On May 26, 1828 (Easter Monday), two men were talking together in the Unschlittsplatz near Nuremberg's New Gate when they were approached by a teenage boy. By all accounts, he was a fresh-complexioned boy of about seventeen years of age and dressed like a peasant. Although remarkably short for his age, there was nothing else notable about him except for his dusty clothing and general appearance of having walked a long way. After asking for directions to New Gate Street, he pulled a letter out of his pocket addressed to "the Captain of the Fourth Squadron of the Schmollischer Regiment, Neue Thor Strasse (New Gate Street), Nuremberg." One of the men, a shoemaker named Weichmann, offered to take the boy there as he was heading in that direction. Along the way, they chatted briefly, and Weichman assumed he was just a stable boy based on the Low Bavarian dialect he used to speak. Introducing the boy to a regimental corporal, Weichmann went on his way.
After being taken to Captain von Wessenig's house, the boy gave his name as "Kaspar Hauser," and the groom allowed him into the house to await the Captain's return. Asked where he came from, Kaspar replied that he "must not say" and then burst into tears. He claimed that he had been forced to travel day and night and the groom, touched by his story, offered him food and a place to sleep. When the Captain came home, he opened Kaspar's envelope containing two unsigned letters. The first letter was by a "poor day-laborer with ten children of my own," who said that Kaspar Hauser had been brought to him as an infant on October 7, 1812, by a woman who asked him to raise the child. The letter further stated that he had raised the boy as best he could, teaching him reading and writing and finally sending him off to become a soldier (the woman had said he was a soldier's son). The second letter was apparently written by the boy's mother and simply stated that he had been baptized and given the first name of Kaspar. Except that the boy was the son of a Schmollischer trooper, there was no other information. The Captain couldn't find anything more from the boy and, not particularly interested in his story, sent him to the police as a runaway. The police, not knowing what else to do with him, threw him into a prison cell.
The boy was treated relatively well for the next two months in prison. Although he could write his name, "Kaspar Hauser," he had difficulty responding to many of the questions he asked due to his limited vocabulary. Although his jailors noted that Kaspar was more sharp-witted than he appeared, rumors grew about the "half-wild man" imprisoned in the local castle tower. Along with curiosity seekers who wanted to see the "wild man," Kaspar received visits from doctors, scholars, and groups of women bringing him toys and other presents. Since Kaspar was assumed to be an idiot, these visitors had no hesitation about discussing his case in his presence, along with all sorts of fanciful theories about his origins. Whether or not hearing these stories inspired Kaspar in his later claims is anybody's guess.
As Kaspar became more at ease with his imprisonment and frequent visitors, he related a fantastic story. He said he had spent his entire life in a cell six or seven feet long, four feet wide, and five feet high. The cell was so small that he couldn't stand upright, and he lived in almost perpetual darkness since the cell's two small windows had been boarded up. He had been in the cell for as long as he could remember and had only learned to write his name by tracing the letters on paper that had been left in his cell. Eventually, the man who had first left the paper in his cell brought him a prayer book and taught him how to read a few words. He was later released and told that he would be taken to be a soldier like his father. Based on his story, he somehow learned to walk and understand what the man said to him surprisingly quickly despite having little previous exposure to the language. The envelope that he later gave the Captain was placed in his hands, and he was eventually sent on his way to Nuremberg.
In November of that same year, Kaspar Hauser repeated his story before a specially appointed Commission of magistrates in Nuremberg (but not under oath). The fact that he was able to walk and speak despite having been kept in one cell all his life with no exposure to language or physical exercise was hardly questioned. In fairness, some of his defenders explained the inconsistencies and suggested that Kaspar had been confused in some of the details in his story. During attempts to cross-examine him or get him to expand on his story, Kaspar often complained of headaches or denied that he had ever said what he had been heard to say.
Kaspar Hauser's story became widely believed and made him an object of sympathy throughout Germany. Although some skeptics questioned the case details (and suggested that the letters in his possession were written by the same person), they were discredited. Doctors who examined him concluded that he was an "animal man" who had been shut away from other people and was only now learning to live as a human being. Although cases of feral children were relatively well-known, Kaspar Hauser's case seemed unique. Not only were his eyes acutely sensitive to light, but loud noises, including thunderstorms and regimental bands, upset him greatly. He also had a fantastic sense of smell and was repelled by the scent of any kind of flower. His body was covered with old scars on his head and legs, which were believed to be the marks of early physical abuse, and he preferred to drink only water (he never learned to enjoy drinking wine or beer).
In the meantime, police scoured the country to find any trace of Kaspar's origins. Nobody matching his description was ever found, and no missing person's reports that might have established his true identity ever turned up. By July 1828, Kaspar Hauser was formally adopted by the city of Nuremberg, and an annual pension was approved for his maintenance. Kaspar Hauser was formally placed into the care of George Friedrich Daumer, a schoolmaster and philosopher who tried to educate him. Daumer had already begun educating Kaspar in his cell and had noted his fantastic progress in learning to read and write. This education didn't go smoothly, though, and Daumer complained about the steady influx of visitors interfering with his pupil's lessons. The visitors were stopped, but Kaspar was still free to go out and socialize, especially since he had become the darling of Nuremberg society.
The rumors of Kaspar's true identity began to fly. The most persistent story was that he was a son of Grand Duchess Stephanie of Baden, who had somehow been stolen away as an infant (several people commented on the resemblance). Although Kaspar didn't encourage the stories, he began acting more like a prince in exile and adapted quickly to his new social role. Whatever enjoyment Kaspar had in all the attention he received faded as it became apparent that people were becoming less interested in him. He stopped being such a novelty, and stories describing him as deceitful and manipulative began to spread. This was when the "attempts" on his life started.
On October 17, 1829, Kaspar was found crouching in the cellar of the house where he lived. He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which kept him bedridden for two days, though slight. He later said that he had been attacked by a man with a black handkerchief across his face who struck him with a knife and told him that he would be killed. Kaspar said that he recognized the man as the one who had first held him, prisoner. Despite questions over how someone could have entered the house without anyone else noticing, a police investigation found no trace of the mystery attacker. Given the implausible nature of the story and questions about Kaspar's credibility, skeptics accused him of making up the attack.
Kaspar was placed under police observation and was watched by two officers regularly whenever he left the house. Professor Daumer asked that Kaspar be sent somewhere else to live. Not only was Daumer tired of the scrutiny, but he had also come to believe that Kaspar was a compulsive liar. In one letter, Daumer stated that "Kaspar Hauser's nature had lost much of its original purity and that a highly regrettable tendency to untruthfulness and dissimulation had manifested itself." He also added that he and Kaspar had quarreled on the same day of his supposed attack because he was neglecting his studies. After leaving the Daumers, Kaspar became the official ward of Baron von Tucher and was placed in the home of a Nuremberg trader named Biberbach.
His stay with the Biberbachs didn't last long since they became even more disgusted by Kaspar's lies and laziness than the Daumers were. On April 30, 1830, after a particularly nasty quarrel with the Biberbachs, police guarding the house was startled by the sound of a gunshot. Kaspar was found bleeding from a wound on the right side of his head. Although he passed it off as an accident, the circumstances seemed implausible, and the Biberbachs asked him to be removed from their house. He was returned to the von Tucher household, where he lived for another eighteen months. Increasingly disenchanted with Kaspar, von Tucher accused him of being "morally corrupted" by the attention he had received when he was first discovered.
During this time, Kaspar's case also began attracting international attention. A series of pamphlets about "the remarkable Nuremberg foundling" was published, some skeptical of his claims while others speculated on his origins. An English nobleman, Lord Stanhope took a formal interest in Kaspar and arranged to meet him in 1831. Despite his skepticism about some of the inconsistencies in Kaspar's story, Stanhope posted a reward for information on whoever had imprisoned Kaspar (it was never claimed). In 1832, legal scholar Paul Johann Feuerbach published History of a Crime against a Human Soul, which eloquently described the tragedy of Kaspar Hauser's story. Feuerbach became a fervent supporter and, later, one of Kaspar's guardians.
Stanhope followed up every lead and even took Kaspar to Hungary based on his vague memory of a few Hungarian words. Kaspar enjoyed the attention, and von Tucher wrote a letter to Stanhope complaining that his ward was becoming more vain and conceited than ever. The burghers of Nuremberg canceled Kaspar's annual pension and hinted that Stanhope should take charge of him instead. They were undoubtedly delighted when Lord Stanhope agreed to make Kaspar his ward and placed him in the care of a schoolmaster named Meyer. While Kaspar enjoyed this new status, his hopes of going to England were short-lived when Stanhope returned home alone.
The search for Kaspar's birth family continued, and he began claiming that he was the son of a Hungarian countess. When Stanhope returned to Nuremberg, he launched a new investigation and sent agents to Hungary, but, like before, no proof was found that Kaspar had ever been there. Stanhope also became exasperated by reports from Professor Meyer that Kaspar wasn't studying correctly and new complaints of lying. Stanhope arranged to have Kaspar become a clerk since he didn't seem capable of any other profession. On December 9, 1833, Kaspar had a terrible argument with Meyer and openly dreaded what Stanhope would say when he arrived a few days later.
Five days later, Kaspar rushed into the room where Meyer and his wife were sitting. He was out of breath and pointed to a wound in his chest where someone had stabbed him. He dragged Meyer to the nearby public gardens and gasped, "went-Hofgarten-man-had knife-gave bag-stabbed-ran as hard as possible." Meyer took him back home to be treated. Although doctors initially believed the wound to be shallow, his condition worsened drastically. Police questioned him, and he told them that he had been lured to the Hofgarten with a fake message and stabbed. Aside from an odd note found in a silk bag near where Kaspar was found, no other clues to the attack were ever found. Kaspar Hauser died on December 17, 1833.
An autopsy raised questions about Kaspar's attack and his version of events. The medical experts who examined the evidence were split on whether Kaspar's wound was self-inflicted or whether he had been killed by an unknown assailant. Although some supporters suggest that Kaspar had been assassinated to prevent him from proving his royal origins, skeptics speculated that Kaspar had stabbed himself to stir up public interest in his story (while misjudging the depth of the knife wound). The knife was never found (and may have been thrown into a nearby brook). A formal investigation concluded that no murder had occurred and that Kaspar had stabbed himself. Lord Stanhope later wrote that he agreed with the findings and stated, "I may be the only man that ever wrote a book to prove himself in the wrong."
The controversy dragged on, with supporters insisting that Kaspar had been assassinated to prevent him from discovering his true origins. Pamphlets denounced Stanhope and accused various people in Kaspar's life of covering up the murder. Years later, Professor Daumer wrote a book in which he insisted that Stanhope had masterminded Kaspar's assassination. Stanhope's daughter, Catherine Powlett Cleveland published a book on the case in 1893, which vindicated her father. Long after his death, Kaspar Hauser's story continues to inspire movies, books, and plays based on his life, and questions about his origins and the strange circumstances of his death are still being raised.
But what can we say about Kaspar Hauser? Even though certain aspects of his story can be dismissed as an exaggeration (he learned to talk and walk suspiciously quickly, given his claims of growing up in a cell), there is little question that he suffered from abuse and neglect in his early childhood. The scars on his body and the psychosocial dwarfism he experienced (still known as "Kaspar Hauser syndrome") seem testimony enough. DNA studies have ruled out his being part of the Baden royal family, although questions remain about his true identity. This continuing mystery may be a fitting legacy for a strange foundling who enjoyed tattention.
References
Douglas Keith Candland: Feral Children and Clever Animals, Oxford, New York, 1993
Philip Henry Earl Stanhope: Tracts Relating to Caspar Hauser. Hodson 1836
Catherine Lucy Wilhelmina (Stanhope) Powlett, Duchess of Cleveland: The True Story of Kaspar Hauser from Official Documents, Macmillan, London, 1893
