THREE CELEBRATED CASES
Karl Grosjean alias Grandisson--His residence in
Heidelberg--Occupation unknown--Suspicion aroused--Letters
seized by the postal authorities--Grosjean arrested in
Berlin and imprisoned--Found dead in his cell--His wife
cross-examined--Proved that he had perpetrated daring post-cart
robberies--Brigandage--Formation of bands of robbers--Carefully
planned attacks made on villages--Schinderhannes, the famous
brigand chief--Arrested and brought to trial with his
assistants, twenty of whom were guillotined--The horrible
murder of Dorothea-Blankenfeld by her fellow travellers
Antonini and his wife--Their sentence and its execution.
The chronic disorder which reigned in central Europe during the nearly
incessant warfare of the Napoleonic period stimulated the activity
of daring and ingenious thieves. A successful depredator on a larger
scale who long escaped detection was a certain Karl Grosjean, alias
Grandisson, whose story may be told as a remarkable instance of the
immunity enjoyed by his class.
He first comes upon the scenes in the spring of 1804, when a superb
travelling carriage arrived at a small country town in the vicinity
of Heidelberg. Two strangers alighted from it to spend the night at
the inn. They were apparently worthy representatives of the class
that would possess so magnificent an equipage, one being a man of
aristocratic appearance, and the other his young and beautiful wife.
They were from Denmark, where the stranger was said to be a merchant
and reputed enormously wealthy. He owned many shops somewhere, and
carried on an immense trade in iron, flax and other articles. He had
come to this little town to buy vinegar, which was manufactured there
on a large scale by a chemist of the place. Eventually the couple took
up their residence in the neighbouring city of Heidelberg, where they
lived in a charming house on the slope of the hill crowned by the
ruined castle and overlooking the beautiful valley of the Neckar. Their
residence at Heidelberg was checkered by some unpleasant occurrences,
among others the theft of a large sum of money, which was in due course
recovered after a long trial, but M. Grandisson was so much vexed
by all that had happened that he left the city and moved first to
Strasburg, then to Dijon and to Nancy. They returned to Heidelberg in
1810. They lived in a luxurious style, but Madame Grandisson devoted
herself principally to the education of her children. She did not go
out much, although she paid and received visits. She was intimate with
no one and forbore to talk much of her husband’s private affairs,
except to allude at times to the many interesting journeys he made.
M. Grandisson was more sociable and accessible. He did not absent
himself from public places, and not only liked to converse with other
people, but was addicted to boasting of his wealth and possessions.
This little weakness was not resented in so amiable and obliging a man,
for he was civility itself to every one. One thing only seemed odd.
Grandisson was a merchant, but never spoke of his business with other
merchants; still less did he make any mention of his real domicile or
his origin. When closely pressed in conversation, however, he vaguely
hinted that he was concerned in vast smuggling transactions. This
was not to his discredit in those days of the Continental blockade
introduced by Napoleon against English trade. Again, it was passing
strange that a business man, engaged ostensibly in extensive operations
in all parts of Europe, carried on no business correspondence.
Moreover, he did not obtain his funds by drawing bills of exchange or
receiving cash remittances; yet he was perpetually travelling and must
have spent much money on the road. There seemed also to be something
peculiar connected with these journeys. He talked a great deal about
them beforehand, mentioning his intention of going to Brussels, Paris
or Copenhagen, as the case might be, but he would disappear silently
to reappear as suddenly as he had gone, and seldom let fall a word as
to where he had been. The local police at Heidelberg heard nothing of
these journeys, nor was it necessary, as Grandisson had his passports
from the government authorities and they were usually good for six
months at a time.
For more than three years the Grandisson family lived quietly in
Heidelberg, respected and apparently happy and contented. Contraband
trade was generally supposed to supply their chief wealth and to be
sufficient explanation for the secrecy observed in regard to it.
Another theory was held on this subject, which it was thought well
not to insist upon in those days: Grandisson seemed to time his
journeys to conform to the constant movements of troops in the many
campaigns afoot; he occasionally started and returned in company with
French officers, and it might well be thought that he was one of the
emissaries who swarmed in Germany just then.
Grandisson was actually on the move and absent from Heidelberg when
letters arrived from Frankfurt-on-the-Main dated April 7th; one was
addressed to the governor of the town, the other to the criminal judge,
and their contents threw a new and lurid light upon the mysterious
stranger. The Thurn and Taxis post-wagon had been robbed twice within
two years, between Eisenach and Frankfurt, and so effectually that well
secured cash boxes packed away inside the vehicle had disappeared.
The first occasion was on October 13, 1812, when all packets of money
destined for Frankfurt were purloined from the post-cart; and the
second on February 14, 1814, when a packet containing more than
4,947 florins was stolen. Suspicion fell upon a certain passenger
remembered by the conductor and others, and who, as it turned out on
investigation, had always travelled and been registered under different
names. It was subsequently discovered that this man, so generously
endowed with aliases, had on February 18th put up at the inn, the Sign
of the Anchor, in Eisenach, under the name of Grandisson and there
posted a packet of fifty gulden addressed to himself at Heidelberg,
which had there been safely handed to Madame Grandisson. The
description of the suspicious passenger tallied exactly with that of M.
Grandisson so well known in Heidelberg. Besides this, the conductor of
the post-cart from which the last theft had been made, insisted that
he had seen him in that town. The governor of Heidelberg was so much
impressed with these reports that he would have proceeded to arrest
Grandisson at once, but the man was absent at the time. The question
was then mooted as to the apprehension of Madame Grandisson, who was
generally respected as a modest, reputable lady who lived exclusively
for her children. She seemed somewhat embarrassed when questioned
by the police and asked to explain her husband’s prolonged absence,
but evinced no desire to leave the town, and no further steps were
taken beyond keeping her under observation. Unhappily for her, fresh
revelations were soon forthcoming in which she was implicated. A letter
from Madame Grandisson to her husband, directed to what was then his
real address, “poste restante Würzburg,” was presently intercepted in
the chief post-office. In this letter she enclosed another which had
arrived for M. Grandisson and had been opened by her. Her own letter
contained little more than references to the other which was signed
with the name “Louis Fischer,” and had evidently occasioned her great
uneasiness. It was dated from Bornheim near Frankfurt, March 10, 1814,
and contained a quantity of obscure and suspicious matter.
It began by reminding its recipient that he was passing under an
assumed name, that he was really Grosjean, not Grandisson; then
referred to the “working off” of certain Dutch ducats; proceeded to
complain that he had been robbed of his fourteen thousand gulden by
having soldiers quartered upon him; and finished as follows: “All are
consumed but a few hundred gulden. I do not make demands upon you
as a beggar but on the current value of what you know.... I sign an
assumed name.... Write to me poste restante.... If you do not write,
be assured, as certainly as that God will yet judge my soul, I shall
be compelled to make public what I know.... This you would surely
avoid because of the dishonour and the loss of the consideration you
enjoy.... You are perfectly well aware that I have kept silence for
years ... but yet I hold the damning proofs and shall use them unless
you accept my terms. Nevertheless, if you act fairly by me the proofs
shall be destroyed and the guilty deed with them.”
This letter threw very serious aspersions on Grandisson’s character.
It hinted that his real name was Grosjean and that he had at some
time or other committed a crime or a dishonourable action, either in
conjunction with the writer or with his knowledge, the publication of
which must ruin him, and that he was consequently being blackmailed
by his correspondent. There was nothing in the letter, however, to
inculpate Madame Grandisson. On the contrary, the anonymous writer
mentioned her with great respect, and the agitation of mind she
displayed in her appeal to her husband testified to her innocence and
showed that there was less reason than ever to proceed against her.
Efforts were still made to tamper with her correspondence, but in
vain, for she was very wary and used the utmost caution in posting
her letters. At last, however, one was intercepted and was thought
compromising. “Since you left thirteen days ago, I have no news of
you,” it ran. “Write me the number of the house where I am to address
my letters. Now attend to me. How would it be were I to pack most of
my belongings and give them into the charge of Herr Klein, and only
take with me exactly what I require, until I am certain where I am
to live? I do not think I could have anything in common with your
relations; I have too vivid a recollection of their vulgarity and
rapaciousness. It would be best for you to hire a lodging for me with
decent, respectable people, so that when I arrive I can be with you;
even for yourself it is not advisable that you should lodge with your
relatives. I will not stop with them even for one night. Farewell.”
This letter certainly gave the impression that Madame Grandisson was
initiated partially, at least, into her husband’s secrets, and as she
was evidently now making preparations for escaping from Heidelberg, she
was more closely watched than ever. Her behaviour was unaltered as she
was not aware that her letter had been intercepted. The address on the
outside cover, moreover, to “Herr Prinz im Königstrasse, Berlin,” gave
a clue which facilitated proceedings against Grandisson. This, however,
was only on the outside, for on the real letter itself the direction
was as follows: “Mlle. Caroline is requested to deliver this letter to
her brother Karl.” Thus it appeared that Grandisson was now in Berlin
and that he had a sister there. He must now be sought for in that
capital, and a demand for his arrest was despatched by the chief post
office in Frankfurt to the head of the police in Berlin.
In the house of a merchant of the name of Prinz, situated in the
Königstrasse in Berlin, there lived an unmarried woman called Caroline
Grosjean, who was in the service of the family and undoubtedly the
intended recipient of the above letter. She was in truth the sister
of the suspected criminal, and the name of Grosjean corresponded with
that mentioned in the Fischer letter. A detective was sent to question
her as to her brother’s whereabouts, and she admitted that he was in
Berlin but would say nothing further until shown the letter, whereupon
recognising her sister-in-law’s handwriting, she offered to conduct
the evidently trustworthy messenger to her brother. The detective,
however, intimated that when on his travels he had to stay within doors
to receive people on business, and requested her to send her brother
to his inn that same afternoon, which she did. The man so accurately
described by the Frankfurt and Heidelberg authorities accordingly
appeared at the “Sign of the Crown.” He acted the unconcerned gentleman
even when the detective said he had just come from Heidelberg charged
with greetings from his wife and assurances that all was well. But when
the officer of the law handed him her letter, he seized it with evident
uneasiness, crumpled it up and thrust it into his pocket. The detective
then proposed to conduct him to some private place where he might be
inclined perhaps to give a more satisfactory account of himself. On
reaching the door of the inn, Grosjean tried to escape, but two police
officials at once barred his way. From that moment he became quite
passive and followed the police quietly to the office and thence to the
prison. When searched, two razors he had secreted were found and taken
from him. Suicide was obviously his intention, and he was resolved to
carry it through. When visited in his cell next morning, it was found
that he had made away with himself. He lay in a cramped position,
sitting rather than hanging, strangled and dead, his handkerchief
having been tightly fastened round his neck and secured in the jamb
of the door. The method he had employed testified to an extraordinary
exercise of will power.
The chief criminal having thus disposed of himself, to proceed to the
discovery and arrest of his accomplices became the next object of the
authorities. But those of Heidelberg were still loth to arrest Madame
Grandisson, and the judge himself paid her a visit to inquire for her
husband. She had heard nothing yet of the suicide, and replied that
she was growing uneasy at his protracted absence. She was next invited
to visit the law courts to make a formal deposition, and when further
questioned there, it was seen that her pretended ignorance of her
husband’s real character was assumed. This led to her committal to the
criminal prison. Close examination into her own antecedents followed.
She stated that she came from Breslau, where her family resided, and
that after her marriage with Grosjean, she had travelled with him
in distant countries, where he was engaged in extensive commercial
enterprises. For a long time she little realised their true nature,
but had learned it by accident and had taxed him with his criminal
life. Gradually the facts came out and she made open confession of all
she knew. Yes, her husband was indeed a villain, although she knew
nothing of it till long after her marriage, when to her horror she
found that all the money on which they lived so luxuriously was stolen,
acquired by systematic thefts from the post-wagons. Grosjean, when
she first made his acquaintance, had been a butler in the service of
a general officer, Von Dolfs by name. After their marriage she spent
a brief period of happiness, which was shattered by Grosjean’s arrest
for having robbed his master of a large sum. At that time she herself
was brought up for examination, and was asked if she was aware that
he had already served a term of imprisonment in a house of correction
on account of robberies. Then the general sent for her and advised
her to seek a separation, but it seemed too cruel to desert him and
she was easily persuaded to join him in prison. On their release,
they decided to go to his parents in Berlin, where he undertook to
carry on his father’s business, in which he continued to work honestly
for five or six years. Afterward they moved to Hamburg and then to
Copenhagen, where they suffered many vicissitudes. Next they went to
St. Petersburg, and thence to Bayreuth; last of all they settled in
the neighbourhood of Heidelberg, and the events followed as already
described.
At the judicial examination more incriminating evidence came out. Upon
being closely interrogated, Madame Grosjean admitted having gone from
St. Petersburg, first to Emden, then to the Hague and to Amsterdam.
At the last named places, Grosjean seems to have begun his systematic
business journeys in connection with the post-carts, but she denied all
participation or knowledge of their aim and results. Only at Bayreuth,
when he bought the costly carriage, her conscience seemed to have
awakened. When she reproached him for purchasing it he replied that it
was none of her business; that it was enough for her if he provided for
her; and that if she were not pleased she might leave him and go where
she chose. This partly pacified, partly terrified her. She forbore to
ask him about the post-cart robberies, but suffered him to follow his
own road, without remark or complaint. She had made a great mistake in
her marriage, she admitted, yet she was undoubtedly much affected when
the news of his death by suicide was communicated to her.
Meanwhile a series of laborious investigations and far-reaching
correspondence had been set on foot to build up the criminal history of
Grosjean. It was fully established that his evil tendencies were inborn
and strongly developed; he had a passion for stealing that amounted to
mania. He had acted for the most part alone and unaided, exhibiting
rare skill and meeting generally with extraordinary good luck. He had
carried out his robberies over a large area, in various countries and
at many times, greedy to lay his hands on everything he came across.
To utilise his plunder in playing the great personage with much
ostentation and display, was another trait in him not uncommon with
others of his class. He was ambitious also to appear a refined and well
educated man in the cultured social surroundings of the university
town of Heidelberg. He loved to forget that he was a common thief, and
to assume the superior airs of a well-bred gentleman. It was the same
in France, where he gained a reputation for good breeding and perfect
manners, inspiring confidence and appreciation in all with whom he was
thrown.
Little was known to a certainty of his early life. He was born at
Weilburg, where his father owned a cloth factory, but the family
moved subsequently to Berlin. Karl accompanied his parents and was
apprenticed to the hairdresser’s craft. He soon left the capital,
and rarely returned to it after he had assumed the part of a wealthy
merchant. On the third visit, he was arrested and it was then shown
that not only had he robbed General Dolfs, as already described, but
that when only 16 years of age he had been sentenced to four years’
penal servitude for theft. While a hairdresser in Berlin, he carried
out a large robbery in the house of the English envoy; and at Hamburg,
where he was afterward in service, he stole three thousand marks from
his master, but he was not apprehended for either offence. From that
time very little information came to hand concerning his larger and
more audacious undertakings, which he perpetrated chiefly in foreign
countries. The chief post-office authorities at Frankfurt-on-the-Main
had on their register a long list of post-cart robberies, covering the
years from 1800-1811, all of which might no doubt be laid to Grosjean’s
charge. It was certainly proved that a man answering to his description
travelled under eight or nine different aliases at various times. One
curious and unusual trait in a man accustomed to carry out thefts
on a very large scale, was his stooping to steal groceries from his
landlord, and also heavy goods, articles of no value, but difficult to
move and likely to lead to his detection. His wife, annoyed at these
useless thefts and overburdened with groceries and spices she could not
use, would ask him how she should get rid of them, upon which he would
tell her to sell them to the landlord. This ironical suggestion to
sell stolen goods to the victim of the thefts was in its way amusing.
Grosjean also purloined tobacco, and once when travelling stole his
landlord’s gold repeater watch, which he wore boldly and unconcernedly
until his arrest in 1814. He likewise abstracted the silver spoons
at the inns where he lodged, and stole stockings for his family from
shops, whether they wanted them or not. Sixty-five pairs were found
when his lodging was searched, and they were claimed by a tradesman in
Frankfurt who was the author of the mysterious letter signed, “Louis
Fischer,” which had given the Heidelberg legal authorities the first
clue for Grosjean’s prosecution. This man, after having dealings with
Grosjean, who was a good customer and paid ready money, suddenly began
to suspect him of pilfering in the shop and at last caught him in the
act. His bump of acquisitiveness was no doubt abnormally developed.
Insecurity of life and property was universal at this time. The country
was terrorised and laid waste by brigandage. Bands were organised
under the most redoubtable chiefs, whose skill and boldness in the
prosecution of their evil business were quite on a par with the most
famous feats of great bandits in other lands. Foremost among them were
such men as Pickard, who long devastated the Low Countries, and not
less noted was Schinderhannes, otherwise John Buckler the younger.
He had followed the craft of his father, a flayer of dead animals,
and hence his sobriquet, _Schinderhannes_ or “Hans the skinner.” His
operations covered a wide area, extending from both banks of the upper
Rhine to the lower Meuse; from Mayence on the one side as far as
Dunkirk on the other; and again to the eastward beyond the Weser to
the Elbe. He “worked” this country from 1793 to 1801, and when at last
justice overtook him and he was committed to the prison of Mayence,
sixty-seven associates, who had followed him with unflagging devotion,
were arrested and brought to trial with him.
The growth of brigandage was stimulated by the prevailing distress of
the territories so constantly ravaged by war. Peaceable inhabitants
were harried and harassed by the excesses of the troops. Contributions
in money and in kind were repeatedly levied upon them; they lost their
cattle and their crops by military requisitions, and were heavily taxed
in money. Where the farmers and other employers were nearly ruined,
large numbers of labourers were thrown out of work and were driven
into evil practices. Many took to thieving, and stole everything they
came across,--horses from their stables and cattle from the fields.
They cut off and robbed stragglers from the armies on the march, and
pillaged the baggage wagons that went astray. As guardians of the
law became more active in pursuit, offenders were driven to combine
forces and form associations for greater strength and more concerted
action. Receivers of the stolen goods were established with secure
hiding places and lines of safe retreat. Leaders were also appointed
to direct operations, to ascertain the most likely victims and plan
attacks without incurring suspicion or subsequent detection. In this
way, outrages multiplied and developed on a large scale far beyond mere
highway robbery.
Great prudence and circumspection were employed in the formation
of a band. The members were chosen with an eye to fitness for the
work; every effort was made to preserve their incognito; they were
forbidden to assemble in any considerable number; not more than two
or three men were suffered to live in the same village. Each man’s
address or change of address was known only to the receivers of the
district, through whom orders were circulated from the supreme chief
of the entire association, the individual members of which lived
singly, dispersed through the villages and small towns of an extensive
territory. The brigands themselves were strictly enjoined not to
attract attention; to keep disguises close at hand, to change their
abode frequently, and to be prepared to assume quickly a different
character. The aristocratic German baron or the respectable Dutch
merchant drinking the waters at Aix-la-Chapelle or Spa one week was
transformed the next into the leader of a band of miscreants lurking
in a wood, waiting to embark upon a bloodthirsty attack and wholesale
massacre.
No important movement was undertaken unless it had been recommended as
feasible by one of the numerous indicators or spies spread over the
country. These were mostly Jews and, strange to say, they were not
members of the band. They were ever on the alert, and by insinuating
themselves into people’s homes, learned who were well-off and where
money and valuables were treasured. They gained all necessary
information as to the possible opposition that would be offered by the
residents, and when all was prepared, the informer contracted to help
the brigand chief to make the coup on a promise of receiving part,
and a large part, of the booty. The rôle played by these spies was
the more detestable because of the certainty that the robbery would
be accompanied with brutal violence and much cruelty. If the treasure
was well concealed or obstinately withheld by the owners, the most
barbarous tortures were inflicted on them, such as those practised by
the “chauffeurs” of central France about this same time, who “warmed”
or toasted the feet of their victims before a blazing fire until they
confessed where their goods lay hidden. These informers were generally
receivers also, ready to take over and dispose of the plunder.
As soon as a stroke had been decided upon, word was passed around to
gather the band together. A letter was addressed to each member, in
which he was summoned to meet the others at a particular place and
discuss “a matter of business.” Sometimes the chief went in person and
called upon every member. When assembled, the project was considered
from every point of view; the difficulties and dangers were formally
examined; and a decision was taken by vote as to whether it was
practicable or unsafe. If accepted in spite of serious obstacles,
several sub-chiefs were appointed to deal with the different parts of
the plan, such as the line of approach, the actual execution and the
means of retreat. As a rule, the spring or autumn season was preferred
for an attempt, because of the long nights. Winter was tabooed on
account of the bad travelling over dark and nearly impracticable roads,
and the summer nights were too light. Moonlight nights were carefully
avoided, and also any time when snow lay upon the ground. When the
matter eventually came into court, it was found that the week-end was
the time almost invariably chosen for the operations of the band.
To avoid the alarm that might be caused by the united march of thirty
or forty robbers in company, they were ordered to repair to the
rendezvous, only two or three travelling together. Those who could
afford it rode or drove in vehicles, intended for use afterward in
removing part of the stolen goods. Great pains were taken to prevent
the men from going astray in the dark when passing through the dense
forests. Guides went ahead and marked the path by nailing scraps of
white paper on tree or post; at cross-roads the direction was shown
by a chalked line, or a great branch was broken off from a tree and
laid on the ground with the leafage pointing out the road. Signals
were also passed on from one to another by imitating the hoot of an
owl; whistling was not permitted because it was a low class practice
certain to attract observation. A halt was called at the rendezvous
near the point of attack, where the robbers rested; pistols were
examined, a pass word was chosen and a number of candles and torches
were distributed to be lighted when the march was resumed, as it
was, in perfect silence; and all had their faces blackened to escape
recognition. Any one whom they met was seized, tied, gagged and
muzzled, and left to lie by the roadside, so that he might give no
alarm.
The chief or captain now took the lead, followed by a party carrying
the _belier_ or battering ram, a solid beam ten or twelve feet long,
and one foot thick, which was sometimes a signpost and sometimes
a wooden cross from a churchyard. On entering a village, some one
who knew the road was sent to barricade the church door and prevent
access to the belfry from which the tocsin might be sounded. The night
watchmen were captured and put out of the way. Next, the doomed house
was surrounded and a sharp fire opened to keep every one in-doors and
give the idea that the assailants were in great numbers. If the French
had passed recently through the country, loud shouts and oaths were
uttered in that language to convey a false impression. After this,
the principal door was beaten in, and the captain entered boldly at
the head of his men, reserving the right to shoot down instantly any
who hesitated or hung back. The whole house was then illuminated from
roof-tree to cellar, and the place was thoroughly ransacked. All the
inmates were bound and gagged, and rolled up in blankets with bedding
and mattresses piled on top of them, until called upon to surrender
their valuables or give information as to where they were concealed.
This, as has been said, was generally extorted after horrible tortures
had been inflicted.
When the pillage ended, the party hurried away to divide the booty. Any
robber wounded and unable to move off was despatched on the spot; the
greatest pains were taken to leave no one behind who might, if caught,
be made to confess. At the sharing of the spoil, the captain received
a double or triple portion, in addition to anything precious he had
annexed at the first search. At the same time, if an ordinary robber
withheld any valuables, his share was reduced one-half on detection. If
the informer who had started the whole affair did not contrive to be
present at the distribution, he was likely to get little or nothing.
The robbers had a profound contempt for the creatures who followed the
despised trade of spy.
A leading character among the many who became famous as brigand
chiefs, such as Finck, Black Peter, Seibert and Zughetto, was the more
notorious Schinderhannes, the youngest, boldest and most active robber
of them all, who moved with great rapidity over a wide country and
spread terror everywhere. He did not attempt to conceal himself, but
showed openly at fairs and gatherings, risking capture recklessly; yet
if ill-luck befell, no prison could hold him. He was an adept in the
use of tools to aid escape, and unrivalled in his skill in breaking
chains, forcing locks and cutting through solid walls.
This notorious criminal was born in the village of Muklen on the right
bank of the Rhine. At an early age he was taught to steal sheep
which he sold to a butcher. Later he became servant to the hangman of
Barenbach, but being taken in the act of robbery, he was thrown into
the gaol at Kirn and flogged. He subsequently escaped, however, and
joined the band of Red Finck, which committed many highway robberies,
chiefly upon Jews. He was again captured and locked up in the prison of
Sarrebruck, from which he easily freed himself. After these beginnings,
Schinderhannes embarked in the business on a larger scale, and having
recruited several desperate companions, committed numberless crimes. He
was a generous brigand who succoured the poor while he made war upon
the rich, and he was credited with a strong desire to abandon his evil
ways if pardoned and permitted to join a regiment in the field; but
this was against the law.
He was finally arrested by the counsellor Fuchs, grand-bailiff of the
electorate of Treves, who caught him on the high road near Wolfenhausen
as he stole out, alone, from a field of corn. He was dressed as a
sportsman, carried a gun and a long whip, but could not produce a
passport and was forthwith arrested. After passing from place to place,
closely guarded and watched, he was lodged at length in the prison of
Mayence, where he was in due course put upon his trial, was eventually
convicted and suffered the extreme penalty.
The earlier operations of this formidable ruffian were limited to
highway robbery, but Schinderhannes soon adopted the practice of
extortion by letter, demanding large sums for immunity from attack,
and he issued safe conducts to all who paid blackmail. He dominated
the whole country. Travellers did not dare to take the road. The news
of the forcible entry and pillage of houses and farms spread like
wildfire. For the most part, the robberies were effected upon rich Jews
and others who possessed great stores of cash and valuables, and the
plunder was enormous. The brigands lived royally and with ostentatious
extravagance, appearing at all village fêtes and giving rein to the
wildest self-indulgence.
When captured at length, this successful miscreant was subjected to
a lengthy trial of eighteen months, the records of which filled five
volumes. In the course of the trial it was proved that he had been
guilty of fifty-three serious crimes, with or without the assistance
of his sixty-seven associates, who were arraigned at the same time,
and were headed by his father, the first John Buckler. Among these
associates were many women. The sentences after conviction were
various. Twenty-one were to be guillotined, including Schinderhannes,
who asked with some apprehension whether he would be broken on
the wheel, but was told to his great relief that this penalty had
disappeared from the code. The capital convicts were to be taken to the
scaffold clothed in red shirts, presumably to increase the ignominy.
For the rest, various terms of imprisonment were imposed, ranging from
six to twenty-four years in chains. Schinderhannes, having heard his
own fate unmoved, expressed his gratitude to his judges for having
spared the lives of his father and wife. He was quite at ease, telling
the bystanders to stare as much as they pleased, for he would be on
view for only two more days. The chaplain gave him the sacrament, and
he accepted the consolation of the Church with very proper feeling.
The convicts were taken to the place of execution in five carts,
Schinderhannes beguiling the way with a full account of his misdeeds.
He mounted the scaffold with a brisk step and closely examined the
guillotine, asking whether it worked as easily and promptly as had
been asserted. In his farewell speech, he admitted the justice of his
sentence, but protested that ten of his companions were dying innocent
men.
The sharp vindication of the law in the case of these brigands had a
marked result in restoring tranquillity and effectually checked the
operations of organised bands on a large scale. But the records of the
times show many isolated instances of atrocious murders perpetrated on
defenceless travellers. A peculiarly horrible case was the doing to
death of the beautiful girl, Dorothea Blankenfeld, at the post-house
of Maitingen near Augsburg by her travelling companions, who had
accompanied her for many stages, ever thirsting for her blood, but
constantly foiled for want of opportunity until the last night before
arriving at their destination.
The victim was a native of Friedland, who started from Danzig in
November, 1809, on her way to Vienna, where she was to join her
intended husband, a war commissary in the French service. She had
reached Dresden, but halted there until her friends could find a
suitable escort for the rest of the journey. She was young, barely
twenty-four years old, remarkably good looking, of gentle disposition
and spotless character. The opportunity for which she awaited presented
itself when two French military postilions arrived in Dresden
and sought passports for Vienna. It was easy to add the Fräulein
Blankenfeld’s name in the route paper, and she left Dresden with her
escort, who had already doomed her to destruction.
The two postilions were really man and wife, for one was a woman in
disguise. They gave their names as Antoine and Schulz, but they were
really the two Antoninis. The man was a native of southern Italy, who
as a boy had been captured by Barbary pirates and released by a French
warship. He had been a drummer in a Corsican battalion, a _laquais
de place_, a sutler and lastly a French army postilion. His criminal
propensities were developed early; he had been frequently imprisoned,
twice in Berlin and once in Mayence with his wife,--for he had married
a woman named Marschall of Berlin,--and he had been constantly
denounced as a thief and incendiary. At Erfurt he had broken prison
and effected the escape of his fellow-prisoners. Theresa Antonini had
been a wild, obstinate and vicious girl, who after marriage became a
partner also in her husband’s evil deeds and shared his imprisonment.
The pair were on their way south to Antonini’s native place in Messina,
very short of money, and they took with them Carl Marschall, the
woman’s brother, a boy barely fifteen years of age.
Dorothea Blankenfeld was a tempting bait to their cupidity. She was
fashionably dressed, her trunk was full of linen and fine clothes, and
she really carried about two thousand thalers sewed in her stays, a
fact then unknown to her would-be murderers.
A scheme was soon broached by Antonini to his wife to make away with
the girl, and young Carl Marschall was prevailed upon to join in the
plot. They waited only for a favourable opportunity to effect their
purpose, devising many plans to murder her and conceal their crime. The
whole journey was occupied with abortive attempts. They selected their
quarters for the night with this idea, but some accident interposed
to save the threatened victim, who was altogether unconscious of her
impending fate.
At Hof a plan was devised of stifling her with smoke in her bed,
but the results seemed uncertain, and it was not tried. At Berneck,
between Hof and Bayreuth, they lodged in a lonely inn at the foot of a
mountain covered with wood, and here the corpse might be buried during
the night. But Theresa Antonini had discarded her postilion’s disguise,
and as two women had arrived, the departure of only one the next
morning must surely arouse suspicion. The following night the notion of
choking the girl with the fumes of smoke was revived, but was dismissed
for the same reason, the doubtful result. Death must be dealt in some
other way if it was to be risked at all. So they drugged her, took her
keys from under her pillow, and opened and examined her trunks, finding
more than enough to seal her doom.
They arrived next at Nürnberg, a likely place, where many streams of
water flowing through the city might help to get rid of the body. But
a sentry happened to have his post just in front of the inn, and this
afforded protection to the threatened girl. At this time Carl Marschall
proposed to mix pounded glass in her soup, but the scheme was rejected
by Antonini, who declared that he had often swallowed broken glass for
sport without ill effects. At Roth, a suitable weapon was found in a
loft, a mattock with three iron prongs,--and a pool of water for the
concealment of the body was discovered in a neighbouring field, so the
deed was to be perpetrated here, after administering another sleeping
draught. The mischance that a number of carriers put up that night at
the inn again shielded the Fräulein. Insurmountable objections arose
also at Weissenberg and Donauwörth, and as they had now reached the
last stage but one, it seemed as if the murder might never be committed.
The last station was Maitingen near Augsburg, where the girl was to
leave the party, and here fresh incitement was given to guilty greed by
her incautious admission that she carried a quantity of valuables on
her person. Somehow she must be disposed of that night. The boy Carl
was to be the principal agent in the crime; it was thought that his
youth would save him from capital punishment, an inevitable sentence
for the others if convicted. The lad showed no reluctance to the act,
and only hesitated lest he should not be strong enough to complete
it, but his sister said that Antonini would help as soon as the first
blow was struck, and she further tempted him with the promise of a
substantial gift.
Carl had discovered in the post-house a heavy roller which he hid in
Antonini’s bed-room. Then he dug a hole in the yard, intended for the
disposal of the body. Antonini bought some candles, and on the pretence
of using a foot bath, much warm water was prepared to cleanse the blood
stains. At supper Dorothea drank some brandy and water mixed with
laudanum, and was taken off to bed half stupefied. About midnight the
murderers viewed their intended victim and found her asleep, but in a
position unfavourable for attack, as her face was turned to the wall.
Now a change of plan was proposed,--to pour molten lead into her ears
and eyes,--but on heating the fragments of a spoon over the candle, it
was seen that a drop which fell on the sheet merely scorched it, which
indicated that the metal cooled too quickly to destroy life.
Another visit was paid to the victim at four o’clock, and now Carl was
ordered to strike the first blow, which fell with murderous effect; but
the poor girl was able to raise herself in bed and to plead piteously
for her life. A fierce struggle ensued; repeated blows were rained upon
her and she sank upon the floor in the agony of death, while Antonini
tore at the money she still carried on her person. As the wretched
woman still breathed and groaned audibly, Antonini savagely trampled
and jumped on her body until life was quite extinct. When afterward
examined, the body was found to be grievously bruised and swollen, the
collar bone was broken, and there were nine wounds made by a blunt
instrument on the brow and other parts of the head.
The house was disturbed at first by the piercing shrieks of the
victim, and the postmaster listened at her door but heard nothing
more. It was noticed the following morning that although the party
was to have started at five o’clock, they were not ready to leave
until nine. The attention of the postmaster, who was looking out of
the window, was attracted by a curiously shaped bundle which the men
dragged out of the house and flung into the carriage, something like
the carcass of a dog, or it might be of a human being. Then the party
entered the carriage and drove away, but it was observed that there
was only one woman in the carriage instead of the two who had arrived
on the previous evening. The rooms upstairs were now visited and the
terrible catastrophe was forthwith discovered. Walls, floor and bed
were drenched with blood and it was plain that an atrocious murder
had been committed. Information was at once given to the authorities,
and the carriage was promptly pursued. It was overtaken at the gates
of Augsburg, and the culprits were seized and lodged in gaol. The
suspicious looking bundle, wrapped up in a long blue cloak, had been
tied up behind the carriage, and when examined it was found to contain
the wounded and much battered corpse of a young woman.
In the course of the protracted criminal proceedings which followed,
the boy Carl Marschall was the first to confess his guilt. The
Antoninis were obstinately reticent, but at last, after nineteen
long examinations, Theresa, when confronted with her brother, also
acknowledged her share in the deed. Antonini was persistent in his
denial and sought continually to deceive the judge by a variety of
lying statements, but even he yielded at last and made a disjointed
but still self-incriminating confession. Husband and wife were both
convicted and sentenced by the court at Nürnberg to death by the
sword. Their boy accomplice, Carl Marschall, in consideration of
his youth, was condemned to ten years’ imprisonment at hard labour.
Antonini escaped the punishment he so well deserved by dying in prison;
but his wife was not so fortunate and suffered the penalty of death
upon the scaffold, hardened and unrepentant to the last.
Perhaps no more brutal murder than this committed by the Antoninis has
ever been recorded, though at that time, when the activities of the
brigand and highway robber were not entirely suppressed, doubtless many
atrocities were perpetrated, the true stories of which have remained
forever in obscurity.