 1833 draft of a letter to an unnamed recipient. 22 April 1833 further draft. Memoire reprinted in Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, pp. 76–87. Georg Friedrich Daumer, Kaspar Hauser: Sein Wesen, seine Unschuld, seine Erduldungen und sein Ursprung, Regensburg 1873, p. 461. Bayern, ‘Königin Caroline von Bayern und Kaspar Hauser’, p. 125.

8

The death of Kaspar Hauser

2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13

14 15

1 Testimony given by Fuhrmann on 23 December 1833: Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 133–4. 2 Testimony given by Lisette Scholler on 21 December 1833: Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 134. 3 Hermann Pies, Die amtliche Aktenstücke über Kaspar Hausers Verwundung und Tod, Bonn 1928, p. 63. 4 Ibid., pp. 65–8. 5 Ibid., pp. 157–63. 6 Ibid., pp. 86–8: testimony of Michael Karl Adam Vogel, master baker. 7 Ibid., pp. 98–9: testimony of Bachmann. 8 Ibid., pp. 82–3: Kitzinger testimony. 9 It is reasonable to assume that M. L. Ö. stands for ‘Mi leckt’s ölle’ which can be loosely translated from the Frankonian dialect as ‘kiss my arse’. The suggestion that the murderer’s name was Müller – phonetically similar to the three letters read aloud – is hardly convincing. 10 Pies, Die amtliche Aktenstücke über Kaspar Hausers Verwundung und Tod, p. 91: testimony of the surgeon (Wundartz) Johann Christoph Koppen. 11 Pies, Die amtliche Aktenstücke über Kaspar Hausers Verwundung und Tod, pp. 77–80.

Notes, pp. 121–37

207

12 Ibid., pp. 151–2. 13 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. 14 Pies, Die amtliche Aktenstücke über Kaspar Hausers Verwundung und Tod, pp. 183–5. 15 Ibid., pp. 185–90. 16 Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, p. 216. 17 Kent Archives Maidstone, Stanhope Papers U1590 C188/7–12. 18 Pies, Die amtliche Aktenstücke über Kaspar Hausers Verwundung und Tod, pp. 244–54. 19 Ibid., pp. 168–9. 20 Ibid., pp. 169–70. 21 Ibid., pp. 170–1. 22 E. Brunner, ‘Kaspar Hauser? Graphologische, mikroskopische und Mikrophotographische Handschriften-Untersuchung und Gutachten’, Zeitschrift für Menschenkunde 6, Heidelberg 1930. 23 Pies, Die amtliche Aktenstücke über Kaspar Hausers Verwundung und Tod, p. 172. 24 Ibid., pp. 254–6. 25 Ibid., pp. 257–8. 26 Ibid., pp. 258–60. 27 Ibid., pp. 260–6.

9

Kaspar Hauser and the Grand Duchy of Baden

1 Baron Johann Friedrich Cotta von Cottendorf, the head of the family at that time, was the first printer to use a steam-operated printing press in Germany (in 1824). He was also the first landowner in Württemberg to abolish serfdom on his estates and was an outspoken advocate of constitutional rights in the second chamber of the Württemberg diet, of which he was the president. He died in 1832. 2 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, p. 76. 3 In fact he did complain at times of the deprivations he had suffered and wished that his goaler could experience similar misery. 4 Paul Johann Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach, Kaspar Hauser, pp. 76–87. 5 E. M. Arndt, Über künftige ständische Verfassungen in Teutschland, 1814, p. 10. 6 Lothar Gall, Der Liberalismus als regierende Partei: das Grossherzogtum Baden zischen Restauration und Reichsgründung, Wiesbaden 1968, p. 7. 7 E. R. Huber, Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte, vol. 1, Stuttgart 1957, p. 317; R. Goldschmidt, Geschichte der Badischen Verfassungsurkunde 1818–1919, Karlsruhe 1918; F. von Weech, Badische Geschichte, Karlsruhe 1890. 8 F. Schnabel, Sigismund von Reitzenstein, der Begründer des badischen Staates, Heidelberg 1927. 9 Karl Siegfried Bader, ‘Die Badische Verfassung von 1818 und ein Jahrhundert badischer Verfassungswirklichkeit’, in Alfons Schäfer (ed.), Oberrheinische Studien, Band II, Bretten 1973. 10 Hans-Peter Becht, ‘Vom Ständestaat zur Revolution. Kontinuitäten und Diskontinuitäten in der badischen Geschichte von 1815 bis 1848/49’, in Otto Borst (ed.), Aufruhr und Entsagung: Vormärz 1815–1848 in Baden und Württemberg, Stuttgart 1992, p. 49.

208

Notes, pp. 139–63

11 Paul Sauer, Napoleons Adler über Württemberg, Baden und Hohenzollern: Südwestdeutschland in der Rheinbundzeit, Stuttgart 1987, p. 197. 12 Rudolf Haas, Stephanie Napoleon, Großherzogin von Baden: Ein Leben zwischen Frankreich und Deutschland 1789–1860, 1978, p. 29. 13 K. A. Varnhagen von Ense, Tagebücher, pp. 12–13. Also in his: Denkwürdigkeiten und vermischte Schriften, 9 vols, Leipzig 1843–6. 14 Annelise Waller, ‘Baden und Frankreich in der Rheinbundzeit’, Freiburg Ph.D., 1935, p. 110. 15 Sauer, Napoleons Adler über Württemberg, pp. 292–4. 16 Christine Zeile, Baden in Vormärz: die Politik der Ständeversammlung sowie der Regierung zur Adelsfrage, Grundentlastung und Judenemanzipation 1818 bis 1843, Munich 1989, p. 100. 17 Lloyd E. Lee, The Politics of Harmony: Civil Service, Liberalism, and Social Reform in Baden, 1800–1850, Newark 1980, p. 159. 18 Details can be found in E. Eisenlohr, ‘Die Thronfolgerechte der Cognaten in Baden’, Heidelberg dissertation, 1905. 19 Ibid., p. 424. 20 Liselotte von Hoermann, Der bayerisch-badische Gebietsstreit (1825–1832), Berlin 1938. 21 Varnhagen von Ense, Tagebücher, pp. 430–1. 22 Heinz Gollwitzer, Ludwig I. von Bayern: eine politisiche Biographie, Munich 1986, p. 287. 23 W. G. Soldan and H. Heppe, Geschichte der Hexenprozesse, Essen 1990, vol. 1, pp. 322–6. 24 PRO FO 82: 22 and 24 contain interesting details of the negotiations between Baden, Bavaria and Württemberg over the customs union and the Sponheim issue as reported by the British Minister Erskine. The British government showed little interest in this obscure and distant affair.

10 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8

9 10

Who was Kaspar Hauser? Fritz Klee, Neue Beiträge zur Kaspar-Hauser-Forschung, Nuremberg 1929. Bayern, ‘Königin Caroline von Bayern und Kaspar Hauser’. Ferdinand Mehle, Der Kriminalfall Kaspar Hauser, Basle and Kehl 1995, p. 86. Ludwig Wagler, Die Enträtselung der oberheinischen Flaschenpost von 1816: ein kritischer Beitrag zur Kaspar-Hauser Frage, Nuremberg 1926. This point eludes Ferdinand Mehle, Der Kriminalfall Kaspar Hauser, pp. 74–5. For a summary of the theory that Kaspar was held captive at Pilsach Castle see: Ulrike Leonhardt, Prinz von Baden gennant Kaspar Hauser, Reinbek bei Hamburg 1987, pp. 243–57. Pies, Kaspar Hauser, eine Dokumentation, pp. 284–7. Edmond Babst, La conquête du trône de Bade: La Comtesse de Hochberg, La Grande Duchesse Stéphanie, Gaspard Hauser, Paris 1930. This theory is enthusiastically supported by Johannes Meyer, Stanhope, p. 160ff. This theory was put forward by Klee, Neue Beiträge zur Kaspar Hauser Forschung, and is seconded by Johannes Meyer. This fanciful theory is based on a diary entries by the King on 27 April and 5 May 1836 printed in Adolf Anton Lieb, ‘Nachrichtenblatt für die

Notes, pp. 163–72

11 12 13

14

15

16

17 18 19

20 21

22

23 24 25

209

Mitglieder und Freunde des bayerischen Volksbundes’, Treu-Bayern, vol. 2, no. 10/11, 1951. Meyer, Stanhope, p. 269. Philip Fürst zu Eulenburg-Hertefeld, Das Ende Ludwigs II. und andere Erlebnisse, Leipzig 1934. To add further confusion Hennenhofer is here called Hoinninger. Karl Gutzkow, Rückblicke auf mein Leben, Berlin 1876, was told in 1835 that Hennenhofer had murdered Kaspar Hauser. N. E. Mesis (sic)(alias Sebastian Seiler – not to be confused with Ferdinand Sailer), Kaspar Hauser, der Thronerbe von Baden, Paris 1840, repeats this accusation and claims that he (Hennenhofer) was provided with money to organize the crime. On the student protest movement, see: P. Wentzke and G. Heer, Geschichte der deutschen Burschenschaft, Heidelberg 1919; G. Stark, ‘The Ideology of the German Burschenschaft Generation’, European Studies Review 8, 1978; G. Bartol, Ideologie und studentische Protest: Zur Entstehung deutscher Studentenbewegungen im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Munich 1977; W. Hardtwig, ‘Studentische Mentalität – Politische Jugendbewegung – Nationalismus: die Anfänge der deutschen Burschenschaft’, Historische Zeitschrift 242, 1986; Hardtwig, ‘Die Burschenschaften zwischen aufklärerische Sozietätsbewegung und Nationalismus’, in H. Reinalter (ed.), Aufklärung, Vormärz, Revolution, Frankfurt 1984; Hardtwig, ‘Krise der Universität, studentische Reformbewegung und die Sozialisation der jugendliche deutschen Bildungsschicht, 1750–1819’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft 11, 1985; Hardtwig, ‘Organisationsstrukturen und Protestformen der deutschen Burschenschaft 1815–1833’, in Reinalter (ed.), Demokratische und soziale Protestbewegungen in Mitteleuropa 1815–1848/49, Frankfurt 1986. E. Büssem, Die Karlsbader Beschlüsse von 1819: die Entgültige Stabilisierung der restaurativen Politik im Deutschen Bund nach dem Wiener Kongreß von 1814/15, Hildesheim 1974. A. Gerlich (ed.), Hambach 1832, Wiesbaden 1984; N. Deuchert, Vom Hambacher Fest zur badische Revolution: Politischer Presse und die Anfänge deutscher Demokratie 1832–48/49, Stuttgart 1983. E. Weber, Die Mainzer Zentraluntersuchungskommission, Karlruhe 1970. Otto von Bismarck, Gedanken und Erinnerungen, Berlin 1990, p. 224. Joseph Heinrich Garnier, Einige Beiträge zur Geschichte Caspar Hausers, nebst einer dramaturgischen Einleitung, Strasburg 1834. Treitschke, Deutsche Geschichte im 19. Jahrhundert. Pies, Kaspar Hauser: Fälschungen, Falschmeldungen und Tendenzberichte, p. 168. Joseph Schauberg, Aktenmäßige Darstellung der über die Ermordung des Studenten Ludwig Lessing aus Freienwalde in Preußen bei dem Kriminalgerichte des Kantons Zürich geführten Untersuchung, Zurich 1837. Mehle, Der Kriminalfall Kaspar Hauser, p. 241. The theory of the trio of murderers is expounded at length in Fritz Bartning, Altes und neues zur KasparHauser-Forschung, Ansbach 1930. The reader is reminded that according to another ingenious theory it stands for ‘Mi leckt’s ölle’ (‘lick my arse’ in Franconian dialect). Sebastian Seiler, Kaspar Hauser der Thronerbe von Baden, Paris 1840. Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser: das Kind von Europa. Even more esoteric is Peter Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser oder das Ringen um den Geist, ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts, Dornach 1980.

210 26 27 28 29

11

Notes, pp. 172–7 This theory is examined in greater detail in ch. 10. Hanno Kühnert, ‘Die Spur des Findlings’, Die Zeit 16, 21 April 1995. ‘Schönster Krimi aller Zeiten’, Der Spiegel 48, 25 November 1996. Dr Günter Hesse, ‘Die Krankheit Kaspar Hauser: Zugleich Bemerkungen zu E. Nau und D. Cabanis, “Kaspar Hauser Syndrome”’, Münchener medizinische Wochenschrift 109, Munich 1967, pp. 156–63. Hesse, ‘Geschichte der Medizin: Kaspar Hauser und sein Schlüssel: Traktat über die vor Nürnberg angewandten antiepileptischen Therapie-Versuche durch Mittel der Volksmedizin’, Deutsche Ärtzteblatt 6, 10 February 1984, pp. 365–8; Hesse, ‘Kaspar Hauser, Lesebrief’, Die Welt 33, 8 February 1990, p. 8; Hesse, ‘Kaspar Hauser – das epileptische Kind einer Tiroler Dienstmagd. Neurologe Günter Hesse: Alle Rätsel sind gelöst, mit medizinischen Indizien’, Ärtzte Zeitung 86, 12/13 May 1989; Hesse, ‘Zum Mythos Kaspar Hauser: Der “angeschüttete Motschär” aus Tyrol’, Deutsches Ärzteblatt 86, no. 6, 6 April 1989. This theory is examined in greater detail in the conclusion.

Literary representations of Kaspar Hauser

1 Berthold Weckmann, Kaspar Hauser, unearths an amazing amount of literature on Kaspar Hauser, most of it trivial. Ulrich Struve, Der Findling: Kaspar Hauser in der Literatur, Stuttgart 1992, provides more selective examples with brief comments. Birgit Gottschalk, Das Kind von Europa, takes a robustly Freudian approach. See also: A. F. Bance, ‘The Kaspar Hauser Legend and Its Literary Survival’, German Life and Letters 28, 1975/6, pp. 199–210; Reinhard D. Theisz, ‘Kaspar Hauser im zwanzigsten Jahrhundert: der Aussenseiter und die Gesellschaft’, The German Quarterly 49, 1976, pp. 168–80; and Ursula Sampath, Kaspar Hauser: a Modern Metaphor, Columbia 1991. Earlier works include: Olga Stern, ‘Kaspar Hauser in der Dichtung’, Frankfurt Ph.D. dissertation, 1925; Otto Jungmann, ‘Kaspar Hauser: Stoff und Problem in ihrer literarischen Gestaltung’, Würzburg Ph.D. dissertation, 1934. 2 Struve, Der Findling, pp. 35–7. 3 Anon. [Ludwig Georg Friedrich Seybold], Kaspar Hauser oder der Findling: Romantisch dargestellt von ***, Stuttgart 1834. 4 The Fud-ge mermaid was prudently rechristened the Fug-ge mermaid. 5 Karl Gutzkow, Die Söhne Pestalozzis: Roman in drei Bänden, Berlin 1870. 6 Karl Gutzkow, in Morgenblatt für gebildete Stände: Literatur-Blatt auf das Jahr 1832 23, 2 March 1832. Daumer, Mitteilungen über Kaspar Hauser, ed. Tradowsky. 7 Paul Verlaine, ‘Gaspard Hauser chante’, Oeuvres Poétiques complètes, Paris 1954, p. 183. The French singer Georges Moustaki has recorded a slightly edited version of Verlaine’s poem. 8 Michael Masson, Les enfants célèbres ou l’histoire des enfants de tous les siècles et de tous les pays, Paris 1837. 9 The final verse reads: ‘Suis-je né tôt ou trop tard?/ Qu’est-ce que je fais en ce monde?/ O vous tous, ma peine est profonde:/ Priez pour le pauvre Gaspard!’ 10 ‘Kaspar Hausers Lied’ was written in October 1913 and published in November 1913 in Der Brenner. Trakl served as a medical orderly in the war and was so horrified by the experience that he attempted suicide. He died in a military hospital from an overdose of cocaine.

Notes, pp. 178–83

211

11 Quoted in Weckman, Kaspar Hauser, p. 502. 12 Kablund [Alfred Henschke], ‘Der arme Kaspar’, Das heiße Herz, Berlin 1922. 13 Klaus Mann, Vor dem Leben, Hamburg 1925. The ‘Kaspar-Hauser-Legenden’ were written when he was 16. 14 Willi R. Fehse and Klaus Mann, Anthologie jüngster Lyrik, Hamburg 1927. 15 See Golo Mann’s afterward, in Jakob Wassermann, Kaspar Hauser oder die Trägheit des Herzens, Munich 1994. 16 Marcia Southwick, ‘Kaspar Hauser (A boy abandoned by his parents and raised in a cell by a prison guard)’, Ohio Review 18, no. 2, summer 1977. 17 Wilhelm Herchenbach, Der Findling von Nürnberg, Regensburg 1884. 18 Anon. (Philipp Konrad Marheineke), Das Leben im Leichentuch: Enthüllung eines argen Geheimnisses, Berlin 1834. In this instance the Protestant faith was assumed to be the only true path to salvation. The author was professor of theology and preached in the Trinity Church in Berlin. 19 Ludwig Berndt, Kaspar Hauser der Findling von Nürnberg: Grosser Volks-roman, Dresden 1896. 20 Kurt Martens, Kaspar Hauser: Drama in vier Akten, Berlin 1903. 21 Sophie Hoechstetter, Ein Vorspiel, Berlin 1919. 22 Rainer Maria Rilke, ‘Der Knabe’, Sämtliche Werke, vol. 1, Frankfurt 1955, p. 386. 23 Wassermann, Kaspar Hauser. 24 Steiner’s word is Geisteswissenschaften which in its normal German usage means ‘the arts’ as opposed to the sciences (Naturwissenschaften). The foregoing is from the text of a lecture given by Steiner on 17 June 1908, reprinted in Struve, Der Findling, pp. 144–6. 25 Letter from Steiner to Count Ludwig Polzer-Hoditz, November 1916, in Struve, Der Findling, pp. 146–8. 26 Reported by Countess Johann Keyserlinck in 1924. Struve, Der Findling, pp. 149–50. 27 Note by Count Ludwig Polzer-Hoditz, 3 March 1925, in Struve, Der Findling, pp. 150–1. 28 To name but a few: Karl Heyer, Kaspar Hauser und das Schicksal Mitteleuropas im 19. Jahrhundert, Stuttgart 1983; Wolfgang Wegener, ‘Die okkulte Mission Kaspar Hauser’, Rosenkreuzer-Meditation, 4 vols, Berlin 1958ff.; Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser oder das Ringen um den Geist. 29 Nowhere is this more apparant than in the in so many ways admirable study by Meyer and Tradowsky, Kaspar Hauser. 30 Heyer, Kaspar Hauser und das Schicksal Mitteleuropas im 19. Jahrhundert. 31 Wegener, Die okkulte Mission des Kaspar Hauser. Some of these esoteric themes are touched upon in Karlheinz Stockhausen’s masterpiece, the opera series Licht. 32 Emma Krell-Werth, Gesammelte Gedichte, Dornach 1976. 33 Krell-Werth, ‘Kaspar Hauser’, Gesammelte Gedichte. 34 Krell-Werth, ‘Himmel und Erde’, Gesammelte Gedichte. Matthew 18:20: ‘For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’ 35 Herbert Lewandowski, Das Tagebuch Kaspar Hausers: eine Gabe für einsame Menschen, Utrecht/Leipzig/Berlin 1928. 36 Maria Mathi [Maria Schmidt], ‘Kaspar Hauser’, Nuremberg Sontags-Kurier of 13 November 1927 is a good example. See Struve, Der Findling, p. 229.

212

Notes, pp. 183–93

37 Johannes Bobrowski, ‘Kaspar Hauser’, a poem written during the Third Reich and published posthumously in 1987, bemoans the widespread lack of concern for the victims of National Socialism. Johannes Bobrowski, Gesammelte Werke, vol. 2, Stuttgart 1987, p. 13. 38 Hermann Pies, Kaspar Hauser: Augenzeugenberichte und Selbstzeugnisse, 2 vols, Stuttgart 1925. 39 Hans Arp, ‘Kaspar Hauser ist tot’. Three versions of the poem are reprinted in Struve, Der Findling, pp. 170–3. 40 Erich Fried, ‘Klage über die Doppeldeutung’, Die bunten Getürme: Siebzig Gedichte, Berlin 1977. 41 Meret Oppenheim, Kaspar Hauser oder die goldene Freiheit, Bern and Berlin 1987. 42 Peter Härtling, ‘Kasper’, 1958; ‘Nachricht von Kasper’, 1961; ‘Kaspar Hauser’, 1987. All in: Peter Härtling, Die Gedichte, Frankfurt 1989. 43 Peter Handke, Kaspar, Frankfurt 1967, p. 7. 44 Guntram Vesper, ‘Kinder’, Kriegerdenkmal ganz hinten, Munich 1982. 45 Die Tragödie des Kaspar Hauser. It was written and directed by Kurt Matull. 46 Werner Herzog, Drehbücher II: Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes – Jeder für sich und Gott gegen alle – Land des Schweigens und der Dunkelheit, Munich 1977. 47 Robin Fulton, ‘The Story of Kaspar Hauser’, Encounter 60, no. 5, 1983. 48 Bill Sewell, ‘Kaspar Hauser’, Landfall: a New Zealand Quarterly 39, no.1, March 1985. 49 Suzanne Vega, ‘Wooden Horse (Caspar Hauser’s Song)’, on her CD Solitude Standing, 1987. 50 Johannes Meyer wrote the book of the film which provides a useful summary of his view of the affair along with stills and interviews with André Eisermann, who plays Kaspar Hauser, and Peter Sehr. It is published by an anthroposophical publishing house: Johannes Meyer, Kaspar Hauser: das Buch zum Film, Stuttgart 1994.

Conclusion 1. For a spirited discussion of conspiracy theories, see Daniel Pipes, Conspiracy, New York 1997. 2. Mitscherlich, ‘Ödipus und Kaspar Hauser’. E. Nau and D. Cabanis, ‘KasparHauser-Syndrom’, Münchener Medizinische Wochenschrift 108, 17, 1966, pp. 929–31. 3. Daumer, Kaspar Hauser, ed. Tradowski. 4. Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: a History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, New York 1965. Chapter 2 is titled ‘The Great Confinement’. 5. Heinrich Laehr, Über Irrsinn und Irrenanstalten, Halle 1852, gives a useful overview of conditions in Germany. 6. Johann Christian Reil, Rhapsodieen über die Anwendung der psychischen Curmethode auf Geisteszerütterungen, Halle 1803. 7. Theodor Kirchhoff (ed.), Deutsche Irrenärzte, 2 vols, Berlin 1921–4, for details on both Horn and Reil. 8. Edward Shorter, A History of Psychiatry, New York 1997, pp. 2–4, gives some graphic examples from Germany and elsewhere.

Notes, p. 193

213

9. This fact was uncovered by Dr Günter Hesse who examined the Innsbrücker Zeitung for this period. See for the following: Hesse, ‘Die Krankheit Kaspar Hauser’; Hesse, ‘Geschichte der Medizin’; Hesse, ‘Kaspar Hauser, Lesebrief’; Hesse, ‘Kaspar Hauser – das epileptische Kind einer Tiroler Dienstmagd’; and Hesse, ‘Zum Mythos Kaspar Hauser’.

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Public Record Office, Kew FO 82–25. FO 82: 22 and 24.

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Index Note: Where information is to be found in a note, the page number is followed by the note number: e.g. 202n.15. The initials KH stand for Kaspar Hauser. Aachen Congress, 91, 151 abandoned children in criminal law, 77 in myth and legend, xiv, 1, 2, 9, 39 Abraham, Karl, 9, 196–7n.31 abuse, ix, x, xv, 190 Adelbert, Prince of Bavaria, 157 Albert, Dr, 109, 116, 117, 120–1, 129 Aldinger, Zacharias (Baron von Eyb), 169 Alexander I, tsar of Russia, 151, 153, 191 allopathy, 42, 43 alternative medicine, 36–8, 87 see also homoeopathy Amala (Indian wolf-child), 7–8 Amalie of Saxony, 102 Amalie von Hessen-Darmstadt, 138, 140, 145, 149, 152 antipathy towards Stephanie, 141, 142 and death of Karl’s heir, 147, 148 Amaltheia, 1 American Psychological Association, 14 animal magnetism, x, 36, 37–8, 39–41 attributed to KH, x, 40–1, 46–7, 48–9, 57, 62–3, 74 Lord Stanhope’s interest in, 87 ‘odian magnetism’, 70 Ansbach court of appeal, 81, 107, 108, 162 historical context, 23, 98–9, 150 investigation into message in bottle, 160 investigations into death of KH, 112–16, 117–18, 120–1, 122–32 monument to KH, 189 Ansbach-Bayreuth margravate, 98

‘anthroposophy’, 180, 182 ‘anti-Hauserianers’, xii, xiii, 73, 83 Stanhope as, 70, 71, 75, 105–6, 125–8 Arawak indians, 15 Arbuthnot, Dr John, 4, 195n.10, 201n.22 Armansperg, Count Josef Ludwig von, 60, 61 Arminen, 166, 167 Arndt, E. M., 135 Arnobius the Elder, 6 Arp, Hans, 184–5 Auguste, Princess of Bavaria, 138, 139–40 Aveyron wild-boy (Victor), 3, 5–7, 12 Babst, Edmond, 162, 172 Bachmann, Johann Matthäus, 117 Bacon, Francis, 18 Baden, grand duchy of, 133–55 birth and death of male heir, 101, 146–8, 156–7, 160, 162, 171 constitution, 136, 137–8, 144, 151, 166 court life, 89–90, 101, 109 historical context, xii, 135–8, 142–6, 149–55 KH as rightful heir, xi–xii, xiii, 39, 55, 80, 101, 133–5, 146, 156–74, 182; action against pamphlets, 168–9, 170; anonymous letter, 133, 162; doubts cast on, 127; dream of castle, 63–4, 75, 134, 158; Feuerbach’s belief in, 74–7, 96–7, 133–4, 157; fictional accounts, 175–6, 178–80, 187–8 succession issues, 143–4, 145–8, 150, 151–2, 154–5, 163 Bader, Katharina, 131 226

Index Bamberg calf-child, 3 Barbarin, Chevalier, 40–1 Bark, John, 172, 173 Barnum, P. T., 176 Barra Island wild boy, 5 Barting, Adolf, 172 Bavaria, 22–3, 100, 192, 193–4 criminal law, x, 53, 76, 77 investigation into death of KH, 122–3, 125–32 territorial disputes, xii, 98–9, 149–50, 152–5; implications of crown prince theory, 163 see also Ludwig I, king of Bavaria bear-children, 2, 3, 5 Beauharnais, Eugene, 139, 140 Beauharnais, Hortense de, 109, 142 Beauharnais, Joséphine, 140, 142 Beauharnais, Stephanie see Stephanie, grand duchess of Baden Beck, Jacob, 25–6, 132 Benveniste, Jacques, 43–4 Bernadotte, General Jean Baptiste Jules (later Charles XIV of Sweden), 98–9 Berstett, Wilhelm von, 144, 150, 151, 166 Béthune, Maximilien de, Duc de Sully, 22 Beuggen castle, 157–8 Biberbach, Johann Christian, 69, 70–1, 81, 82, 128, 180 Biberbach, Klara, 82 Biermann, Wolf, 177 Bild, Das, 173 Binder, Jakob Friedrich, 23, 30, 81–2, 109, 110, 125 documents case of KH, 51–2, 57, 60, 61 KH’s obituary by, 121 receives anonymous letter on KH, 133, 162 welcomes Lord Stanhope’s aid, 91–2 Binder, Mathilde (Amara George), 37, 125 Bismarck, Prince Otto von, 167 Blochmann, Christoph and family, 156, 157

227

Blochmann, (Kaspar) Ernst Jakob, 156–7, 163–4 Bobrowski, Johannes, 212n.37 Boiron et Cie company, 43, 44 Bonnaterre, Pierre-Joseph, Abbé, 5–6 Bosquet, Dr A., 7 Böttiger, Karl August, 88 Bougainville, Louis Antoine de, 19 Bourgeois, Anicet, 176 Brahms, Johannes, 33 Bray, Count Otto von, 154 Brechtelsbauer, Karl, 116 Brentano, Clemens von, 192 Breyer, Professor (German lecturer), 85 Brown, John, 38 Bruno, S. (actor), 187 Buffon, George-Louis Leclerc, Comte de, 2 Buol, Count von, 144 Burdett, Sir Francis, 84–5 Burnett, James, Lord Monboddo, 4, 195n.11, 203n.23 Burschenschaften, 165, 166–7 Butler, Jean, 13 Caldéron de la Barca, Pedro, 39, 183–4 calf-child of Bamberg, 3 Campanella, Tommaso, 18 Carib indians, 3, 15, 19–20 Carl Friedrich, margrave of Baden, 135–9, 140, 141, 143, 145–6 Caroline, queen dowager of Bavaria, 74–5, 102, 108, 110, 122, 146, 147 Carrington, Robert Smith, 1st Baron, 86 Casas see Las Casas Cecilia, Princess of Baden, 171 Chesterfield, Philip Dormer Stanhope, Lord, 84 child abuse, ix, x, xv, 190 Chomsky, Noam, 8, 11, 12 Columbus, Christopher, 3, 15 Condamine see La Condamine Condillac, Étienne Bonnot de, 2, 12 Confederation of the Rhine, 135, 137 conspiracy theories, xi, 190 see also crown prince theory Cook, Captain James, 19 correspondence see letters and notes

228

Index

Cotta (publishing house), 133 Cotta von Cottendorf, Baron Johann Friedrich, 207n.1 Crawford, Dr (private tutor), 84, 85 ‘crimes against the soul’ concept, 9, 77–80, 196–7n.31 criminal law regarding confinement of KH, x, 60–1, 77–8 regarding origins of KH, 76–7 Cronus the Titan, 1 crown prince theory, xi–xii, xiii, 39, 55, 80, 133–5, 146, 182 dream of castle, 63–4, 75, 134, 158 Feuerbach’s belief in, 74–7, 96–7, 133–4, 157 fictional accounts, 175–6, 178–9, 187–8 legal evidence for, 76–7 present-day advocates, 172–4 Stanhope casts doubt on, 127 Stanhope encourages, 96–7 swapped babies theory, 156–74 Cullen, William, 41–2 Cuno, Herr, 160 Curtiss, Susan, 14 customs union, 24, 25, 145, 155 Dada, 184–5 Dalbonne, Anna, 157–8, 161 Daumer, Anna Katharina, 66 Daumer, Elisabetha, 66, 67 Daumer, Georg Friedrich background, 32–3 controversial religious views, 33–4, 69–70 conversion to Catholicism, 69–70 dietary theories, 47 interest in alternative medicines, 36–7, 191–2 and investigation into death of KH, 126, 128 KH in care of, 32–5, 55, 57, 59, 61, 63–4, 99, 180; attempt on life, 66–9, 71; homoeopathic experiments on KH, 45–50, 62–3, 191 and KH’s relationship with Stanhope, 94

literary efforts, 33–4, 69–70 Mitteilungen über Kaspar Hauser, 80 Diderot, Denis, 19, 58 Dittmeyer, Louis, 127 ‘Dmitri, False’, 181–2 DNA testing, 172–3 Donner, Friedrich, 117–18 Dorguth, Friedrich Ludwig Andreas, 202n.15 Douglas, William, Duke of Hamilton, 172 dreams of KH, 46, 63–4, 75, 134, 158 occult interest in, 40 Dresden, 88–9 Du Tetre, Father Jean Baptiste, 18–19 Dürrbeck, Louise, 114–15 Each for Himself and God (film), 187 Ebermayer, Erich, 184 education changes in Germany, xi, 99–100 of KH, x–xi, 99, 100, 104–5, 107, 191 Eichendorff, Joseph von, 175 Eisenmenger, Wolfgang, 172 Eisermann, André, 212n.50 Elizabeth, queen of Prussia, 102 Elizabeth (Luise), empress of Russia, 142, 149, 151, 153 Emmerick, Anna Katharina, 192 Emmerling, Herr (teacher), 65 empiricism, 44–5 enfants sauvages, 1–15 Engelhard, Regnerius, 78 Engesser, Councillor, 168 Ense, Varnhagen von, 140 Epicurus, 11 epidermolysis bullosa, 173 epilepsy, 173, 191, 192 Erb, Johann Leonhard, 114 Eschenbach, Karl, 158 Eschricht, Daniel Friedrich, 70 Esquirol, Jean-Etienne-Dominique, 7 ethnology, 15–20 ‘Europe’s Child’ campaign, 82–3 ‘False Dmitri’, 181–2 Farquhar, George, 190

Index feral man, ix ‘noble savage’, 15–20 sexuality, 49, 201n.22 speech in, 3, 4, 5, 6–7 upright stance, 2–3, 10 wild children, 1–15 Ferdinand IV, king of Two Sicilies, 88 Ferenczi, S., 9, 196–7n.31 and 32 Feuchtersleben, Baron Ernst von, 44 Feuerbach, Anselm, 108 Feuerbach, Eduard, 54, 108 Feuerbach, Karl, 54 Feuerbach, Ludwig, 33, 47, 54, 56, 62, 201n.20 Feuerbach, (Paul Johann) Anselm Ritter von, 6, 29, 31–2, 183, 190 background, 53–4 and Bavarian penal code, 53 ‘crimes against the soul’, 9, 77–80 and crown prince theory, 74–7, 96–7, 133–4, 157 death in mysterious circumstances, 108–9 ill-health, 55 instigates criminal proceedings, 60–1, 71–5, 77 interest in KH, 55–8, 59, 81, 91, 104–5, 107 Kaspar Hauser, x, 39, 54, 57, 74, 75, 96–7; Stanhope’s translation, 97, 103, 105, 106; Stephanie of Baden’s interest in, 101, 102 other publications, 53, 54, 76, 79 films on KH, 187–8 Fischer, Frau (religious fanatic), 191 Forster, Johann Georg, 19 Foucault, Michel, 15, 192 foundlings see abandoned children Fränkische Landeszeitung, 172–3 Frederick, grand duke of Baden, 171 Frederick II of Hohenstaufen, 11–12 Frederick August, king of Saxony, 88–9 Frederick William III, king of Prussia, 167 Freemasons, 180, 181, 190 Freud, Sigmund, xiv, 9, 196–7n.31 and 32 Fried, Erich, 185

229

Friedrich, Georg, 115 Fromkin, Victoria, 14 Frosch, Heinrich, 115 Fuhrmann, Johann Simon Heinrich, 103–4, 112, 120, 129 Fulton, Robin, 187 gaoler of KH, 52 educational claims, 27–8 KH’s attitude towards, x, 56–7, 59, 75, 126 position in criminal law, x, 60–1, 77–8 as saviour of KH, 75–6, 134 suspected of attacks on KH, 67–8, 134 Garnier, Joseph Heinrich, 167–9 Gay, Peter, 196–7n.31 Geiersberger, Maria Margaretha, 68 Gellinger, Herr (teacher), 130 ‘Genie’ (abused/wild child), 10–11, 12–14 Gennärt, Anna Maria, 2, 3 Gentz, Friedrich von, 90–1 George I, king of England, 4 George, Amara (Mathilde Binder), 37 George, Stefan, 177 Germanen, 166, 167 Germany Confederation, xi, 22, 135, 137, 164–5, 192 educational reform in, 99–100 historical context, xiv–xv, 135–7 radical movements, 164–8 Gesell, Arnold, 8 Geyer von Geyersberg, Luise see Hochberg, Countess Luise von God as innate idea, ix, 4, 6, 56, 203n.23 Gothic literature, xiv, xv, 178–9 Griesenbeck, Baron, 161, 162 Groß, Johann, 68 Gründgens, Gustav, 184 Gruner, Herr von (court official), 60 Güldenstubbe, Baron Ludwig von, 37 Gustav IV, king of Sweden, 154 Guttenberg, Baron von, 131 Gutzkow, Karl, 176–7

230

Index

Gymnasien, humanistische, 100 gymnastic associations, 165 Haber, Baron Moritz von, 92 Hacke, Minister von, 130, 131, 149, 162 Hähnel, Frau (mystic), 191 Hahnemann, Christian Friedrich Samuel, 36, 41–3 Hahnenberg, Johann Leonhard, 115 Hambach festival (1832), 166, 167, 170 Hamlin/Hanover, Peter of, 2, 4, 201n.22, 203n.23 Handke, Peter, 185–6 Hardenberg, Karl August, Fürst von, 191 Härtling, Peter, 185 Haubenstricker, Friedrich, 66–7 Hauffe, Friedericke (‘Medium of Prevorst’), 36, 63, 191–2, 201n.19 Hauser, Kaspar artistic talent, 94, 105, 110 autobiographical writing, 60, 64, 65, 67–8, 123, 125 behaviour/character, xiii–xiv, 58–9; antipathy to clergy and church, 57, 104; attitude towards gaoler, viii, 56–7, 59, 75, 126; attitude towards women, 62; childishness, 27, 39, 104, 106; effect of Stanhope on, 94–5, 106–7; on first appearance, 30, 52, 126, 190–1; innocence and goodness, 34, 39, 52, 56, 59, 62, 104; investigation reviews, 128–9; mendacity, 94, 95, 104, 111, 124, 127–8; morality, 56, 71; perception of self, 61–2; perception of world, 58–9; plays with toys, 30, 51, 57–8, 64; reaction to crucifix, 57, 58; vanity, 30, 94, 105 cognitive skills, 45, 56; comprehension, 26, 35, 58, 59–60; memory, 31, 59, 60, 65, 104, 191; mother tongue, 74, 81, 83; powers of speech, x,

25, 26, 27, 28, 30–1, 53, 58, 59, 190–1; reading ability, 64, 104; writing ability, x, 29, 59, 104, 105 conception of God, 56, 57 confirmation classes, 103–4, 112 death: attack in park, xiii, 112–18, 125–6, 169–70; autopsy, 120–1; funeral, 121; grave and monument, 189; illness and dying moments, 118–20; investigations into, 112–16, 117–18, 120–1, 122–32; obituary, 121; portrayed as suicide, 121, 122, 123, 124, 127, 128, 129, 175 diary, 123, 125 dreams, 46, 63–4, 75, 134, 158 eating habits/diet, 26, 28, 29, 31, 64–5, 105; during confinement, 72, 74; effect on magnetic powers, 46–7, 57, 74 education, x–xi, 27–8, 65, 191; Meyer in charge of, 99, 100, 104–5, 107 films on, 187–8 handwriting, 130 health: on aborted Hungary trip, 93; digestive disorders, 31, 35, 49; epilepsy hypothesis, 173, 191, 192; nervous agitation, 31, 35, 45, 58, 191; skin disorders, 47, 173 identity, 51–65, 130–2; anonymous letter, 133, 162; authorities investigate, xii, 51, 60–1, 71–5, 77, 81–3, 160; as Baden heir see crown prince theory; denounced as fraud, xii, 73, 105–6, 107, 123; DNA tests on clothing, 172–3; Hungarian connections, 81–2, 83, 92, 93, 102–3, 126; name, significance of, 160, 184; purloined by others, 183; sexual identity, 62; theories on, 156–74 jobs: apprentice bookbinder, 82, 112; apprentice court clerk, 103, 105, 109, 112

Index legal guardian, 32, 34, 69, 95–6 life events: appearance in Nuremberg, 25–8, 52–3, 72–3, 126, 131–2, 190–1; early confinement, x, 27–8, 30, 51–2, 57, 71–2, 106, 125, 158, 161, 190, 193; first attempt on life, xiii, 48, 56–7, 66–9, 71, 106, 163; own account of, 57, 60, 64, 65, 67–8, 71–2, 123, 125; pistol accident, 82; relationship with Lord Stanhope, 91–7, 100–11; second attempt on life, xiii, 112–18, 125–6, 169–70; subsequent illness and death, 118–21; in Vestner tower, 57–8; see also death above literature on, xiii, xv, 15; literary accounts of life, 175–88; pamphlets on crown prince theory, 167–70; see also under Binder; Feuerbach, (Paul Johann) Anselm Ritter von medical experiments/observations: homoeopathic experiments, x, 36, 45–50; Preu’s initial observations, 30–1 perceptions of, xiii–xiv, 62; ‘anti-Hauserianers’, xii, xiii, 70, 73, 83, 105–6; contemporary relevance, xiii; divine purpose, xiv, 172, 180–2; Feuerbach’s ‘crimes against the soul’ concept, 9, 77–80, 196–7n.31; intellectual reception, ix, 39; literary interpretations, 175–88; mystery surrounding, 14–15; mythical context, 39; psychoanalytical significance, 9–10; public interest in, xi, 31–2, 57, 61, 81; religious parallels, 182–3; as tabula rasa, 34, 39, 62 physical features: clothing, 25, 28, 51, 72, 94, 172–3; expression, 25; gait/walking ability, 25, 31, 35, 72, 73, 126; initial medical examination, 73; sitting

231

position, 29, 73, 74, 105, 106, 126 police protection, 69, 71, 82 portrait, 93 possessions: letters, 26, 27–8, 52–3, 72–3, 76, 125, 162, 193; religious effects, 28, 75–6 riding skills, 35 senses/sensitivity, x, 45, 73–4, 126, 191; to healing touch, 48, 49; to light, 29, 35, 58, 72; magnetic powers, x, 40–1, 46–7, 48–9, 57, 62–3, 74; metal detecting powers, 46, 57, 62, 74; night vision, 35, 40–1, 45, 72, 74, 104; premonitions of death, 48, 67; reaction to homoeopathic preparations, x, 46, 47–8, 49–50, 74, 191; to sound, 31, 35, 74; to storms, 46; to temperature, 64, 72 sexuality, 49, 62, 71, 73 Haynau, Ludwig von, 152 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 32, 34, 37, 39, 191 Heidenreich, Dr, 117, 118–19 Heitz, Louis, 158–9 Helzel, Friedrich, 114, 115 Hennenhofer, Major, 152, 158, 161, 163 action against pamphlets, 168–70 fictional representations, 177, 179, 188 as KH’s assailant, 164, 167, 170 Henschke, Alfred (Klabund), 178 herbal remedies, 87–8 see also homoeopathy Herder, Johann Gottfried, 3 hereditary prince theory see crown prince theory Herlein, Johann Konrad, 115, 118 hermeneutics, 8–9 Herodotus, 1, 11 Herzog, Werner, 187 Hesse, Günther, 173–4, 213n.9 Hessen Darmstadt, Caroline Luise von, 143 Hessen wolf-child, 2, 3

232

Index

Hickel, Lieutenant Joseph, 68, 75, 83, 119, 125 Hungary trips, 92, 93, 102–3 and investigation into death of KH, 122–3, 127, 128 Hiltel, Andreas, 28, 29–31, 45, 53, 55 Hitzig, Julius Eduard, 82, 175 Hobbes, Thomas, 20 Hochberg, Count Leopold von see Leopold, grand duke of Baden Hochberg, Countess Luise von (née Geyer von Geyersberg), 141 accusations of poisoning, 145, 148, 149 and crown prince conspiracy, 157, 158 fictional representations, 178–9, 188 Hochberg family succession, 135, 139, 143, 144, 145–8, 150, 151–2, 154–5, 162 Hoechstetter, Sophie, 179 Hofer (Höffner), Klara, 161 Hoffmann, E. T. A., 41 Hofmannstahl, Hugo von, 183–4 Hohenlohe-Waldenburg-Schillingsfürst, Prince von, 191 Hohenzollern dynasty, 98 Höllerer, Walter, 185 Home Office, Forensic Science Service, 172 homoeopathy, viii, 41–50 dilution ratios, 42–3, 43–4 experiments on KH, viii, 36, 45–50, 62–3 KH’s sensitivity to preparations, viii, 46, 47–8, 49–50, 74, 191 Lord Stanhope’s interest in, 87 similia similibus curantur theory, 36, 42 Horlacher, Dr, 117, 118–19, 120, 121, 128–9 Horn, Ernst, 193 Horn, Friedrich, 170 Huenpoët, Lieutenant von, 27 Hufeland, Christoph Wilhelm, 40 Hüftlein, Herr (police officer), 71 human nature see nature of man humanistische Gymnasien, 100 Humboldt, Wilhelm von, 100

Hungary feral children, 5 KH linked with, 81–2, 83, 92, 93, 102–3, 126 Huron indians, 19 idiocy, Pinel’s classification, 6 Inland, Das, 133 innate grammar, ix, 8, 11, 14 innate ideas, ix, 6, 8, 21, 56, 203n.23 Institute for Legal Medicine, Munich, 172 Irish sheep-child, 3 Itard, Jean-Marc-Gaspard, 6–7 Jackson, Francis, 84–5 Jacobinism, 37, 165 Jahn, Friedrich Ludwig, 165 Japanese legends, 2 Jean of Liège (feral child), 5 Jesuits, 180, 181, 190 John, St, 181 John the Baptist, 181 Joséphine, empress of France, 140, 142 Joyce, Jeremiah, 84 Jung, Carl Gustav 9, 196–7n.31 and 32 Jung-Stilling (oculist), 192 Kamala (Indian wolf-child), 7–8 Kannewurf, Caroline, 110–11, 125 Karl, grand duke of Baden, 127 accedes to title, 141, 143 children, 135, 141, 143, 145, 146–8; birth and death of male heir, 101, 146–8, 156–7, 160, 162, 171 death, 142, 149, 151–2 engagements and marriage, 138–41, 142, 146 fictional representations, 179 relationship with uncle, 149 sexual peccadillos, 140, 143 succession issues, 143–4, 146, 151–2, 154–5, 162 Karl Alexander, Margrave of Ansbach-Bayreuth, 85 Karl August, king of Saxony, 165

Index Kaspar Hauser complex/syndrome, 9–10, 190 Keller, Max, 158 Kerner, Justinus, 36, 191–2, 201n.19 Kipling, Rudyard: Mowgli character, 2, 8 Kirchner, Herr (teacher), 65 Kitzinger, Anna Emma, 117, 119 Klages, Ludwig, 70 Klee, Fritz, 156–7, 172 Klein, Aloys, 129 Klein, Lieutenant Bapist, 68 Kleist, Heinrich von, 200n.11 Klüber, Johann Ludwig, 101, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109 Kluge, Karl Alexander Ferdinand, 40 Koenig, Heinrich Conrad, 2 Kohlhagen, Heinrich Theodor von, 122, 128 Kolb, Georg Friedrich, 170 Komet, Der, 15 Königsheim, Dorothea, 163 Koppen, Dr, 120–1, 129 Koreff, Johann Ferdinand, 40, 41 Koschwitz, Georg Joseph, 127, 130 Kotzebue, August von, 165 Krell-Werth, Emma, 182 Kreul, J. F. C., 93 Kronauer, Johann Abraham, 116 Krüdener, Baroness von (visionary), 191 Kuhn, Thomas, 45 Kummer, Marie Gottliebin, 191 Labat, Jean Baptiste, 19 La Condamine, Charles Marie de, 196n.13 Lahontan, Baron Louis-Armand de, 19 La Mettrie, Julien Offray de, 6 Lang, Baron von, 175 language acquisition, ix early theories on feral man, 2, 3 in ‘Genie’, 13–14 KH’s mother tongue, 74, 81, 83 linguistic theories, 11–12, 14 ‘original language’ experiments, 11–12 see also linguistics; speech Las Casas, Bartolomé de, 15–16, 17

233

Lebensphilosophie, 70 Leibnitz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 11 Leich, Josef, 113, 114 Lemarié, Jean Jacques, 28 Lenneberg, Eric H., 11, 14 Leopold, grand duke of Baden, 143, 144, 145, 146, 153, 166 fictional representations, 176, 179 letters and notes anonymous letter on KH’s origins, 133, 162 message in bottle, 158–60 in possession of KH on arrival, 26, 27–8, 52–3, 72–3, 76, 162, 193 in purse at murder scene, 118, 124, 125, 126, 129–30, 132, 170 Stanhope’s correspondence with KH, 101, 102, 106–7 Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 3, 15 Lewandowski, Herbert, 182–3 Liebig, Justus, 44–5 Liège, Jean of, 5 Liegnitz, Princess Auguste von, 110 linguistics innateness hypothesis, ix, 8, 11, 14 ‘universal grammar’ theory, 12 see also language acquisition; speech Linné, Carl (Linnaeus), 3, 4 Lithuanian bear-children, 2, 3 Lobenhofer, Johann Philip, 24 Loedel and Merkel (Nuremberg bankers), 91 Lorenz, Christian and Karoline, 118 Louis Napoleon (Napoleon III, emperor of France), 109, 171 Lübeck, Georg Philipp Schmidt von, 65, 73 Ludwig I, grand duke of Baden, 145, 146, 148–9, 161 and Countess von Hochberg, 139, 141, 143, 149 as grand duke, 151–5 Ludwig I, king of Bavaria, xii, 55, 152–3 correspondence with Stanhope, 96–7 and crown prince theory, 163 and death of KH, 123, 128 interest in case of KH, 60, 61, 81 KH presented to, 110 provides protection to KH, 69, 71, 82

234

Index

Maclean, Charles, 8 Maddox, John, 44 madness, treatment, 6, 192–3 magnetism see animal magnetism Mahon, Lord see Stanhope, Philip Henry, 5th Earl ‘Man in the Iron Mask’, xi, 39 Mann, Golo, 178 Mann, Klaus, 178, 182 Marcus, Friedrich, 41 Marie Caroline, queen of Sicily, 88 Marie Louise of Austria, 141, 146 Marx, Karl, 33–4, 54, 69, 201n.20 Masson, Michael, 177 Maximilian, Prince of Baden, 171 Maximilian Josef, elector of Bavaria, 138, 139, 152 media interest in ‘Genie’, 12–13 in KH, xii, 60, 81 medicine see homoeopathy Mehle, Ferdinand, 172 Mehring, Walter, 178 ‘mental crimes’ see ‘crimes against the soul’ mental cruelty as offence, x mental illness, treatment, 6, 192–3 ‘mental murder’, 78 Merk, Johann Matthias, 26, 27, 199n.7 Merkel, Herr (Nuremberg banker), 91 Merker, Johann Friedrich Karl, 73, 83, 122, 123, 127, 170 mesmerism/Mesmer, F. A., x, 36, 37–8, 40, 41 see also animal magnetism message in bottle, 158–60 Metternich, Prince Clemens Lothar Wenzel, 90, 110, 154, 165–6 Mettrie see La Mettrie Meyer, Jette, 100, 126 Meyer, Johann Georg, 62, 180 and death of KH, 116–21, 122, 123, 124, 126 KH in care of, 99, 100, 103, 104–5, 110–11, 125 view of KH’s character, 104, 111, 123, 127, 128, 129 Meyer, Johannes, 187–8, 212n.50

Michaelovitch, grand duke Nicolai, 171 Mieg, Arnold von, 57, 60, 131 Miller, George, 12 Milsintown, Dr, 5 Mitscherlich, Alexander, 10 M.L.O. initials, 118, 170, 206n.9 Monboddo, James Burnett, Lord, 4, 195n.11, 203n.23 Moncrieff, William Thomas, 176 Moniteur Universel, Le, 158–9 monkey-reared children, 2 Montagu, Ashley, 8 Montaigne, Michel Eyquem de, ix, 12, 17–18 Moravian Brotherhood, 39, 195n.9 More, Sir Thomas, 18 Mother Earth, 1 Mowgli character (Kipling), 2, 8 Müller (murderer’s name), 206n.9 Müller, Johann Jakob Friedrich, 169–70 Müller, Johannes (Regiomontanus), 22 mythology, feral man in, 1, 20, 39 Nahautl indians, 16–17 Napoleon I, emperor of France, 98, 127, 143, 146, 152, 162 coalition against, 88, 142, 150 and marriage of Karl Zähringer, 138–9, 141 Napoleon III (Louis Napoleon), emperor of France, 109, 171 Napoleonic movement, 109 National Institute for Mental Health (NIMH), 13 nationalism, 164–5 native indians, 2, 3, 15–20 natural law, 53, 78 natural philosophy, 44–5 Nature (journal), 43–4 nature of man innate ideas, ix, 6, 8, 21 inquiry into, 1–2, 20–1 nature v. nurture argument, 6–7 Naundorf, Karl Wilhelm, 109 Nebenius, Carl Friedrich, 137, 144 Neleus, 1 Newton, Isaac, 44

Index Nicholas I, tsar of Russia, 153 Nicolay, Count de, 162 Niethammer, Friedrich Immanuel, 100 Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm, 70 noble birth theory see crown prince theory ‘noble savage’ myth, 2, 3, 15–20 notes see letters and notes Novalis (F. von Hardenberg), 200n.11 Nuremberg administration, 24 cultural and social life, 24 district council, 60–1 economy, 24, 25 historical background, 22–3, 150 intellectual life, 32 investigations into case of KH, xii, 51, 60–1, 71–5, 77, 83 KH as economic burden, 82–3, 97 KH’s appearance in, 25–8, 52–3, 72–3, 126, 131–2, 190–1 poor relief provisions, 23–4 population, 25 as Romantic ideal, 24–5 see also police occult movements, 36, 37, 62–3, 191–2 see also animal magnetism; homoeopathy; psychic powers ‘odian magnetism’, 70 Oppenheim, Meret, 185 ‘original language’ theory, 11 original sin, 21, 56, 62 Osterhausen, Dr, 46, 67, 105, 109 initial treatment of KH, 31, 32, 35 metal detection test, 62, 74 testimony on KH, 74 tests KH’s memory, 59 Ottingen-Wallerstein, Prince von, 122–3, 128 Oviedo y Valdés, Gonzalo Fernández de, 15–16 paranoia studies, 9, 197n.32 Paul, Jean (Johann Paul Richter), 39, 40, 88 Pausch, Friedrich, 114 Pelias, 1

235

Persian myths, 2 Peter of Hamlin/Hanover, 2, 4, 201n.22, 203n.23 Petry, Maximilian, 37 Pfaffenberger, Nikolaus and Johanna, 113 Pfauntsch, Johann, 68 Philippe, Adolphe, 176 Pies, Hermann, 172, 184 Pilsach castle, 161–3 Pinel, Philippe, 6, 7, 193 Pirch, Lieutenant Otto von, 74, 81–2, 83, 128 Pitt, Lady Hester (later Stanhope), 83, 84 Pitt, William (the younger), 83, 84–5, 86, 89 polarity theories, 38–9 police investigations into case of KH, xii, 51, 71 investigations into death of KH, 117–18, 122 KH in care of, 26, 28–30 provide protection to KH, 69, 71, 82 Poseidon, 1 press freedom of, 166 interest in KH, xii, 60, 81 Preu, Paul Siegmund Karl, 28, 30–1, 35, 109 and attack on KH, 66, 67 gives testimony on KH, 73–4 homoeopathic experiments with KH, 36, 45, 46, 48–50 Prevorst medium (Friedericke Hauffe), 36, 63, 191–2, 201n.19 prince of Baden theory see crown prince theory Prussia, 88, 98, 135–6, 153, 154–5 Zollverein, 24, 25, 145, 155 Psamtik I, king of Egypt, 11 psychiatry, 6, 193 psychic powers, 40–1 see also animal magnetism; occult movements psychoanalysis, xiv, 9–10, 196–7n.31 and 32 public interest in KH, xi, 31–2, 57, 81

236

Index

Pufendorf, Baron Samuel von, 2 purse at murder scene, 118, 123–4, 126, 129–30, 132 radicalism, 164–8 Ramu (Indian feral child), 8 Randi, James, 44 Rauber, August, 2 Récamier, Madame, 7 Rechberg, Count Alois von, 110 Rechberg, Count Bernhard von, 110 Reichenbach, Baron Karl von, 37, 70 Reil, Johann Christian, 193 Reitzenstein, Baron Sigismund von, 136, 138, 140, 141, 144, 146 Rhea, 1 Richter, Franz, 161, 162 Rigler, David and Marilyn, 13 Rilke, Rainer Maria, 179 Ringelnatz, Joachim, 178 Ringseis, Johann Nepomuk, 44 Röder, Johann Adam, 28 Roeder, Baron August Alexander von, 60, 71 Romulus and Remus, 1 Rosenberg, Herr (stationer), 129–30 Roth, Johann Ferdinand, 24 Roth, Karl Ludwig, 33 Rotteck, Karl von, 137 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, ix, 2, 4, 19–20 Roussel, M., 159 Rüdt, Baron von, 170 Rumpler, Wilhelm von, 35 Rupprecht, Barbara Maria, 68 S., Bruno (actor), 187 Sahagún, Bernardino de, 16–17 Sailer, Ferdinand, 168–70 Salchow, Johann Christian, 79, 204n.22 Salimbene of Parma, Father, 11–12 Sand, Karl Ludwig, 165 Saphir, Moritz Gottlieb, 83 Savigny, Friedrich Karl von, 53 Saxony, 88–9 Scharrer, Johannes, 23 Schauberg, Joseph, 169 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von, 38–9, 39–40, 44

Scheurl, Herr von (police official), 27, 28 Schiller, Friedrich von, 40, 88 Schlatterer, Martha, 130–1 Schleiermacher, Friedrich Daniel Ernst, 8–9, 191 Schloß Beuggen, 157–8 Schloß Pilsach, 161–3 Schmid, Herr (Ansbach court official), 128 Schnerr, Johann Jakob, 62, 82, 112 Scholler, Frau and Lisette, 112–13 Schopenhauer, Artur, 37, 200n.11, 202n.15 Schöplin, Johann Daniel, 138 Schreber, Daniel Gottlob Moritz, 197n.32 Schreber, Daniel Paul, 9 Schreber, Johann Christian Daniel von, 3 Schrenk, Baron von, 122–4, 162 Schubert, Gotthilf Heinrich, 40 Schumann, Johann Karl Friedrich, 60, 96, 107, 108, 126 Schwarz, Georg, 130 science, empiricism, 44–5 Sehr, Peter, 187–8 Seiler, Sebastian, 170 Seitz, Justina Barbara, 113 Seiz, Johann Georg, 114 Senig, Konrad, 130 Sewell, Bill, 187 Seybold, Ludwig Georg Friedrich, 175–6 Shakespeare, William, The Tempest, 20 sheep-child of Ireland, 3 Shurley, Jay, 12, 13–14 Sicily, 88 Singer, Dr, 168 Singh, Rev. J. A. L., 7–8 6th Light Cavalry Regiment, 26, 27, 72, 173 Skinner, B. F., 11, 12 Sleeman, William Henry, 8 Smith, Robert, 1st Baron Carrington, 86 Sogny, wild girl of, 5 somnambulism, 36, 40

Index Sophie, grand duchess of Baden, 92, 109 ‘soul murder’ concept, 9, 196–7n.31 Southwick, Marcia, 178 Spanish imperialism, 15–17 speech essential to humanity, 6 in feral children, 3, 4, 5, 6–7 hermeneutic approach, 8–9 KH’s ability, x, 25, 26, 27, 28, 53, 58, 59, 190–1 see also language acquisition Speyer, Friedrich, 41 Spiegel, Der, 172 Sponheim, 91, 153–4, 163 Stadelmann family, 116 Stadi, Johann, 115 Stanhope, Bank, 84 Stanhope, Catherine Lucy (née Smith), 86 Stanhope, Catherine Lucy Wilhelmina (later Duchess of Cleveland), 86 Stanhope, Charles, 3rd Earl, 83, 84–5, 86 Stanhope, Charles Bank, 84 Stanhope, George Joseph, 86 Stanhope, Lady Hester Lucy, 83–4, 85–6, 89 Stanhope, Hester (née Pitt), 83, 84, 85 Stanhope, James Hamilton, 84 Stanhope, Lady Louisa, 84 Stanhope, Philip Henry, 4th Earl, xii–xiii, 9 family and background, 83–6 Germanophilia, xii, 89 and KH, 91–7, 100–11, 170; as anti-Hauserianer, 70, 71, 75, 105–6, 125–8; change of attitude towards, 103; correspondence with KH, 101, 102, 106–7; correspondence with Ludwig I on KH, 96–7; fictional representations, 179, 180, 184, 188; financial support, 91–3, 103, 107; gifts, 92–3, 93–4; Hungary trips, 92, 93, 102–3; and investigation into death of KH, 122–3, 125–8, 131–2; KH’s last words to, 119,

237

120; as legal guardian, 95–6, 97, 107–8; nature of relationship, 94, 100; reaction to death of KH, 121–2; and translation of Feuerbach’s pamphlet, 97, 103, 105, 106 medical and scientific interests, 87–8 parliamentary career, 86–7, 89 as political agent, 88–90 Stanhope, Philip Henry, 5th Earl (Lord Mahon), 86, 93, 109, 122 state of nature, 19–20 Stein, Heinrich Friedrich Carl, Baron vom, xi, 135–6, 137 Steiner, Rudolf, xiii, 70, 172, 180–2, 190 Steinhauser, Philipp, 129 Stenglin, Margaretha, 68 Stephanie, grand duchess of Baden (née Beauharnais), 90, 96 children, 135, 141, 143, 146–8; birth and death of male heir, 101, 146–8, 156–7, 160, 162, 171; DNA evidence discounts KH as son, 172–3 on death of KH, 127 fictional representations, 176–7, 179 interest in KH affair, 101, 102 marriage, 139–42, 146, 149 Stewart, Walter W., 44 Stichaner, Governor von, 112, 118, 122, 123, 128, 160 Stichaner, Lilla von, 112–13 Storm, Theodor, 37 stranger in palace gardens, 113, 114–16, 124–5, 164, 170 Strober, Herr (headmaster), 130 student fraternities, 165, 166–7 Sturm, Johann Konrad, 113, 116 surrealism, 184 swapped babies theory, 156–74 Swift, Jonathan, 4, 195n.10 Tahitian indians, 19 Tarzan character (Burroughs), 2 television film on KH, 187–8 Tettenborn, Baron Friedrich Karl von, 91, 130, 144, 162

238

Index

Thiersch, Friedrich, 100 Thürnheim, Count, 22, 23 Tieck, Ludwig, 24–5 Tittmann, Carl August, 78–9 Tomko (Hungarian feral child), 5 Tradowsky, Peter, 187–8 Tragedy of Kaspar Hauser, The (film), 187 Trakl, Georg, 177–8, 210n.10 Treitschke, Heinrich von, 167 Trinius, Bernhard, 178 Trithemius, Johannes, 153 Tucher, Baron Christoph Karl Gottlieb von, 62, 81–2, 180 critical of Stanhope’s relationship with KH, 94–5 Hungary trip, 92, 93 KH lives at home of, 82 legal guardian of KH, 32, 34, 69, 70–1 relinquishes guardianship of KH, 95–6, 97 Tucholsky, Kurt, 183 Tulp, Nicolas, 3 Türckheim, Baron Johann von, 144 Tyro, 1 Tyrol, KH’s origins in, 173–4, 193–4 Ubelhör, Christiane, 68 ‘universal grammar’ (Chomsky), 12 ‘universal language’ theory, 11 upright stance, 2–3, 10 Uranus, 1 vaccination, 36, 42, 173, 193–4 Varnbühler von und zu Hemmingen, Baron Carl von, 164, 170 Vega, Suzanne, 187 Verlaine, Paul, 177, 178, 185 Vesper, Guntram, 186 Vespucci, Amerigo, 16, 198n.46 Victor, wild-boy of Aveyron, 3, 5–7, 12 Victoria, queen of England, 171 Vienna Congress (1814–15), 88, 150 Vogel, Herr and Ernst, 117, 118 Vohwinkel, Herr (civil servant), 155 Voltaire, vii, 19

Wagner, Michael, 3 Waltenmair, Michael, 128 Wassermann, Jakob, 178, 179–80 Wedekind, Frank, 183 Weickmann, Georg Leonhard, 25–6, 132 Weigel, Anna Katharina, 113 Weiss, Susanna, 115 Welcker, Karl Theodor, 166 Wendeborn, G. F. A., 12 Wessenberg, Baron Johann von, 105 Wessenig, Major von, 26, 27, 132, 162 wild children, 1–15 Wild Folk myths, 20 Winter, Ludwig Georg, 137, 144, 145 wolf-children, 2, 3, 7–8 Wolff, Christian von, 2, 78 Wörlein, Simon, 117–18 Wrede, Prince Karl Philipp, 153 Wurm, Christian, 23 ‘Young Germany’ movement, 176 Zahn, Johann, 115–16 Zähringer, Prince Alexander, 135, 160 Zähringer, Carl Friedrich (1728–1811) see Carl Friedrich, margrave of Baden Zähringer, Carl Friedrich (1755–1801), 145, 146 Zähringer, Elizabeth (Luise) see Elizabeth (Luise), empress of Russia Zähringer, Prince Friedrich, 145, 148 Zähringer, Princess Josephine, 135, 171, 172 Zähringer, Karl see Karl, grand duke of Baden Zähringer, Karl Ludwig, 143 Zähringer, Prince Ludwig see Ludwig I, grand duke of Baden Zähringer, Princess Luise, 135, 146, 171 Zähringer, Princess Marie, 135, 171 Zähringer family family documents inaccessible, xiii, 171 KH as descendant see crown prince theory

Index male line, 134–5, 143, 150, 154, 163; birth and death of last male heir, 101, 146–8, 156–7, 160, 162, 171 Zallinger-Stillendorf, Stephanie, 172 Zeit, Die, 172

239

Zentner, Baron von, 60 Zeus, 1 Zingg, R. M., 8 Zinzendorf und Pottendorf, Count Nicolaus Ludwig von, 4, 195n.9 Zollverein, 24, 25, 145, 155